“I want those children, too,” Ellie laid her head on his broad chest.
“Well, that’s mighty good news.” He tucked her in close. “I have some line in my saddlebag. I aim to catch us some fish for supper. Give me a minute to settle the horses, and we’ll head for the water.”
Ellie marveled as he walked away, those fine, long legs swinging as he went. How long could they live this life? It was free and easy in a way. Only the two of them. They were a little like Adam and Eve. She giggled at the image of Lars with a fig leaf. But they couldn’t start a life until the problem with Simon was settled. She didn’t expect that bastard would forget about her. Simon was used to getting what he wanted and having his way.
She’d give it a real good think. There must be a way.
There must be.
Chapter 7
“Darn if that left-over fish from last night doesn’t make a good breakfast.” Lars scraped the last of his food up with the back of his fork and popped it into his mouth. He sat cross-legged on the ground his tin plate balanced on his knees. Ellie stuck her little pink tongue out and licked her own utensil.
He groaned. Waiting to make her his was torture. He took a deep breath and willed his manhood to settle down. He would not take her on the ground. He would not risk pregnancy. He would not take her on the ground. He would not risk pregnancy. Maybe if he repeated his intentions often enough, he’d come to believe them. So far it was mind over body, and body was coming on hard.
“After we finish eating, I’ll douse the fire and we’ll pack up. I need to find a safe place for you to wait while I go to town. This was prime prospector’s territory, so I think we can find an abandoned mineshaft. It needs to be big enough to hide both you and your horse.”
“I wish I could come with you,” Ellie said. “I don’t feel safe when you’re gone.”
“I’ll be as quick as I can. We need more food. I can catch a rabbit and fish, but cornmeal, flour, beans and bacon would be nice. And you need that pair of pants. Come here.” He summoned her with a wave of his hand.
He put his hands around her waist and then her hips. “I reckon I better buy pants big enough for your hips not your waist. Men are just straight, but you have these curves.” He ran his hands over her waist and let them flow over the swell of her hips. I’ll say I’m getting duds for my little brother.” Lars raised an eyebrow and peered down at Ellie. “Say, when you were disguised as a boy, where were these?” His hands rose upward until a breast rested in each hand. He rubbed her nipples with his thumbs and when they hardened, he leaned down and pulled at one through the fabric of her dress. Ellie squirmed, but Lars didn’t have any notion to let her go. He gave the hard buds a little nip.
“It’s hard enough to stop at kissing, Lars. When you do that, you’re only adding fuel to the fire.” Ellie wiggled.
“I know, but I can’t help it. I can’t keep my hands off you. Answer my question.”
“I had a long roll of bandages, and I wrapped it around,” she explained. “I bound them.”
“I’ll add that to the list although I like to see them free and bouncy.” He cradled a breast in each hand and gave them a playful lift. “You go wash the dishes down at the creek, and I’ll get the horses saddled. We best be about our business.” He gave each breast one long simmering look before turning her towards the water with a gentle swat.
After several hours of searching, Lars declared, “None of these mine shafts have been safe.” He pushed his hat to the back of his head with the tip of a finger and hissed his disgust through sealed lips. “Let’s keep looking.” He swung back into his saddle.
They rode in silence the sun beating sweet heat into their backs. The nights were colder as they climbed into the mountains, but the days were clear and bright, startling in their clarity.
“What about there?” Ellie pointed across the stream to a little shack leaning dangerously to the side. A barn, equally distressed, trembled beside it.
“Looks like a strong breeze would blow it down,” Lars observed, “but I think it might do. Let’s go see.” He splashed across the stream leaning forward as his big horse scrambled up the bank.
Once he’d achieved the top of the steep little hill, he twisted in his saddle to observe the opposite bank. Ellie sat frozen in her saddle, glancing from the water to Lars and back to the water.
“Come on,” Lars called. “I’ll come help if you need it.” They sat in silent struggle for several minutes. “If I didn’t know you could cross that little ol’ stream, I wouldn’t ask you to. Keep a light hand on the reins and let Missy do the work. She knows what to do, let her do it,” he called. Still Ellie balked. “Don’t make me come back for you. You won’t be happy if I do.”
His little threat set her in motion. “Loose hands,” Lars called. “Don’t pull back on her head. Keep moving.” Lars yelled encouragement. In the center of the stream Ellie yanked on the reins. Her face was scrunched into a fearful knot. “Let that horse have her head. She can’t swim with you pulling her head up. Loosen those reins, Ellie.” Her green eyes shot him a look of distress, but she released her grip and leaned into the horse’s neck.
“Good girl,” Lars praised when she’d scaled the bank. “The higher we go in these mountains, the more difficult the ride. Can you manage?”
Her lip trembled, but her answer gave him hope. “Yes,” she whispered.
“There’s snow in those mountains still,” he said.
Ellie followed his gaze. “Sierra Nevada means snow covered mountain,” she said.
“Well, I guess whoever named it knew what they were talking about.” He nodded. “We won’t be crossing them, so we won’t worry about that snow. I plan to stay on this side of the divide.”
Lars dismounted and strode toward the shack. “Wait here,” he called over his shoulder, “I’ll see if it’s safe.”
The little house was a tumbled down wreck. Boards were missing from the weathered wall; the sun shone undisturbed through the ceiling; rats and mice had chewed up an old mattress and left scat all over the floor, but it would stand one more day. He could hide Ellie here.
Ellie waited while he inspected the house and barn. He rewarded her with a blinding grin. “Thank you for waiting like I asked.” He held up his arms, and she slid into them at his unspoken command.
While Ellie stretched to ease the soreness of days in the saddle, Lars viewed her breasts. They rose toward him like an offering, and he took advantage. He placed a hand over each lovely orb and massaged, squeezed, kneaded the soft flesh until they were both moaning.
“Girl, what you do to me,” Lars gave one last pinch before moving away. “I need to get to Angel’s Camp. You can wait in the house. I’ll put Missy in the barn.”
“Please, can I stay with her?” she implored.
“You want to wait in the barn?” His eyebrows shot upward.
“I’ll feel better with company,” she replied.
“All right, Ellie girl. You can wait in the barn.” Lars led the horse toward the ramshackle building. Once inside, he pulled Missy’s saddle off and led her into a stall. “This place makes me sad,” he declared. “Somebody had big dreams and all that’s left is a pile of boards.” He shook his head. “Sven and I will make our farm work. I swear we will.”
“You’d be there now if it weren’t for me.” Ellie’s eyes brimmed with threatening tears.
Lars pulled her into his strong arms. “Don’t think that a way. We’re in this together, and that’s how it’s going to be.” He sealed his oath with a kiss. “I’m going to be as fast as I can, but it’s about an hour each way. I should be back in three to four hours. While I’m gone, you are to stay in this barn. Do not stick your pretty head out the door. If you need to relieve yourself, you just find a handy corner.” He pointed at the saddlebag laying on the barn floor. “There’s some beef jerky in there, and the canteen is full. No reason, no reason,” he repeated, “for you to leave this barn.” He peered into her freckled face, memo
rizing the little upturn of her nose, the gentle slope of her cheek, her soft pink lips. He spoke around the lump in his throat. “Do you understand?”
Ellie gave a solemn nod. “Please, hurry back.”
“You can bet your boots on it.” He rubbed a circle of comfort on her back before patting her bottom one, two, three times. After one final lingering hug, he strode from the barn.
“Come on, Tiny, let’s go.” He pressed his thighs into the horse’s side and clicked his tongue. Leaving behind a flurry of dust, they cantered away from the abandoned homestead.
“Well, Angel’s Camp isn’t much,” Lars leaned forward to stroke between his horse’s ears and offered him this observation. He kept Tiny to a sedate walk as they sauntered up the center of town.
When he spotted a livery, he turned in and dismounted. An older man with pieces of straw in his hair and a pitchfork in his hand hurried over. “My business will take an hour or so, can you feed my horse some oats and see that he’s watered? He’s come a far piece today, and we aren’t done yet,” Lars told him.
“Sure, mister. I’ll see to your horse. Cost you ten cents,” he replied.
“It’s a deal.” Lars walked back to the street. “The horse’s name is Tiny,” he called over his shoulder.
“That’s a good one.” The man slapped his knee and let loose a rusty laugh. “Tiny, huh?”
The mercantile was a big tent built on a wooden platform to keep it out of the mud. Lars entered through the open flap and looked about before moving into the store.
“What can I help you with?” A man looked up from his game of Checkers and studied on Lars for a minute or two.
“I need supplies and some clothes for my little brother,” Lars said.
“Clothes are on the left side. Food on the right. Let me know if you need help finding anything.” He returned his attention to the game unfolding on the overturned crate.
Lars gathered cooking supplies and laid them on the counter. He added a loaf of fresh baked bread, a dozen eggs, butter, coffee and a little pot of jam. It wouldn’t hurt to have a treat. Ellie would be mighty pleased. He smiled at the thought of her happiness.
Choosing a pair of trousers was more difficult, but he decided on a denim pair. They’d be too big most likely, but he didn’t cotton to the vision of fabric stretched over her round bottom for any man with two good eyes to see. The idea made him clench his jaw and fists in unison.
He added a plaid shirt and a roll of bandages. A table covered with heavy woolen shirts caught his eye. It was August, and the days would be warm enough, but the higher they climbed into the Sierras the colder the nights would be. He chose one for himself and a smaller, dark green one for Ellie. That fiery hair would be a treat laying against it. He placed them with his order.
“I’m ready.” He was impatient to be done and headed back to Ellie while the storekeeper was only concerned about getting jumped at Checkers.
“All right. I’m coming.” He reluctantly left the game behind. “That’s ninety-five cents.”
Lars handed him one of the dollars and dropped the change into his pocket. He headed for the door with his purchases.
“Young man,” the Checkers opponent called, “you ought to stay in town tonight. There’s a storm moving in. Temperatures going to drop. Rain will be hard and cold. I’ve lived in these here hills a long time. I know.” He nodded.
Lars looked through the tent flap at the darkening sky. Hell. He couldn’t leave Ellie alone in a storm. He’d better hurry. Long strides carried him toward the livery. He passed the saloon, a two-story wood building with a swinging door. Music tinkled. Glasses clicked. He chuckled. Of course, the saloon would be the most prosperous business in town. To the right of the door was a disorganized mess of posters and notices. He slowed his pace. He would need to find a way to make a little money before too long. Maybe someone needed help building a barn or breaking a horse or two. But no one was advertising for workers. There were goods for sale and a few rooms to rent.
The last poster hung separate from the others as if declaring its unique intent. Curiosity piqued, Lars stopped. His heart stuttered in a flurry of uneven beats and the furrow in his forehead was so deep you could plant a row of corn in it. A sketch of Ellie’s face gazed out from the poster. Her eyes were spaced a little too wide, and her hair was two braids laying on the front of her shirt. He’d never seen Ellie in braids, but the drawing was good, too good. If anyone saw the picture, they would recognize her.
Across the top in bold, black letters was a single word—RUNAWAY. The script at the bottom declared: Eleanor McBride, known as Ellie, has run away from home. The girl is fifteen, has red hair, is five feet, one inch tall and weighs around one hundred ten pounds. Fifty-dollar reward for information leading to her recovery. Reply to Simon Prescott, Prescott Hotel, San Francisco.
Lars looked left, right and left again before his hand shot out and pulled the flyer from the wall. He crumpled it in his fist and shoved it down the front of his shirt. Nearly running, he closed the distance to the livery.
“Is Tiny fed and watered?” he called as he flew through the door.
“He is,” the man replied. “Say, you’d be better off staying in town. You can sleep in the loft if you want. A storm’s coming.”
“Thanks, but I gotta get back to my little brother. I left him taking a nap outside of town. He was plumb tuckered out, but he’ll be frightened if it storms, and he’s alone.” Lars opened his saddlebag and stowed the supplies.
He dropped a dime into the man’s outstretched hand, swung into the saddle, and rode from Angels Creek like the devil was at his back. Alternating between a quick walk and a canter, he made good time back to the tumbledown barn. He needed to see her safe. Before Tiny had come to a complete stop, Lars’ boots hit the ground.
“Ellie,” he called, “I’m back.”
Panic squeezed his lungs like a vice when she didn’t respond. Forcing calm with deep breaths he tried again. “Ellie,” he shouted. “Where are you?”
Her face popped over the bars of Missy’s stall. She yawned and rubbed her eyes. “I fell asleep in here with Missy,” she said. “Is everything all right? You look done in.”
Lars reached into the front of his shirt. “Look at this.” He smoothed the paper and held it towards her.
Ellie studied the poster. “Lord have mercy, what’s wrong with that man?” Color drained from her face leaving green eyes surrounded by a sea of chalky white. “Anyway, I’m eighteen. I’m of legal age. I can go where I please,” she fumed.
“That’s why he said you were fifteen. He’s hoping for sympathy and an eighteen-year-old who decided to leave home won’t get much. The braids make you look like a little girl. He’s a cunning bastard.” Lars enfolded her in a hug. “I think we should travel on a bit. I don’t think anyone saw me take the poster, but I can’t be sure. I’ll feel better if we are farther away from Angel’s Camp.” He walked Missy out of the stall and threw her blanket over her back. “There’s a pair of pants in my saddlebag. Pull them on under your skirt.”
“Lars, these pants are too big.” Ellie held the pants up with both hands.
“They have to do.” Lars cut a piece of rope from the coil he carried on his saddle. “Come here,” he ordered. He wound the rope through the belt loops and gave a jerk before tying a knot. After stepping back to view the results, he knelt and folded the cuffs until Ellie’s feet appeared.
Ellie gazed down at her denim-covered legs. “These will help. Thank you.”
He lifted Ellie from the ground and tossed her into the saddle. “There’s a storm coming, Ellie girl, so we won’t go far. I just have this feeling that we aren’t safe here, and I pay attention to my hunches. They’ve saved me a time or two.” He patted her thigh. “Stay close to me.”
He mounted Tiny, turned them away from the dilapidated barn and headed towards the mountains. The clouds were thick, dark, roiling. Spattering rain already stung his hands and face, but he pressed on cli
mbing, always climbing. The sun disappeared and afternoon brightness turned to purple twilight.
At the sight of an abandoned mine, Lars leapt from his horse. He entered with slow caution and peered into the dark. A fire pit sat in the center of the space, and the walls held steady and firm when he shook the timbers.
“This will work for tonight,” he said, pulling Ellie from her saddle. He pointed to the bottom of the hill. “They were mining in that creek.”
“I don’t see a creek.” Ellie scrunched her nose and peered down.
“It’s a dry riverbed now,” Lars explained. “I want you to gather wood before the storm hits. Get as much as you can. It’s going to be cold tonight. I’ll take care of the horses and set up our camp.” He surveyed the land. “And Ellie,” he cautioned, giving her arm a little shake, “don’t go into the riverbed.”
Ellie dropped an armload of wood next to the fire pit. “I’ll make one more trip,” she called before disappearing into the soggy late afternoon.
Lars stood at the entrance to the shaft straining to see through the curtain of rain falling in a thick, solid sheet. A distant rumbling vibrated through the sodden air. A harbinger of trouble permeated his bones. Anxiety tingled his spine. Where was Ellie? He needed her inside, warm and safe. Lars stepped outside. Rain like small stones pelted his head and shoulders.
He moved to the slope leading to the dry riverbed. The air in his lungs left his body in a single gasp. Ellie stood in the dead center of that empty waterway, bent over to retrieve a piece of wood. Damn. He’d told her to stay out of the riverbed.
“Ellie,” he screamed.
Between the rain and the rumbling, she couldn’t hear.
Rumbling turned to thundering. A solid wall of water rushed around the bend, gathering speed with every inch it traveled. It roared its power. It was an angry beast. A caged force set to rampage.
“Ellie,” he roared, moving toward the bank.
The wall of water hit her as she rose with an armful of wood. Smashed, crashed into her back. Knocking her flat. She was borne away in a swirl of furious, swirling, raging water.
Here Comes McBride (Journey's End Book 1) Page 6
