Celine (27 page)

Trevor could use a little verbal dueling to take the edge off his constant worry about Celine. She still seemed a million miles away, even though Wolf had assured him she'd been seen leaving with the wagons and he would find her. That assurance had done wonders to lighten Trevor's mood. “Do you still think she's only a week or so away?”

“Barring a freak accident,” Wolf said, “we'll catch up to her before she gets all the way to San Francisco. I sure as shit don't carry any perverse longing to keep company with the likes of you for that kind of time.”

Trevor liked Wolf. Although he didn't bear any physical resemblance to Cameron, he had a dry wit that matched his cousin's. And God knew, Trevor needed light banter to ease the tension that plagued him. “If you have to follow her all the way to San Francisco, then you aren't worth your pay. I could have sailed my ship around the Horn and waited at the hotel for her.
Mon Dieu.
”

Wolf shifted in his saddle and gave him a deadpan stare. “Do me a favor,
mon sewer,
and fake an American accent over these next few weeks.”

“At least I speak proper English, which is more than I can say for you. You amuse me.”

“How so?”

“While I have command of two languages, without your infernal cursing, your vocabulary most likely wouldn't stretch beyond that of a child's.”

“I say what needs to be said, when I've a need to say it. A sight better than someone who talks all day and says nothing.” Wolf jerked his head toward the back of his horse, where the bay was tied. “Hey, how come that bay we're dragging along for your lady has a man's saddle? Doesn't your fiancée ride sidesaddle like other genteel ladies? Or is that just common practice in N'awlins?”

Trevor had a feeling he was being baited. “Celine does what she chooses.”

“Good. I like that in a woman. You did all right.” Wolf fell silent.

“Like what in a woman?” Trevor finally asked. “That she does as she chooses or rides astride?”

Wolf snorted and slipped into a mocking Southern drawl. “Why, Mistah Andrews, suh, that your lady rides astride, by all means. It keeps the muscles on the inside of a lady's thighs nice and even, ah do believe. Powerful strong, too.”

Wolf grinned. “Leave it to you to pick a woman with a good set of tight, evenly matched leg muscles. All the better to wrap around
your
fancy butt. Was that by chance, or is it a prerequisite you crazy-ass French have down yonder.”

“
Merde,
but you are a crude one,” Trevor spat.

“Tch, tch, tch,” Wolf bantered. “Would you look who's doing the cussin' now.” His mouth curled into an easy grin. “Bet you won't be doing much swearing the day we ride up beside your little lady and tip our hats. Won't she be surprised?”

A knot formed in Trevor's gut. What if Celine refused to return with him? Despite the heat, his blood ran cold.

Chapter Twenty-One

Trevor doubted he'd sleep much tonight. According to Wolf, after nearly two weeks on the trail, they were only a day away from the wagon train. This close, he'd have ridden straight through the night if it weren't for rabbit holes that could break a horse's leg in the dark. Or the fact that the horses needed their rest. Wolf guessed that they would reach Celine around dusk the next day.

Wolf's pestering banter had begun to increase these past few days. Trevor knew it was the other man's way of easing the tension.

And it worked.

Wolf sat cross-legged, staring into the fire. “You're sure going to have your bed made come sundown tomorrow.”

“Do you intend to start that again?” Trevor responded.

Wolf grunted. “I sacrificed four weeks with a very lovely woman in Missouri just so's you could chase one all over hell and back.” Wolf pulled his knife from the sheath strapped to his leg and sliced at what was left of the rabbit roasting on a makeshift spit. Balancing the steaming bit of meat on the flat of the blade, he offered it to Trevor.

Trevor placed his hand over his stomach. “I couldn't eat another bite, thank you.”

Wolf shrugged and flipped the morsel into his own mouth.

“Wolf.” Trevor rolled the name off his tongue. “How did you come by such an unusual name, anyway?”

“Huh?” Wolf held the blade of his knife in the fire to clean it.

“I'm curious.” Trevor leaned forward. “And if you think I'm being rude, sir, may I remind you of the infernal personal questions you've imposed upon me of late.”

Trevor poured another cup of coffee. “More?”

“Nope.”

“Such a way with words, Wolf.
Mon Dieu,
you would make an incredible politician.” He watched Wolf play with the fire a little longer. In the beginning, theirs had been a business arrangement, but Wolf and Trevor had connected in ways that were similar to his relationship with Cameron. “Tell me how you came by such a nickname.”

Wolf shot him a frown. “What the hell does it matter?”

Trevor suppressed a smile. Ah, something about Wolf's name bothered the tracker. “Oh, your life out here, your experiences. Your past. I should like to know who I am dealing with.”

As a way to keep his mind off tomorrow, Trevor continued to needle. “It's most unusual for someone to give themselves a descriptive name. Others usually do it for them. Take
the weasel
, for instance. One can well understand why I gave Jacques Pierre that name—”

“I get your drift.” Wolf continued to dig at the fire with his knife.

Trevor lay back on his blanket, cradling his head in his hands, studying the stars. He knew he could wait Wolf out on this one. The man had many secrets, one of which was a cultured background that slipped through now and then. And the man had been educated. Likely outside of America by the way he used certain words. As days stretched into weeks, Trevor grew more and more curious about Wolf, and why he chose to live the way he did.

“There's no message in it,” Wolf finally answered. “It's my name.” He dug at the fire hard now, poking and grinding.

“
The
Wolf, or just plain Wolf?” Trevor leaned up on one elbow.

“What?” Wolf stopped digging and eased back. He tried not to smile but failed, chuckling sheepishly. He mumbled something unintelligible.

“I cannot hear you, sir.” Trevor cocked an ear with his hand. “Do speak up.”

Wolf lifted his hot knife, shaking it at Trevor. “You tell anyone, and I use this on your balls, got that?”

Trevor nodded. “Such a threat.”

“Wolf is my name. Short for Wolford. Been using Wolf since I was six. Everybody thinks there's some big mystery to it, and I don't tell them any different.”

“Wolfort?”

“Wolford with a
d,
as in you
damn dumb French Creole
. Don't they give you any ears down South? Wolf works just fine.”

Trevor laughed. “Oh, this is rich,
c'est trop.
” He kept chuckling. “Is it because you don't think anyone would hire someone in your line of work named Wolford?”

Wolf grabbed his blanket and curled up with his back to Trevor. “Kiss my ass, and get some sleep. We have a long ride in the morning if you expect to find your little darlin' by the time they break for camp.”

 

 

As dusk approached, fires dotting the campsites along the halted wagon train flickered and shone brighter. Celine sat beside the campfire, staring at the orange flames licking the sky, half-listening to the daily accounts and tales from the others. She was exhausted, and looked forward to the darkness and the blanket of stars.

Evenings never failed to remind her that Trevor was out there somewhere. Perhaps at this very moment, he stood on the deck of his ship, gazing up at the same great expanse. The starry nights and the bracelet she wore connected her to him. And now, her babe, too.

Their babe.

She placed the black-and-white speckled enamel coffeepot on a hot flat rock between the fire and the circle of rocks and went back to her musings. When she got to California, she would contact Trevor through Cameron. No matter what the outcome, Trevor would be informed that he had a child.

A scout on horseback approached their campsite. The relay of scouting information up and down the endless line of wagons was a valuable source of information to the group. From ahead, one learned of high or low river crossings, stopping points, dangers, and weather conditions. From behind came news of events that had taken place along the way. Tonight was Katarina's turn to host Mr. Burns, the wagon master. This meant the group gathered around the fire would be privy to firsthand information since the lead scout reported to Mr. Burns and was expected to join in the meal. In turn, the information would be passed from campfire to campfire.

The scout dismounted from his horse. “Evening.”

Katarina handed Buck a cup for his first pour of coffee. “Hope you brought an appetite. Will shot a couple of jackrabbits today, and I stewed them with some potatoes and carrots.”

Buck rubbed his flat belly. “Yes, ma'am, I could eat.” He sat next to the fire by Mr. Burns and stretched out, crossing his dusty boots at the ankles. “Trail ahead couldn't be better for tomorrow.”

He sipped at his brew. “Today was an uncommonly good day. No accidents, nothing broke down, no one got lost. Only thing to speak of is a couple of stray riders working their way up from behind. If they don't find what they're looking for, they ought to be right at your group in about an hour, I reckon. Seem to be in a mighty big hurry.”

He glanced up from the grounds he'd been inspecting in the bottom of his cup. “Two riders and three horses. I hear one rider's on a monster of a horse, the likes of which no one's ever seen before. So black it shines blue in the sun, and with a curly mane that hangs to its knees.”

Celine jerked. Could that horse be Panther?

Trevor! Had he actually found her trail and followed her?

Her heart pounded. Her mouth filled with cotton. It took all her strength not to interrupt Mr. Burns and Buck.

“They're looking for a woman. Leastwise, the man on the black horse is. The other rider is Wolf, a tracker who don't hire out cheap. This feller's got to be damn serious about who he's after if he's with Wolf.”

Buck glanced over at the women. “Pardon my language, ladies.” Then he turned back to Mr. Burns. “Yeah, he's the best I've seen. Rides circles around me.”

Katarina took her eyes off Celine and broke into the conversation. “Excuse me, gentlemen, but we women watch out for one another here. This man you speak of, what if he's up to no good? What if the woman ran away for good reason? You men going to just up and hand her over?”

“Don't work that way, ma'am,” Mr. Burns said. “If a woman's made her home here for the time being, she's under our protection. If she's run off with another man, well, we still don't turn her over if she don't want it. We'll see her to the end. After that, it's none of our business.”

“Well—” Katarina started, but the scout interjected.

“Don't worry none, ma'am. Wolf may be a loner, but ain't no way he'd take on anyone out to harm a woman. He'd smell the man's intentions first. Ain't no tricking the Wolf.”

“I need a bath.” Celine scrambled to her feet, shook out her skirts, and marched over to the wagon. She retrieved fresh clothing and a towel and headed for the river nearby.

“Wait, ma'am.”

At the sound of the wagon master's stern voice, she halted.

It was as if the corners of the sky folded in on her and stole her breath.

“You'd better take your brother along, just to be safe. And don't dawdle, it's near to dusk.”

Take Will? Oh, dear God! Her eyes darted from Mr. Burns to Katarina and back. Will grabbed his rifle and moved to her side. His lips were already wet.

“May I please go along with you, Celine?” It was quiet Sarah from the next wagon. Thank heavens for Sarah. “I could sure use a bath too.”

Celine scrambled to Sarah's side. “Of course. Of course. Come along, but hurry before ... before night falls.”

“If I can share your towel, I can go with you right now.”

“Will,” Mr. Burns called out. “There's an outcropping of boulders at the high end of the stream. Put your back to the ladies and keep a lookout for Indians. Doubt you'll see much, but can't be too careful.”

“You can count on me, Mr. Burns.” Will snickered under his breath and walked ahead of Sarah and Celine. Count on him for what?

Celine sternly reiterated the wagon master's orders as they reached the water, also reminding Will to keep his rifle pointed upward. She trusted him even less with the rifle than with his lecherous intentions.

She and Sarah removed their dresses and, keeping their backs to Will, waded into the water clad only in their chemises. They both sucked in breath when the cold water touched their skin.

“Icy, but refreshing after a hard, hot day of dust and wind, isn't it, Celine?”

When Celine only nodded and began her bath, Sarah moved closer and whispered, “That's your man come after you, isn't it?”

“I've got to hurry, if I'm to look anywhere near decent.”

“Let me help. You're shaking like a leaf and I don't think it's from the cold.” Sarah ministered to Celine quietly, helped wash her hair and scrub her body, but she smiled a lot.

“He must be a good man for you to want him coming after you,” Sarah said. “You're more fortunate than a lot of women.”

Something in Sarah's tone gave Celine pause. “You're recently wed. Don't you consider yourself to be among those so blessed?”

Sarah cast her gaze to the ground. “Not so much.”

A chill ran through Celine. For the first time, she made sense of the bruises dotting Sarah's arms, as if someone had dug fingers deep into the girl's flesh. “Oh, Sarah, I had no idea—”

“There's men a-coming on horseback!” Will hollered.

Celine's heart jumped. “Oh, Lord, too soon!”

She shot a glance over her shoulder at Will. “Don't turn around, Sarah. That little snake is staring right at us.” Celine took a breath past the knot in her chest and blew it out. “From which direction are they riding, Will?”

“From the east. I can see their dust from here. And . . . and shit if that ain't a big black horse.”

“East? You're supposed to be facing west with your back to us, you little worm. Turn around.” Celine heard a thud and a grunt.

And then nothing.

Agitated that Will would choose now of all times to play games, she waited a few seconds. “Will, you rat.”

She turned around.

And then she screamed. “Oh my God, Will!”

Will stared at the two women through blank eyes. Slowly, he fell over at the waist, an arrow protruding from the middle of his back.

He pitched forward into the water.

Two Indians on horseback shot over the rock Will had sat on—fierce-looking men with faces, bare chests, and arms painted in bright colors. Feathers stuck up from the backs of their heads.

Sarah's screams joined Celine's.

It all happened so fast, nothing registered in Celine's stunned brain. One minute she and Sarah were in the water, the next they were being dragged, face down, over the tops of horses.

The beasts flew westward, over the rocks and away from the wagon train.

Repeating rifle shots cracked in the air. Suddenly, the thunder of horses' hooves shook the earth—more Indians, and men from the wagon train, all riding at each other in great clouds of dust.

She caught sight of Trevor.

“Trevor!” she screamed and pushed herself upward with a strength she didn't know she possessed, butting her head against her captor's chin.

He grunted. Something hard slammed into her head, knocking her back. She almost passed out, but came up fighting. He struggled to keep her on the horse, and shoved her down with terrific force. Pain shot through her neck.

She spotted Trevor again and screamed his name over and over.

Something hard crashed against her skull again. Blood spurted this time, and ran down her face, blurring the mad scene before her in a haze of red. Still, she fought.

Another crushing blow hit her head.

The last thing she saw was Trevor, pitching forward just as Will had, an arrow protruding from the middle of his back.