Bound For Eden (40 page)

Stephen looked helplessly at Alex, who sighed. ‘She's just overwrought,' she told him, as she tried to give Victoria a hug.

‘No, I'm not,' Victoria hiccupped, shrugging Alex off. ‘I just want to live like a regular person.'

‘But this is God's own country,' Stephen said, bewildered.

‘Isn't Oregon City God's own country too?' Victoria wailed, burying her face in her hands and crying as though her heart would break.

Things didn't get much better from there. They settled in for the night as the darkness crept around the little cabin. Alex agreed with Victoria. She didn't like the isolation either. After poking at dinner, which nobody really ate, they retired to their beds. Almost immediately Alex had to get up and open the window; she felt like she would suffocate on the woodsmoke that came rolling from the fireplace in big white clouds.

She jumped every time a branch scraped against the wall of the cabin, or when she heard the low cry of an owl hunting. And in the long reaches of the lonely night she couldn't help her thoughts from turning to Luke. She could see with crystal clarity the look on his face on that last day in Oregon City.

The wagons had rolled into town in the late afternoon, each person struck dumb at their first sight of genuine civilisation in months. Oregon City didn't seem like a frontier town: there were churches and stores, mills and smithies, a street full of neat, whitewashed buildings. There was even a local newspaper.

Alex had barely considered what awaited them at the end of the trail. Oregon had merely been a way to escape the Gradys, but now she realised that this would be home. This was where she would spend her life. She couldn't help her gaze drifting to Luke. He was working his way down the line of wagons, bidding everyone farewell before he headed home. She wondered if he lived close by.

‘I guess this is it,' he said shortly, once he'd pried himself loose from Adam and Victoria. Both had tears welling. Adam wanted to go with Luke; he'd been begging for days. ‘Blackie Junior needs me,' he kept insisting.

‘You can't leave your sisters,' Luke said gently, refusing to look in their direction.

‘They could come.'

Alex blanched at the way Luke's expression blackened at the suggestion.

‘Adam,' Victoria interrupted, ‘don't harass him.'

Alex clenched her teeth as she watched Victoria turn doe eyes on Luke. She knew that deep down Victoria still harboured 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 organised 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 favour.' 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 . . . goodbye.'

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 meagre 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.

Thirty-Six

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 leapt 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 realised 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 Sparrow's smashed-up wagon to retrieve what he could. There wasn't much left, just one trunk which 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-coloured 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 recognise 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 . . . goodbye,' 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.

Thirty-Seven

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.