by Tess LeSue
Alex clenched her teeth as she watched Victoria turn doe eyes on Luke. She knew that deep down Victoria still harbored the hope that Luke wouldn’t let her go, that he would sweep her into his arms and beg her to marry him.
But Luke, of course, did no such thing. Instead he offered Victoria his hand, ignoring the tears flooding her brown eyes. “Try not to break the heart of every man in Amory.”
All Victoria could do was sniffle.
Luke released her hand and, with a visible effort of will, he turned to Alex. “I guess this is it,” he said shortly.
“Yes.” Her chin lifted as she tried to keep her composure. He was so cold. For the first time since that day by the river he looked her in the eye, and those dark eyes, usually so liquid and warm, were as flat and hard as jet.
They’d been that way ever since she’d woken from her swoon. Now, lying in the dark in Stephen’s smoky cabin, Alex screwed her eyes shut, trying to block out the memory. It was too awful. He’d made her feel as though she’d taken a knife and cut his heart out.
Which was ridiculous, she thought, turning over irritably and staring into the red coals of the fire. The man didn’t care a fig for her. All he cared about was the fact that he’d been deceived. He’d never trusted women anyway; he thought they were duplicitous. And now she’d confirmed his opinions, Alex thought grumpily.
“I’ve organized a room for you at Mrs. Guthry’s,” Luke had told her gruffly in Oregon City. “Officially she’s got a full intake of boarders, but she’s agreed to take you as a personal favor.” Alex had blinked, surprised at his thoughtfulness. “Her son will hunt down your brother for you. You’ll be comfortable there until he comes.”
Alex had felt a lump grow in her throat. He was really going to leave her. “Luke!” She couldn’t help herself calling after him. Did she imagine the sudden heat in his eyes? It flared and died before she could be sure.
“What?”
Alex hadn’t been sure what she wanted to say to him. So she shrugged weakly. “Just . . . good-bye.”
He scowled and she thought she would die.
Before she knew it, he was heading down the main street, away from her, Delilah and Blackie Junior trotting after him.
Oh, why couldn’t she stop thinking about that wretched man? She pulled the pillow over her head and stayed that way until she heard the birds twittering in the trees outside the open window. She didn’t feel like she’d slept at all. She dragged herself from the bed and busied herself with breakfast, still battling against images of Luke Slater. Luke Slater riding Delilah, his face open and happy; Luke Slater watching the lightning flicker, his profile outlined against the stormy night sky; Luke Slater naked in the lamplight at Dolly’s, his hard body all hers . . .
Alex pounded the dough until her fists were sore from hitting the table beneath. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. And neither did anyone else. It wasn’t until they were sitting at the table, in front of steaming hot biscuits and crispy bacon that they noticed something was wrong.
Adam was missing.
And when they found the mules gone, along with their harnesses and all of Adam’s meager possessions, they panicked.
“Where would he go?” Stephen demanded, wild with worry.
Alex knew exactly where he was going. And she couldn’t deny the surge of joy that ran alongside her fear. Adam was heading for Blackie Junior.
And Blackie Junior was with Luke.
Her heart raced at the thought.
36
SHE WAS A liar. A cold-hearted, two-faced liar. So why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? Luke hadn’t been able to think straight for weeks, not since he’d found himself stranded on the muddy banks of the Snake, the woman of his dreams unconscious in his arms. The woman of his dreams, he thought with a snort. The woman of his dreams didn’t exist. And neither did the runty little beanpole he’d come to call his friend. In their place was a perfect stranger.
The minute his shock began to fade he’d felt the first stab of anger. As he lifted her from the mud, he could feel her ripe curves press against him. How had he ever thought her a beanpole? How had he not noticed the swirling smoke of her eyes? How could he have been such an idiot?
Was he the only one she’d fooled? Suddenly Luke remembered Deathrider’s words: It was kind of hard to miss once her shirt was gone. That damn Indian had seen her naked. He’d known exactly who she was. The memory of the sly, knowing expression on Deathrider’s face the morning Luke had woken up by the Laramie River leaped into his mind. Who is Beatrice? That bastard had known exactly who Beatrice was. In fact, Luke remembered, almost dropping Alex’s unconscious form in shock, it had been Deathrider who suggested he head down to the river that night. Wash your face in the river, it will help. Luke flushed, humiliated. Everyone had been playing him for a fool. He could well imagine the amusement the damn Indian must have felt as he watched stupid Luke Slater stumble down to the river.
Luke stopped dead.
It hadn’t been a dream, he realized numbly. He looked down at her, limp in his arms. She’d been there, in the river. Images assailed him: of her silvered by moonlight, glistening wet, arching, moaning.
He felt himself tighten and clenched his teeth. When he’d stumbled into camp the very next morning the kid had been waiting, he remembered, ready with a sympathetic smile and a mug of coffee. Hell, the woman had no shame. She’d left him naked on the riverbank. Unconscious and naked on the riverbank. How she must have been laughing when she pressed that damn coffee on him.
And what about back in Independence, he thought with a snarl. He’d gone back into the blazing whorehouse, risking his life to find her, when she’d been safely outside in the street. And what about earlier that night? She’d let him think she was a whore!
My cousin Beatrice . . . Dolly’s voice rang in his ears. Luke felt like someone had thrown a bucket of icy water over him. Dolly had been laughing at him too. Had all the girls known? Had they all been laughing at him? He could picture them, each and every one of them sniggering at dumb old Luke Slater, who’d lost his head over a curvy, gray-eyed blonde.
Luke Slater, who never lost his head over any woman.
He was black with rage by the time he stalked his way upstream to the wagons. He thrust the unconscious witch into Adam’s arms and, ignoring the worried babble of the campers, mounted Isis and rode off. He couldn’t bear to look at any of them. How many of them had guessed? And what about Adam and Victoria—did they know what an idiot he’d been? Never again, he vowed, as he rode out. Never again would he lose his head over a woman.
He thought he had himself well under control by the time he returned. He’d gone back to the Sparrows’ smashed-up wagon to retrieve what he could. There wasn’t much left, just one trunk that had lodged itself in the mud of the riverbank, heavy enough to resist the current. He flipped it open. Dresses. He fought to keep his rage under control as he grabbed what he could carry. He wasn’t about to drag the entire trunk back through the mud. At the bottom of the trunk he found the bolt of rose-colored cotton he’d bought her. With a snarl he threw it into the river, not bothering to watch as it was borne away by the current.
The sight of her sitting by the fire, wrapped in blankets, made him consider how tenuous his control was. When he saw the denim cuffs of her overalls peeking from beneath the blankets he wanted to throttle her, and when she looked up at him it took all his willpower to stay in the saddle. His hands clenched.
She was perfect. Look at that creamy skin, no longer hidden by a mask of mud; those clear gray eyes; that ripe strawberry mouth. And look at the way the Watts brothers flanked her, their hungry eyes fixed on the faint swell of cleavage revealed by the gap in the blankets. Luke glared at her. She knew precisely what effect she had on men. He remembered the way she’d turned to him, that night at Dolly’s, as though she’d
been expecting him, her breasts rising indecently above the low neckline of the green gown. A virgin, he thought angrily, his scowl deepening. She hadn’t been too protective of her virtue, had she?
Kiss me, she’d said, standing unashamedly naked before him, tilting her head to allow him access to that ripe mouth. She sure hadn’t kissed like a virgin. He wondered how many men she’d kissed before him.
“Make yourself decent,” he snarled, throwing the armful of dresses at her and turning away before he could see the shock and dismay on her delicate features.
He couldn’t have borne seeing her dressed as a boy, not once he knew. He would have been tortured by the faint line of her legs through the fabric, or the hint of her curves as she walked, not to mention the thought of the Watts brothers noticing those same curves. But the sight of her in a dress was torture too.
She was just so beautiful.
He hated the way he reacted to her. She disgusted him. She was a shameless, wanton, lying witch. But he couldn’t seem to stop noticing her. He was intensely aware of her. He knew where she was at any given moment; he couldn’t seem to help it. He was attuned to the sound of her voice. She owned three dresses, and he could recognize each and every one of them from the corner of his eye.
Luke had always been able to control himself around women. But now, he found himself unable to control his own body. His blood raced when she was near. And when he looked at her he was flooded with memories—the way the naked swell of her breasts felt against his chest, the sweet taste of her mouth, the way those gray eyes looked when they were hazy with desire.
He was glad when they reached Oregon City and he could be rid of her. Once he’d left her behind he’d be free. The leave-taking was awful, of course, as he’d known it would be. His heart beat at his ribcage like it was trying to break free when she called his name.
“Just . . . good-bye,” she’d said, and he’d felt an almost irresistible urge to haul her against him, to make her heart beat the way his did, to make her as stupid with desire as he was.
It was bliss to be free of her, he assured himself, as he headed south to Utopia. He could finally resume his life. And the first order of business was to get himself hitched to Amelia Harding as soon as possible.
37
THEY WERE BARELY a mile from the cabin when they spied a wagon headed their way. “It’s Ned,” Victoria gasped. Both Stephen and Alex were too distracted with worry to notice the way she blushed and immediately began fussing with her bonnet.
Sure enough, it was the O’Brien wagon.
“You haven’t seen Adam, have you?” Alex demanded the moment they were in earshot.
Ned blinked nervously. He still wasn’t used to Alex in a dress. Behind him, Jane hid a little deeper in the wagon. More than anyone, she had been horrified to learn that Alex was a female.
“No,” he stammered. His gaze went immediately to Victoria, and she flushed with pleasure at the way his eyes lingered on the lines of her body. After thinking herself destined to spend the rest of her life stuck in the wilderness, living out her days as a spinster, it was a joy to find herself faced with an appreciative male again. And no man had ever appreciated her as much as Ned O’Brien did.
“I thought you were going to settle in Utopia, with Luke,” Victoria exclaimed, her dark eyes shining with joy.
“We can’t stop to talk,” Stephen interrupted, “Adam’s missing.”
“He’s not missing. He’s gone to Luke,” Alex insisted.
“You think.”
“I know.”
“He doesn’t know the way.”
“He’ll find out,” Alex said stubbornly. She and Stephen had been arguing ever since they’d discovered Adam was missing. Stephen wanted to head for Oregon City; Alex was all for bypassing it and heading directly to Utopia.
“I don’t know where Utopia is!” Stephen had shouted. So she’d agreed to head for Oregon City, but only to get directions.
“Wait,” Ned said, alarmed, as Stephen flicked the reins. “I came to see you.”
Victoria gave him an encouraging smile. Had he come to court her? To ask Stephen for her hand? She began planning speeches in her head; Oh Ned, if only my heart didn’t already belong to another. Can you ever forgive me? One day you’ll find a good woman . . . She scowled suddenly at the thought. She didn’t want Ned to find a good woman. She wanted him to stay in love with her. He was the only man who’d ever fallen in love with her. Not like Alex, who broke hearts wherever she went. Except for Luke’s, she thought smugly, remembering the way he’d completely ignored her beautiful sister. He didn’t so much as look at her. Neither did Ned, Victoria thought with a dreamy smile. Maybe Alex was losing her touch.
“It’s the Gradys!” Ned called after them, struggling to turn his wagon on the narrow track. His oxen lowed irritably.
Alex’s heart stopped. She grabbed the reins from Stephen and yanked. “What?” They waited for Ned to pull up beside Stephen’s wagon.
“They sent a rider from Laramie. I said I’d bring word to you. The Gradys have escaped.”
“How?” Alex asked numbly.
“I don’t know, but it was weeks and weeks ago.”
Weeks ago? Alex felt faint. Gideon would come for her. She knew he would. She remembered the insane rage in his eyes and his loonish laughter. And what about Silas? She’d just about bitten his tongue off when he assaulted her, and then he’d been peppered with Deathrider’s arrows and beaten senseless by Luke. He would have reason enough to come for her too. Oh hell, and Adam was out there alone. Suppose he ran into them? What would they do to him?
“There’s more,” Ned said gently, watching the blood drain from their faces. “They found one of them outside Fort Hall. Dead.” He refrained from saying more. He could hardly tell the ladies that the man had been gutted, pinned out and disemboweled like an animal. By his own brothers.
He didn’t need to say it; the look on his face told them enough.
“Another one was picked up heading back toward Independence. Apparently he was cut up pretty bad.”
Gideon, Alex thought sickly, remembering the jagged A carved into Silas’s face. If he could maim and kill his brothers, what would he do to her?
“We have to hurry,” she said, an edge of hysteria in her voice, “we have to find Adam.”
“If you think he’s heading for Luke, I can take you,” Ned volunteered. “Our land is right by the Slater place.”
“Your land?” Victoria said numbly, still white with shock.
“Six hundred and forty acres,” he said proudly. “We’ll be staying with Luke until the house is built.”
“Oh.” Victoria was barely listening. All she could think of was the feel of Gideon’s gun between her lips and against her tongue.
“Miss Sparrow can ride with us,” Ned suggested. “It can’t be too comfortable in the back of that wagon.”
Stephen’s wagon was just a light farm vehicle and Victoria was rattling around in the back tray. She let Ned help her across and sat gratefully beside him. It was comforting to have him close. She remembered that it was he who had defeated the Gradys last time. She inched a little closer.
Alex and Stephen fell in behind the covered wagon. Consumed with fear, they didn’t speak.
* * *
• • •
“LUKE’S GOING COURTING again,” Tom chuckled, when Luke emerged from his room, freshly shaven and dressed in his Sunday best.
Luke ignored him. “Why aren’t you dressed for church?” he snapped at Matt, who was still lounging at the kitchen table.
“What church?”
Utopia didn’t have a church to speak of yet. Church services were held in Harding’s barn when there was a crowd, and in his parlor when only a smattering of people showed up. Luke was hoping they’d be in the parlor today. Then he might be able to sit next to Amelia on the
love seat.
“You’re not wearing that,” Luke objected when Matt rose and jammed his mangy old coonskin cap on his head. Matt ignored him and headed outside.
“Do you have to?” Tom sighed. “You’ve only been back a week.”
“It ain’t decent.” Luke settled his own hat on his newly cropped hair and headed out too.
Tom rolled his eyes. Things were always tense when Luke and Matt were under the same roof. Tom figured that in another few days Matt would decide that he’d had a gutful and he’d disappear into the wilds for a bit. He had to laugh when he got outside to find Matt saddling Fernando, the old gray donkey.
“What the hell are you doing?” Luke was growling. “There’s a whole corral full of horses right there.”
Matt didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The horses were Luke’s, except for Tom’s two paints.
“I’m not having you ride in on a damn donkey,” Luke snapped.
Ignoring his older brother completely, Matt mounted the donkey and set off in the direction of the Harding place, his feet just about dragging on the ground.
“I don’t see what you find so funny,” Luke said, turning on Tom.
“I must say,” Tom observed, following him into the barn, “you’ve been in a fine temper since you returned. Something you’d care to tell us? I thought you’d be full of sunshine after getting that Arab you were after. Speaking of which, why the hell aren’t you riding him?”
Luke scowled as he saddled Isis instead. He wasn’t about to tell Tom that he could barely stand to look at the Arab. He wished he hadn’t bought him; when he looked at him he thought about Alex and the feel of her palm when he’d handed her the money. He’d barely even touched her, just the merest brush of his fingertips against her hand. Yet his fingers tingled at the memory.
“It’s Amelia, isn’t it?” Tom said sympathetically. “I know you went to see her the other day . . .” He trailed off. Luke thought it was some kind of secret that Amelia kept refusing him, but just about everyone knew. Tom couldn’t understand his brother’s fascination with that empty-headed little twit. Unless it was the fact that Amelia was the only woman who’d ever offered Luke a challenge. Mostly they melted at his feet.