In the quick-witted youth, Trevor had seen an opportunity to impress New York society. He’d planned to present the son of his immigrant cook as a superlative result of his social reform programs. Someone like Noble, taught to speak and dress and read, could help realize Trevor’s political aspirations.
Trevor had used Noble like a performing circus animal.
Then, apparently, Noble had done something that made her father angry. So angry—or was it threatened?—that he’d arranged to have Noble drafted.
The thought of her father’s treachery hurt, but it didn’t surprise her, which hurt even more. Venice had always suspected what her father was capable of. Now, she knew.
She pressed her mouth into a hard, resolved line. Trevor owed her some information. And this time he wouldn’t be dealing with a twelve-year- old girl so desperate for his affection that she could choke back her doubts and questions.
“Yoo-hoo!” Cassius’s call shook her from her preoccupation.
She looked around. Cassius was completely lost to sight. He was probably still babbling to the air about the uses a man could be to a woman. She kneed her mule forward and peered over the edge of the trail. Cassius was bouncing along thirty yards ahead of her and twenty feet below, muttering . . . more like rumbling.
Venice frowned. That sound wasn’t Cassius.
The rumbling grew louder, turning from a dull, hammering drone into a roar. Her mule fidgeted and shivered. Suddenly, she realized it was not the mule that was shivering, it was the ground.
She stared down at the stream, her gaze following the bubbling ribbon of water to the jagged chasm upstream. There, through the stinging veil of rain, she saw a huge wall of churning, gray water pouring from the fissure, lashing high up the sides of the narrow valley, careening down on them in a thundering din.
Flash flood!
“Cassius!” she shouted. “Come back!”
Cassius, pausing next to a tall, ancient pine, was oblivious to his danger. He twisted about, calling, “Can’t hear you, m’dear! Bloody rain makin’ an ungodly racket!”
She motioned frantically with her arms. “Come back! Hurry!”
She could see the flood clearly now, devouring trees and spitting them out as it boiled forth. Cassius’s mule must have sensed its danger, for suddenly it reared back, bucking Cassius from its back.
With a shrill, trumpeting bray the mule tore back up the trail. It galloped past Venice as she struggled to control her own panicking mount.
“Climb the tree, Cassius!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.
“Wha—?” Cassius asked dazedly, pulling himself to his knees.
“The tree! There’s a flood! Climb!”
Comprehension poured into Cassius’s blank face. He leaped upright, grabbing for the branches of the pine and scrambling into its lower boughs. Hands and feet clawing the bark from the trunk, he scrabbled and scratched his way higher.
Then the river was upon him.
It thundered and bellowed, making the ground shudder, booming and echoing as it swept along the narrow defile. Water, hitting the rocks with incredible force, shot hundreds of feet into the air, showering Venice with blinding spray. Huge trees, their thick trunks bobbing like apples in a wash basin, struck the sides of the canyon and shattered like kindling under the impact. Below her, boulders tore free from the ravine walls, scraping the very rock of the mountain from the ancient water bed.
As quickly as it had approached, the head of the flood swept past her, racing down the mountainside like a runaway train. It left behind a surging river that covered the valley floor, cresting some thirty feet up the chasm walls.
Venice looked to where she had last seen Cassius. Somehow the ancient pine still stood three-quarters covered by the newly created river. It was listing badly. Cassius clung a mere eight feet out of the water, his arms and legs wrapped in a death grip around the slender top. His eyes were squeezed shut and his mouth was moving soundlessly.
Venice’s relief was short-lived. Abruptly, the tree pitched a few feet closer to the river. Cassius’s eyes flew open.
“Get me off of here!”
Frantically, Venice looked around. Every piece of equipment, every article of clothing, everything that might help them, including rope, was in the pack on Cassius’s runaway mule.
Chapter 15
Noble loosened his pony’s reins, and cupping his raw hands together, blew into them. He was cold and he was wet. His stomach had begun growling an hour ago and his back was cramped from bending in the saddle all morning, studying the ground for signs of Venice’s party
The fog, filtering amongst sentinel pines and coating everything it touched in a glistening sheath, complicated matters. Because of the way sound carried, he’d hung back, letting Venice get a good three miles ahead so she wouldn’t hear him and realize he’d followed her.
He might have given in to the idiot compulsion that had driven him from the Gold Dust and sent him chasing, unprepared and ill-supplied, into the mountains after her, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to know it! He still had a small shred of self-respect left, dammit.
And if he got within visual range he might have to watch her with Cassius Reed. He didn’t know whether he could stomach watching Venice flirt with him.
It didn’t seem to matter that he knew Venice would end up marrying Cassius or someone just like him, that she should marry someone just like him. After all, Cassius Reed would make Venice a perfect mate.
A silver spoon was buried as deeply in his pink little maw as it was in Venice’s. His bloodlines were equally blue. He’d been all but bred to decorate Park Avenue clubrooms and Newport beach cottages with his suave presence.
Noble’s mouth flattened.
No. Better to follow well out of range of eye and ear.
He would straggle along after them until they reached Milton’s camp and then, once he saw for himself that Venice was safely delivered to her uncle, it would be “Adios Miss Leiland!” And, for his heart’s sake, he hoped it was the last time he ever laid eyes on her.
In all other areas of his life, he was a deliberate, even-tempered, objective man. But when it came to Venice Leiland he became a blithering idiot certain that the woman lived under the constant threat of imminent danger, and that he was the only one who could protect her from it.
And he’d thought Trevor was mentally unbalanced!
Noble pulled a piece of jerky from an inside pocket and wiped the lint off of it, the image of Venice the morning she’d left Salvage haunting his thoughts. She’d looked as fresh and silky as new-skimmed cream. With that outsized coat enveloping her, and her booted feet dangling out of the stirrups, and that red cap pulled over her ears, she could almost be mistaken for a lad.
Except for the utterly feminine feel of her waist beneath his palms when he had lifted her into the saddle, and the womanly modeling of her thigh pressed intimately against his back, and the hot rush of sweet breath touching his mouth as she’d breathed, “Yes. I do. I will.”
He was still gnawing the rain-washed jerky when he entered their abandoned campsite. Casually, he leaned out of the saddle and started looking for their sign.
His eyes narrowed as he read the ground. The back of his neck prickled with alarm.
Two groups had left the camp, in two separate directions. The Utes on their unshod ponies had left well before daybreak, leading the pack mules directly west, higher up into the mountains. The other two had broken camp maybe three-quarters of an hour ago. They had gone in a southerly direction.
He headed south. After a few miles, his unease turned to flat-out worry. The two ahead of him were tracing the natural slope of the mountain’s shoulder, wending their way downhill. At this rate, sooner or later they were going to stumble onto a stream bed. Stream beds, just after the spring melt and particularly in the midst of a heavy rain, were notoriously dangerous highways for flash floods. He couldn’t believe anyone would be foolish enough not to stay away from low ground and out
of narrow places, but that’s exactly what they were doing.
Heedless of the treacherous footing, he kicked his pony into a canter. At the same time, the air about him burgeoned with a low hum. The dull roar grew louder and louder. Noble pulled his pony to a halt and listened.
A mule broke from the trees ahead of him. It galloped straight at him, ears laid flat and foam flying from its mouth. Suddenly, the canvas bag flaying its wind-bloated sides broke free, strewing its content along the path. The panicked mule’s eye rolled in terror. Braying, it lunged forward and bolted past Noble, disappearing into the rain-lashed trees, leaving behind scattered clothes and equipment. A pink dress, a lace—
Noble tore his hat from his head and dug his heels into his pony’s flanks, racing in the direction the mule had come from. Fear choked him as he bent low over the gelding’s neck, whipping its rump with his hat, spurring it into headlong flight. The pony scrambled and slipped, tearing through the pines, neck stretched straight out, mouth open, sucking air.
His deviled mount tore into a sharp corner and slipped on the slick, wet shale, falling sideways on its haunches. Noble stuck like a burr. Standing in the stirrups, he dragged the pony’s head up, shouting into its ears. The horse lurched to its feet and plunged on, goaded by rain and voice and heel.
Another corner, a quarter-mile of ice-glazed granite, and he saw her.
She was on her knees at the edge of a gorge. Her hair was plastered to her shoulders. Her great coat snapped out, buffeted by the wind. Below her, floodwaters half-filled the chasm. And damned if it didn’t look like she was climbing right into it!
“Venice!” he yelled.
The din was horrendous. She couldn’t hear him. He was almost even with her now. He swung from the racing pony, pulling back on the bit, bringing it skittering to a halt. He hit the ground, lost his footing, and fell to his knees. Air exploded from his lungs. He pushed himself up, his arms trembling, and stumbled to his feet.
It was okay. It was all right. Venice was safe.
He stood, eyes closed, head thrown back. The heat behind his eyes turned into tears of relief, mingling with the cold rain streaming down his cheeks.
“Venice!”
She turned. There was no surprise in her eyes, just an overwhelming gladness. An instant of recognition and she was racing across the slippery rock. Another instant, and she was in his arms. He caught her in mid flight, lifting her from the ground, crushing her to him, reverently stroking the black curls from her pale brow, touching her chilled cheeks with his fingertips, staring into her silver eyes.
He loved her. It didn’t matter if she was Trevor Leiland’s child and as beyond his reach as the moon. He loved her. He always had.
He closed his eyes. Loving Venice didn’t make her any more attainable. He could never say the words. But he could no longer deny it to himself.
“Thank God!” he murmured reverently, tucking her delicate frame against him. Wet wool, cool fine-grained skin, sweet breath—God, if he’d lost her!
“Noble!” she sobbed, twisting in his embrace. “You’ve got to help him!”
“Him?”
“Cassius! He’s stranded on a tree! You have to help him. Quick! The tree is going to be torn loose any minute!”
She pushed herself away from him. Bracing her fist on his chest, she pleaded, “You have to!”
He didn’t, of course. He could walk away right now, dragging Venice with him, and no one would hold him accountable. Even if he stayed, a mere second or two delay and Cassius would—
He released his hold on her. She grabbed his hand, tugging him forward.
“Wait.” Noble strode over to where his pony stood, head down, sides heaving. He unhooked a thick coil of rope from his saddlebag and, leading the pony, followed Venice to the trail head.
Immediately below him and a short distance out, he spied Cassius. He was perched on the branch of a heavily listing pine tree, marooned fifteen feet out in the middle of a boiling river. His feet dangled a scant yard above the swift current beneath him. He looked up, wild-eyed, and spotted Noble. He looked desperate enough to do anything to survive—even plead for an Irishman’s aid.
“McCaneaghy! You have to save me!” The tree shuddered as something in the stream struck the submerged trunk. Cassius screamed, “Save me! Goddammit! You have to! You—” His voice broke on a sob.
“Listen, Reed!” Noble shouted, uncoiling the lariat and tugging the pony closer. “I’m going to throw you a rope! You grab it and pull yourself to the edge here!”
He tied one end to the saddle horn and looped the remainder in his hand. Slowly he started swinging the coil over his head.
“You ready, Reed?” he shouted.
“No!” Reed whimpered.
“What?”
“I can’t! I can’t let go! I’ll fall in! And I can’t swim!”
“Dammit!” Noble exploded.
“Cassius, you have to catch the rope!” Venice shouted. “There isn’t any other way! Try!”
Cassius sobbed, squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. “I’ll try.”
“On the count of three,” Noble shouted. “One. Two. Three—” Noble pitched the rope. It shot out, uncoiling in the stiffening wind, streaming parallel to the shore. It settled on the current a good five feet shy of the tree.
“Hell!” Noble swore under his breath. “It isn’t going to work!”
Venice touched his arm. “What’s wrong? Why won’t it work?”
“The wind’s too strong, the rain is too heavy, and there’s not enough weight on the end of the line,” he answered, hauling the rope back up.
“What can we do?”
Without answering, Noble untied the rope from the saddle horn and looked around.
Ten yards up from where they stood, a huge sheared-off boulder jutted like a shelf over the river. Wordlessly, Noble crossed over the top of the boulder, Venice picking her way after him. He looked down. He might as well have been on a diving platform.
Quickly, he knotted the rope around the trunk of a gnarled bristle-cone pine clinging to the very edge of the boulder. He passed the other end around his waist and through his legs, hitching himself into the makeshift harness.
“What are you—?” Venice started. She turned the shade of fine bone china, even her lips leaching of color. “Noble, you can’t! Please! It’s too dangerous!”
“Honey—” His gaze met hers. “There isn’t any other way and there isn’t any time.” He brushed a stray tendril of hair from her jaw. “Listen. I’m going to swing over to that tree. Once I get there, I’m going to tie the tope around Reed. Then we’re going to swing back. But I gotta go now. Before it’s too late.”
She nodded. He handed her his knife.
“You might have to cut the rope from around Reed.”
He leaned back against the rope, testing his weight against the tree. Its ancient moorings held.
He climbed as far out on the shelf as he could and then, taking a deep breath, jumped. He plummeted toward the current and then the rope caught and he was swinging through the air, arcing toward Cassius.
He crashed into the pine tree. Needles and twigs scraped his face and he was held by the boughs for a heartbeat before his momentum started dragging him back. Cursing, he clutched handfuls of sticky, needle-studded branches.
He found a foothold and pulled himself upright. The tree suddenly shifted beneath his added weight.
“You’re gonna get us killed, you stupid Mick!” Cassius screamed from his perch a few feet away.
“Shut up, Reed, or I’ll leave you here!” Noble snarled, untying the rope from around him and carefully creeping over to where Cassius clung to the tree trunk. He grabbed Cassius by the back of the jacket and jerked him away from the trunk, ignoring the other man’s sputtering protests.
He looped the rope under Cassius’s arms and cinched it tight. “Stand up,” he ordered.
In answer, Cassius scooted closer to the trunk, rewrapping his arms around it.
> “Stand up! We’re gonna swing back to the side. But you gotta stand up so I can grab hold of the rope, too.”
“I don’t think I can,” whimpered Cassius.
“Listen, you son of a—” A huge shudder shook the tree. Without any further warning, the tree spun loose of its precarious footing, and, caught by the hungry, surging current, whirled into the racing stream.
With a shriek, Cassius was torn free of the trunk. Frantically, Noble grabbed for him, catching Cassius around the legs.
Grappling madly, he felt himself sliding to the other man’s knees. His arm muscles ached under the strain. He clutched fistfuls of fabric, trying desperately to keep from slipping further. Suddenly, impossibly, he felt Cassius start to kick his legs. With stunned disbelief he felt his grip fail, his arms kicked away. He heard Cassius cry, “You’re hurting me! Get off!”
He fell.
The icy water seized him, dragging him beneath its boiling surface. Frozen blackness closed around him. The churning river tumbled over him, pitching him head over heels, spinning him against rocks, trees, and debris. He crashed against a boulder, tumbling wildly beneath the current.
Heat and pain erupted in his chest and throat. Dazed and disoriented, he was unable to tell the top from the bottom. His lungs burned and cold, dirty water filled his mouth and nose. He was drowning.
Suddenly, his feet scraped against something solid. He thrust against it. Praying he drove from the bottom upward toward the surface, he fought the water’s inexorable grip.
He burst into air, gasping and choking, bobbing in the current like a child’s bath toy. He was exhausted, not an ounce of fight left in him. His coat and boots dragged like stones on his body. His side was pierced by a numbing splinter of pain and he couldn’t cough the water from his lungs.
The shore, impossibly close and yet hopelessly far away, disappeared and reappeared from his clouding vision as he flailed in the river’s pull. He was never going to make it.
Connie Brockway Page 18