by Tess LeSue
“Amelia.”
“I know her name!”
“So if I stop looking at your sister, you’ll stop being surly?”
Alex looked up, startled. “Yeah,” she admitted, “I guess. Can you not talk to her too?”
“No, runt,” he shook his head, exasperated, “I can’t stop talking to her. She’s a paying customer.”
“Well, at least stop giving her roses, then.”
“It’s a deal.” Luke held out his hand for Alex to shake. “Friends?”
Alex looked at his hand. Now was the time, she decided, to stop running in circles. Luke Slater belonged to another woman. And she was welcome to him, shameless flirt that he was. He was willing to treat Victoria honorably, and he genuinely liked Adam. So perhaps they could be friends. Taking a deep breath, and telling herself that she was letting go of her feelings for him, Alex took his hand.
“Friends,” she agreed.
It was as though a great weight had been lifted. Alex found she could relax by the spring as he went about his grooming, without being bothered in the slightest when he changed shirts. Well, almost . . . she peeked a little. She was only human, after all.
* * *
• • •
DINNER THAT NIGHT was a festive affair. The women had prepared a feast and everything was declared communal. Alex was starving after her hard day’s work and had three helpings of Ilse’s dumplings. She also accepted a mug of Sebastian’s precious whiskey, pointedly ignoring Victoria’s disapproving glare.
By the time she’d finished the whiskey she was having a fine old time. Sebastian dug out his accordion and she joined in the singing lustily. She was aware of Adam yawning and noticed when Victoria bid Luke good night—glad to see he kept his gaze on the dancing flames of the campfire when he answered her—but she felt no desire to go to bed herself. She was perfectly happy lolling in the warmth of the fire, listening to the low chatter and watching the stars flicker overhead.
It was only when Henry Watts passed out on the opposite side of the fire and began snoring loudly that Alex became aware how late it was. Joseph threw a blanket over his brother, and he and Sebastian wandered into the darkness. Adam had also fallen asleep, curled up into a ball on his side. Alex noticed that Luke had tucked his own bedding around him.
“I guess I’d best get to bed,” she sighed.
“A little too much whiskey, runt?”
“I only had one mug.”
“Sebastian poured a mighty full mug, and I’m guessing you ain’t used to it.”
Alex tried to rise and gave a short scream. She couldn’t move. Her muscles had frozen solid. She looked around wildly.
Luke started at the sound of the scream.
“I can’t move,” Alex whimpered, feeling a stab of panic. She tried again; she managed to force her petrified muscles an inch, but it was agony.
“Calm down,” Luke soothed, as he got to his feet and made his way over to her. “It’s just from those wagons today. Your body isn’t used to it.”
“Suppose I’m paralyzed,” she yelped. “I can’t afford to be a cripple. Who’ll look after Victoria and Adam?”
“You won’t be a cripple,” he sighed as he sank down behind her. “Stop being so dramatic. You do give yourself airs. ‘Who’ll look after Victoria and Adam?’ I don’t know if you’ve noticed, runt, but seeing as how you’re the youngest, I reckon they are supposed to be looking after you.”
Alex yelped again as Luke’s big hands settled on her shoulders. “What are you doing?”
“Just relax.” The big hands began to dig into her knotted muscles. “Trust me, this will help.”
“It’s not helping!” Every movement of his fingers caused her pain.
“It will in a moment. It’ll hurt until your muscles loosen up a little.”
“Hurt! This isn’t hurt, this is torture.”
“You know your problem?” he mused, as he kneaded her rock-hard shoulders. “You manage to find the worst in every situation.”
“I do not,” Alex protested, “I’m always optimistic.” She ignored his snort of disbelief. And then suddenly his fingers weren’t causing her pain anymore. Suddenly his touch was sending the most glorious sensations swirling through her body. His thumbs rubbed lazy circles and she had to bite back a moan. “You can stop now,” she breathed, but she didn’t really mean it. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“I just want to make sure all the knots are out.”
There wasn’t a single muscle in her back he left untouched. And those muscles were connected to the oddest places—her toes were tingling, shivers raced up and down her arms, and there was an aching throb . . .
His hands drifted back to her neck, his thumbs circling again behind her ears, and Alex was liquefying under their touch. Her head tilted, exposing the long line of her neck, and her eyelids fluttered closed. She’d been mad to think he had no power over her as long as she was a boy. It wasn’t only his burning black gaze that could turn a woman to mush . . . his hands were just as dangerous.
Alex was so drugged with sensation that she barely noticed when he dropped his head close to her ear, so close that his lips brushed her earlobe, and his breath swirled hot against her skin.
But then he spoke and, with a shock, she was suddenly stone-cold sober.
“So, now that we’ve agreed to be friends, do you want to tell me why you’re all dressed up like a boy . . . Alexandra?”
23
LUKE HAD BEEN suspicious for a while. A dozen little things had given her away. There was that voice for a start—although it might be a pleasant pitch for a girl, it was far too high for a sixteen-year-old boy. And then there was her habit of crossing her ankles every time she sat down. Not to mention that ear-splitting scream she was prone to. Luke had never heard a male scream like that.
Even if she had managed to give a perfect performance, Victoria and Adam were hopeless. Both of them slipped several times a day. Luke couldn’t count the number of times they’d referred to Alex as “she.” And then there was this morning in the wagon, when Victoria had said it outright. Even though he’d suspected as much, it was a shock to hear her say it. Just because you’re dressed as a boy is no reason to act like one.
His mind ran back over his encounters with the runt. No wonder Victoria had torn a strip off Alex that first night, when she’d tended to Luke’s bath. Good Lord, if she was his little sister he would have bent her over his knee and tarred the hide right off her for a stunt like that. What was she thinking being alone with a naked man?
Luke’s hands tightened now around Alex’s neck. Her long, slender neck, without the slightest hint of an Adam’s apple. Luke shook his head. How had she ever managed to fool him?
The kid was rigid with horror. She struggled out of his grasp and crouched before him like some kind of wounded animal. Her eyes were huge, gleaming with reflections from the fire.
“The infamous lost sister, I presume?” he drawled. She looked like he’d just kicked her. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d given a whimper. “Hey, runt,” he said gently, “we’re friends, remember? Your secret is safe with me.” He reached for her and frowned when she flinched. “Wait here,” he said soothingly, heading for his saddlebags. When he returned he offered her a flask. “Come on, sweetheart, take a sip. It’ll help calm you down.”
Alexandra’s head was spinning. He knew? She didn’t understand. How could he know who she was? And why wasn’t he mad that she’d deceived him? She accepted the flask and took a long swallow. The whiskey burned her throat on the way down and she choked.
“Ah, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that. I keep forgetting how young you are.”
Alex coughed. “How young?” She didn’t think almost twenty was that young.
“I know you say you’re sixteen but, let’s be honest, you c
an’t be more than thirteen at the most. You’re a beanpole.”
Alex gasped and looked down at Adam’s baggy old clothes. A beanpole? Thirteen at the most? Tears sprung to Alex’s eyes. He still didn’t recognize her. Even knowing that she was a female, he couldn’t see who she really was. Had she meant so little to him?
Luke was flabbergasted when she gave a low sob and fled to the wagon. He hadn’t handled that too well. He put it down to the fact that he didn’t have much experience with young girls. Women, now, women he knew. He sighed. Shame she wasn’t a good few years older. He wouldn’t be having these troubles if she were.
He’d just have to apologize to her in the morning.
Even though she tried to bury her tears in the flour sack, Alex’s sobs were loud enough to wake Victoria. “Alex?” she whispered, confused. “What’s wrong? What’s happened? Is it Adam? Oh God, what’s happened to Adam?”
“Nothing,” Alex wailed, crying harder.
Victoria leaned over her sister and rested a hand on her shuddering back. She frowned. It wasn’t like Alex to cry. “Please, Alex,” she begged, feeling a band of fear close around her, “tell me.”
“He knows.”
“What? Who? Who knows what?”
“Luke,” Alex sniffled, pushing herself up from the flour sack and regarding Victoria with puffy eyes, “Luke knows.”
“Knows what?” Victoria asked, completely exasperated.
“He knows I’m a girl.”
Victoria jerked back, snatching her hand away. “He knows?” Her heart sank. That was it, then. All her hopes dashed. Once he saw Alex in her dove-gray dress, with her beautiful face free of all that muck, she would have no chance with him. Although . . . he loved her, Victoria, didn’t he? She’d practically heard him say so, right here in this wagon.
“And he thinks I’m a child,” Alex cried, dissolving into further tears.
“He . . .?”
“He thinks I’m a child. Twelve or thirteen. And you thought I couldn’t make myself flat-chested enough,” she sniffed.
Victoria’s eyes narrowed as she regarded her weeping sister. “And why,” she asked slowly, “does it matter if he thinks you’re a child?”
Alex’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
“You didn’t mind him thinking you were a boy,” Victoria reminded her.
“That’s different.”
“How?”
Alex had no answer for her. She collapsed miserably face-first into her flour sack. Things just kept going from bad to worse. She didn’t want Victoria to suspect that there was anything between her and Luke. There wasn’t anything between her and Luke, she wailed silently. He thought she was a child!
Victoria crept back to her side of the wagon, feeling sick to her stomach. So, Alex had feelings for Luke, did she? Victoria didn’t blame her. But Luke was hers. For once in her life she was the pretty sister, the one that men went out of their way to talk to. Victoria reached in the darkness for the pale pink rose, which she lay on top of her Bible. It was only just beginning to wilt, and was still fragrant. He loved her, she knew he did, and she wasn’t prepared to surrender him without a fight. First thing in the morning she would talk to him.
“Alex,” Victoria said softly, hoping she was still awake. A sniffle was her only reply. “I think it would be best if you do let him think you’re a child, at least until we reach Oregon. We need to keep your disguise for as long as possible, until the Gradys are caught. You know how men get around you”—Victoria couldn’t keep the bitter edge from her voice—“and we need Luke clear-headed until those wretched men are locked up.” And hopefully, Victoria thought, by the time they got to Oregon she would be Mrs. Luke Slater, and it wouldn’t matter in the slightest how old he thought Alex was.
Alex didn’t need to read Victoria’s mind to know what she was thinking. Oh, how could she have gone to that dance? She’d known how Victoria felt about Luke. Why couldn’t she have let Victoria have her one night of glory? But no, she had to go and get all hot and bothered over that horrid Slater man, and now look at the mess they were in. She could tell by Vicky’s voice that her sister was angry. Imagine if she ever found out what had actually happened in Independence!
She mustn’t find out. Ever. Luke Slater could never know that Beatrice and Alexandra were one and the same. If he did, she’d lose Victoria forever.
* * *
• • •
VICTORIA LAY WAKEFUL most of the night, and was up and dressed the moment she heard the birds stirring in the cottonwoods. She dressed carefully in her new yellow calico, and she brushed her hair two dozen strokes, until it shone. Then she left the wagon, expecting to be able to snatch a moment alone with Luke.
No such luck. There were already quite a few people up, sipping freshly brewed coffee. Luke wasn’t among them, and he wasn’t asleep in his bedroll.
Victoria ran a nervous hand through her hair.
“Good morning, Miss Alexander,” Ned O’Brien greeted her eagerly. She gave him an absent nod, but he wasn’t put off. He never was, she thought with a sigh. The man sought her out every chance he got. And he was always quoting poetry at her. It was quite off-putting.
“You look beautiful this morning,” he told her. “A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded.”
“Milton again?” Victoria asked dryly.
“No,” he stammered, “that was Byron.” Ned flushed. He couldn’t quite bring himself to tell her that only Byron could capture the wild surging of his blood when he beheld her. It was difficult enough to quote other people’s words at her—words of the greatest poets, no less—but he didn’t think he would ever have the courage to tell her how he felt in his own words.
Ned had never supposed to feel this way again. He had believed his heart was buried with his wife. The first time he’d met Miss Alexander he’d thought her merely pretty, but the second time, that night at the dance when she’d glowed like a second sun, he’d barely been able to breathe. And when she’d let him dance with her . . . there were no words to describe the sensations. Oh, Ned was no fool, he knew how she felt about Luke. But all women lost their heads around Luke and, as far as he could tell, her feelings weren’t reciprocated. Luke certainly didn’t look at Victoria the way he’d looked at the woman in green that night at the dance.
Ned could wait. When she got her heart broken by Luke, he would be there to help her pick up the pieces.
“I was looking for Mr. Slater,” Victoria said now, having little to no interest in Lord Byron.
“I believe he’s tending to his horse. You’ve heard we’ll be starting out late today? Luke said mid-afternoon should be early enough. We’ll put in a few miles before we camp again . . .” Ned trailed off. Victoria had left him the minute he’d told her where Luke was. Ned watched the sunny yellow sway of her skirts. She certainly was lovely.
Victoria hastily neatened the folds of her dress as she approached Luke and Adam. Luke was showing her brother how to clean the dirt out from the horse’s hooves. Victoria cleared her throat delicately to get their attention.
“I’ve already eaten breakfast,” Adam said defensively.
“I was wondering if I could have a private word with you, Mr. Slater?”
Luke looked up, startled. “Go ahead.”
“Privately,” Victoria repeated, with a significant glance at Adam. “I thought perhaps we could take a walk?”
Luke straightened reluctantly. “I was hoping to speak to Alex. I’d hate to miss . . . him.” There he went too: almost referring to the runt as “she.”
“It’s Alex I want to speak to you about. I promised him I’d talk to you this morning.”
“Oh.” Luke paused. “Have you got the hang of this, Adam? Can I trust you with it?”
“Oh yes!” Adam exclaimed, wriggling with pride that Luke would trust him to clean Delilah’
s shoes.
Luke didn’t offer Victoria his arm. She tried not to be disappointed, telling herself that he simply didn’t want to get her pretty dress dirty. After all, he’d been working with the horse. They wandered in silence through the lush grove, finally pausing by one of the springs.
“So, what was it you wanted to speak to me about?”
Victoria plucked a cluster of jasmine that was bobbing in the breeze and ran her finger over the pink undersides of the blooms. “Alex says that you know.”
Luke didn’t ask for clarification, he simply nodded. “Yes, I know.”
“For how long?”
“Does it matter?”
Victoria frowned. This wasn’t going the way she’d pictured it. He was supposed to be glad for the opportunity to have her on her own. Was he mad at her? Because they’d all deceived him about Alex? That must be it. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, laying a hand on his arm, “we didn’t mean to lie to you.”
“I can see why you did,” he remarked, “the way those Gradys were sniffing around for her.” He took her hand from his arm, gave it a quick squeeze, and then pulled away to kneel at the spring.
Victoria watched, frustrated, as he took a drink.
“Why do they want her anyway?” He’d heard the answer from Alex, but he was curious to see if Victoria would sing the same song.
Victoria bit her lip. She could hardly tell him that Silas had lusted after her sister since the moment he’d laid eyes on her, not if she wanted Luke to believe that Alex was just a child.
“It’s got something to do with all of that gold you were carrying around, doesn’t it?” Luke prodded.
Victoria paled. “Alex said they owed us,” she stammered.
“It’s all right,” Luke reassured her, “I won’t be turning you into the law.”
“You don’t understand,” she pleaded, “they did the most awful things to us after Ma and Pa died. Silas was always coming around, and they took our food and left us starving because he wanted . . . Silas wanted . . .” Victoria threw up her hands, at a loss to explain.