Bound For Eden (29 page)

‘You'll be fine,' Luke assured them. ‘I'll be right out here, and so will Adam. No wolf is going to come into the camp.'

Alex gave him a sour look. It wasn't the wolves she was worried about. Not the four-legged kind anyway.

‘I'll sleep right by your wagon, if it would make you feel better,' he volunteered.

‘Oh, it would,' Victoria hastened to agree.

Alex couldn't sleep. She didn't feel safe, not even with Luke sleeping at the foot of the wagon. Through the canvas arch she could see the flicker of distant lightning, highlighting the scudding clouds. A brisk breeze was picking up and the hair on the back of her neck began to prickle.

One by one the wolves fell silent. Alex sat up. She had an awfully bad feeling. A sudden crack of thunder made her yelp. For a moment, she thought it was another gunshot.

Within a heartbeat Luke appeared. ‘What's wrong?'

‘Nothing,' she stammered, ‘I just thought . . .'

He gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘It's just a summer storm.'

She nodded, but tears sprang to her eyes. She couldn't banish the image of Adam resting poor old Bob into his dusty grave.

‘You want me to sit up with you for a bit?' Luke whispered. Without waiting for a reply, he climbed up beside her. One long arm settled around her shoulders. Silently they watched the lightning flash. There was an eerie silence for a breathless moment before the thunder rumbled.

They were out there, Alex thought desperately, they were out there and they were coming for her. Somewhere out there Silas was licking his lips as he fantasised about capturing her. And Gideon . . . she shivered. Dear Lord, she thought she'd rather let Silas have her than face Gideon.

Against the horizon Alex could see the haze of a rainstorm, marching closer.

‘I'd best get my bedding and move under the wagon with Adam,' Luke remarked.

Alex looked up at him. His profile was outlined against the stark night. She didn't want him to go. She felt calmer, safer, when he was by her side. ‘Couldn't you stay in here?' she asked in a small voice.

He looked down at her, startled. He kept forgetting how young she was. Most of the time she strode around like the boy she pretended to be, confident and ornery, bossing her brother and sister around like she was the eldest. But just now, looking down into those wide, anxious eyes, Luke could see the vulnerable girl she really was. When he'd tried to comfort her after the mule had been shot she'd resisted him. He was surprised to find her asking for comfort now.

‘It wouldn't be proper,' he told her gently.

‘No-one knows that I'm a girl,' she reminded him.

‘I can't, Alex.'

A fat tear tumbled down Alex's cheek. She batted it away, irritated with herself.

Luke grimaced. Hell. He should just go. But he'd always been a sucker for a female's tears. ‘Someone's got to have a talk to you about decent behavior,' he grumbled as he slid from the wagon to rescue his things before the storm hit. ‘I suppose you don't want me anywhere near your sister,' he whispered, as he settled himself in her usual spot, leaving Alex between him and Victoria.

No sooner had he lain his head down than they heard the first spatter of raindrops on the canvas. Alex relaxed. Now that Luke was here the wagon seemed cozy, the rain more a comforting lullaby as it beat on the hoop above than a portent of doom.

She sighed and settled back against her flour sack. They didn't speak again. She watched the dance of lightning and listened to the rain and thunder, exquisitely aware of Luke stretched out beside her. She knew the moment he surrendered to sleep. His breathing deepened and his limbs loosened, one hand lolling against her side.

Unable to resist, Alex rolled over to observe him. He was like a statue of an ancient god, she thought. As hard and perfect as marble. Without thinking, she traced her finger over the hand that rested against her. He certainly wasn't cold like marble; his skin was warm and smooth.

How she remembered the feel of that skin against hers.

Propping herself on one elbow, she examined him freely. That straight nose, the hollowed planes of his cheeks, the square jaw, the slight dent where his dimple flashed when he smiled . . . gingerly, Alex reached out and rested a feather-light fingertip against that dimple. It was rough with day-old stubble.

He shaved every morning. Every other man, including Adam, whose beard was barely more than wispy fluff, didn't bother; by the time they reached Oregon they'd all be as scruffy as mountain men. But not Luke.

He would never disappoint the ladies by hiding behind a beard, Alex thought dryly.

As though he could hear her thoughts he frowned in his sleep and a sigh escaped those full lips. Alex's finger moved to his mouth. Not making contact, she traced the line of his mouth, lingering over the full curve of his lower lip.

His sigh became a faint moan. Alex wondered what he was dreaming about. Or who he was dreaming about.

She was startled when those divine lips pressed against her finger in the barest of kisses. She felt as though the lightning had entered her and was coursing through her veins. Her own lips tingled with the memory of his kisses, and that wild pulse began to beat deep inside.

The rain was lashing in earnest against the canvas roof of the wagon, drowning out the rasp of her laboured breath. She couldn't control herself, she bent forward and lowered her lips to his. She could feel the warmth of his breath, and the heat radiating from his skin. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she tasted him, and felt the slippery satin texture of him.

She almost gasped when his mouth slanted against hers, his lips parting, allowing her access to the deeper heat of him. Tentatively, she slid her tongue into him, feeling a thrill as his tongue met hers.

Beatrice. Luke was having the most incredible dream. At the first taste he was wild with desire, hard and hurting with the force of it. Oh, she tasted even better than he remembered. He reached for her, finding the familiar curve of her neck and the firm, muscular length of her back as she bent over him. He took her tongue into his mouth, before plunging into hers, tasting the secret corners of her slick heat. No woman had ever driven him so close to madness. His beautiful Beatrice.

A scream tore him from his fantasy. A high-pitched scream of pain. Immediately, the kiss was over; the dream was over. Luke sat bolt upright and struggled to get his bearings. He was in the Alexanders' wagon. Beside him Alex sat bolt upright, wild-eyed and frozen by the inhuman screaming. And behind her he could see Victoria, rigid with terror.

Luke scrabbled for his gun and flew out into the storm.

‘Luke!' Alex gasped, tearing after him without thinking. He couldn't face whatever was out there alone!

The storm had turned their camp into a quagmire, and Alex struggled to keep her feet as she scurried after Luke. She could barely see him through the sheets of rain. She screeched as her boots slid out from under her, and before she knew it she was flat on her back in the mud, with the stinging rain pelting her full in the face. Every time she tried to stand she slid, until she was coated with the vile stuff.

By the time she'd crawled to the nearest wagon and hauled herself to her feet there was no sign of Luke.

‘Alex?' Ned O'Brien said, bewildered, peering through the opening of their wagon. Alex saw that he was nervously brandishing a spanking new six-shooter.

‘Who was that screaming?' Jane whispered, peering around her father, her face white and terrified.

‘I don't know,' Alex huffed, trying to regain her breath. Before they could ask her another question she was off, slopping through the mud. Where had Luke gone? Two shapes loomed out of the rain and her heart stopped. The Gradys!

‘Alex?'

It was only the Watts brothers, both armed and anxious. ‘What the hell is going on?'

‘I don't know!' Alex snapped, squealing as she slipped again. She grabbed Henry's arm. She almost took him over with her, and he grabbed for Joseph. When Luke found them they were in a heap, splattered and slimy and snarling at each other as they tried to extricate their tangled limbs.

‘Watch your rifle doesn't go off,' he told Henry tersely as he grabbed the man by the arm and hauled him up. Alex was the last one up, and she didn't appreciate the faint amusement in Luke's eyes.

‘Who was screaming?' she demanded. His amusement died and she felt a chill. ‘Who?' she whispered, not sure she wanted to know.

‘Get back to your wagon, runt,' he said gently.

‘Why?'

‘Just go back, and stay there until we get the mess cleared up.'

‘The mess?' With a heavy heart, Alex pushed him out of the way.

‘Don't,' he warned, reaching for her, but she evaded him.

Dear Lord. Oh dear, dear Lord. Alex's knees gave out. Luke caught her easily, one arm looping around her waist and holding her up.

It was Jack. Poor old Jack, Mal Crawford's chestnut gelding. The horse she'd been riding every day at Luke's side. Or at least what was left of him . . .

She was going to be sick. Luke held her head as she vomited, one hand firm against her forehead. ‘I told you not to look,' he sighed.

‘Aw, hell,' she heard Henry rasp. And then she heard him vomit too.

‘It was Gideon,' Alex said desperately, her hands clawing at Luke. ‘It was Gideon.'

‘Hush,' Luke soothed, sweeping her up and starting back to her wagon. The kid was wild with terror; he could see the whites of her eyes as they rolled, and feel the shudders wracking her body.

‘It was because we rode him. He must have seen Adam. He thought Jack was our horse.' Alex felt icy. Black spots swarmed before her eyes. ‘Imagine what he'll do to me . . .'

‘Hush,' Luke said grimly.

When they got to the wagon they found Adam peering out from under it, and Victoria cowering behind the buckboard. The sight of Alex, limp and colourless in Luke's arms, didn't reassure them. ‘What happened?' Victoria wailed, at the same time as Adam slithered out from under the wagon and hurled himself at Alex, unmindful of the rain and mud.

‘I'm sorry,' he cried, panicked. ‘I didn't mean to be mad at you – I know you didn't shoot Bob. I know you liked him. Deep down you did.'

‘She's not hurt,' Luke said in his calmest voice.

‘You mean
he's
not hurt,' Adam corrected, clambering up into the wagon after Luke and Alex.

‘It's alright, Adam, he knows I'm a girl.'

‘Really?' Adam brightened. ‘Now that you know, are you going to marry her?'

‘What?' all three of them gasped, looking askance at Adam's enthusiastic grin.

‘If you marry her then I can come and live with you and your horses.'

‘She's a little young, buddy,' Luke told him.

‘How old do you have to be to get married?'

‘Old,' Alex said quickly. Her colour was flooding back.

‘Oh.' Adam visibly wilted. ‘So I guess you can't marry Vicky either.'

‘And why not?' Victoria asked sharply.

‘Well, you're even—'

‘Enough,' Alex interrupted shrilly, ‘why are we talking about marriage when the Gradys are out there?'

‘The Gradys?' Victoria gasped.

Alex noticed the way she leaned into Luke for comfort, unmindful of his sodden clothes. She also couldn't help but notice that his natural impulse was to place a protective arm around her.

‘All of them?' Victoria asked, her distress evident.

‘I promised I wouldn't let him hurt you again,' Luke reminded her.

Alex was mighty sick of watching her sister melt into a puddle at his feet.

‘I don't think Silas was here,' he told Victoria. ‘Alex tells me it looks like Gideon's handiwork.'

‘Gideon?' Victoria's gaze flew to where Alex sat huddled, dripping all over her flour sack. Their eyes met, and each could see the terror in the other.

‘Slater?' The Watts brothers appeared at the end of the wagon, flanked by the other men. Each and every one of them was armed to the teeth. ‘What in hell is going on? What kind of maniac goes around shooting mules and slaughtering horses? Tell us straight, was it Indians?'

Luke sighed. He guessed the time had come for plain talking. ‘It ain't Indians,' he said.

‘Horses?' Adam and Victoria chorused, distressed.

Luke held a hand up to silence them. He turned back to the men. ‘We can discuss it in the morning. There's no need for you to stand out there in the rain through a bunch of long-winded explanations. This is something personal – the rest of you aren't in any danger.'

‘The hell we aren't,' Mal snapped. ‘That was my horse that was just butchered.'

‘Jack?' Adam said, dismayed. ‘What happened to Jack?'

‘There's a bunch of brothers, low types, who are set on plaguing the Alexanders,' Luke admitted. ‘They thought the horse belonged to them.'

‘The ones who stole that Arab back in Independence?'

‘The same.'

‘Why are they plaguing them?' Joseph demanded. Each and every eye was evaluating Alex and her siblings.

‘And what's to say they'll refrain from hurting us,' Mal grumbled.

‘One of them is set on Miss Alexander here,' Luke said, knowing the men had a soft spot for Victoria, ‘and he don't seem to want to take no for an answer.'

‘Is that true?' Ned O'Brien asked Victoria. He was bristling like a porcupine at the thought. Victoria flushed miserably. ‘What are we going to do?' the easterner asked Luke sternly.

‘We?' One of Luke's eyebrows rose. ‘
You
are all going to stay here in camp while I go see what those vultures are up to.'

‘By yourself?' Alex gasped.

‘By myself.' He gave Alex a warning look. ‘I'd suggest everyone gather together in a couple of the wagons, post lookouts and keep your weapons handy. I'll be back as soon as I can.'