Catch Me If You Can

by Juliette Cosway

  She gripped his shoulders when he filled her to the hilt, brushing up against her most sensitive parts, then he moved against her, sending spasms of ecstasy jolting through her body from that tender point.

  She grasped at him, pulling his shoulders down to her, her legs locking tighter on him. He kept them close, with deep shifting thrusts, their bodies cloying together in the darkness.

  “I’ve never known such exquisite pleasure,” she whispered.

  He muttered incoherently. His hardness seemed to expand even more against her tender flesh. His hands gently molded over the fabric covering her breasts, moving them slowly to feel her, his face moving against her hair. Her cheek brushed against his face, tingling at the scrape of his soft stubble on her skin. She leaned further back on the rock and his body pivoted against her. He was crushed up against her, his angle affording all her intimate places pressure, both inside and out.

  Eleanor put her hand to her mouth, the sweet rapture was becoming too much for her to maintain the silence. His manhood was massaging the core of her womanly flesh, it was pulsing hard inside her hot, wet grip. A wild pulse was pounding in her love bud where he rode hard against it. She all but passed out with the extreme intoxication of her senses as she came undone. His body arched like a bow against her. His hands tightened on her breasts and he ground deep and hard. She began to peak and a low sound escaped her mouth.

  “Decorum, my dear, decorum.” He pulled her shaking fingers away and kissed her mouth deep.

  “Forgive me, I…oh!”

  He gasped when her flesh tightened on his, and rested his hand over her mouth to contain any sounds she might make.

  She bit against his fingers as torrents of sensations rushed through her. He cursed low and thrust hard and fast, driving them both over the edge of the precipice within seconds.

  * * *

  High up in the canyons the fir trees grew denser, indicating their passage into more giving ground. Sometimes it seemed as if they could see for miles, the earth as flat as it had been thought to be centuries before, vast and ridged with mountains. Other times they were enclosed by the steep walls of the canyons, walls holding them enclosed in their deep ancient territory, marked with the lines of age that only eons of time can bring. Some were barely wide enough for the stage that passed through on the route they followed.

  As their journey approached the Sierra Nevada and beyond, the West Coast, the canyons grew more daunting and impressive. They passed through one nearly a mile and a half long, edged with rocks. The heat of the afternoon deep in the crevice of rock was intense. No wind could cool them there and the sun reached in to burn the air, sending up a haze in front of them. Evidence of drought marked the place and clouds of dust rose up, making it difficult at times to see anything. They wore their neck scarves tied around their faces to ease the dust from the air they breathed.

  When they reached the other end of the canyon, they set up camp and brushed the dust from one another with amusement, their faces and bodies all being cloaked in one color, as if they had been through some strange initiation.

  After they emerged from one such canyon, the procession drew to a halt.

  Rivers had raised his arm indicating they haul up and keep still. On the far edge, where the jagged wall of rock turned into another canyon, a carriage stood, half tilted against the rocks, two of its wheels shattered beneath it. A man sat idling on a rock nearby. Rivers carefully assessed the situation.

  Eleanor could see it was one of the weekly stages from Salt Lake City.

  Assuming no danger, Rivers moved on. Daniel was at his side, in the lead, and they approached the man, who rose to his feet nervously.

  “Trouble?” Rivers asked of him.

  “Hit a rock or something.” The man shrugged. “The driver and a couple of the other passengers took the horses and went off to get help, leaving me and the lady.” He nodded over to the carriage.

  At that moment, the door sprang open and a parasol emerged, followed by its owner’s skirts in a flurry of frothy petticoats and pale pink tulle. She stepped down from the carriage, jumping daintily from its rickety doorway onto the ground below, and flounced her skirts out through the dust.

  “Good grief. Camellia Rutherford, is that you?” Rivers edged his mount toward the woman.

  Hearing her name the woman peered around, unfocused, then lifted a pair of spectacles out of the small silk purse hanging from her wrist.

  “Why, Pierre Guillaime, can it really be you?” She looked up at him, squinting.

  Eleanor and the others observed as Rivers took off his hat, leaped down from his horse and walked over to meet her.

  “Camellia,” he exclaimed, as surprised and pleased as the woman appeared to be in return.

  Eleanor observed, her emotions tangling. She watched as he gathered the pretty blonde-haired woman into his arms and they embraced. He swung her around, lifting her feet from the ground. Was this one of his old conquests?

  Eleanor opted to stare down at the reins in her hand, rather than watch any more of the reunion of these two old friends.

  “My prayers have been answered. I couldn’t have wished for a more appropriate hero to rescue me from this damned mess.”

  Eleanor couldn’t help herself, she looked back.

  The woman was beaming up at him.

  “Look at you.” He held her at arm’s length and she removed her spectacles. “You’ve grown up to be as pretty as a picture, although still as vain and short-sighted as ever.”

  She pouted and folded the spectacles into her bag. “I can see perfectly well. You look different.”

  “It’s been a long time.” Rivers looked again at the sorry state of the stage. “Why are you traveling by stage?”

  “Oh, I was visiting with my sister-in-law’s family in Denver-”

  “Little Jimmy is married?”

  “Oh yes, for two years now. His wife, Imogen, invites me over to Denver whenever she goes to be with her family. She’s trying to find me a match.” She blushed and her pretty blonde curls bounced. “Anyways, when I visit their people, I go by stage. I don’t care to be locked in and the train ride is torturous for me, I find I’m made quite ill before the train even pulls out of the station.”

  Rivers gave a hearty laugh, took her hand, and led her over to the gathered ensemble.

  Eleanor watched as he led the young woman over. He went round the assembled group announcing them, and escorted her to Eleanor’s side.

  “Camellia Rutherford, meet Eleanor Craven who has traveled from England to visit with us up at Napa.”

  He gave Eleanor assistance as she dismounted, and the blonde woman looked from one to the other with a curious, friendly smile, as if quickly assessing the situation.

  “Camellia may well be glad of a rescue party today, but she once swore that she would never speak to me again. I locked her in a wine cellar when she made a nuisance of herself as a precocious nine year old.”

  “Pierre, that’s not fair, I was never a nuisance.”

  Rivers chortled.

  “Besides which, you knew I hated to be locked in anywhere.”

  “It worked didn’t it? You didn’t get under our feet for at least a year after that.”

  Eleanor felt quite ashamed of her first reactions toward the woman, who was sweet and warm. They were old friends and there seemed to be no more to it than that. However, it was a timely reminder that when they reached California she would meet people who knew him, knew him better than she. She didn’t know whether to be happy or sad about that fact. Curiosity kindled inside her nevertheless. Camellia had called him Pierre and he’d accepted it from her. How curious. Perhaps she also knew the reasons why he didn’t speak of his past.

  “Well then, here’s a deal. I’ll forgive you for what you did back then, if you get me out of this mess.” She twiddled her parasol and offered him a winning smile.

  Rivers glanced back at the stranded man. “What do you say – we’ve got spare mounts, would you
rather take your chances here, or come along with us?”

  “As far as the next town would be mighty fine, Sir.”

  “The carriage is definitely beyond repair,” Daniel said, appearing from behind the stagecoach.

  “That settles it then,” Rivers announced. “You’re not sitting here until the next one arrives.”

  “I’ve spare riding breeches and a jerkin, I’m sure they would fit you,” Eleanor offered to Camellia.

  “Breeches,” squeaked Camellia. “I’m not sure I’d know how to put them on!”

  “In that case you’d better learn quickly,” Rivers remarked with a frown, looking at her outfit, which was entirely inappropriate for any manner of travel. “Eleanor, could you cloth her in the carriage while we ready the horses?”

  He spoke to Camellia as if she were a little sister. Eleanor was fascinated.

  The two women clambered into the teetering carriage, laughing as they clutched onto the doorframe to steady themselves. Eleanor helped Camellia out of her gown and the multitude of petticoats.

  “My goodness, I’ll look quite dreadful and unladylike.” She sat on the seat, held the breeches at arms length and frowned. “Oh, not that you look bad.” Her pale skin colored quickly as she hastily corrected her comment.

  Eleanor laughed. “You’ll be more comfortable, believe me that’s all that will be important.”

  “I’ve only ever ridden side-saddle,” Camellia reflected as she struggled to decipher the fastenings on the breeches.

  “In that case you’ll find your legs will ache rather a lot for the first few days.”

  “Oh dear, and there was I complaining about the discomfort of the stagecoach.” They both laughed as she struggled into the breeches, flexing her legs and looking at them appreciatively, as if she were assessing the latest trend.

  “There, they aren’t too bad. In fact they are quite flattering in their own way.” Eleanor smiled encouragingly. She warmed to the woman.

  “Yes, despite the strangeness, I find them oddly comforting.” She reached for the jerkin. “So tell me, how long have you known Pierre?”

  “Why…” Eleanor counted back in her mind. “I believe that it must be almost a year now.” Imagine that. Eleanor hadn’t even realized. “And you?”

  “Our families are neighbors, we grew up together. Well, until Pierre left, must be nine or ten years since. He’s been sadly missed by all.”

  “I can imagine that,” Eleanor replied, deep in her own thoughts for a moment.

  Camellia crammed her gown into a carpetbag that rested on the seat beside her. “Why isn’t that my luck? A new dress that cost me a large portion of this month’s allowance and it has to be crushed to get it home.” She frowned.

  “Give it to me,” Eleanor said. “The men might not even let you take any luggage. We’ll be down on pack horses for the supplies. I’ll see what I can do.” She winked conspiratorially at her new friend, who beamed back at her.

  Rivers turned back from overseeing the men, who were reloading the horses to free up two mounts, and watched as the women climbed out of the rickety remains of the carriage. He looked at Camellia’s outfit with a critical eye.

  “I don’t care much for you traveling in those boots,” he commented, gesturing down at the pretty footwear.

  It did look as if they had been designed with the parlor in mind, rather than for any sort of traveling. Camellia looked over at Eleanor and rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest defiantly.

  “I suppose you’re fit to ride to the next town safely,” he continued. “You can get the next stage there.”

  “I beg your pardon? I don’t believe I heard you correctly.” Camellia’s voice rang out with a sudden, sharp clarity that demanded the attention of everyone in the vicinity. She put her hands on her hips, her expression indignant. “You will take the course of a true gentleman rescuer and see me home to Sacramento.”

  “Will I indeed?” His eyes narrowed.

  “You certainly will.” She tossed her blonde curls and set her manly-dressed legs apart in a fighting pose. Despite all her protestations about looking unladylike wearing breeches, Eleanor couldn’t help noticing that she was quite the plucky little soul.

  Rivers turned back with an enquiring expression. “I think, Missy, you have little understanding of my reasons for wishing to avoid the neighborhood.”

  He shook his head and put his hat back on, as if the matter under discussion had been dismissed.

  Camellia stood her ground. “No, it’s you who doesn’t understand, you don’t understand your duty.”

  Rivers looked her up and down and spoke through gritted teeth. “Camellia, if you insist on riding the rest of the way…” He paused for effect, glaring first at Camellia then at Eleanor, as if she was implicated by virtue of the fact she, too, had refused the train. “I’m sure we can spare Daniel to see you safely delivered.”

  “Why, I’d be glad to escort you, Miss.” Daniel had taken off his hat and smiled endearingly at the young woman.

  Camellia took time out to offer him a flutter of lashes, a pretty smile and a nod of thanks before returning to her public onslaught on Rivers. “That’s kind of you, Sir, but no, thank you. Pierre…” Her voice was commanding. He glared at her. “You yourself will take me home, and while you’re there you will go over to Riverside and visit with your maman.”

  Rivers froze.

  Eleanor watched with baited breath, her curiosity up and raging. maman? Rivers had a maman?

  “If she finds out I had you in my grasp and didn’t force you to call on her, my life would not be worth living, and you well know it.”

  A deep frown furrowed his brow, his lips tightly shut into a thin line.

  “Come now, Pierre, don’t you think you have been playing the tortured soul for quite long enough?” Her pretty eyebrows were arched mockingly, her tone more than a mite sarcastic.

  It was the last straw.

  Eleanor had never seen him so livid. His eyes were black, his hands fisting at his sides. “Dammit, I ought to put you over my knee for that remark, Camellia Rutherford!”

  A gasp went around the assembled crowd and Eleanor noticed little Clare’s face had blanched in shock. Rivers was quite pale himself, his lips thin and bloodless with tension. He wanted to say more, Eleanor could tell.

  “Ha!” declared Camellia. “So you cannot deny you should do the honorable thing?” She grinned at him. Everyone turned from gazing in awe at her victorious expression, to witness his reply.

  He looked around at the gathering of eager, curious faces as if he’d remembered their presence, and let out a loud groan. “Well, perhaps. Now get on your mount, woman, and for God’s sake and ours – be quiet!”

  Daniel coughed loudly and turned away from the scene. No doubt he’d never seen his boss that ruffled, Eleanor reflected. Clare tittered aloud, hiding her face in her hand. Rivers flashed her and the rest of them a warning glare.

  “Or else what?” Camellia grinned impishly at him.

  Eleanor bit her lip and wondered if Camellia weren’t pushing her luck a little too far now.

  “Or else I’ll personally deliver you back to this very canyon and I’ll leave you here to fend for yourself.” With that and a mighty roar he stomped over to his horse, mounted, and set off at breakneck speed, leaving the rest of them stumbling for their mounts before they lost sight of the cloud of dust he’d kicked up in his path.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The Hunter’s Homecoming

  Pale morning light streaked across the sky.

  Rivers was already on his feet, surveying the slumbering bodies around him with a grim, determined expression. It was three days since they’d added Camellia to their party and he was still in a fume. He stepped over to the remains of the fire, picked up a large cooking pot and beat it vigorously with a ladle. The loud, clanging sound rang out and echoed round the enclave they had holed-up in for the night.

  Several of the slumbering bodies bu
ried their heads, having endured the same experience the previous mornings. Eleanor sat bolt upright, her blanket to her chin, her dusky indigo eyes wide and startled. The nearby horses reared up, whinnying in objection. Camellia pouted and stuck her tongue out at the man who stood over her with the instruments held in his hands like weapons of war. He returned her gesture with a sadistic grin.

  “Everybody up!” he shouted. “We have a mountain range to defeat, no time to waste.”

  Within twenty minutes, he had them on their mounts with everything packaged and they were on their way. He’d made it quite clear there was no point in grumbling. Rivers had turned into a mighty fierce taskmaster since Miss Camellia Rutherford had challenged him. He stayed at the head of the pack, a lone rider, brooding. He needed some time to himself and, mercifully, everybody took the hint and kept well away.

  The thing was, Rivers had every intention of visiting his family at some point in the near future. The purpose of his departure all those years ago had long since been served. There was no reason for him not to go back now. Bridges had to be mended, though. In fact, since Eleanor had come into his life he’d thought about his family a lot. He wanted her to see Riverside. In New York he’d dallied with images of taking her there as his betrothed.

  Pah.

  Her ridiculous stubborn streak and her feisty independence had quickly scuppered that particular dream. Now, to top it all, Camellia had come along with her own set of obstinate demands. Once again, a contrary young woman was forcing his hand, and he wasn’t happy about it.

  Women!

  Whenever he glanced around at the trailing pack, he found Camellia and Eleanor were riding alongside one another, deep in conversation. They giggled at him in between whispered exchanges when he glared back at them. He didn’t doubt they found his scowling face hysterical. It was quite obvious he was the current topic of conversation. He glared at Eleanor most of all. Camellia was no surprise, but he thought Eleanor would be above such behavior.

  Traitor.