by Sara Orwig
“Dammit,” he whispered. He should have lowered her onto the rock. Now he had himself in a hell of a situation. He stared into the darkness and tried to think about his work. This is an assignment, he reminded himself, remembering how it started.
Before he had gone to Vicksburg on this job, Allan Pinkerton had called him into the office and closed the door.
Ten minutes into their talk, Pinkerton had leaned back and studied him. “This Vicksburg job shouldn’t take long. You’re the man to take this assignment, but it’s coming at a time when I had some other plans for you. When you get back, Dan, I want to offer you a vice presidency and your own branch office.”
“Thank you, sir! I’m surprised and pleased,” Dan replied, trying to absorb the unexpected offer. He contemplated whether he wanted to change his plans and then he shook his head. “Thank you, but after this case I’ve decided to retire from Pinkerton’s.”
Allan Pinkerton’s brows arched. “I’m disappointed. You’ve been one of the best men we’ve had.” Pinkerton shifted in his chair and studied Dan. “This business is growing. Perhaps because of the war and the protection and information we gave Mr. Lincoln and his generals. I remember what you said when you started. You went into this business, because you said you needed to get out of banking and move around. Mind if I ask what you plan to do?”
“Probably because of the war, I’m tired of hunting men and dealing with renegades. Other things seem more important now.” He gazed out the window, his thoughts returning to the decision that he had considered through the last bloody months of battle when he had slept on cold ground. The war had kept him busy, but he felt restless with a dissatisfaction that he hadn’t experienced before. “I’ve changed. A lot of years have passed since I started with your company.”
Pinkerton laughed. “Not so many years since you started with us. You sound damned aged and you’re only thirty-one. ’Course, I guess the war aged us all. You could have almost any city you want if you’d take my offer. I’ll double your salary.”
A mixture of feelings ran through Dan; his past nagged at him. He had pushed his luck at Pinkerton’s, yet it was nice to hear how much they wanted him. Even so, Dan knew what he wanted to do. “Thank you, sir, but I’m set on going west. The frontier is diminishing. I want to be part of it before it’s gone. I told you long ago, I’m a halfbreed. I’m going back to my mother’s people.”
“You won’t be happy. You’re educated, city-bred, civilized. Your father was a prosperous businessman until the war. Your mother has never wanted to return to her tribe, has she?”
“No, sir.”
“Follow her lead. You won’t be happy with that kind of primitive life. You’re too worldly. And you’ll give up a small fortune in earnings. Those people are penniless nomads. Their cause is as lost as the South’s was. You think about this offer. You’re turning down a golden future. Do this job and then give me an answer.”
“Yes, sir.”
With the loss of Solange and Timothy, he found city life constricting. To survive on the land seemed a balm for his grief. There was a renewal of spirit in living in harmony with nature and close to it. The West offered a place without painful memories. He had ridden with his Kiowa brothers before, and it had suited him well.
Now, listening to the cry of a coyote as he kept watch on the sprawling land of Texas, he thought about staying out here, finding his mother’s people and taking up their way of life again. With the ten thousand dollar bonus for bringing in Peter Benton, he would be able to get his father out of the financial ruin caused by the war.
He hoped the Bentons weren’t eluding him while he trailed the wrong people. Yet were they wrong? The description of Peter Benton as a tall, blond, blue-eyed man with scars on his throat and hands fit Eb Kearney.
Dan looked down at the woman in his arms, aching to haul her up and taste her full mouth. The minute they reached San Antonio, he would meet Elias Johnson. As Dan looked at her, he hoped Elias Johnson existed. If Eb Kearney was actually Peter Benton, they would be back this way before the next full moon.
Dan studied Rachel. Her full lips were a rosy invitation. Aroused, aching, he shifted and eased her down, scooting back and trying to stretch her on the rock. Her head lolled on his thigh, and she flung her arm across his legs.
He inhaled deeply and frowned, his body reacting in response to every touch. He was hot and hard and wanted her. If she had told him the truth, she hadn’t been with a man in a long time. She was quiet, her head resting on his thigh and he sat still, reluctant to move her. He wiped perspiration off his brow and looked at the sweet curve of her hip, the gap in the neck of her shirt that revealed a triangle of pale flesh.
He braced his hands behind him and leaned back on his arms. Let her stay and sleep. She would scoot away soon enough and she wouldn’t know where she had slept. No need putting her head down on a rock.
Damn liar. He wanted her close. He sat up and looked down at her features in repose. He smoothed a curl of auburn hair away from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. He inhaled and shifted his weight, careful not to disturb her.
Two hours later a gray tint came in the east, and stars faded from sight. In the dusky light he could see better, and his gaze went over her. Her left hand was curled in front of her, and he looked at the plain gold band on her finger. The band had been wrapped with cloth so it would fit her finger. He opened her hand carefully to stare at the ring. From the looks of the wrapping, Elias Johnson had given her a band that was a full size too large. He might have given Rachel his mother’s or grandmother’s ring. Or Elias Johnson might not exist, and she was wearing her mother’s ring.
She stirred and opened her eyes. She blinked and turned her head and looked up at him while he gazed down at her. As his pulse quickened, he fought the urge to pull her up against him.
“Mornin’,” he said.
She sat up and pink flooded her cheeks. “I slept?”
“I was watching for trouble, so it didn’t matter.”
She scooted away from him. “I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t mind,” he drawled.
“We’re usually up and on the trail by this time,” she said, scrambling to her feet. He carried his rifle and slid down, turning to lift her off the rock. She blinked and held her rifle away as he swung her to the ground. Her waist was tiny, and he fought the impulse to let his hands linger.
“There’s a clump of bushes if you want to answer nature’s call. I’ll go behind the rocks.”
“Yes,” she said, blushing deeply before she turned away.
He watched the sway of her hips. Maybe some married women could be embarrassed more easily than others.
She was quiet as they strode back to camp until they neared the wagon. “I slept, Mr. Overton, and you didn’t have a chance to rest. After Abigail and Lissa are up, you may sleep in the wagon if you want.”
“Thanks. During the war I learned to sleep in the saddle.”
She gave him a startled look and strode ahead. The boy and the father were moving around, beginning a fire for breakfast.
As they ate biscuits and drank strong, black coffee, Dan was aware of Mrs. Johnson walking around the camp. She carried the baby in her arms and now doubts assailed him, and he swayed back the other way, deciding she was the child’s mother and maybe these weren’t the Bentons. Maybe.
As he knelt near the fire, Josh sat staring at him. “You know how to shoot better than anyone,” he finally said.
“You want to learn how to shoot?”
“Yes, sir. I’m learning. I started back home—”
“Josh, help Pa hitch the horses,” Mrs. Johnson snapped. Her brother wolfed down the last bites of biscuit and damson jam as he ran toward the front of the wagon.
“He’s a big help to you.”
“He’s as much help sometimes as another man. He has a big imagination. He likes to make up stories, so don’t let him fool you.”
“He’s just a kid,” Dan remarked as
she turned to walk away. He sat and watched the pull of denim across her bottom, imagining her without the tight pants.
“Mr. Overton, if you want to shave, there’s a bucket of water by the wagon,” Eb said, pointing toward the wagon.
Dan strolled away, going to the far side of the wagon to prop up a mirror and yank off his shirt to shave and wash. He splashed cold water on his face and turned his head. Lissa ran around the wagon, toddling into him and clasping his legs.
“Hey!” he exclaimed with a smile as she looked up and grinned, holding up her arms.
He set down the razor and picked her up. She was soft and sweet-smelling. Her green eyes sparkled, and she smiled at him. “You’re a little charmer, aren’t you? What’s your name?”
She laughed and touched his wet chin. “Lissa,” she said, curling her arm around his neck, the small fingers of her other hand playing across his muscled chest.
“Lissa!” Mrs. Johnson came around the wagon and stopped, her eyes going wide. Her gaze raked down over his chest and back up, pink flooding her cheeks. “She got away from me.”
He held Lissa out. “Now she may be a little wet.” His hands brushed Mrs. Johnson’s as they exchanged the child. Lissa strained to reach for him again.
“Mr. Overton has to shave, Lissa.”
He leaned forward. “I’ll shave and then I’ll come carry you on my shoulders. How’s that?”
Lissa giggled and hid her face against Rachel’s neck. He was leaning close and his gaze shifted to Rachel and for a moment his breath caught as he stared into her eyes. They were wide, a crystal green that could go from the coolness of a winter pond to the hot flames of a raging fire.
She blinked and turned away, bumping the wagon.
“Steady, there,” he said, feeling as flustered as she did. He needed some female company soon. He had been out by himself too long. He was having an intense male reaction to her each time she was within yards of him. And from that wide-eyed startled look she had given him, the quick glance over his bare chest, she was experiencing some kind of reaction, too. Married, too long without a man, maybe she suffered the same torment he did. And you’d be damned well happy to relieve her, he thought with cynicism. She’s married and you’ve trailed after the wrong family. If so, now how could he leave them out here on the trail? They needed his guns. Rachel Johnson needed his protection. He clamped his jaw shut angrily and turned to shave.
After shaving, he pulled on a fresh shirt and leather vest, fastening on his silver spurs and tying his bandanna around his neck. Finally he went to look for Lissa. As they started on the trail, Dan rode with her in front of him, letting her hold the reins in her tiny hands, touching soft ringlets, trying to avoid remembering the last time he had held a baby, because it had been his own.
Hurting, he stared at the wide expanse of land ahead. This family was getting to him, and he was being a damn fool to let that happen. He wheeled the horse, riding beside Mrs. Johnson who sat on the wagon seat. He swung Lissa up and handed her over, turning his horse and flicking the reins to ride away.
As they headed southwest the terrain changed, the land became rolling covered by twisted scrub oaks. The Kearneys were slow. Experienced people could have cut the traveling time in half.
Mid-morning Dan spotted tracks, climbing down to study them. He began to move back and forth in a wide arc across the trail. He picked up a feather. Finally he wheeled his horse around to ride back to the wagon.
Mrs. Johnson drove the wagon with Josh beside her. Dan reined close to the wagon and climbed up. “Trade places with me, Josh.” He swung the boy down, dropping him into the saddle. As Dan sat down beside her, his gaze swept the land in front of them. “We’re not alone. I’m going to ride ahead. You’re going into country where you can get ambushed.”
“Is it Lyman McKissick?”
“I don’t know who it is,” he lied, seeing no reason to frighten her. He didn’t know yet whether it was Comanche or Kiowa, but Indians had spotted them. He guessed it was at least a dozen warriors.
“Mrs. Johnson, don’t stop the wagon. If you come to a creek or a place you think looks cool and inviting, keep going until I get back. Don’t go slower than you are now and at the first sign of trouble, move out.”
She gave him a level look and he felt annoyed, realizing she intended to do as she damned pleased. He leaned close to her. “It may be Comanche,” he snapped. “And they would love a pretty little red-haired captive like you and a yellow-haired one like Abigail, so you do what I tell you.”
She drew a deep breath, making her full breasts strain against the dress. He glanced down, and beneath his gaze, her nipples hardened to peaks. He looked up at her. “You keep the wagon moving, if you don’t want to risk the rest of your family.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Overton!” she snapped and saluted him, glaring at him.
“Dammit,” he said under his breath. He motioned to Josh and leaned over to scoop up the boy and lift him to the seat. Dan dropped back into the saddle and urged his horse forward.
Rachel watched him ride out of sight beyond a grove of trees. What was it about him that irritated her so and made her defy him? She didn’t trust him and she wasn’t going to obey him.
He wanted her. She knew that instinctively. And he was handsome enough that she suspected he usually got what he wanted with women. Easily. Her heartbeat fluttered over such thoughts because Dan Overton was a forceful man and she was having a strong reaction to him every time he turned his attention to her. If he could make her heart flutter in clashes, how would she react if he tried charm? She recalled too clearly seeing him this morning when he was bare-chested. He was muscled, dark-skinned. Recollections of the encounter had plagued her constantly since. She needed to keep her mind on the dangers of the trail; he had warned her. Were there really Comanche near? She hadn’t seen a sign of anyone.
“What did Mr. Overton say?” Josh asked.
“He just said to keep going. It’s more dangerous now, because of trees and hills. It’s harder to see anyone approaching. Josh, get the rifle and revolver and tell Pa to stay awake and keep a watch out the back.”
“Yes, ma’am. Where’s Mr. Overton?”
“I don’t know where he goes. He must be up ahead somewhere. He always reappears.”
“You don’t like him, do you?”
“What makes you think that?” she asked, startled that Josh had noticed.
“I’ve heard you talk to Pa, and I can see how you look at Mr. Overton. He seems kind of nice to me.”
“Go tell Pa and get the rifle.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Josh said and climbed back inside the wagon.
By mid-afternoon everyone was hot and pleading to halt. She hadn’t seen anyone, neither Dan Overton, nor an Indian. And they were moving beside a stream with trees and shade. She climbed up on the seat of the wagon to take over from Josh who was driving.
It had been almost the whole day since Dan Overton told her to keep going and if he wanted her to continue to do so, he should come back and tell her. Could anything have happened to him? She felt a prickle along her nape and gazed around. A rabbit darted around a tree and birds flew among branches. The countryside looked quiet, peaceful. There hadn’t been any sound of gunshots, and she couldn’t imagine anyone overpowering Dan Overton without a fight.
Lissa began to cry and in minutes Abigail leaned close. “Rachel, let’s stop. It’s sweltering in here.”
Casting aside Dan Overton’s warnings and instructions, she turned the team and slowed beneath the cool shade of a long-limbed cottonwood. She climbed down as the others emerged.
Josh stepped out and jumped to the ground. “I thought Mr. Overton told you to keep going without stopping.”
“He did, but that was this morning. We haven’t seen anyone including Mr. Overton. We’ll stay here a few minutes.”
She moved away, walking down to the stream, following it to get some privacy and relieve herself. Placing the Winchester on the ground, she kne
lt beside the water and splashed it on her face. It was cool and refreshing. Leaves rustled with a slight breeze, giving a dappled shade over the narrow stream. This was the first stream where the bottom of the creek was sandy and rocky and the water clear. She glanced all around. Everything was still and peaceful, no threat of danger, no strange noises. No Dan Overton to know she wasn’t obeying his orders. Where was he? Had something happened to him?
The trickling water held an invitation she couldn’t resist. She yanked off her boots and stockings and pulled up the legs of her pants, relishing the cold water gushing over her feet. Walking with care, because the soles of her feet were tender, she longed to sink down and feel the cool water up to her chin. In minutes she turned around and was surprised how far back it was to her boots and the rifle. She paused, her gaze sweeping the bank. A dark shadow moved, and her heart missed a beat.
Worry mushroomed like a giant cloud enveloping her. She could hear Dan Overton’s voice, “…keep going…” The rifle looked incredibly far away as she splashed through the creek.
A pistol shot echoed in the stillness; birds flapped in the air, and a scream was piercing, turning Rachel to ice.
“Abby!” With her heart thudding, Rachel ran for the rifle. Dan Overton was right! She gasped as she splashed out of the stream. A shadow shifted and a man loomed in front of her. He wore two eagle feathers behind his head and ocher paint on his cheeks. His body was bare to the waist, his skin bronze, his dark eyes intent on her.
She screamed, a shrill cry that was almost drowned by the pounding of her own blood in her ears. She lunged for the rifle.
“A’daltem guadal,” he said, his eyes gleaming.
He caught her up, his arm banding her in a crushing grip that made her cry out in pain. Tossing her over his shoulder easily, he picked up her rifle and strode up the bank.
Chapter 5
A raucous bird’s cry was heard; her captor gave an answering whistle that sounded like the birds she had been hearing for days now. Helpless, terrified for her family, Rachel bounced uncomfortably on his shoulder as he strode along. She heard men’s voices. Then with a shock she heard a familiar deep voice. Remorse that she hadn’t followed Dan Overton’s instructions filled her. The warrior halted.
