Now and Forever (3 page)

Bailey kept up with Sunrise, glancing back to see Nev move fast for about a hundred yards, until the trail curved out of sight. Then he came back and caught and passed Aaron, who brought up the rear of their line, with Kylie and Bailey, now leading two horses, to fall in behind Sunrise again. He said a few things, speaking quietly to Sunrise, who nodded in reply.

Bailey heard him say, “Tucker was ahead.”

She couldn’t hear anymore. She hated being left out, but she didn’t ask them to speak up. Distracting them served no good purpose.

Bailey’s tension deepened as the day wore down. The August days were long, but the light wouldn’t last. Shannon, missing in these mountains in the dark.

Not that Shannon wouldn’t be okay out in the mountains. She was tough. She could handle herself. But she wouldn’t be missing unless something had happened to her.

Bailey quit thinking about it before she made herself crazier than Nev.

The grulla tried to leave the trail. Sunrise held it back, spoke to Nev and pointed. He split off and headed fast up a slope that Bailey, when she got to where he’d turned, wouldn’t have recognized as a trail. But she saw the moccasins. Tucker had gone uphill, while Shannon had continued on. The fact that they’d shared a trail, hours apart, meant nothing. Why was Nev even following Tucker’s tracks? Maybe Sunrise sent Nev for Tucker because she knew she needed help.

On they went. Nev didn’t come back.

At some point, Aaron took over leading the horses, and Bailey was grateful not to have them to drag along.

The sun lowered until it disappeared behind a mountain, dusk thickening. Bailey’s stomach ached to think of her sister out there. The vastness of it was overwhelming. Shannon had to be at the end of these tracks. If she wasn’t, how would they ever find her?

A shout from high above pulled Bailey’s eyes upward, to where Nev was waving a hand. He started picking his way down the mountainside, too steep to walk on. There had to be a trail, yet Bailey couldn’t see it. He really was better than she was.

Sunrise rounded an outcropping of granite, and Bailey lost sight of her for a few seconds. When she caught up, she saw Sunrise drop to her knees with a wail like nothing Bailey had ever heard from the quiet woman. Then Bailey saw that the trail ended in a cliff. Tucker’s horse looked over the edge, its ears laid back.

Bailey walked up and saw the prints. The claw marks of a huge bear. Grizzly.

The ground was too churned up for Bailey to read Shannon’s prints, but with Nev on Tucker’s trail coming down and Shannon coming this way, and this bear and this cliff . . . no one had to write this story down and read it. Bailey sank to her knees and crawled to the lip of the cliff and looked down and down and down.

To water.

They’d fallen into the river.

“They hit water. They probably survived.” Bailey went from utter despair to hope. It was a swoop so sudden and wonderful she was giddy.

“Not this river. No one survives this river.” Sunrise rose from her knees. Bailey stared at the calm Shoshone woman who dealt with everything—and they’d been through a lot together—with quiet serenity. Her face was streaked with tears.

“What do you mean ‘no one survives this river’?”

“The Shoshone call it Slaughter River.”

Bailey felt her lips moving at the ugliness of the name.

Sunrise went on. “They might well say
certain death
. If Shannon and my Tucker fell over this cliff, and it appears they did, then they are dead.” Sunrise, a short, stout
woman, looked up at Bailey, her black eyes wet, brimming over with tears. “I go where my boy’s body will be. Your Shannon will be with him.”

“No.” Bailey barely managed that one word of denial.

Nev reached her. In some distant way, Bailey knew Aaron and Kylie had come up behind her.

Without another word, Sunrise took the reins of Tucker’s grulla from Aaron, turned and walked away.

“A grizzly followed Tucker down the slope. Must have knocked him off the high trail and chased him down.” He looked at Bailey. “What happened?” He then glanced in the direction Sunrise was walking. “Where’s she going?”

Bailey was silent. Nev looked past her.

Aaron’s voice sounded rough with grief. “Sunrise said Shannon and Tucker went over this cliff. She said the river at the bottom isn’t one that a man can fall into, ride out, and survive.”

The sound of Kylie weeping made Bailey want to break down, but she never did such a thing. Absolutely never.

“No. Sunrise might be planning on searching for a body. But I refuse to accept it.” She grabbed Kylie by the arm. “I’m going with Sunrise. You go home, Kylie. There’s no use in all of us going. Tend to Shannon’s sheep until I bring her back.”

Kylie shook her head.

Bailey looked at Aaron. “Dead or alive, I’ll find her and bring her back. While I’m doing that, someone needs to tend our homesteads.”

Aaron drew Kylie into his arms. “We’re needed here, Kylie. We won’t give up hope, and leaving Shannon’s home untended is giving up.”

Kylie looked up, and after a long time she nodded. She whirled and hugged Bailey, then whispered, “Wilde women don’t give up. You go find our sister.”

Bailey nodded, took the reins from Aaron, and rushed after Sunrise before she could break her rule about crying. She’d go find her sister, who would turn out to be the first woman ever to survive this rattlesnake of a river. And if anyone could do it, it was Shannon. And no one was more apt to help her than Matthew Tucker.

Sunrise could just go ahead and give up hope if she wanted to, but Bailey would save that miserable feeling for when she had no other choice. For now, Bailey was going to find Shannon, dry her off, and get her back to tending those stupid sheep of hers.

F
or a second, Tucker thought he’d gotten away from Mama Grizz, though he was pretty sure she had her teeth sunk into his neck. He almost wished she’d rip his head off and get it over with.

But nope. He was gonna hafta live with her gnawing. But since Tucker wasn’t the type to let a few bear teeth stop him, he forced his eyes open and stared up at . . . nothing. The inside of a bear’s mouth was pitch-black, as it turned out. Bear teeth were usually white. Maybe he was already swallowed.

A moan beside him drew his attention. “Shannon?”

He remembered then that she’d been with him. He turned his head, and the pain about knocked him cold. He made out a lighter shade of black, but it was where the moan had come from, so it must be Shannon beside him. The moan said she was still alive.

How’d she get into the belly of this beast with him? Oh, yeah, the river ride. Thanks to the little woman beside him.
And they’d definitely left Mama Grizz behind, so where in the world were they?

Well, besides flat on their backs in the dark. And alive.

Two good things, honestly. Pain meant alive, so Tucker had something to work with. He took a few seconds to check for injuries. His arms and legs seemed to be present and working, though they hurt as if on fire. Not everyone who went down that wild river could make such a statement. Slowly, hoping to keep his very sore head on his shoulders, he moved his arms that ached like they’d been used to beat him half to death and propped himself up, and his stomach muscles screamed in protest—he almost screamed himself.

The pain hit him from all directions, until he couldn’t pay attention to any of it. It was dark inside and out, but he had eyes that’d humble a red-tailed hawk. He peered out the mouth of some kind of cave overlooking the river.

Somehow Shannon had gotten them ashore—he was real sure he hadn’t done it. He fumbled at his shirt, reasonably dry now. So they’d been landed for hours.

What a woman.

Tucker smiled as he considered all she’d done and all that was left to do to get them out of here.

He hoped she didn’t kick up too much of a fuss when, after all she’d done to save them, Tucker took charge, because he didn’t like a fuss. He didn’t mind fighting a grizzly, scaling a thousand-foot peak just to say he’d done it, spending the winter months wading through ice-choked streams running trap lines, tracking a horse thief through six days of a howling blizzard, hunting and killing and
skinning a buffalo with a Shoshone war party, then decorating his body with the buffalo’s blood, and eating its liver raw while dancing around a fire in a loincloth, but he didn’t like a fuss.

And he was pretty sure this woman was meant for him. That’s just the way the situation struck him.

Of course, he’d never run up against such a situation before, so he might not know what he was doing. He just knew he wanted her like he’d never wanted a woman before. He’d made an honest attempt to escape and instead was stuck with her in a black hole somewhere.

As if God himself had cast the deciding vote.

It’d be a sin to try to escape again.

With a wide grin in the darkness, Tucker decided it’d be pure wrong of him to go and commit a sin.

As he sat there, more than a little confused, he decided to stop thinking about big things like his fate and women and sin. Instead, he wondered how bad he was hurt.

He was battered everywhere it seemed, but the worst was the back of his head. Feeling the back of his neck, he winced at a welt the size of a bald eagle egg. A cut ran the length of the knot, which would explain his notion that a grizz had sunk her teeth into his neck.

Next assessment, he was hungry. A big part of why he felt so puny was his empty belly. He’d had breakfast before hitting the trail, but that’d been before sunup.

He patted around and found his haversack still strapped on. He’d held on to the pack through thick and thin for years. It was still with him now. A few more quick searches of his person turned up the powder horn and knife
crisscrossed on his chest. His holster was there, yet the gun was gone, as was the rifle he carried over his shoulder. Both knives in his boots were there and the one up his sleeve, as well. Though he was careful how he wrapped it, he figured the powder in his horn was ruined, so a gun wouldn’t’ve done him much good anyway. He found his whip lying between him and Shannon. He looped it and hung it back on his belt.

He now felt a bit safer. Not much he couldn’t handle with four knives and a whip.

Shannon moaned again.

There was one thing he probably couldn’t handle: Shannon Wilde. A problem he couldn’t solve, no matter how well armed he was.

Shaking his head, he pulled the waterlogged pack off and swung it around. With a smile, he thought of Ma giving him his yearly shave and haircut about two weeks ago. He ran a hand over his bristly cheeks and into the dark stubs of his hair, hardened against his head from the river water. Sunrise wasn’t his real ma, but he thought of her as such. The woman was no great barber. She’d done her usual hatchet job on him, but it didn’t matter really. He wouldn’t get another haircut or shave until next summer.

He dug around in the pack and found things in decent shape. He often walked around in the rain and waded across waterways, sometimes deep enough to force him to swim, so he had the things that didn’t do well when they got wet packed in oilcloth.

He unwrapped beef jerky, and the tough meat helped to ease the hunger in his belly. He found a tin cup and did
some careful scooting around and managed to get to the water and quench his thirst. Every muscle hurt like that grizzly was still gnawing on him. A few places throbbed from the pain—his chest, left leg, and head especially.

None of that stopped him.

Once he stuck his head out, he looked up and up for what seemed like forever. He saw stars overhead, bright enough that he could see the sheer walls.

He’d expected to find they’d gotten all the way to the end of this wild stretch of river, but they hadn’t. They’d washed into a cave. He had no idea how much farther they needed to float and how many more rapids and waterfalls lay between them and the end of the canyon. Tucker knew the very worst of the river was at the end, so whatever they’d come through, if the canyon walls were still high, there was a deadly stretch still ahead.

Tucker took time right there and then to thank God for letting them get out of the river alive and to ask Him for a way out without having to go back into the water.

The bit of sky he could see was too narrow for him to get any sense of where they were or how much of the night they had left, so he’d think about it when the sun came up.

Filling his cup one last time, he pondered trying to wake Shannon to get her to drink but decided not to bother her. She’d probably swallowed enough while they’d been floating to survive the night.

Easing himself back onto the rough stone floor, his head aching to beat all, he figured he’d lay awake until the sun rose, then go to work getting them out of here.

He blinked, and when his eyes opened it was daylight
and Shannon was sitting up, frowning down at him, looking like the bright blue in her eyes was going to turn into water and flood him with tears.

Not much he hated more than a crying woman.

“Tucker!” Shannon had been fighting tears, afraid she’d never see those eyes open again. “You’re awake!”

He sat up slowly. She thought of how he’d bled yesterday.

“How are you? I’ve been so worried. You’ve been unconscious all day yesterday and all night.” Shannon had to fight the urge to throw herself in his arms. But she was not going to do such a thing. Good heavens, she barely knew the man.

Tucker drew one knee up and smiled. “Thank you for fretting over me, Miss Wilde. Did you get something to eat and drink?”

Shannon gasped. “No! I’ve just been awake a few minutes. I’ve only had time to worry about you. We have food?”

Tucker nodded. “My haversack came through the trip down the river.” He opened it and handed her some jerky. Then he picked up a cup she hadn’t even noticed, sitting beside him, filled with water.

“Where did that come from?”

“I woke up in the night and ate and had a drink. I thought about waking you, wondered if you’d be hungry, but I decided to let you sleep. It was so dark in here, there wasn’t much to be done. Now we can scout around and see if there’s a way out that doesn’t force us back in the river.”

Shannon shuddered. “I’ve had all the floating I want, if we can possibly avoid it. How are you? Your head was bleeding.”

“Well, it’s tender, but I’ve taken a whack on the head before. I’m not seeing two of anything and I kept my share of the jerky in my stomach last night, so I think I’ll be okay.” Tucker looked around the cave. Shannon really hadn’t studied the strange hole in the wall yet either—she’d been too busy worrying over Tucker.

“It looks like a spring’s been eatin’ a hole in this canyon forever.” Tucker pointed at a stream that flowed out of a long tunnel. “The cave is big enough to stand up straight in. Maybe we can walk our way right outta here and hike back to Aspen Ridge. I reckon your family is mighty worried about you by now. And Ma reads sign well enough she can figure out I’m involved in this, so they’ll know we went over that cliff. Going into the river is a mighty bad thing. I’d like to put her mind at ease as soon as possible.”

Shannon nodded, then climbed to her feet, careful not to look at Tucker for fear he’d offer to help her up and she’d let him touch her.

She really didn’t know exactly how she was supposed to behave around him. Every joint and muscle in her body ached, but she did her best not to show it and got to her feet just as Tucker stood, gasped, and fell right back onto his backside.

She had to look at him now. “What’s wrong?”

Tucker was ashen under his dark tan, gripping his left leg with both hands, his teeth gritted. He shook his head, looking at his leg. “I hurt so bad all over, I didn’t realize—”

He quit talking and let go of his leg, as if he had to force each finger to move, and reached for his pant cuff. Rolling it up, Shannon’s stomach swooped, and she wished she hadn’t eaten that jerky.

He wore knee-high moccasins, laced up the side, and even with that his ankle was swollen so big the soft leather was cutting into the skin. In fact, if they weren’t real lucky it might’ve cut the blood off completely, and if that’d been going on all night, he could be in danger of losing his foot.

Shannon dropped to her knees, glad for an excuse, since they were wobbly. It’s a good thing he was wearing the odd Indian shoes because she could loosen them fast. Even all the way open, the moccasin was still tight, but it was better.

“I’ve had some training in doctoring during the war,” Shannon said. “If it’s broken, I can splint it. If I have to, I can hike out of here alone.” If there was a way out. “Then I’ll make you a crutch and—”

“Shannon!”

She looked straight into his shining blue eyes. Brighter than hers. “What?”

“What do you mean ‘during the war’?”

“During the Civil War. I got assigned to a doctor, I—”

“I admit,” he said, cutting her off, “I’ve spent most of my life a long way from people, but I’ve never heard that they let women get involved in a war.”

“Well, they let me.”

“And why would you do a blamed fool thing like that?”

Shannon probably should protest being called a blamed fool, except she agreed with him. “Well, that is a long story,
and not one that shows me to have a lot of sense, I’m afraid. We really don’t know each other very well, Matthew Tucker. Can we leave aside talking about ourselves until I get your foot taken care of?”

Tucker flinched and looked at his swollen leg. “Probably a good idea.” He lay flat on the cave floor as if getting as far away from his foot as possible.

Shannon finished loosening the laces as much as possible, gritted her teeth. He had a woolen sock under the moccasin. She tugged it away from Tucker’s leg. It had been pressed into his skin until his flesh was embedded with the pattern of wool.

When she thought she had things as relaxed as she could, she said, “What I can see of your ankle is pure white. The circulation looks bad. The moccasin’s got to come off. I think I can pull it off. I’ll cut it if I have to, but that will hurt real bad. It’s tough leather and—”

“Just do it.” Tucker didn’t seem interested in hearing her talk, while Shannon wanted to talk a long time, put off what she was going to do. The leather had no real heel. There was no way to get ahold of it. Yet it was too tight to leave on.

Shannon swallowed hard, remembered amputating limbs back in the war to goad herself into doing what she could to prevent having to do that to Tucker. She made quick, brutal work of divesting Tucker of his moccasin.

He curled so far forward he almost smacked his head into hers, but he never made a sound. A tough man. She was so impressed she wanted to hug him, which she absolutely did not do.

Once the moccasin was free, he sank back to the floor with a hard gasp and just lay there, limp.

She said in a voice surprisingly shaky, “Now your sock.”