Tender Touch (31 page)

It wasn’t there.

Even Marc Beaudouin’s was out of place. Col found it parked next to the Woody’s. He dismounted and rapped his knuckles on the side of the wagon. “Marc?”

After a moment of silence, a voice came back: “That you, Col?”

“Yeah. Tobias? What are you doing in Marc’s wagon?”

“Hang on. I’ll be right out.”

Tobias emerged barefoot and shirtless, still buttoning up his trousers. “Glad to see you. Been a mess o’ strange doin’s around here since you left.”

There was only one “doin’s” Col wanted to hear about. “Where’s Brianna?”

“That’s what I’m talking about.” Tobias finger-plowed his hair, leaving it standing straight as a row of corn stalks. “After you left, we held a powwow. You know, to set new rules and such, what with Marc being the new wagon captain. We figured—”

“What about Bri?” Col interrupted.

“That’s what I’m getting to. All of a sudden she says she ain’t going on with us. Says she’s going to camp at the Mormon ferry till her husband catches up with her.” Tobias let out a low whistle. “Whew! If you don’t think that didn’t set up a ruckus. Musta been five minutes ’fore we could hear her explain that—”

Again, Col interrupted. “Is that where she is? The Mormon ferry on the North Platte?”

Tobias nodded. “Marc insisted on taking her. I’m driving his wagon till he gets back, and Ma’s taking care of his young’uns. Clive Decker’s acting wagon captain.”

“Damn! When did they leave?”

“Soon as she could get packed up, after you left.” Col was already swinging himself into his saddle. “Thanks, Tobias.”

“Wait! You gonna take off after her on a played-out horse?”

Collooked down at the dappled gray’s sagging head and heaving sides and cursed.

“Get your gear off,” Tobias told him. “I’ll fetch my buckskin. You can swap him back for the gray when you get Brianna back here where she belongs.”

Without another word the two men went about their business. Twenty minutes later Col was once more on his way. He had forty miles to travel before reaching the Mormon ferry. But the buckskin could handle it.

Tobias had traded for the gelding from a French-Canadian at Fort Kearny. The “Canuck” was smaller than American horses raised in the east, but was stronger and had greater endurance. American horses fared poorly when deprived of the grain they had been raised on, while Canucks thrived on the short buffalo grass that was mostly all that was available this far west. If all went well, Col would reach the Mormon ferry by noon tomorrow.

Barret was feeling too good to bother getting riled at the dog that woke him. The mutt was probably only barking at the full moon riding high overhead. Barret pulled his blankets over his head and burrowed deeper into his bed.

Ever since the fiasco at LaBonte Creek when his horse had thrown him, things had gone smooth as a woman’s tit. It was as though the mules knew he was at his breaking point and they’d best not test him again. And the sorrel had been good as mother’s milk.

He’d made excellent time and figured he had a good chance of catching up to Brianna within the next couple of days. The only thing that still troubled him was not knowing what had happened to Stinky Harris. Barret had begun to think Indians must have gotten the fool.

Or Columbus Nigh.

But, in spite of the stories he’d heard about the fur trapper-turned-emigrant guide his wife had taken up with, Barret wasn’t scared. The man would have to be a magician to do all the feats credited to him. And Barret was no milksop. No, the man would have to get up mighty early to beat him.

Tomorrow he’d get an early start. Ten miles would bring him to the Mormon ferry. Once he as across the North Platte, the country was reputed to be wide open. A man on horseback could leave all these two-bit farmers choking on his dust then.

Soon he would have the pleasure of once more feeling his hands on his wife’s skinny, deceitful body. The only question was what to do with her first. Throw her on her back and diddle her to death, or simply choke the life out of her.

He had no idea that only two miles back a halfbreed trader and two Indians hot for his blood lay sleeping with their feet to the fire, like the spokes of a wheel.

Each slept with one eye open, their weapons close to hand and vengeance in their hearts.

***

With steady hands that belied the state of her nerves, Brianna rolled up the sides of the wagon cover and fastened them to allow a breeze to pass through.

“Really, Marc, there’s no need for you to stay. I’ll be fine.”

Marc squinted into the sun to gaze at her where she stood on the wagon seat, folding back the front of the cover now. “You have any idea how long it’ll take your husband to get here?”

Brianna disappeared inside the wagon. She squeezed her eyes shut and took three deep breaths to dispel the panic that seized her every time she thought of facing Barret again. Feeling better, she straightened her spine, picked up a quilt from her bed and stepped back into the open. “Col said he was about five days behind us. That was three days ago, though, and Col hadn’t paid him any more visits, so Barret must be much closer now.”

She gave the quilt a hard shake before flipping it on top of the wagon cover to air out. “I have my pistol. I’ll be fine, really. You’ll only make me feel guiltier if I detain you any longer. You are wagon captain now.”

Marc kicked at a rock and pursed his lips. “I’ve seen that pistol, Brianna. It’s an old cap lock. You’ll only get off one shot. What if you miss and don’t have time to reload?” He shook his head. “There’s too much that could go wrong for me to feel comfortable leaving you here alone.”

She laughed and waved an arm to take in the hoard of emigrants camped about them, but the sound was strained. “You call this ‘alone’?”

He fanned his gaze over the motley gathering and allowed himself a smile. What she said had some merit. The only way Barret Wight might catch her completely alone was to hide near the sagebrush patch designated as the women’s privy area. Marc wrinkled his nose, thinking how unpleasant that would be, considering how the place must smell. “Just the same, I think I’ll stick around awhile. I have a good horse. It won’t take me long to catch up with the wagons.”

Brianna resisted the urge to throw herself in his arms and kiss him silly with gratitude. Since the moment she had known what she had to do, she had not allowed herself to contemplate other possible results besides the one she wanted. But deep inside, she was terrified.

At night, alone in her bed with nothing to keep her hands and mind occupied, memories tucked away in some furrow of her brain haunted her. Memories of life with Barret Wight. She hadn’t fooled herself about the risk involved in confronting her husband. Even with all the people coming and going here, and in spite of what she called her “ace in the hole,” she knew she could easily wind up dead. Or, at the very least, back in St. Louis under her husband’s sadistic thumb.

Threatening him would only enrage him, unless she handled it just right. And with Barret, enraged meant insane. Murderous.

“Well,” Marc said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I believe I’ll try to walk off that enormous breakfast you forced down me. Want to come along?”

“No, Marc. You go ahead. I have a few other things I want to get done here.”

“All right.” He gave her a wave of his hand and sauntered off toward the ferry where the men of the Mormon family who lived nearby were already at work rafting folks across the river.

As soon as he was out of sight, Brianna climbed down from the wagon. She called Patch. The kitten was growing fast and had easily figured out how to get down from the wagon. It was getting back in the cat had a problem with. Cradling him to her breast, Brianna kissed the silky head. Patch was Brianna’s only physical link now with the man she loved—the only one she could hug, anyway—which made the cat all the more precious.

After putting Patch in the wagon, Brianna fetched her pistol and tucked it into her pocket. Then she walked to a hill where she could sit and watch the comings and goings along the crowded river banks. In a few more days it wouldn’t be safe to seek such solitude. Even now, if Marc knew where she was going, he would stop her.

But for days Brianna had lived with the tension of constantly hiding her feelings, of giving false impressions and feigning a confidence that didn’t exist. She needed some quiet time alone. And she wanted to go over her plan, to map out every detail of what she would say, how she would say it, and to envision the countermoves Barret might make. As though they were playing chess, she thought with a grim smile.

Except for a few children playing tag among the sagebrush, Brianna passed few people on her walk. The adults were all too busy preparing wagons for the crossing, or catching up on chores so difficult to keep up while traveling day in and day out.

She made her way to a large outcropping of rock partway up the hill. After checking for rattlesnakes she settled herself on a flat shelf of rock. She drew up her knees and spread her skirt to cover her feet.

A west wind cooled her back while the sun toasted her face and arms. It pleased her to think of the sun’s warm caress as Col’s love, guarding her. The wind carried away the shouts of the men working the rafts. Even the laughter of the children playing a hundred yards away sounded like whispers, giving her the illusion of total isolation.

Where was Col right now? she wondered, crossing her arms over her knees. Could he possibly miss her as much as she missed him? Soon, if everything worked out, they would be together again. He loved her. She had to believe that. It was all that gave her the courage to do what she had to.

As soon as she had convinced Barret to give her her freedom, she would climb back in her wagon, join another train—or go alone, if need be—until she reached the eastern tip of the Wind River Mountains. Col had pointed the range out and told her that his valley lay between the northeastern foothills and the river that bore the same name as the mountains. She would find him.

With the hot sun on her face, she closed her eyes, lay her head on her arms, and indulged in daydreams of Col’s surprise and joy when he saw her.

They would build a cabin near the lake he had told her about. He would trap and hunt. She would plant a garden with seeds members of the wagon company had given her: English peas, sweet corn, turnips, cabbage, onions, beets, beans. They could go to Fort Bridger for the other supplies they’d need.

She made a mental note to search for canning jars. Maybe some of the emigrants here would sell or trade her a few. Paraffin, too. And cheesecloth. There would be berries in the mountains to gather and preserve. Col could show her herbs and roots to collect for food and medicine.

It would be a lonely life for a woman accustomed to the company of others. But Brianna had received few visitors during her three years of marriage. She was used to being alone.

Of course, that had been before she’d met Lilith, Marc and Dulcie. Brianna’s dream faded as she remembered the pain of saying goodbye to Dulcie. The girl had cried. Then she had grown angry and called Brianna a fool. In the end Brianna had been forced to take the girl into her confidence. Dulcie hadn’t been convinced Brianna was doing the right thing, but she—better than anyone else—understood her need to make this bid for freedom.

Then Dulcie had confided to her of the growing friendship between her and Marc, a friendship Brianna had been too buried in her own problems to see. The thought of those two ending up together pleased her. She wanted Dulcie to find the same hope and joy Brianna had discovered with Col.

Col. How could she need anyone else when she would have him? And there was the gift next year would bring. She smiled, thinking about it. Next year she and Col would have everything they could want. The Wind River Valley would be their Eden. It was almost too good to be real.

The braying of a mule close by—too close—brought her abruptly from her fantasies. There was a movement to her right. Bushes rustled. The tangy scent of sagebrush filled her nostrils. Sagebrush and animal sweat and danger.

Something blocked out the sun. Something large and ominous.

Slowly, without changing position or moving her head or arms, Brianna eased open her eyes.

Limned by the saffron yellow glare of the sun was a man. A bulky man with splayed feet and blunt-fingered hands, his facial features concealed in shadow.

But she knew him.

For an instant she was back in the house on the Mississippi River. A storm lashed wildly at the windows, the thunder echoing inside her head. A draft gusted up her skirt. Did he know she had learned his secret?

So much had happened since the awful night of Barret’s revealing nightmare. She wasn’t the same woman now, but she knew instinctively that he was very much the same man.

This time he wouldn’t be satisfied with beating her. No, this time, if he touched her at all, he would kill her.

“So, I’ve finally caught up with you.” He shifted and his familiar face came into focus.

She lifted her head and steeled herself against the panic that made her limbs quake and her stomach knot.

“I’m glad to see you, Barret. I was afraid I would have to wait here another week before you caught up.”

Harsh laughter broke from his chest. “You expect me to believe you were waiting for me?”