Deep as the Rivers (Santa Fe Trilogy) (53 page)

   
The stink of sulfur assailed their nostrils as they watched the door to hell close. “I expect he’s arrived now where he was always destined to be,” she said with a shiver.

   
“Just in case that fault reopens, let’s get the hell away from here,” Samuel said to her.

   
“By all means! I wouldn’t want to join him,” she replied, still shuddering as they struggled to walk on the careening earth.

   
By that afternoon the quakes had subsided and the river reversed its course to flow once more naturally toward the Gulf to the south. Everywhere around them signs of nature’s rampage had left their mark, but nowhere more visibly than on the great river itself. Not only was the channel radically altered, but whole series of large islands had been utterly destroyed, including several pirate’s nests inhabited by cutthroats who would nevermore terrorize hapless travelers. In place of the vanished islands, new ones had been thrust up, muddy and gray with the sediment of eons once more exposed to daylight.

   
The river flowed turbulently, the channel clogged with dense debris—whole forests of uprooted trees and bushes, the remnants of smashed keelboats and flatboats, even parts of settlers’ cabins, which had been swept from the shore or sunken down when vast tracts of land were sucked below water level.

   
The sky remained darkly overcast and a chill wind gave some relief from the poisonous fumes from beneath the earth. Olivia foraged through the damaged supplies in the cabin box while Samuel went in search of Billy Weeks, the riverman he had hired to pursue Wescott’s boat. By the time he returned to report that Weeks, too, was dead, she had a small campfire burning and was stirring a skillet of beans as coffee simmered fragrantly in the coals.

   
It isn’t much, but at least we won’t starve. I found a few dry blankets, too. We’re miles from the nearest settlement. What do you think we should do?” she asked, handing him a steaming plate of beans.

   
New Madrid would be a day’s journey north by boat, but judging from the wreckage we’ve seen floating downriver, I fear there’ll be no help there—if anyone is even left alive,” he added grimly.

   
“I don’t want to chance it, Samuel. We might find less damage downriver—if it’s safe to travel on the river again. What do you think?”

   
“We can stay here until we’re sure the shakes are passed. The cabin box is intact enough to provide us shelter and we have Wescott’s supplies. Meanwhile I can start gathering lumber to lash together a small raft. If the river calms, we can try it. Otherwise, we’ll have to walk all the way down to Natchez—not exactly a prospect to relish.”

   
“Aren’t there any small settlements downriver?” she asked, searching her memory from the infrequent trips she had made as a pampered passenger who paid scant attention to the wilderness being traversed. Mostly, she remembered it as flat monotonous swamps and woodland with little signs of human habitation.

   
Samuel shook his head. “As nearly as I can recall, the closest one is almost seventy-five miles south and it’s on the eastern shore.”

   
“We’ll have to get back on the river then.” Her tone of voice indicated how much the idea appealed. They ate in silence for several moments, both deep in thought. Finally she worked up her courage to ask, “What will happen when we reach New Orleans...assuming we can reach there alive?”

   
He set his plate aside, all appetite fled as he recalled the last vitriolic scene with Tish. “This rich uncle of yours, Wescott seemed certain he would take you in. It might be better than returning to St. Louis. When I came after you, Tish wasn’t exactly pleased. I’m afraid of what she might do if I take you back there, especially now that Wescott’s dead.”

   
“Then you think I should live with Uncle Charles?” she asked, trying to hide her disappointment.

   
He studied her as she fidgeted with a half-empty mug of coffee. “You’ll be a wealthy heiress.”

   
“I don’t care about the money. I don’t even care about Uncle Charles. He turned away his own sister with her husband and child. Now I’m to be his heir by default because his own sons died in a yellow fever epidemic and he has no one else. I don’t think I should like him much.”

   
“He might not be alive. Yesterday, when I was following your keelboat, the thought occurred to me that there is every possibility he named you his heir and is already dead. That would better explain Wescott’s attempts to drag you to New Orleans. I don’t think he would have taken the risk of kidnapping you unless your inheritance was already a sure thing.”

   
“I don’t want the money.”
I want only you, Samuel.
She waited, struggling for the patience Micajah had taught her. Somehow it had been easier when Samuel Shelby was not around.

   
He looked at her stubborn chin and felt his heart break. “But you need protection, Livy, a place to stay while I take Tish back to Washington and begin the divorce proceedings again.”

   
“I could go back to Micajah. To hell with the gossiping old biddies in St. Louis.”

   
He smiled sadly. “We couldn’t live isolated in the wilderness for the rest of our lives, Livy. I’m still in the army, at least until the war is over. Then my interests in Santiago’s business would dictate that we live in St. Louis. We could move to Spanish territory, settle in Santa Fe as my sister has done, but that still wouldn’t rid me of Tish. We can’t marry until I secure the divorce.”

   
“I’d rather have you than a wedding ring.” Tears choked her voice as she realized his duty and his sense of honor would both conspire to keep them apart for a long, long while.

   
He reached over and caressed her cheek softly. “I don’t want you to live that way. You deserve better.”

   
“At least we have this time before the war takes you away from me. Let’s use every precious minute of it, Samuel,” she whispered, pressing his palm against her lips.

   
“Come here,” he commanded, pulling her into his embrace. Kneeling beside the crackling campfire, he framed her face with his hands and lowered his mouth to hers slowly, reverently.

   
She tilted her head back, opening her lips, tasting him as his tongue teased hers. In spite of the chill evening air she was on fire. His body seemed to give off heat as volcanic as that which had burst from the earth. She pressed her breasts to his chest, feeling the steady, accelerating thrum of his heartbeat. “I’ve made us a bed inside the cabin box. I even salvaged a lantern,” she said shyly, eager to see the sleek symmetry of his harsh masculine beauty, to touch his hard muscles without the encumbrance of clothing between them.

   
Samuel stood and swept her into his arms as if she weighed no more than thistledown. He carried her to the cabin box, stooping to enter the narrow little door. Inside the broken log frame, she had cleared the smashed and damaged cargo and supplies, leaving room for a wide soft pallet in the middle of the space. The flickering light from the lantern cast a soft glow over the makeshift bed.

   
“You were busy while I was gone,” he murmured, placing her on the pallet.

   
“See what an excellent little housewife I’ll make for you.” She pulled him down beside her and began to unfasten the buckskin lacings on the front of his shirt, revealing the crisp black hair beneath. Running her fingers through it, she pressed kisses near his heart and nuzzled him, breathing in the scent which belonged to Samuel alone.

   
He yanked the shirt up and over his head, tossing it away without a thought, murmuring her name with a groan as his hands glided over her curves, reaching inside her jacket to tease the sharp points of her nipples with his thumbs. Then he pulled open the blouse and delved inside, loving her sharp intake of breath as he found her aching for his caress.

   
Slowly in the flickering light they undressed each other, taking deliberate time, kissing and exploring, affirming love and life in the wake of so much destruction and death.

   
Her hand feathered down from the waistband of his tight buckskins, which she had just unbuttoned. Reaching inside, she cupped him with eager inquisitive little fingers, taking delight in his acute gasp of pleasure—or was it pleasure? She was still quite new at this and her own boldness shocked her. Her hand stilled and she raised her head to look at his face, which was contorted in the shadows.

   
“Did—did I hurt you?”

   
He reached down, pressing her hand back where it had been, urging her on. “No! God, no!”

   
His hoarse breathless voice further emboldened her. She began to pull his trousers down over his narrow hips and long legs. He stopped her midway, saying, “The boots first, Livy,” and sat up, quickly dispensing with his footgear and kicking away the tangled leather britches.

   
When he stretched out again, he lay before her completely naked, studying her with hooded eyes, waiting to see what she would do. She blushed beneath that heated gaze but could not keep her eyes from devouring his magnificent body, so long and lean and powerful. Her fingertips traced the subtle patterns in black body hair, the silky softness on his forearms, the more abrasive growth on his legs, then moved up to the heavy mat on his chest that narrowed to a slender vee, pointing like an arrow to his groin. Standing proudly in the thick black bush, his erection enticed her, twitching and straining, beckoning her to touch it.

   
Samuel watched her nervously rim her lips with the tip of her tongue as she stared down at him in a passion glazed trance. He willed himself to remain immobile, waiting to see what she would do, his beautiful Livy with her fiery hair trailing across her bare breasts in long soft tendrils, her green eyes glowing. When she hesitated for a moment, he said, “Take off the rest of your clothes for me. I want to see all of you—it’s only fair.”

   
She obeyed, peeling off the open blouse, then standing up to free her heavy skirt and undergarments. He reclined on his elbows, watching the revelation of sweet soft curves, so smooth and feminine, yet at the same time so strong and resilient. When she started to bend over to remove her shoes, he said, “Allow me,” reaching out to take one firm calf and tiny ankle in his hands, lifting it so he could work the buttons of her shoe free. He braced it against the flat washboard of his belly, then set to work, all the while looking up at her standing above in glorious nudity.

   
“The sun has turned your skin to gold,” he said, as his eyes traveled across her arms and over her collarbone where the tan lines from her summer outdoors left a sudden demarcation between delicate warm tan and light creamy ivory. The pale skin of her breasts and belly betrayed the rosy heat of her blush as he removed the second shoe.

   
Olivia could feel the heat as she knelt in front of him, but she kept to her resolve, pressing her palms against his chest until he lay back down. When he reached up to splay his hand against her hipbone and glide around the curve of her buttock, she bit her lip, then whispered, “Lie back, my love, I want to do something.”

   
He obliged. Once again she resumed her exploration of his body, this time using her mouth the way she had her hands, nuzzling and kissing, following the patterns of his body hair until she reached the inevitable apex at the center of his body. He could feel her hands grasp him and then her hair brushed between his legs as she knelt over him. He nearly exploded at that instant.

   
Olivia watched as sweat beaded his brow and his jaw clenched, making the tendons in his neck stand out. Beneath her hand his staff, already hard and distended, grew even larger, throbbing and straining for more of her touch. Deep within the core of her, an answering ache built up deliriously, but she ignored it, turning her attention to the dark ruby tip of his sex where one small pearlescent drop of semen glistened. Her tongue snaked out and swiped at it, tasting of him as he had of her that night in the beaver lodge.

   
One tiny flick and he was nearly undone! His body arched up off the blankets as he gasped at the raw ecstasy of the sensation. Control. He must exert control or else he would spill himself like a green boy. But never before with any woman had this felt so wonderful. Never before had it been done by a woman he loved, an innocent whose very hesitance and uncertainty made it all the sweeter. He reined in his rampant desire and concentrated on breathing deeply, letting her do as she would with his all too willing flesh.

   
Easier said than done! The breathtaking heat of her lips scorched him, then her mouth slowly enveloped him. He moaned her name softly, balling his hands into fists to resist tangling them in her hair. Instead he let her proceed at her own delicate and agonizingly slow pace, learning the taste and texture of him as he had of her, instructing her when she hesitated or retreated, urging her on with love words and helpless curses that were also endearments.

   
Olivia knew it must be good for him as she felt him bow up tautly, offering himself to her like some splendid pagan god. With growing confidence she increased the pressure of her lips, moving along the hard velvety length of his shaft, following his lead as he pleaded for her to do as she was doing. This was a remarkable new way to make love, one that put him utterly in her power. Her lean, muscular lover, always so in command, was now completely at her mercy.