Bound for Eden

by Tess LeSue

  “It wouldn’t be proper,” he told her gently.

  “No one knows that I’m a girl,” she reminded him.

  “I can’t, Alex.”

  A fat tear tumbled down Alex’s cheek. She batted it away, irritated with herself.

  Luke grimaced. Hell. He should just go. But he’d always been a sucker for a female’s tears. “Someone’s got to have a talk to you about decent behavior,” he grumbled as he slid from the wagon to rescue his things before the storm hit. “I suppose you don’t want me anywhere near your sister,” he whispered, as he settled himself in her usual spot, leaving Alex between him and Victoria.

  No sooner had he lain his head down than they heard the first spatter of raindrops on the canvas. Alex relaxed. Now that Luke was here the wagon seemed cozy, the rain more a comforting lullaby as it beat on the hoop above than a portent of doom.

  She sighed and settled back against her flour sack. They didn’t speak again. She watched the dance of lightning and listened to the rain and thunder, exquisitely aware of Luke stretched out beside her. She knew the moment he surrendered to sleep. His breathing deepened and his limbs loosened, one hand lolling against her side.

  Unable to resist, Alex rolled over to observe him. He was like a statue of an ancient god, she thought. As hard and perfect as marble. Without thinking, she traced her finger over the hand that rested against her. He certainly wasn’t cold like marble; his skin was warm and smooth.

  How she remembered the feel of that skin against hers.

  Propping herself on one elbow, she examined him freely. That straight nose, the hollowed planes of his cheeks, the square jaw, the slight dent where his dimple flashed when he smiled . . . Gingerly, Alex reached out and rested a featherlight fingertip against that dimple. It was rough with day-old stubble.

  He shaved every morning. Every other man, including Adam, whose beard was barely more than wispy fluff, didn’t bother; by the time they reached Oregon they’d all be as scruffy as mountain men. But not Luke.

  He would never disappoint the ladies by hiding behind a beard, Alex thought dryly.

  As though he could hear her thoughts he frowned in his sleep and a sigh escaped those full lips. Alex’s finger moved to his mouth. Not making contact, she traced the line of his mouth, lingering over the full curve of his lower lip.

  His sigh became a faint moan. Alex wondered what he was dreaming about. Or who he was dreaming about.

  She was startled when those divine lips pressed against her finger in the barest of kisses. She felt as though the lightning had entered her and was coursing through her veins. Her own lips tingled with the memory of his kisses, and that wild pulse began to beat deep inside.

  The rain was lashing in earnest against the canvas roof of the wagon, drowning out the rasp of her labored breath. She couldn’t control herself, she bent forward and lowered her lips to his. She could feel the warmth of his breath, and the heat radiating from his skin. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she tasted him, and felt the slippery satin texture of him.

  She almost gasped when his mouth slanted against hers, his lips parting, allowing her access to the deeper heat of him. Tentatively, she slid her tongue into him, feeling a thrill as his tongue met hers.

  Beatrice. Luke was having the most incredible dream. At the first taste he was wild with desire, hard and hurting with the force of it. Oh, she tasted even better than he remembered. He reached for her, finding the familiar curve of her neck and the firm, muscular length of her back as she bent over him. He took her tongue into his mouth, before plunging into hers, tasting the secret corners of her slick heat. No woman had ever driven him so close to madness. His beautiful Beatrice.

  A scream tore him from his fantasy. A high-pitched scream of pain. Immediately, the kiss was over; the dream was over. Luke sat bolt upright and struggled to get his bearings. He was in the Alexanders’ wagon. Beside him Alex sat bolt-upright, wild-eyed and frozen by the inhuman screaming. And behind her he could see Victoria, rigid with terror.

  Luke scrabbled for his gun and flew out into the storm.

  “Luke!” Alex gasped, tearing after him without thinking. He couldn’t face whatever was out there alone!

  The storm had turned their camp into a quagmire, and Alex struggled to keep her feet as she scurried after Luke. She could barely see him through the sheets of rain. She screeched as her boots slid out from under her, and before she knew it she was flat on her back in the mud, with the stinging rain pelting her full in the face. Every time she tried to stand she slid, until she was coated with the vile stuff.

  By the time she’d crawled to the nearest wagon and hauled herself to her feet there was no sign of Luke.

  “Alex?” Ned O’Brien said, bewildered, peering through the opening of their wagon. Alex saw that he was nervously brandishing a spanking new six-shooter.

  “Who was that screaming?” Jane whispered, peering around her father, her face white and terrified.

  “I don’t know,” Alex huffed, trying to regain her breath. Before they could ask her another question she was off, slopping through the mud. Where had Luke gone? Two shapes loomed out of the rain and her heart stopped. The Gradys!

  “Alex?”

  It was only the Watts brothers, both armed and anxious. “What the hell is going on?”

  “I don’t know!” Alex snapped, squealing as she slipped again. She grabbed Henry’s arm. She almost took him over with her, and he grabbed for Joseph. When Luke found them they were in a heap, splattered and slimy and snarling at each other as they tried to extricate their tangled limbs.

  “Watch your rifle doesn’t go off,” he told Henry tersely as he grabbed the man by the arm and hauled him up. Alex was the last one up, and she didn’t appreciate the faint amusement in Luke’s eyes.

  “Who was screaming?” she demanded. His amusement died and she felt a chill. “Who?” she whispered, not sure she wanted to know.

  “Get back to your wagon, runt,” he said gently.

  “Why?”

  “Just go back, and stay there until we get the mess cleared up.”

  “The mess?” With a heavy heart, Alex pushed him out of the way.

  “Don’t,” he warned, reaching for her, but she evaded him.

  Dear Lord. Oh dear, dear Lord. Alex’s knees gave out. Luke caught her easily, one arm looping around her waist and holding her up.

  It was Jack. Poor old Jack, Mal Crawford’s chestnut gelding. The horse she’d been riding every day at Luke’s side. Or at least what was left of him . . .

  She was going to be sick. Luke held her head as she vomited, one hand firm against her forehead. “I told you not to look,” he sighed.

  “Aw, hell,” she heard Henry rasp. And then she heard him vomit too.

  “It was Gideon,” Alex said desperately, her hands clawing at Luke. “It was Gideon.”

  “Hush,” Luke soothed, sweeping her up and starting back to her wagon. The kid was wild with terror; he could see the whites of her eyes as they rolled, and feel the shudders wracking her body.

  “It was because we rode him. He must have seen Adam. He thought Jack was our horse.” Alex felt icy. Black spots swarmed before her eyes. “Imagine what he’ll do to me . . .”

  “Hush,” Luke said grimly.

  When they got to the wagon they found Adam peering out from under it, and Victoria cowering behind the buckboard. The sight of Alex, limp and colorless in Luke’s arms, didn’t reassure them. “What happened?” Victoria wailed, at the same time as Adam slithered out from under the wagon and hurled himself at Alex, unmindful of the rain and mud.

  “I’m sorry,” he cried, panicked. “I didn’t mean to be mad at you—I know you didn’t shoot Bob. I know you liked him. Deep down you did.”

  “She’s not hurt,” Luke said in his calmest voice.

  “You mean he’s not hurt,” Adam corre
cted, clambering up into the wagon after Luke and Alex.

  “It’s all right, Adam, he knows I’m a girl.”

  “Really?” Adam brightened. “Now that you know, are you going to marry her?”

  “What?” all three of them gasped, looking askance at Adam’s enthusiastic grin.

  “If you marry her then I can come and live with you and your horses.”

  “She’s a little young, buddy,” Luke told him.

  “How old do you have to be to get married?”

  “Old,” Alex said quickly. Her color was flooding back.

  “Oh.” Adam visibly wilted. “So I guess you can’t marry Vicky either.”

  “And why not?” Victoria asked sharply.

  “Well, you’re even—”

  “Enough,” Alex interrupted shrilly. “Why are we talking about marriage when the Gradys are out there?”

  “The Gradys?” Victoria gasped.

  Alex noticed the way she leaned in to Luke for comfort, unmindful of his sodden clothes. She also couldn’t help but notice that his natural impulse was to place a protective arm around her.

  “All of them?” Victoria asked, her distress evident.

  “I promised I wouldn’t let him hurt you again,” Luke reminded her.

  Alex was mighty sick of watching her sister melt into a puddle at his feet.

  “I don’t think Silas was here,” he told Victoria. “Alex tells me it looks like Gideon’s handiwork.”

  “Gideon?” Victoria’s gaze flew to where Alex sat huddled, dripping all over her flour sack. Their eyes met, and each could see the terror in the other.

  “Slater?” The Watts brothers appeared at the end of the wagon, flanked by the other men. Each and every one of them was armed to the teeth. “What in hell is going on? What kind of maniac goes around shooting mules and slaughtering horses? Tell us straight, was it Indians?”

  Luke sighed. He guessed the time had come for plain talking. “It ain’t Indians,” he said.

  “Horses?” Adam and Victoria chorused, distressed.

  Luke held a hand up to silence them. He turned back to the men. “We can discuss it in the morning. There’s no need for you to stand out there in the rain through a bunch of long-winded explanations. This is something personal—the rest of you aren’t in any danger.”

  “The hell we aren’t,” Mal snapped. “That was my horse that was just butchered.”

  “Jack?” Adam said, dismayed. “What happened to Jack?”

  “There’s a bunch of brothers, low types, who are set on plaguing the Alexanders,” Luke admitted. “They thought the horse belonged to them.”

  “The ones who stole that Arab back in Independence?”

  “The same.”

  “Why are they plaguing them?” Joseph demanded. Each and every eye was evaluating Alex and her siblings.

  “And what’s to say they’ll refrain from hurting us?” Mal grumbled.

  “One of them is set on Miss Alexander here,” Luke said, knowing the men had a soft spot for Victoria, “and he don’t seem to want to take no for an answer.”

  “Is that true?” Ned O’Brien asked Victoria. He was bristling like a porcupine at the thought. Victoria flushed miserably. “What are we going to do?” The easterner asked Luke sternly.

  “We?” One of Luke’s eyebrows rose. “You are all going to stay here in camp while I go see what those vultures are up to.”

  “By yourself?” Alex gasped.

  “By myself.” He gave Alex a warning look. “I’d suggest everyone gather together in a couple of the wagons, post lookouts and keep your weapons handy. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  There was a heavy silence, broken only by the slowing patter of the rain on the canvas roof of the wagon.

  “Hell,” Sebastian said in disgust, “it’s a poor plan, but I’ll be damned if I can think of a better one.”

  Mal snorted. “I say we get a posse together and hunt the bastards down.”

  “I’m with Crawford,” Joseph agreed.

  “Did you see what was left of that horse?” Henry protested, still looking a little green. “We ain’t dealing with a sane man here.”

  “I’ll go alone,” Luke said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “We’ve got women and children in camp, and our first responsibility is to them. How are they going to fare if their menfolk get cut down in a gunfight?”

  Alex saw, by the way Mal Crawford glanced back toward his wagon where his young family was huddled anxiously around their lantern, that Luke had won.

  But she’d be damned if she’d let him go alone.

  26

  THE KID WAS going to be the death of him.

  Luke approached Delilah warily, amazed to see the runt had managed to saddle her. He couldn’t believe that she’d dealt with the horse on her own. And she was up there in the saddle already, giving him an impatient look.

  “What took you so long?” she asked him archly. “Saying good-bye to Victoria?”

  He refused to take the bait. “Down you get,” he ordered.

  “I don’t have a horse, now that Jack . . .” She trailed off and swallowed hard. “We’ll have to ride together.”

  Luke gave her a hard look.

  She gave him one right back.

  He sighed. Shaking his head, he approached. “You’re not going anywhere, love.”

  She got in one short scream before he had her gagged and bound and deposited on the floor of her wagon. “See that the runt stays that way till I get back,” he commanded. The Watts brothers were in charge of guarding the Alexanders for the night. Neither of them blinked an eye at Luke’s instruction.

  Alex turned her outraged glare on Victoria and Adam.

  “It’s for her—” There he went forgetting again. He was as bad as they were. Luke darted a glance at the Watts brothers, to see if they’d noticed. They hadn’t. “It’s for his own good,” Luke amended, turning a stern look on Victoria. “If you let him free he’ll only come charging after me, and I’ll be lucky if I bring him back in one piece.”

  Alex couldn’t believe that they would leave her tied up like this. But then again, Victoria would jump off a cliff if Luke Slater asked her to. She bucked and strained against her bonds.

  “You’ll only rub your skin off,” Luke warned her. “Relax, love,” he said, lowering his voice so that only she could hear. “I’ll be back before you know it. There’s no need to worry about me.”

  Worry about him! Alex growled. Why, that bigheaded . . . In his tiny little mind he’d come to the conclusion that the skinny little beanpole girl had a crush on him. And he thought it was funny. Just wait until she got out of these ropes. She’d give him something to laugh about . . .

  It didn’t take Luke long to find the Gradys’ camp. By the time he got there the rain had stopped and the only sound was the keening of the wind through the low scrub. He could see their campfire from a mile away—they didn’t seem too worried about being found. Luke left Delilah tethered a way out and crept in low to the ground. He could see the magnificent Arab (he still couldn’t bring himself to call him Blackie Junior) by the light of the flickering fire. Thankfully, the animal looked healthy enough. Luke turned his attention back to the Gradys.

  It looked like he’d walked in on an argument.

  “I don’t recall anyone putting you in charge,” Silas was saying, poking the weaselly one in the chest with his finger.

  Gideon shrugged him off. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”

  “Let’s just end it,” one of the bigger ones complained from where he sat on his sodden bedding. Their camp was a mud puddle after the storm. Bert and Travis looked miserable as they regarded their waterlogged belongings.

  “We can’t just end it, genius. Not until we get our money back.”

  “And killing animal
s is going to get our money back?” Silas asked in disbelief. He eyed his brother distastefully. They all knew about Gideon’s proclivities. Ever since he was a boy, animals had been turning up with broken limbs and burned hides. Or, more often than not, dead. Then there were those slaves he kept down in the root cellar. Silas didn’t want to know what went on down there. He tried not to think about why Gideon was never in too much of a hurry to hand them over to their owners, despite the reward money. If it weren’t for the money Silas doubted he’d hand them over at all; he guessed there’d be a lot more holes in the ground out by the swamp.

  Gideon gave a short bark of laughter. “You’d rather snivel around her skirts like a beggar.”

  “That’s enough,” Silas snapped.

  “You really think she’s going to wake up one day and realize she loves you? That’s what you want, ain’t it? A declaration of love?” Gideon snorted. “You should have just taken the bitch and got her out of your system.”

  It took every bit of Luke’s willpower to stay where he was. He couldn’t believe anyone could talk that way about mild, ladylike Victoria. He was glad when Silas lunged at his brother in an attempt to defend her honor. “That’s my wife you’re talking about!” Silas bellowed as he charged.

  But Gideon was quicker, and meaner. In the blink of an eye he had a knife to his brother’s throat. Luke didn’t miss the way Gideon was breathing quickly, his face flushed and his eyes glittering. The bastard was actually excited by the thought of slitting his own brother’s throat. And Silas knew it.

  Which was why Silas held up his hands in silent surrender. And why Travis and Bert stayed frozen, afraid to intervene.

  “Let me handle it,” Gideon warned, lowering the knife as the glitter faded from his eyes. “When I’m finished with her the bitch won’t only return the money . . .” Gideon grinned wolfishly and Luke felt his skin break out in gooseflesh. “When I’m done with her she’ll be begging to be your whore,” he told Silas. “It’s my gift to you. Brother.”

  Hell! Luke stole away, back to Delilah, his mind racing. There was no way to shake the Gradys—four men traveling light could keep up with the fastest wagon train. He wished he could pick them off, one by one. He was a good shot, but even so, he’d probably only get two of them before they came for him. He didn’t like those odds. Although, if he made sure Gideon was the first one down . . . Luke grimaced. It would sure solve a lot of problems, but it was too close to cold-blooded murder for his liking. They’d just have to get to Laramie as fast as was humanly possible, and be vigilant in the meantime. Maybe he could send someone ahead to sound a warning. But who would he send? He’d go himself, but he couldn’t leave the Alexanders unprotected. And no one else knew the way, except Sebastian. And then who would he get to drive the chuck wagon? Hell and double hell.