Early Dawn (14 page)

Untying the sleeves of the jacket from around the bay’s neck, he thrust the wad of sheepskin at her. “Put that back on. Soaked like you are, this mountain wind will cut you clear to the bone.”

Eden was already chilled to the bone, but she lacked the energy to tell him so. He was even wetter than she was, water streaming from his jeans and seeping out through the seams of his boots. But if it bothered him, he didn’t let on.

He waited until she’d donned the jacket. Then he handed her Smoky’s reins. Jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, he said, “Take the horses and mule over yonder to the grass and wait for me. I need to brush away our tracks.”

Eden did as he said and then turned to watch as he cut a long branch from a Rocky Mountain maple. With long, rhythmic sweeps of his arm, he feathered away the horses’ tracks and his own until he reached her. He surveyed the results of his work, then nodded.

“They’ll have to look sharp to know this is where we left the water.” He tossed the branch into a copse of red-berried elder and remounted his gelding, swinging into the saddle with an ease that she envied. “You ready?”

Eden nodded and fell in behind him as he once again headed north.

In the minutes that followed, Eden’s exhaustion took precedence over all her earlier concerns. She was so wet, cold, and miserable that she no longer cared if Matthew Coulter was a decent man or a horrible one. She just wanted to get where they were going so she could warm herself by a fire, devour one of the fish he’d caught for supper, and then sleep.

After a couple of hours, her weariness abated somewhat and her thoughts came clear again. Something wasn’t right. She instinctively knew that, but as they rode up one incline after another and then dropped into the rocky draws on the other side, she couldn’t pinpoint what was troubling her. The terrain hadn’t changed except for the small copses of nine-brush, manzanita, and hawthorn that created a colorful understory in the stands of ponderosa pine. She saw the deep royal blue blossoms of larkspur, conical shoots of white blossoms called miner’s candle, and wild geraniums lovelier and more delicate than any greenhouse variety.

As they topped yet another rise and the sun glared directly into Eden’s eyes, she finally figured out what had been bothering her. Earlier they’d been riding north. Now he’d changed directions and was heading due west. If, as he’d claimed, he was taking her to a town where she’d be safe, why had he suddenly altered their course? All of her senses went on alert.

After what Eden guessed was about three hours, Coulter suddenly switched directions again and turned due south. She frowned in bewilderment but continued to follow him because she had no choice. Then, as daylight began to fade, they turned east and soon cut across their own back trail.

At the sight of their tracks from that morning, Eden’s stomach clenched with fear. He wasn’t riding toward a town to get her to safety. He’d spent the entire day going in a huge circle!
Oh, God
. Sharpening her gaze, Eden recognized landmarks from that morning. Why had he brought her back here? It made no sense. Yet there was no denying that he’d cut back to their starting point. Frightening questions took shape in her mind. Did he mean to return her to the Sebastians? What if he wanted something from them and planned to use her as a bargaining chip? Eden couldn’t bear the thought of being mauled again by those horrible men, and she had no intention of allowing it to happen.

She fixed her attention on the Winchester in Coulter’s saddle boot. If she could get her hands on that rifle, he’d be in for a big surprise. Battered and exhausted though she was, she wasn’t helpless. Raised in San Francisco, yes, but not the bit of city fluff that Coulter clearly believed her to be. Her brothers had seen to that. She needed no compass to find her way through these rugged mountains, and with a gun, she wouldn’t need Matthew Coulter or anyone else to help her reach safety, either.

Once the thought took root in Eden’s mind, it wouldn’t depart.

As the remaining light faded to a blue-gray duskiness, Coulter drew his horse to a stop at the bend of a stream and swung down from the saddle. “This is as good a place as any to make camp,” he informed her as he loosened Smoky’s saddle cinch. “I’ll take care of the animals, and then go fetch us some firewood.” He tipped his hat to her. “I promised you a hot meal, as I recall. I’ll get a fire going, find you some dry clothes, and warm your innards with some coffee.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Eden replied woodenly.

She watched as he unburdened the animals. When he’d wandered off into the trees with a small hatchet to collect wood, she hurried over to his saddle. Propped against the cantle, the Winchester slipped easily from the leather boot. Eden’s hands trembled as she checked to make sure the weapon was loaded.
Yes.
Relief flooded her. Holding the gun made her feel as if she’d been reunited with an old and trusted friend.

With a skill born of long practice, she jacked a cartridge into the chamber, pressed her back to the rough bark of a ponderosa pine, and waited for her lying, treacherous rescuer to return to camp.

Matthew had his arms full of wood when Eden stepped into his line of sight. With her enveloped in the oversize sheepskin jacket and her sodden skirts hanging in thick folds around her hips, he didn’t immediately notice that she was holding his Winchester to her shoulder and had the barrel trained on him. When realization dawned, he froze in his tracks. Though she was weak and shaky, her stance and the way she held the weapon told him she was as accomplished with rifles as she was with horses. She also looked ready to shoot if he gave her a reason.

Making no sudden movements, he dropped the firewood at his feet and held up his hands. “What brought this on?”

“What brought this
on
?” she cried, her voice high-pitched and tremulous. “What do you think brought it on, Mr. Coulter, if that’s even your real name? Do you mistakenly believe I’m both blind and stupid?”

Matthew considered her questions, but even after making two passes, he was no clearer on what had upset her. “I’m sorry. I’m not following.”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” she cried. “You’ve ridden in a circle all day, bringing me straight back to where we stopped this morning. We just crossed our own back trail!” Her voice cracked on the last word. She tightened her finger over the trigger. “
Bastard
. What’s your game? Did you have a falling-out with your horrible friends? Is it your plan to use me as barter to get something from them, possibly your share from the train holdup? Well, whatever your game, I’m not playing! If they show up, they’ll be dead men, and so will you.”

The tension eased from Matthew’s shoulders. “You’re reading this all wrong, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart, you lying, worthless miscreant! You have no intention of taking me to a town where I’ll be safe.”

Matthew had no idea what a miscreant was, but judging by the way she spit the word at him, he figured it must be pretty bad. Earlier that day, he’d noted how beautiful Eden’s eyes were and had comforted himself with the thought that his appreciation of her loveliness was no slight to Livvy, because the two women’s eyes were so different. Now he realized that Eden was Livvy’s exact opposite in other ways as well. His wife had been a timid little thing, more likely to curl her fingers over his belt and peer out at trouble around his arm than to face it on her own. Eden Paxton would stand beside a man but never behind him. Even with the .44 caliber Winchester trained on his chest, Matthew marveled at her pluck. If he made a wrong move, she’d shoot him. He saw it in her eyes. And she would place the slug precisely where she meant to as well.

“Like I said, you’ve got it all wrong,” he tried again. “I’m not playing a game, and I have no intention of returning you to the Sebastians. I’m just not much of a talker.”

She jabbed the barrel of the weapon at him. “Well, if you value your life, you’d better start talking now!”

A sudden itch took up residence in Matthew’s right nostril, and he wanted to scratch so badly that his fingers twitched. The hell of it was, he truly wasn’t much of a talker. After spending three years alone with only his animals for company, he’d lost his knack for stringing words together.

“I had my reasons for riding in a circle all day,” he admitted. Damn, but it was hard for him to communicate when he couldn’t gesture with his hands. Until that moment, he’d never realized how strong that trait of his father’s ran in him. “I’m sorry I didn’t explain those reasons to you. The truth is, I figured you’d never notice which direction we were going, so I didn’t bother.”

“Well, I did, so explain now, or I swear to God, I’ll kill you.”

Matthew almost reached to rub his damned nose. “The best way to lose someone who’s following you is to circle around and get behind him.” As explanations went, Matthew knew that one was sorely lacking. “That way, if anyone’s going to get a nasty surprise, it won’t be you.”

Her hands relaxed a little on the rifle, but she still kept it trained on his heart. “Go on.”

“That’s it. God strike me dead if I’m lying.”

“God won’t have to strike you dead. I’ll do it for Him. Keep talking.”

What more could he say? To his dismay, he’d run out of explanations. Since the thought of dying didn’t appeal, he decided to restate his case with a change of wording and a little more embellishment. “If I had headed straight for a town, they would have figured out where I was going and split up, some heading for the town, others staying on our back trail. They would have either caught up with us before we reached our destination or cut us off along the way. Circling around behind them and trying to cover our tracks seemed like the best plan.” A mosquito landed on the fleshy heel of his hand and dipped its stinger for blood. The burn made Matthew’s fingers curl. “That’s why I took to the water and covered our tracks as we left the stream—because I hoped I could lose them if I suddenly changed directions.” He inclined his head at the terrain behind her. “When we crossed our back trail a few minutes ago, did you happen to notice their tracks mixed in with ours? They’re following our trail from this morning. If you don’t believe me, at least have a look before you go off half-cocked and pull that trigger.”

She shot a quick glance over her shoulder. Matthew could see that she was wavering.

“Once you confirm that they’re following us,” he continued, “ask yourself this: If they’re up the trail somewhere, trying their damnedest to catch up with us, how can they possibly be anywhere around here? And if they aren’t around here, how could I be plotting to return you to them?” Matthew searched her beautiful eyes, trying to determine whether he was getting through to her. “I’m not in cahoots with the Sebastians, and I had nothing to do with that train robbery, I swear. All I’m guilty of is being close-lipped when I should have been explaining my plans to you.”

To his vast relief, she finally lowered the rifle. Then her shoulders slumped and her arms went limp, as if the Winchester had suddenly become too heavy for her to hold. Matthew expected her to say something—that she believed his story, for starters—but instead her legs folded as if an invisible force had struck her across the backs of the knees. As she collapsed, the barrel of his Winchester rooted through the dirt, taking a snort of dust up the bore. As much as Matthew prized the weapon, the ragged sob that tore up Eden’s throat concerned him far more. Like a prayerful penitent, she knelt on the ground, rested her rump on her heels, and hugged her waist as if she’d just swallowed a bucket of rusty nails. Her face contorted with pain.

For hours, Matthew had wondered at her stoic strength, but now, like a watercolor sketch left in the rain, she seemed to dissolve before his eyes. Still hugging her waist, she began to rock back and forth.
Shit.
He never knew what to do or say when a female took to crying. When Livvy had gotten upset, he’d just held her close and stroked her hair, murmuring nonsensical words until she felt better, but Eden Paxton recoiled at his touch. So what the hell was he supposed to do? Talking sure as hell wasn’t one of his strong points.

He thought about letting her have at it while he built the fire and started supper.
Coward
. But that was the truth of it. He could face all five Sebastians without a qualm, but a crying female made his skin go clammy with nervous sweat. He walked two circles around her, hoping she’d snort, gasp for breath, and stop sobbing. No chance. She was crying as if her heart might break.

Matthew had seen what those devils had done to her, and he didn’t blame her a bit for falling apart. He just wished he knew how to make her feel better. He settled for hunkering down in front of her.

She cupped a quivering hand over her eyes, which were spilling tears like leaky water spigots to make trails in the caked mud on her cheeks. “I’m s-sorry,” she squeaked.

“You’ve got no call to be sorry. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Her shoulders jerked on another sob. The awful tearing sound that followed came from so deep within her that Matthew feared she might do some damage to herself.

“It’s just—” She gulped and mewled like a kitten. “I’m so
ex-exhausted
.”

Matthew didn’t doubt she was worn-out, but he had a hunch it ran deeper than that. She’d clearly believed he was trying to trick her, that he was somehow in cahoots with the Sebastians, and now she was coming to believe that might not be the case. Still clutching her waist, she swayed back and forth, making him worry that she might topple. Hoping to steady her, he settled a hand on her shoulder. He wasn’t surprised when she flinched and jerked away.

“
Don’t
,” she pushed out. “Please,
don’t
.”

He lowered his arm but not quickly enough to suit her. She scrambled unsteadily to her feet and reeled away from him, her steps as unpredictable as a drunk’s. He gazed after her, wishing with all his heart he could think of something to say that might comfort her. But he wasn’t even sure where to start. He groped for words, discarded those that came to him, groped again, and finally settled for barking, “Don’t hare off too far!”