Catch Me If You Can (5 page)

“Yes, the journey through to the Sierra Nevada had to be done by stage, wagon or on horseback.” Her hair fell forward as she bent over the desk, casting her face in shadow.

He noticed how heavy her eyelashes were and her eyes were dark with desire as she eyed him surreptitiously. She was attracted to him, he could see that, and he found he couldn’t deny he wanted her, too. Yes, he did. “Much has changed now. There are new towns and settlements, as well as the railroad.” 

She looked at him steadily.

Without thought he reached out instinctively and stroked her hair away from her face. It was like fine silk in his fingers. The tension in the atmosphere intensified and their eyes locked.

She shook her head, as if to free herself from some torpor, smiled at him, turned away and opened a drawer. She brought out another folded sheet and as she opened it, he quickly noticed it was a contemporary map of some detail.

He smiled. She’d tried to trick him into laughing at her plans so she could prove him wrong.
Minx.
“You seem well prepared and you are obviously set on the undertaking. What use would you have for my opinion?”

He settled back against the desk, folding his arms.

She looked a little disappointed. It wasn’t the reply she’d hoped for, quite obviously.

“Oh, I thought you might try to talk me out of it,” she replied wistfully.

“I suspect it would do me no good if I did try,” he replied. What a spark she was, hoping to provoke him with her wayward plans. “Anyway, you forget, I myself come from the land of the pioneer. It’s not unusual to attempt such a feat.” 

Her shoulders rose in defiance, as if his comment were some sort of challenge. “Do you think I would crumple and give in at the first sign of danger or hardship?” 

“No.” It was all too obvious she had it in her to take on the rather ridiculous journey. She was headstrong and wayward. The woman needed protection – perhaps more protection than her father could give her on such an undertaking. An unfamiliar need came over him, an urge to take the reckless young woman in hand.

“Good,” she retorted, and walked back to the doorway.

He watched as she turned back.

“Well, come on then,” she added. “Let’s ride.”

The challenge in her expression aroused him. “I’ll allow you a head start,” he parried.

Delight shone in her eyes. Laughing, she set off at a pace. “Catch me if you can!”

Rivers didn’t move for several long moments, for he was musing on what he would like to do with her when he did catch her – and it didn’t involve letting her go.

* * *

Rivers looked even more handsome on the large black stallion she’d chosen for him. She took sidelong glances, admiring the nonchalant elegance he carried from the tip of his polished riding boots, up through the tight riding breeches, to the draped white shirt loosely laced across his collarbone. The day was bright and warm and neither of them donned coats for the ride. They cantered across the landscape, he close at her side, watching her from under hooded eyes.

She drew up her chestnut mount, Clancy, at the crest of a hill, turning to Rivers as he moved alongside her. His shirt was flying free from his breeches, caught by the wind and billowing out behind him. The hard line of his body etched against the draped cotton, making her stare.

“Over there, the majority of the estate land extends to the east,” she said, her breath catching, hair flying in the wind. “Fossett, the nearest village, you can see it from here.” She rose up to stand in her stirrups and pointed toward the cluster of houses and a rising spire to their right. When she turned back she noticed he was observing the way she moved.

He looked away. “And this land to the west?”  

“That is Lord Brooks’ land. He’s our closest neighbor. His land borders the Craven estate for many miles.” She observed him while he was absorbed in determining the different uses and layouts of the land. “Is it different in California?”

He guided his mount closer to her side. “Yes and no. There is a similarity to the estate and the surrounding area. Generally the landscape there is more dramatic. There is comfort in the curve of the hills here, and the way the towns nestle in the shelter given by them. In California the expanses are wider, the landscape more dramatic. It is a place of extremes. The highest mountains, the deepest valleys, deserts and fertile plains.” 

She listened avidly.

He went on to describe the agriculture and the plant life. He chose tactile, vivid, words – words she savored.

“I sense you miss the place?” She sought a way to draw this mysterious man out, hoping to discover more about him. Her father had hinted at some impropriety, much as Frieda had, but declined to give her details when she asked. Now her curiosity was raging. “Do you miss your home and your family?”

“There is plenty to distract me here.” He responded quickly, and his gaze seemed to breathe a sirocco of longing over the surface of her skin.

She blushed, lowering her gaze. It bothered her when she became gauche in his presence. She wanted him to think her sophisticated, adept in the skills of flirting, and knowledgeable about relationships between men and women, not a blushing greenhorn.

“Anyway, I’m hoping that by enriching the land with vines from Europe we can in some way couple the old with the new.”  The expression in his eyes had grown even darker.

The shadowed meaning in his words tugged at something deep inside. Eleanor turned her hot cheeks to the breeze. He really was the most intriguing man. They had become more at ease with each other, and yet she still couldn’t be sure of him. He changed from being aloof one minute to becoming directly challenging, without warning. He’d found excuses to spend time away, which had bothered her immensely, and yet when he was there, she found herself restless and distracted in his presence. He was such an enigma. “I sense you love your country.”

“I do, and I’ve been lucky to visit many of our glorious states in my travels, as well as parts of Canada and Alaska.”

“Alaska? They have need of a wine grower in Alaska?”

“No.” He grinned.

Her curiosity rose, especially because she believed she might find out what his history might be. “May I enquire what work you did before you managed Frieda’s estate?”

His eyelids lowered. “Whatever needed to be done. Mostly hunting”

He spoke glibly, but she wanted to know more. “Ah, a hunter, that explains much.”

His mouth moved, lifting at the corners, but he didn’t comment.

“What was it you hunted in Canada and Alaska? Wild animals?”

He paused for several long moments before replying. “People, mostly.”

Startled, she stared at him, agog. “People?”

“Those with a price on their head.”

Eleanor was astonished. “Oh I see.” They rode in silence a while “Managing a vineyard is a far cry from that kind of life. What made you change?”

“It’s in my blood, I suppose. California called me back. I grew up on a vineyard.”

A frown had lodged on his forehead. Had she asked too much?

They entered a leafier glade, passing amongst tall trees that captured the breeze. The scent of summer leaves was heavy in the air.

“That’s the line of the Brooks’ property,” she said, returning to the earlier discussion. She pointed to a line of poplars higher on the hill. “He and my father have a good understanding and there are no boundaries as such.”

“Lord Brooks sounds a most genial neighbor.”

“Well, yes. However I believe they think us a little strange. Eccentric, you know.” She smiled. “We don’t often take part in the local society events,” she added.

“No?” Humor danced in his eyes.

She was glad to see the frown had gone. “No. Father didn’t settle into English life since he returned from his first trip to America, and he dislikes that sort of thing, calls it nonsensical frippery.” She chuckled. “He only ever partook in the season until the year he met my mother, and, after she passed on, I believe he swore off it altogether. He would rather be out on the land, traveling, or in his library reading about far flung places, rather than pursuing such social trivia.” 

“And you have taken after him?”  

“Yes, I suppose that, and other circumstances, have formed my attitudes.” Impishness led her. “I’m sure you can’t imagine me sitting with my needlepoint in my hand, discussing the local beaux with Lord Brooks’ two fragile daughters?” 

He laughed at her remark. “No, I cannot. You seem to have a free spirit matched more to that of the Wild West, Eleanor. Perhaps if you went there you would never return to your quaint English society?” 

Their eyes locked.

Her heart pounded once again in response to his hot, flagrant eyes on her body. Finding an appropriate response took her a moment. “I enjoy traveling and seek to broaden my mind through adventure, yes.”

She decided she did indeed find herself fiercely attracted to Mr. Rivers.

“I never even had a coming-out, I refused. I asked Father to take me to Africa instead. That was much more agreeable to him too, so we went.” She flashed him a smile, proud of her strangeness.

“And your suitors were thieves lurking about the hotel?”

How astute of him to realize that the thief was a suitor, she thought, somewhat annoyed. “Perhaps…although I truly don’t intend to become a society hostess or to marry.” It was a retort. “I prefer the freedom of the new woman, independent and able to travel and do as she wishes.” She turned her horse away from him, then glanced back. “Gladstone may have thrown out the question of reform on women’s rights, but one cannot live one’s life by the mutterings of a few dusty old men in power.”

The laughter in his eyes warmed her right through.

He urged his horse on to rejoin her. “I admire your belief that women should be independent.” He paused. “I also believe that sometimes it’s desirable for a woman to submit to being adored and cherished…. even if purely for the sake of …pleasure.”

His smile was so suggestive that Eleanor didn’t quite know what she would prefer, independence, or submission to a man such as Rivers. Her mind told her he was mocking her desire for independence and yet her body was on fire to submit to him – simply for the sake of the
pleasure
he referred to.

She shook her hair back and turned her face into the breeze to regain her composure. Whenever she thought she’d impressed him, he teased her. He’d parried her thrust and caught her out with a remark that was surely made to embarrass her, as he seemed determined to do.

“I take it your father doesn’t mind such brazen affronts to society and its standards?” he added, drawing the conversation back to where it had begun.

“He has never lived the conventional life and I entertain society only as far as it entertains me.” With a twitch on the reins, she turned away from him.

“Eleanor.”

She turned back, looking at him over her shoulder.

“I’m no society beau myself.” He opened his hands in a gesture of supplication.

The image of this ruggedly handsome man posing as an affected dandy was so unlikely that it amused her immensely.

She chuckled. The tension in her body broke. Her hands slipped more loosely over her reins. “
Touché
, Mr. Rivers,
touché
.”

Her horse backed up, then faltered.

Rivers’ expression changed to one of concern. “Eleanor!”

The land shifted beneath her horse’s hooves. In a flash of time and tumbling space, Eleanor found herself thrown. She plummeted with her mount, grappling for the bridle with her hands. It was too late. She hit the ground with a solid thud, landing on her side. She rolled against the bracken, breaking free of her mount.

The horse attempted to climb free of the ditch above her, whinnying in objection at her feet caught in the stirrups. She cried out, fearing she would be dragged and injured – or worse still that he would be pulled back down and she would be crushed. By lucky chance her feet came free and the horse climbed from the ditch.

Eleanor collapsed fully, stunned and relieved, the breath knocked out of her.

Rivers scrambled down the bank and crouched beside her, a look of deep concern on his face. “Eleanor, dear God, are you all right?”

He brushed some stray leaves and hair from her face.

“I think so.” She stretched, looking over his shoulder for sight of her horse. “Clancy? Is he injured?”

Rivers turned and looked over the edge of the ditch. “No, I think he has gone back toward the house. I’ll take you back on my horse, if you’re sure you’re well enough to be moved.”

His voice was full of tenderness and he smoothed his hand across her forehead. The touch of it was soothing and oddly delicious. She sighed. He lifted her legs free of the bracken and branches. The touch of his enquiring fingers sent an awakening shiver through her numb limbs.

“Does it hurt?”

She shook her head. “Only a bruise, I think.”

She stretched her legs out stiffly and sat up on her elbows.