September's Dream (22 page)

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The wind picked up, lashing snow and ice against the boulders at the mouth of the cave. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled, a long, mournful sound, which set the hairs on the back of Jase’s neck crawling.

Pain. He felt a fierce, white-hot pain which started at his neck and seemed to paralyze the right side of his body.

Hot. He was so hot, his flesh seemed on fire. The blood inside him was boiling. His mouth was parched. It hurt to swallow. The pain and fire raged through him, making it impossible to know just where he hurt most. It seemed very important to move, to speak, but he couldn’t seem to do either. There was something heavy on his chest, pinning him down. He snatched at it, expecting to find a wolfs claws. Instead, it was a hand, cool, small, soft. He clung to it, then laced his fingers through hers. Even that simple movement brought fresh pain.

He turned his head and forced his eyes to open, only to find a face beside his on the fur. Her eyes were closed, her breathing steady.

He closed his eyes a moment, fighting the stab of pain from the light. The terror of that awful night came rushing back. The deer. The wolves. The blinding pain of the attack. He had heard an explosion and had thought he had died.

Was this the same night? The following morning? In the dim light of the cave, he felt disoriented. Had she actually shot the wolves with her carbine? How had she managed to drag him back to the cave?

She sighed in her sleep and turned toward him. He went very still, not wanting to wake her yet.

He wanted time to sort this out. Water. He needed water. If he could crawl to the entrance of the cave, he could grab a handful of snow. He started to move and pain shot through him, bringing a gasp of shock.

Instantly she was awake. As she sat up, her hair tumbled about her face and shoulders. She wasn’t even aware that she was dressed in only an opaque chemise. Stained with his blood and sweat, it was the only thing she had worn for days.

"You’re awake. Oh, Jase, thank God. Don’t move. Just lie there. I’ll get you some water."

Before he could speak she scrambled from the bed and brought him a tin of cold water.

"Drink this slowly. I’ve been moistening your lips whenever I woke. But I couldn’t get you to swallow."

Gratefully he accepted the water, feeling the cold liquid seep through his veins. He took several gulps, then held a hand up.

"Tell me . . ." It hurt to even speak. "Tell me what happened."

She was silent, and he opened his eyes to see her weeping.

"Are those tears for me?"

As he touched a finger to her eyes, she angrily wiped them away.

"No. Yes. I mean no. Not that I cared about you, of course," she sniffed, embarrassed at her outburst. He was actually alive and coherent. She wanted to throw her arms around him and hug him. "But I certainly didn’t want to be trapped in the middle of this wilderness without a guide."

He watched her closely, feeling a lightheartedness he didn’t quite understand. "Of course. How would you ever find your way back to Skagway?"

"That’s right. So I’m glad you’re finally back in the land of the living."

"How long has it been?"

She thought a moment. "Three days."

"Tell me." He swallowed. He felt as if he had swallowed a hot poker. Softly, he whispered, "Tell me what happened."

"When that wolf attacked, I was too afraid to move. But I knew you couldn’t get to your rifle. And then when the second one leaped from the boulders, I just fired."

"Second one?"

She nodded.

He vaguely remembered a second wolf. "You fired." He was staring at her without blinking.

"And I guess I killed both of them with that one shot."

"Both." He almost grinned, but it hurt to smile.

"Well, they were both dead. And I know I only fired once." She looked down. "At least I think I did. I’m not too sure of all that happened. I heard the explosion and fell backward. And the next thing I remember is crawling to you."

"I told you the Big Fifty packs a wallop. How did you get me back here?"

"The dog sled."

"You drove the team?" Some of the dogs were half wild. He couldn’t imagine this slip of a girl handling his team.

She nodded.

"Ah." He watched her as she held the cup to his lips again. He drank slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. "Too bad we had to lose a good deer," he whispered.

"Oh, we didn’t lose him. I brought him back, too. He’s cooking on the fire."

Jase closed his eyes a moment, and September thought he might have fallen asleep. As she pressed a damp cloth to his forehead, he caught her hand. His eyes flew open.

"And to think I didn’t want a whining little woman getting under foot on this trip. You’re a wonder."

She felt herself blushing all the way to her toes. "You’d better get some more sleep."

"Yes. I’m feeling . . . I’m feeling light-headed. I’ll sleep better if you’ll join me."

She looked away. "In a few minutes. I want to check your bandages."

With her gentle touch on his skin, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift on a hazy cloud of sensations. He felt the flannel being pulled away from dried blood. It hurt like hell, and he winced. Immediately she touched a cool hand to his cheek.

"I’m sorry I have to hurt you. Just a little more."

He felt the quick, sharp twinge as she tore the rest of the flannel away. As the whiskey was poured on the wound, it felt like icy needles, then hot, searing coals.

He swore, then bit down hard on his lip.

With his eyes still closed, he recognized the gentle touch of her fingers on his skin. As she efficiently replaced the flannel, her knuckles brushed his nipple, causing a series of ripples clear through his body. Feeling the tremors, she glanced at his face. His eyes remained tightly closed.

Her hands moved to the wound on his leg. He felt the feather-light touch of her fingers along his calf, and new sensations rippled along his spine. His lips twitched in a near smile. If she had any idea what her touch was doing to him, she’d probably run like a rabbit. His eyelids fluttered as he studied her beneath half-closed eyes.

Bent over him, her hair drifted forward like a veil. He longed to reach out a hand to it. At that moment she poured whiskey on the wound. He caught his breath at the sting of pain, and she turned to glance at him. Seeing his eyes closed, she corked the whiskey bottle and drew the fur over the lower half of his body.

Adding another log to the fire, she lifted the fur, climbed in beside him, and drew the robe over both of them.

Beside her, Jase lay very still, feeling her in every pore of his body. The wonderful woman scent of her. The soft, easy breathing. The tickle of her hair on his chest. The small hand which tucked the edge of the fur around his shoulder. He lay so still he swore he could feel her heartbeat inside his chest.

Gradually her breathing became even more quiet. She had drifted into sleep. Still he lay awake, battling the urge to touch her. Maybe he wasn’t alive, he thought. Maybe he had just died and gone to heaven.

"Here." September put an arm under Jase’s shoulders and helped him to a sitting position. "I’ve been simmering this venison for days. Wait ’til you taste this stew. It will melt in your mouth."

"Good. I’m starving."

She felt a tremendous relief. This was the first time Jase had shown any interest in eating. Now maybe he would gain back his strength.

All day he had dozed on and off. The dogs, restless after their days of confinement, broke into fights which had to be stopped with the aid of a big stick. Each time they started snarling, she saw the shocked look which registered on Jase’s startled face. For an instant he would relive the attack, then he would glance around the cave and remember where he was.

As she held out the tin plate, he accepted it gratefully.

"Smells wonderful."

At his warm smile, she turned away. "While you’re eating, I’d better feed the dogs."

"Why don’t you eat with me?"

She shrugged and moved a little away. Now that he was awake, she felt uncomfortable about their intimate arrangement. While she had cared for the unconscious Jase, seeing to his every need, she had felt stirrings within her which were new and frightening. She needed time to sort them out. Why did holding this man close to her not cause the revulsion she had felt with Deke or Snake? Why did she sometimes wish he would awaken and draw her even closer? What was happening to her? Why was she feeling these things now, with this man?

"I’m not hungry, Jase. I’ll eat something later. Now," she urged, avoiding his dark gaze, "you eat. It’s been a long time since you’ve had any nourishment."

While he ate he watched her move about the cave, slicing chunks of meat for the dogs. Outside, the wind made eerie, sighing sounds in the trees. An occasional gust sent up a whirlwind of snow at the cave entrance. Then the furs September had hung at the cave’s entrance as a barrier against the cold danced like puppets.

"I made some coffee," she said a while later, seeing his empty plate.

"Sounds good." His gaze followed her as she poured the coffee and knelt to hand it to him. "Are you having some?"

She nodded and sat down across from him on a mound of fur.

He glanced around the cave. She had managed to turn this primitive dwelling into a comfortable place. There was something oddly touching about sharing their bed, their fire, even their thoughts.

As she threaded a needle and began mending his flannel shirt, he watched her. In the firelight her skin was pale, like fine porcelain. Beneath the little bit of opaque cotton chemise, he could discern high, firm breasts. He found himself staring at the little strawberry birthmark on her shoulder. He thought about touching his lips to it and was surprised at the instant surge of desire.

"You told Nell Brooks that sewing was your first job in Skagway."

She glanced up. In the dancing light her eyes sparkled like sapphires. "That’s not exactly right. My first job was cooking and cleaning for Aggie Whelan at her boardinghouse. Aggie acts tough, but she was a lifesaver. She let me work for bed and board. I needed to earn more if I was ever going to be able to earn enough to join a pack train to find my father. So I started sewing."

"You mean you came all the way from San Francisco with nothing but the clothes on your back?"

He saw the look that crossed her face before she pricked her finger with the needle. "Damn." She sucked at the little spurt of blood, then continued sewing, ignoring his question.

He decided to let it pass for now. He wouldn’t press her. "So you took up sewing. Did you do anything else?"

"I served food in Aggie’s grub tent. And I baked pies."

"Pies." He looked confused. He had thought she was leading into how she started working for Snake Rawlins.

"Pies," she said, with a smile growing. "Your friend, Jacob Mueller, allowed me to buy a few supplies on credit. So I got up before dawn and baked blueberry pies. They were the best-selling item in the grub tent. Probably because they reminded the men of the mother and home they left behind. I split the profits with Aggie. And when I left town, I gave the business to Aggie and Billy Warfield. You met Billy the night . . ." She licked her lips. "The night Snake’s men tried to kill us."

He frowned as she bent over her sewing. How could he ever forget? That was the night she had slept with a miner for a sack of gold.

"Where does Rawlins’ Saloon fit into this?" he asked.

"I was passing the saloon with my grub wagon when I heard one of Snake’s women complaining about her torn gown. I got up my courage and offered to sew her costumes for a price. Pretty soon I had all their business."

"How did you go from sewing their costumes to wearing them?" He tried to keep his voice casual.

"Snake saw me one day, when I brought back some mending. He told me to pick out a gown and learn the words to some songs."

Jase’s gaze narrowed. He knew exactly what Snake saw when he looked at September. "And just like that you agreed?"

September bit the thread and held the shirt up to the firelight. Satisfied, she pulled it on over her chemise. Again, Jase felt a sudden thrill at seeing his shirt on her.

"It was pretty hard to say no. I was earning a few dollars a week plus bed and meals, and working from dawn to dark just to survive. Snake offered me a hundred fifty dollars a week."

Jase couldn’t hide his surprise. "That’s a lot of money."

"More than I could have earned in a couple of months doing anything else. When I told Snake I couldn’t sing on key, he told me to just stand up on stage and say the words." She drained the rest of her coffee and stood.

Jase stared at her slim ankles, then his gaze strayed along her shapely legs to her hips, barely covered by his shirt. "Rawlins was no fool. You packed his saloon every night. He could afford to pay you twice that. You made him a fortune." He paused, then plunged ahead. "So he sent his men after you because he didn’t want to lose you."

Her eyes flashed, remembering the scene upstairs in Snake’s room. "I found out he wanted me to do more than stand on stage. I—refused."

Knowing her temper, Jase couldn’t help but smile. "I’m sure you refused him graciously."

She suddenly burst out laughing at his choice of words. "Oh, yes. I was very gracious. As I held my knife to his throat."

Jase threw back his head and roared, picturing the murderous Snake Rawlins at the receiving end of September’s temper.

Walking to the fire, September picked up a pot of water from the fire, along with a piece of clean flannel.

"If you’ll stretch out, Jase, I’ll change those dressings before you go to sleep."

As gently as possible she removed the flannel covering his shoulder wound. He glanced down at the jagged pieces of flesh.

"How did you stop the bleeding?"

She knelt in front of him. She was so close, he needed only to lean forward a fraction to bury his lips against a tangle of hair at her temple. When she spoke, her warm breath feathered across his cheek.

"I sewed you up like a fancy shirt."

He grinned. "You did? Really? With a needle and thread?"

She nodded. "The stitches held for a while. Then you got kind of crazy, and started thrashing around, and the stitches all pulled out. So I had to sear the skin with a burning knife. Then I sewed you back up, until the bleeding stopped."

He stared down at his shoulder. As he did, his forehead brushed against her cheek. She was startled at the strange sensations that skittered along her spine.

"I don’t see any thread now."

"I had to pull it out when you mended. The wound was festering badly. After I cut out the stitches, the infection started to clear up."

While she spoke, she gently bathed the wound, poured on whiskey, then applied a clean piece of flannel to his shoulder.

When she was finished she moved to his leg. "This is a nice clean cut," she said, removing the dressing.

He winced. "Clean. It feels like someone rammed a hunting knife clear through my leg."

"This must be where the wolf first struck. His teeth went almost to the bone. But I don’t think there’s any infection."

Pouring a liberal amount of whiskey on the leg, she placed a clean dressing on it as well.

"Where’d you learn doctoring like this, September?"

She glanced up. His deep voice wrapped softly around her name like a caress.

"My Ma was sick a lot. I took care of her."

He was quick to note the word was. "When did she die?"

"A month ago." Had it been only a month? It seemed like years since she had left the familiar world of her childhood to embark on this strange adventure.

"No brothers or sisters to help?"

She shook her head. "Just me. And my Pa. But he was gone a lot, so I had to look after her."

"Why did he go?"

She tied the last of the flannel in a knot and looked up to see him staring closely at her. She flushed and licked her lips. "Patrick Malloy is a dreamer. But his dreams are all unselfish. It isn’t that he wants much for himself. He’s always dreamed of finding a pot of gold and building a palace up on Nob Hill for his queen and wee princess."

"That’s the same dream shared by all the broken men we passed along White Pass."

"Patrick is different."

"Why?"

"His dreams will come true," September said defiantly.

As she reached for the bottle of whiskey, Jase shook his head. "I think I could use a stiff shot."

Beads of sweat had formed on his upper lip and forehead while she worked on his wounds.

He uncorked the bottle and felt the heat snake through his veins. Holding it up to her, he asked, "Want some?"

She shook her head. "The first time I ever tasted it was the night you saved me from the drunken miner."

"And you never tasted whiskey again?"

"It wasn’t part of the bargain," she said frigidly.

There was that word again. Bargain. September demanded that a man keep his word. And he felt certain that she would die rather than break a promise. For some reason he felt a warm glow of happiness. The bite of whiskey gave Jase courage. Suddenly he extended a hand. "Help me up."

"You shouldn’t stand yet. Maybe tomorrow."

"Help me up, September. I want to walk to the entrance of the cave and see the night sky."

She drew his arm around her shoulder and strained under the weight of him. "Let me know if you get too weak."

He staggered, then leaned heavily on her. With a curse he muttered, "I’m as helpless as a newborn."

"You lost a lot of blood, Jase. You should be lying down."

"Stop nagging and help me a little further." She clamped her mouth shut and eased him toward the mouth of the cave.

While he leaned against the rock wall, she scurried back and retrieved several fur pelts. Tossing them down, she helped him sit.

"Tie back those pelts at the entrance so I can see outside."

She did as he asked, then sat beside him.

He let out a sigh of satisfaction. "This is the best time of the day."

"It is?" She turned to study him.

"Haven’t you ever just stared at the evening sky and wondered how many other people are seeing the same thing?"

She smiled and nodded. How many nights had she leaned out the window of their tenement to watch the stars? With the world drifting off to sleep, everything seemed so right. No one made demands on her. The chores were finished for another day. She could be free to watch a shooting star, and make a wish, and daydream about a better life.

Jase fidgeted, then lifted a small pouch of tobacco. Without the use of his right arm, he felt useless. She could hear his hiss of frustration.

"Here. I’ll do that."

As she reached for the tobacco, he held it away. "Have you ever rolled a cigarette?"

"No. But I can learn."

"Never mind. This tobacco is precious. It has to last me the whole trip."

"I won’t spill it. Give it here." She reached over and took the pouch from his hand. "Tell me what to do."

"Shake a little on the paper. No. Too much." She dropped some back into the pouch. "No. Too little."

She shot him a murderous glance. "You’re fussing like an old woman."

"Damn it, September. You’re doing it all wrong."

"If you’d stop yelling and tell me what you want, I’ll do it."

He sucked in an angry breath. "Just sprinkle a little tobacco on the paper. Now seal the edges together with your tongue. Now pinch the end slightly."

She handed him the very lopsided cigarette, then brought a burning twig from the fire to light it. Jase inhaled deep into his lungs, then exhaled a long stream of smoke.

She hovered. "Well? How was it?"

He shrugged. "Pretty bad. There’s almost no draw. You packed the tobacco too loose." He lifted the cigarette from his lips and studied the end. "And you didn’t tuck in the end here. There’s tobacco all over my lips. And—"