Bound For Eden (39 page)

Alex wasn't aware that she was holding her breath until white spots swarmed before her eyes. She drew a shuddering breath just as Blackie and Isis pulled themselves from the current, their flanks straining with the effort. Adam and Luke had made it to the first island. Her nerves could barely stand it as she watched them cross two more raging streams. Worse, she had to watch Luke come all the way back again, bearing the ropes. The river pulled at him, frothing around his hips.

‘We'll take the wagons with children first,' Luke yelled over the rushing of the river.

One by one the wagons were floated across, buffeted by the surging waters, twisting alarmingly in the current. Alex was so proud of her sister; Victoria protected those three girls like a she-wolf, her white face deathly calm. Faintly, over the noise of the current, Alex could hear her voice as she soothed the girls.

Alex's wagon was last. By the time it was her turn to cross the daylight was starting to fade and the men were gray with fatigue. ‘Hold on tight,' Luke called to her from the first island, his voice hoarse.

She'd thought, stupidly, that she'd have an easier time of it because their wagon was small and light, but the minute it hit the water she realised how wrong she was. The wagon was as fragile as a leaf, its lack of heft meaning that it was more susceptible to the power of the river.

She managed to white-knuckle her way across to the first island, but as they rolled the wagon back into the water she heard the threatening sound of thunder. Looking up, she noticed the thunderheads were churning as violently as the river beneath. A brisk wind whipped the surface of the river into frothy, white-tipped wavelets.

Midway across the second stream of the Snake, Alex felt the first heavy drops of rain. When the wagon shuddered to a halt on the last island Luke rode over to her. As he did the heavens opened and they were pelted with torrential rain.

‘I'm going to head over to the shore,' he tried to yell above the pounding rain. Alex followed his gaze. The far shore was invisible; they could only see shifting sheets of steel-gray rain. ‘Mal and Sebastian will hold the ropes from here, and the rest of us will pull from the bank.'

Alex nodded, too scared to speak.

‘You hold on tight,' he bellowed. ‘Forget what I said before. Don't try swimming. Not in this. The ropes will keep the wagon afloat and we'll keep pulling no matter what. Just hold on and keep your head above water.'

Clenching her teeth against the terror, Alex nodded again.

By the time Luke reached the shore and gave a tug on the rope, telling them to proceed, the Snake was beginning to swell and flood. As soon as the wagon hit the water, Alex felt the strengthening current snatch at it. It yawed, straining against the ropes, and instinctively Alex knew she wasn't going to make it. Rain and river obscured the island and the shore.

She was alone.

Luke felt the rope go slack. It had snapped, unable to bear the force of the current and the weight of the wagon. ‘Alex!' he howled into the gale.

Without thinking, he grabbed for the other rope and dove into the surging river. It was madness, but he couldn't leave her. He was whipped downstream, the rope sliding through his fingers, burning his skin, while he tumbled violently through the churning maelstrom. He struggled to keep his head above water, choking on mud and debris.

He prayed the wagon hadn't tipped, that she could hang on and remain buoyant. He slammed into a boulder and the breath exploded from his lungs. He grabbed for the slippery rock, scrabbling against its slick side. Muscles straining, he hauled his body above the waterline, trying to breathe normally.

The rain began to ease, and he found he could see again. Gradually the shore loomed through the slackening rain and Luke's heart leapt as he caught sight of the wagon fetched up against a jagged line of rocks. It was in the process of being smashed to pieces. Luke could hear the timbers rending with a sound like an animal screaming.

‘Alex!' he bellowed, the minute he had breath. ‘Alex!' Cautiously, he pushed away from the boulder, trying to angle himself so that the current would carry him to the wagon. He flew into its disintegrating belly, sucked beneath the water momentarily, until he grabbed a naked hoop, its canvas long since shredded, and pulled himself up.

Straining, he hauled himself around the wagon, to the rear. There was no sign of the kid. ‘Alex!' he howled again.

‘Luke!'

He felt a relief so acute it was almost painful. He looked for her. The rain had become the lightest of drizzles and he could see her bobbing in the water, holding desperately to the broken tailgate, swirling in whichever direction the current took her. He tore the splintering buckboard away from the wagon and followed her example, launching back into the river, hoping the timber would keep him afloat.

Alex was half drowned, choking on the muddy water, her arms tiring as she struggled to hang on to the splintered wood. The current kept trying to snatch the timber away from her. She couldn't hang on much longer.

She went limp when she felt Luke's strong arm grab her, and the tailgate flew from her grip, lost in the flood.

He hauled her from the river, his arms like iron bands around her. She spluttered, tasting mud and rain. It was only as she collapsed, heaving, on the sodden bank, spitting up sediment, that the full horror of her situation hit her.

She struggled to pull free of his grasp, aware of how the overalls had been ripped and how Adam's old shirt clung, transparent, to her bandaged breasts.

‘Alex,' he gasped, his tone rough with concern.

‘Let me go!' A note of panic crept into her voice as she tried to roll away from him. The river had washed the grime from her face and the grease from her hair. She couldn't let him see her like this!

But he wouldn't let her go. His hands pressed her down on the riverbank.

And then he went very still.

The world seemed to follow suit. The sound of the rushing waters receded. Alex clearly heard the terrible thundering of her own heart.

His eyes were as black as shadows.

Now that the grime was gone, now that the battered brown hat had been swept away, the delicate face, with its faintly cleft chin, was only too visible. Her wet clothes were plastered to her lush curves, outlining the swell of her hips and the line of her full breasts through the saturated bandages.

‘You,' he said.

She did the only sane thing she could. She fainted.

Thirty-Five

It was a shame Eden was cursed. Alex took in the dense forests of Amory, her brother's home. The thick, green woods were sprinkled with yellow-leafed maples and orange sequoias, but she saw emptiness.

‘Well, here we are,' Stephen said proudly, stopping his wagon in front of a rough log cabin. ‘Home sweet home.' He flushed as he took in his siblings' morose expressions. Victoria was staring glumly at her hands, which she was compulsively twisting in her lap; Adam's eyes were fixed in the direction of Oregon City, which they'd left far behind; and Alex looked like someone had shot her pet cat.

‘I know it's not much,' Stephen admitted, clearing his throat. ‘It's a bit rough . . .' He supposed now wasn't the time to tell them that the chimney smoked and the roof leaked.

‘It's lovely,' Alex said numbly, trying to shake herself from her stupor. But of course it wasn't lovely. Nothing had been lovely since that awful day she'd almost drowned in the Snake. She hurried from the wagon, trying to escape the memory. The thought of it still made her burn with shame. The way he'd looked at her . . .

She squealed when her skirt caught on a wheel, catching her mid-descent with a painful jerk. Damn it. She couldn't get used to wearing skirts again. They were always dragging in the dirt, or swinging too close to the fire, or catching on things. She never thought the day would come that she actually missed her overalls, but she thought longingly of how she'd been able to walk with a free stride and clamber in and out of wagons. Back when Luke Slater would still look her in the eye.

She sighed and unhooked her skirt from the wheel. It was best not to think about it. Luke was out of their lives for good, and it was for the best. Although Vicky sure didn't think so. Alex stole a glance at her whey-faced sister. Victoria hadn't said two words since they'd parted ways with the wagon train in Oregon City.

Neither had Adam for that matter. But that was no surprise, Alex admitted, sighing again. Adam would probably never forgive her for selling Blackie Junior.

‘Victoria and Mr Slater say they had a deal,' Alex had told him firmly, ignoring the fact that she'd never had any intention of honouring their wretched deal. All she knew was that she couldn't bear to look at the magnificent Arab; in the long, lonely days ahead he would only remind her of Luke: of him teaching her to ride, of the long months spent on the trail, of their rambling talks and serene silences . . . The memories made her lungs seize up so she couldn't breathe and her heart hurt fit to burst. No, she couldn't be dying of hurt every time she looked at the stupid horse. Luke was best forgotten.

‘Why do you keep calling him Mr Slater?' Adam demanded.

‘Because that's his name,' Alex had snapped, closing the subject. She'd started calling him Mr Slater about the time he'd started calling her Miss Barratt. She winced, remembering the way his voice had dripped with sarcasm. The man hated her.

And now Adam hated her too.

She noticed Stephen standing awkwardly, regarding his log cabin with a depressed eye. ‘It really is lovely,' she assured him, straightening her shoulders. She was sick to death of dragging about, feeling oppressed. She was young and strong, wasn't she? Her family was here with her, safe and sound, and the Gradys were locked up. What on earth did she have to complain about?

She pushed her memories of the last few horrid weeks aside and sized up her new home, not missing the irregular shingles or the smoky window panes. And not to mention the gaps around the frames. Glory, the place must be draughty. Stephen always had been more of a bookworm than a tradesman. Alex rolled up her sleeves and headed into the house, aware of her brother following anxiously.

‘But it's only one room,' Victoria complained as she stepped over the threshold.

‘I didn't know you would be living here,' Stephen said defensively. ‘I thought it was just for me.'

Alex ignored them and began poking around the sparsely furnished cabin. It looked like Stephen had lain in enough supplies to get them all through winter. And there was a new brass bed set up by the fireplace, which she guessed she and Victoria would be sharing. She wrinkled her nose as she noticed the soot stains on the sheets.

‘But what about when you get married?' Victoria demanded.

Stephen scratched his head. ‘Who would I marry?'

Victoria blinked, startled. ‘There must be some eligible girls in your congregation?'

‘Not really.' Stephen was blushing again. ‘There's just me and the Amorys.'

‘What? What do you mean just you and the Amorys?'

‘Well,' Stephen sputtered, ‘and now you three, obviously.'

‘But I thought there was a town!'

Alex saw the colour drain from Victoria's face and hurried to reassure her. ‘I'm sure more people will come soon.'

‘They don't seem to be,' Stephen said glumly. ‘They seem to be settling further down the valley.'

Victoria's eyes were huge. ‘We're alone out here?'

‘No,' Stephen objected, ‘the Amorys are here too.'

‘But they don't have any daughters for you to marry,' Victoria reminded him snappily. ‘Do they have any sons?'

‘Well, no, it's just the two of them. Ted and Wallis.'

‘Ted and Wallis? They're both men? How old are they?'

‘I've never asked them.'

‘Guess,' Victoria growled.

Stephen looked sheepish. ‘I'd guess Ted's about fifty, and, well, Wallis is his father.'

‘His father!'

Alex tried to lead Victoria to a chair, worried that she might swoon – she certainly looked peaky – but Vicky batted her away angrily. ‘Are you telling me that there is no-one around except for us and a couple of octogenarians?'

‘There's nothing octogenarian about them,' Stephen protested. ‘They're fur trappers.'

‘Victoria!' Alex gasped, when her sister grabbed for the frypan and brandished it like a weapon.

‘I have been looking forward to civilisation for months,' Victoria shouted, swinging the frypan to punctuate every word, ‘and now you're telling me there isn't any!'

‘But look at it,' Stephen cried, neatly putting the table between him and his crazed sister, and gesturing at the forest outside. ‘Isn't it beautiful?'

‘No! I'll tell you what's beautiful: whitewash and lace curtains; a cooking range and water pump; a general store! Hairpins are beautiful, and scented soap, and Saturday dances, and church on Sunday attended by more than just a couple of mad old trappers. Yellow calico dresses are beautiful. And best of all is satin, bright yellow shining satin!' Victoria burst into tears.