Beloved Outcast (6 page)

She buried her face in his sleeve. When she came up for air, she was coughing. “As long as you realize I’m in charge.”

Little gasps kept time with each bump they experienced. He didn’t know whether to laugh or swear at the stubborn female. She had the most one-track mind of any woman he’d ever met.

“Oh, yeah,” he growled, feeling the jarring in his tender ribs. “You’re definitely in charge.”

He would let her think that all the way to Trinity Falls.

It seemed to Victoria that her entire twenty-four years had shrunk to this jerky passage through the Idaho wilderness. They had been traveling for hours now. And there was no outward sign from Youngblood that he meant to stop anytime soon. Because the thickly timbered landscape blocked most of the sun’s rays, it was difficult to gauge the time of day. From her stomach’s not-so-discreet rumblings, though, she assumed it was well past noon.

The grim-faced man beside her hadn’t spoken for the longest time. But then, their violent progress discouraged conversation. She had to admit he was good with her team. She doubted she could have bullied them along this wild stretch.

Victoria marveled that he managed to keep to the narrow trail. There were instances when she thought they’d taken a blind alley and would have to turn around, but despite numerous twists and turns, Youngblood always moved forward.

They came to a relatively smooth section of the path, and the sounds of the wagon’s creaking protests softened. She heard the excited chatter of darting squirrels and the lively calls of birds.

“I can’t believe how close the trees are to each other,” she remarked, feeling disoriented by the thousands upon
thousands of thin-trunked pines around them. Only inches separated the tall narrow-beamed trees from one another.

Her taciturn companion looked from the trail and gazed into the immense forest that embraced them on all sides as far as the eye could see. “Lodgepole pines grow that way.”

“It’s really quite beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked, succumbing to a need to share her appreciation of the untamed splendor in which she found herself.

He turned toward her. At the sight of his rawly bruised face, just inches from hers, she flinched. His facial injuries spoke of unchecked violence and the often brutal nature of men.

“Beautiful and deadly.”

His matter-of-factness chilled her. It was as if he was deliberately trying to frighten her. His intent stare made her wonder again if she’d delivered herself into the hands of the devil. Was he waiting for the right place, away from any signs of civilization, to do away with her and steal her wagon?

She fortified herself with a gulp of pine-scented air. “Deadly because of the Indians?”

He nodded. “There’s that. But there’s also bears, rattlers, wolves and mountain lions.”

Her stomach flipped. She wished he hadn’t bothered itemizing the various menacing creatures shielded by the forest.

Before Victoria could comment, the smooth stretch they were traversing became steeper and more uneven. She held on tighter to the wagon’s side panel and gritted her teeth to keep from biting her tongue.

Harness leather groaned as the oxen lowered their heads and plodded onward. The wild ride continued for several yards, and then Youngblood pulled back on the reins.

“Whoa!” came his clearly exasperated shout.

Three lodgepole pines had fallen across the faint trail. Youngblood handed her the reins. “It looks like we’re going to be here for a while.” He stepped down from the high
bench seat, his face turned toward her. A look of pain flashed across his grimly set features. “I hope you’ve got an ax tucked away somewhere among all those books.”

“It’s lashed to the side of the wagon. Are you going to try and chop a path through those trees?”

He shot her an impatient glance. “I’m not going to
try.
I’m going to do it.”

In light of his arrogance, her sympathy for the injured man diminished. “While you’re doing that, I’d like to stretch my legs.” She tossed the reins to him and scooted into position to descend. “If we’re going to be here for a while, I’ll build us a fire and fry us up some pan biscuits.”

“There aren’t going to be any fires.”

His harsh voice was surprisingly close. She stopped midway to the ground and glanced over her shoulder. She found herself looking into the pinpoint focus of Youngblood’s cyclopean eyeball. She blinked, feeling strangely bound by his unexpected proximity. She swallowed; any words she’d been about to utter were forgotten.

His strong hands came around her waist, and he lowered her to the pine-needled carpet that covered the forest floor. There was a buzzing in her ears. It took her a moment to realize that a fat black deerfly was responsible for the distracting hum.

“We can’t afford to reveal our presence by building a fire,” he continued, his large palms still engulfing her. “Not for at least another day, anyway.”

Victoria had nowhere to go. With Youngblood pressed up behind her and the wagon in front, she was his prisoner.

“I still need to stretch my legs,” she told him. To her own ears, her voice sounded hoarse. She stepped to her right, assuming he would let her twist free. The next couple of seconds were the longest of her life. But when she pushed against his constraining hold, he moved back and released her.

“I’ll get the ax.”

It was the kind of statement that needed no response. She walked a few feet from the wagon and inhaled the rich mountain air. A strong hint of wild mint laced the cooling afternoon breeze.

Victoria noticed several clusters of purplish berries growing in heaps of green foliage. She recognized them as a variety of wild chokecherries and decided to gather some. When she returned to the wagon to retrieve a pail, the sound of the falling ax echoed through their secluded stopping place.

In response to the discordant
thwack
of the ax, raucous birds took to the sky in noisy protest. Pail in hand, Victoria circled the wagon. Youngblood stood in a shaft of pooling sunlight that managed to find its way through the cover of pine boughs. He had removed his shirt for his physical exertions, and he swung the long-handled blade with an economy of motion. Each strike of sharp metal bit deeply into the wood. Bits of bark and needles billowed from the steady blows.

Standing less than ten feet from him, she read the agony on his face. His labors were obviously taking a toll on his battered body. Sympathy tugged at her. He’d voiced no complaint about seeing to the arduous task. Instead, he’d applied himself to what had to be done.

The muscles that shaped his back contracted and relaxed with each upward and downward arc of the ax. Every rhythmic slice into the bark seemed an extension of his bunched arm and shoulder muscles. Already one narrow trunk had been severed.

Victoria shrugged off the strange sense of lethargy that came over her as she watched Youngblood clear their path. She gripped the pail tighter and turned to the tiny harvest of berries that beckoned in the tangled underbrush.

It was a puny harvest indeed, only a couple of dozen bits of the plump morsels. Still, they would taste delicious, Victoria decided as she returned to the wagon.

Youngblood was drinking deeply from a canteen when she joined him. His head was tipped back, and his Adam’s apple moved with each swallow he took. A faint gleam of perspiration covered his naked torso. She knew she ought to look away, to give him a degree of privacy. Had their positions been reversed, she certainly would have wanted him to avert his gaze.

Without speaking, he finished drinking and capped the canteen. He reached for his shirt and carelessly rubbed the blue material across the back of his neck. Victoria couldn’t have been more fascinated by his actions had she been visiting a Boston zoological exhibit. For in truth, Logan Youngblood was a mysteriously exotic creature to her.

He was a man.

Without the civilized trappings of his clothing, he seemed unlike any gentleman with whom she’d previously dealt. Horace Threadgill and the male members of the wagon train had been as citified as she was, and her association with them hadn’t been the least bit as intriguing as watching Logan Youngblood. He shook the wrinkles from the shirt and shrugged it on. Again she was aware of the flashes of pain that crossed his features.

He glanced from the button he was fastening. “What have you got there?”

Self-consciously she looked at her insignificant offering.

“Some wild berries.”

His mouth curved. Had his bottom lip not been swollen, she would have called the gesture a genuine smile.

“Good for you.”

A compliment, coming from him? It was ridiculous, but she experienced a surge of pleasure.

“I wasn’t able to find that many,” she felt compelled to confess, lest he get his expectations up.

“At least you didn’t sit around doing nothing, waiting for me to finish cutting us a path through those trees.”

“That would have been pretty silly,” she returned, some of the glow from his praise fading.

“I’ve observed that, in general, women tend to be silly.” He held out his hand. “I’ll take that.”

Chafing at his condescending manner, she gripped the handle tighter. “Why should I give you the pail?”

His dark eyebrows converged over his nose. “Do you always have to be so damned suspicious?”

“Why should I give them to you?”

He leaned forward and pried her fingers loose from the metal handle. “Because, Miss Amory, you’ll need both your hands to climb into the wagon.”

“Oh.” Surrendering the berries, she turned away from him. With as much regal disdain as she could muster, she marched to her side of the wagon. As she climbed to her side of the seat, she had to admit that she did feel somewhat…silly.

T
hey ate the berries as they traveled. Sweetly tart, the juicy bits of fruit didn’t last long, yet they quenched Victoria’s thirst and temporarily took the edge off her hunger.

She smiled ruefully, recalling the wonderful meals her family’s cook had prepared. In the face of her present travails, it was remarkable that she’d taken those perfectly prepared repasts for granted, except, of course, during the horrific civil conflict that was only three years past.

At her country’s most vulnerable hour, Victoria had often thought about the Northern and Southern soldiers subjected to countless deprivations, including meager rations. Both she and Annalee had done their part to contribute to the welfare of their “boys,” by rolling bandages, sewing uniforms and donating their personal allowances to the cause. She remembered how good it had felt to be needed, to be of service.

She sighed, her glance straying to the silent man beside her. In battered profile, he was more than a little frightening. He had eaten the berries in what she was coming to view as his customary attitude of withdrawal. Because of his superior size, she’d assumed he would claim a greater portion of the plump morsels. That had not been the case, however, as he’d helped himself to only a few of the berries.

She was left to conclude one of three things: He didn’t care for the taste of the fruit; he wasn’t hungry; or he was
demonstrating an unexpected degree of chivalry in allowing her to have the larger portion. None of those possibilities seemed likely.

Without warning, he turned to her. “Are my lips blue?”

“What?”

“The way you keep staring at me, I’m wondering if those berries turned my lips blue.”

A hot flush stole up her throat. He was right. She had been staring. She returned her gaze to the oxen’s swaying rumps. “Actually, your lips are a reddish color—due, no doubt, to their bloodied condition. It is your eye, however, that is the most remarkable array of hues, ranging from blue to black to purple.”

He surprised her by chuckling. “I must look like hell. That’s how I feel, anyway.”

She frowned, uncomfortable with the thought that he was in pain. “Do your injuries hurt terribly?”

From the corner of her eye, she could see that he was still looking at her. She kept her attention on the animals pulling their wagon. She was reluctant to meet his stare. Something about it disturbed her. She might tell herself that his pummeled features repulsed her, but she didn’t altogether believe that.

“Now and then I feel a twinge.”

He was being brave; she was sure of it. When she performed volunteer work at the military hospital, nursing wounded soldiers, they’d acted the same way, dismissing the severity of their injuries, even when they’d lost a limb.

She remembered the lines of agony gripping his face as he’d swung the ax. “I should have been the one to cut the trees.”

“And why is that?”

She heard the skepticism in his voice and suppressed a sigh. She was used to men undervaluing the contributions of women. Her father was a prime example of a male holding women in benign contempt. “Obviously, I could have spared you further suffering.”

“That’s quite a generous offer. Considering.”

“Considering what?” she couldn’t keep from asking.

“Considering that I’m your prisoner and you think you’re taking me to Trinity Falls to stand some kind of trial.”

She’d momentarily forgotten about that.
“I
don’t
think
I’m taking you there for that reason. I know I am.” Forgetting her earlier reservations about talking to the man eye-toeye, she turned to him. “It’s very important to accept responsibility for your actions. When you do something wrong, you must pay your debt to society. Otherwise, our country would be in anarchy.”

His stare was as intense as she recalled, but she didn’t glance away. He looked as if he had something important to say. Was he about to confess to his crimes? She prepared herself to hear anything. She promised herself that, no matter how depraved or violent his misdeeds, she would remain calm.

“You don’t believe any of the things I’ve told you, do you?”

“That you were falsely imprisoned after carrying a warning to the fort and not revealing the whereabouts of a tribe of friendly Indians?” she said dubiously.

His features tightened into a scowl. “It’s pointless for me to keep protesting my innocence, isn’t it?”

“I can’t believe soldiers of the United States Army would do anything as reprehensible as imprisoning an innocent man.”

He returned his attention to the trail. “There’s something you should think about.”

She didn’t trust the subtle deepening of his already husky voice. “What’s that?”

“If I’m such a terrible miscreant, why are you still alive?”

Her throat muscles constricted. “Wh-what?”

“If I’m as bad as you think, I would have had my way with your delectable body, hacked you up with your own ax,
roasted you over a vigorous fire and made a hot meal of your tender flesh.”

Her heart pounded. That he could envision such deviltry proved he was dangerous. All her sympathetic thoughts about him rose to reproach her. She’d been a fool to release him from the stockade. And a greater fool not to arm herself with a knife.

Logan flicked a quick glance at his traveling companion. Damnation, she was as white as a ghost. It infuriated him that his careless words, words intended to reassure her, could actually terrify her. He didn’t know who he was angrier at, himself for uttering such hogwash or her for being so gullible.

I should have been the one to cut the trees.

Her gentle comment cut through his thoughts. She’d been concerned about him. And he’d repaid her generosity with a nasty remark about raping, dismembering and cannibalizing her!

“You can start breathing again. I won’t hurt you.”

“I don’t need you to tell me to breathe.”

Her bravado sparked a tug of admiration. The woman might be scared, but she wasn’t going to let him know it. The best way to deal with her so that she didn’t run screaming into the forest was to establish a rapport with her. Which meant he would have to learn more about her. He had to foster a degree of trust in this Eastern woman, because both their lives might come down to her obeying his orders without question. But he knew she wasn’t ready to hear that he was the temporary mayor of Trinity Falls and owned a bank. She’d think he was lying and become even more difficult to deal with.

“Why are you traveling alone?”

“You don’t recall?”

Her vivid green eyes looked.bewildered and, he thought with repugnance, filled with pity. Hell, she was back to treating him like a half-wit.

“Recall what?”

“I—I already explained that the wagon master was unwilling to slow his pace. And remember my books? The ones you wanted to leave behind at the fort—that large wooden structure with the big gate?”

He gritted his teeth so hard that his already aching jaw shot new waves of pam through his skull. “I meant, why were you alone in the first place? Most women travel west with their parents or husbands.” He couldn’t resist adding, “Parents are the people who give birth and raise you. A husband is a man a woman marries when she’s ready to start a family. A family—”

“I get your message.” Flags of scarlet decorated her cheeks.

Satisfaction warmed him. It was time Miss Amory understood how it felt to be treated like a simpleton.

“And?” he prompted.

“And what?” she snapped.

Logan realized he wasn’t making much headway in establishing a bond of trust between them, but at least she didn’t look as if she were in imminent danger of fainting.

“Why are you traveling alone?”

“It didn’t start out that way.” Her vibrant green eyes looked into the distance. “I was to make the trip with another family. Their oldest son was going to manage the team. At the last moment, however, their plans changed.”

Her explanation told him little. “Why did you decide to leave your home in the first place?”

Victoria’s already flushed face turned a brighter shade of pink. Logan sensed his question had struck a deep chord.

She was lying. That caught him off guard. She didn’t look like the kind of woman to prevaricate about anything. “And your parents let you go?”

“They. accepted my decision.”

There were a lot of things she
wasn’t
telling him. He sensed that leaving home had been painful for her.

“And your husband?” He was baiting her now, and he knew it.

She puffed up like a furious little red-feathered bird.

“I do not have a husband.”

“Fiancé?”

“That is hardly any of your business, Mr. Youngblood.”

“Call me Logan,” he commanded softly. “I intend to call you Victoria. It’s only fair I allow you the same privilege.”

She blinked at him. She’d done that before when something he said surprised her. The very feminine gesture appeared to be her way of getting her bearings.

“How do you know my first name?”

“You must have written it in every book you own.”

“Oh.” She studied him gravely. “Under the circumstances, I suppose it would be foolish not to be on a firstname basis.”

Such a well-bred, reluctant concession.

He liked the way her lips shaped her words—so precisely, so daintily. They were inviting lips—shaped with delicate fullness. Despite her mouth’s soft beauty, she didn’t look like the kind of woman to invite a kiss. Instead, she projected a directness that dared a man to cross the boundaries she’d set.

He pulled his gaze from hers before he did something totally asinine, like find out how those delectable lips tasted.

“Well, Victoria, what’s your answer?”

“My—my answer?”

“Are you engaged, married or widowed?”

Has any man been able to break through that formidable facade of yours?

“Mr. Young—”

“Logan,” he corrected firmly.

“Logan, ours is strictly a temporary association, and as I stated before, there’s no reason for you to know whether or not there’s someone. special in my life.”

“When this is over, suppose a man shows up, claiming you belong to him, and he demands to know what happened between us?”

“First of all, no such person exists.” Exasperation laced her cultured voice. “Second, the
only
thing that’s going to happen is that we’re going to reach Trinity Falls alive.”

It was hard to accept that the woman next to him was bound to no man. It was obvious from her independent manner that she felt no need to justify her single state. He tried to guess her age, which was no easy accomplishment.

A frown scrunched her lips. Her delicately proportioned chin was thrust at a disapproving angle. Her lashes were a golden red, reflecting the same tawny highlights that burnished her bound hair. She might have been eighteen, but her bearing was that of someone older, maybe twenty-four or twenty-six.

He scowled. She had no business being on her own, in the Idaho Territory or anywhere else. She was too attractive not to have a father, brother or husband watching over her. She was also too headstrong to be left to her own devices. Her present situation proved that. Good Lord, what if Windham had left a real hardened criminal locked up in the stockade? Victoria would have freed him and then been at the brute’s mercy.

His scowl deepened. For her own good, she needed to learn that a lone woman couldn’t go traipsing across the country as she pleased. Logan realized his sense of outraged possessiveness was illogical. Yet he couldn’t seem to help himself.

It had been this same sense of heretofore-unacknowledged protectiveness that resulted in his accepting Madison Earley as his ward. When a prospector showed up at the bank with the story that a white girl was living with the Shoshones, Logan had taken it upon himself to ride to Night Wolf’s camp and retrieve her. It had turned out that Madison’s mother had died a long time ago, and the child had been raised by her father, who’d been working a small gold claim.

Bushwhackers had murdered the man for his small cache of gold dust. Night Wolf’s tribe had sheltered Madison for
a while, but dearly her place was with her own people. Logan could easily have sent her to an orphanage in the East, yet something within him had balked at casting her adrift in the world.

He shook his head. It was hard to believe he’d lived thirty years without knowing he had this lamentable streak of sentimentality coursing through his veins. It had been this same latent sense of caring, no doubt, that sent him to the fort to deliver Night Wolfs warning about the attack.

And now he was saddled with a woman who cherished her collection of rare books more than she valued her own life. She was wrong if she thought he’d yielded to her insistence to keep them. Tonight, when she was asleep, he meant to lighten the load the oxen were struggling with to get over the next small rise. By the time they reached Trinity Falls, she would be lucky to have one book left.

He leveled a hard glance at her. All right, maybe he would be selective. He’d let her keep Cooper’s ridiculously romantic yarn about the Mohicans. Louisa May Alcott was going to go, though.
Little Women
was a new novel and could be purchased at any bookshop.

His dark mood was appeased by the knowledge that the domineering woman would ultimately be put in her place. Logan visualized their arrival in town. He could see Victoria marching him off to the sheriff’s office, all self-righteous and determined to have him get his just punishments. It would be a pleasure to watch the entirely too smug woman discover that her
prisoner
was none other than the acting mayor and the president of Trinity Falls’s largest bank, along with a dozen other financial institutions.

He decided watching her eat crow would be the most satisfying thing he’d done in a long time. When the oxen seemed to hesitate cresting the next pine-covered slope, Logan reached for the whip to offer them a little encouragement.

His thoughts turned from Victoria to their immediate destination, a small tributary feeding into the Ruby River.
They should reach it before dark. Once there, he might believe they had a chance of making it to town alive. They would be in Night Wolfs domain, and that much closer to keeping their scalps.