Teton Sunrise (Teton Romance Trilogy)

by Henderson, Peggy L

  Silently, Laurent wondered how Henry Lewis had managed to find his sister. Not many people knew of Alex’s plans about his cabin. It didn’t matter now. He was certain that Evelyn wouldn’t leave Alex of her own free will, and Alex would certainly not allow his wife to return to St. Charles to marry another. The answers to these questions would have to wait. Once he was free of his bindings, and away from these men, he would head back into the mountains and seek out his friend. The thought that he would see his wife again sooner than he had thought brought a smile to his face.

  “What’s so funny, Laurent?” Sabin demanded, his speech slurred. He raised his pistol again, and held it to Laurent’s forehead with an unsteady hand. He laughed coldly. “I could just put this bullet between your eyeballs right now. But I learned a trick or two from the Paiutes. They know how to make a man live for a long time, writhing in pain so great, you’ll beg for a merciful death.”

  Laurent had no plans to find out if Sabin was well-versed in Paiute torture methods firsthand or not. He pulled against the leather thongs wrapped around his wrists. The binding sliced into his skin, and he gritted his teeth against the pain. His hand finally slipped through the loop. In one swift move, he swung his fisted hand forward, knocking the pistol from Sabin’s grip. He grabbed the surprised man by the neck with his other hand and shoved him to the ground. Picking up the pistol, he fired it at one of the men who’d turned his head at the commotion. Before the other man even had a chance to react, Laurent pulled the tomahawk and knife from Sabin’s belt, aimed, and threw the ax. The weapon lodged itself in the trapper’s chest, and he fell to the ground. Sabin staggered to his feet, and bared his teeth.

  “You sonofabitch,” he snarled. His unfocused eyes darted from Laurent to his dead companions.

  “You will die, too, mon amie,” Laurent said calmly, holding the knife out in front of him.

  With a savage roar, Sabin charged. Laurent sidestepped, and raised the knife. The toe of Sabin’s boot caught on a protruding root. He stumbled forward, and collided against Laurent. A scream of anguish reverberated through the forest. Laurent pulled the knife back, and Sabin clutched his hand over his face, blood running in rivulets between his fingers. Laurent stepped back. He realized the weapon had stabbed Sabin in the eye.

  Like a rabid dog, the river pirate screamed, breaking the stillness of the forest. Then he ran between the trees into the thicket. Laurent watched him disappear. His chest heaved as he drew in a deep breath. He could just follow Sabin and kill him, but nature would do the job for him. The evil man deserved a slow death. He rushed for his horse and pulled the reins free of the picket line. Without a backward glance, he leapt into the saddle and kicked his horse into a run. It would take several weeks to reach Alex. There was already snow in some of the passes, but he had to find out why his friend hadn’t gone after his wife. He dreaded what he might find when he reached the cabin.

  ****

  Muffled voices reached Alex’s ears from outside the cabin. He ignored the sound, hoping it was only Yancey talking to himself. The bitter wind that had howled all day had finally ceased. A few days ago, several feet of snow had fallen, blanketing his cabin and everything around him in a dusting of white powder. Evelyn would have loved the way the morning sun sparkled off the ice hanging from the cabin’s roof or from the tree branches nearby.

  They would have sat by a roaring fire, listening to the wind howl outside. He’d wrap her in his arms, and they’d kiss and touch under a blanket, and talk about nothing important. Instead, he sat alone in a dark corner of his cabin, the fire dead in the hearth, and the windows boarded up. Unable to look at the bed he’d built for her, and the memories it sparked, he hadn’t set foot inside the bedroom since the day of her death.

  Yancey had arrived earlier in the day, bringing fresh meat. Not that he had much of an appetite these days. He wished the greenhorn would just go away. He had served his purpose when Alex asked him to bring him Laurent’s stash of whiskey from his cabin several days ago. At first, Yancey had refused, but a quick threat with a knife held to the coward’s throat had changed his attitude. His old man had always preferred to drown his troubles in liquor. Maybe it was time he gave it a try. Nothing else he’d done seemed to take away his pain.

  Days had dragged into weeks, and weeks into several months since Evie’s death. He’d tried to immerse himself in his work, felling trees and chopping wood for hours at a time that would see him through two winters. He left his cabin for days, sometimes even a week, to wander the streams and tributaries of the Snake River, setting his traps, and hunting game. A strong blizzard finally forced him back to his cabin. Nothing seemed important anymore. Nothing held any meaning. He fingered the cork on the whiskey pouch in his hand, and slowly pulled it open. The strong scent of alcohol filled his senses.

  You are not like your father.

  The softly spoken words of the woman he loved above everything else echoed in his mind. Only those faint words had prevented him from uncorking the pouch before now. Would he betray her love, her memory, if he took a drink?

  The hinges on the cabin door creaked, followed quickly by an icy blast of air.

  “He’s over there, Laurent. It’s good that you’re back.”

  “Mon dieu! I thought I could warm up by a fire. It is no warmer in here than it is outside.”

  “I’ll get one lit,” Yancey said. He shuffled toward the hearth. “He prefers to sit in the cold.”

  “Well, we will have to change his attitude, no?”

  Alex cursed under his breath. Why the hell was Laurent here? It couldn’t be spring already. He had lost track of time, for sure, but not that much time had passed for Laurent to have been to St. Louis and back. He held the tip of the whiskey pouch to his lips.

  “Shouldn’t you be with your wife, Laurent?” he grumbled, and tilted his head back. The taste of whiskey on his tongue nauseated him.

  Laurent reached for the bag and yanked it from Alex’s hands before he could even swallow. Spitting out the small amount in his mouth, Alex shot to his feet, and grabbed the Frenchman by the front of his shirt. Baring his teeth, he glared at his friend.

  “You will not waste my good whiskey to drown your misery, mon amie,” Laurent said without flinching, and stared him in the eyes.

  “Leave me the hell alone, Laurent, and mind your own business.” Alex released his hold on the Frenchman’s shirt and shoved him away. He ran a trembling hand through the coarse hairs on his face. He hadn’t shaved in weeks.

  “Get the hell out of my cabin. Both of you,” he roared. Yancey dropped the flint in his hand, and stumbled to his feet. Wide-eyed, he stared from Alex to Laurent, uncertainty in his eyes.

  Laurent advance on Alex, and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, tightening his grip when Alex tried step to the side.

  “I told you to leave me alone. Go and be with your wife, Laurent. Enjoy the time you have with her.”

  “I will do that, mon amie,” Laurent said lightly. “But I think it is you who should be with your wife, also.”

  Alex blinked. Pain jabbed his heart. Perhaps Laurent was right. Maybe he should go and be with Evie up on that mountain. “My wife is dead and buried, Laurent. I suppose I should go join her.”

  Laurent’s bushy brows drew together. “Dead and buried? That is not what I was told.”

  Alex stared blankly. Moments passed in silence.

  “Evelyn is alive and well, I presume, in St. Charles, my friend.” Laurent finally released his arm.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Alex scoffed. Why would he tell such a lie?

  “Henry Lewis is not dead. He came for her, and took her. I didn’t know why you would not fight for her. I thought perhaps I might find you dead. Young Yancey here has told me what has happened.”

  Alex tried to absorb what he had just heard. Henry was alive? Evie went with him? Why would she do that? Who lay buried under those rocks at the base of the mountain?

  “Who told you this?” A
lex asked slowly, the air leaving his lungs. His chest tightened, and a tiny spark of hope ignited in his heart. A tingling sensation replaced the emptiness inside him all these weeks. Was there a chance Evie was alive? He stared at Laurent.

  “There is a lot more to tell, my friend.” Laurent pulled out one of the chairs from under the table, and sat. He took a quick drink from the whiskey bag he still held in his hand. “I will tell you what I know, and then you must decide what you wish to do.”

  Chapter 21

  St. Charles, Missouri, Spring 1829

  Alex guided his exhausted horse down the main street along the Missouri River. The gelding sloshed through puddles of mud from a recent spring rain, and carried his head low. Discreetly, Alex glanced through weary eyes at the hustle and bustle around him. Laurent’s equally tired horse prodded along next to his own. Boatmen moved along the docks, shouting orders and cursing. Some exchanged heated words with one another. Alex already longed for the solitude of the mountains.

  He observed the people around him. Men, and some women, of all shapes, sizes, and colors milled about among the busy throng along the banks of the Missouri. Vagrant Indians loitered along the streets, some Frenchmen sang loud songs, and even a few hunters and trappers in buckskins mingled with the rest of the crowd. The smell of liquor and fish mingled with the cleaner scent of honeysuckle blooming in early spring. Had it been a year already since he’d last been to St. Charles? Since he caught his first glimpse of Evelyn as a grown woman? The image of her, as he remembered her when he first saw her, blended with the image of the woman who had become more important to him than his own life.

  “It has been a long journey, my friend, but soon you will be reunited with your wife,” Laurent said, guiding his horse closer to Alex. The smile on the Frenchman’s face lacked his usual exuberance. Alex nodded imperceptibly. His pulse increased despite his fatigue. Long journey was an understatement. Three months of navigating snow-packed mountain passes that others had said were impossible to traverse had taken their toll on both of them and their horses. The rigorous journey didn’t matter. He hadn’t seen Evie in nearly five months. The ache to hold her in his arms had become unbearable at times, and the need to feel her had driven him beyond human endurance.

  How many blizzards and bitter cold nights had he suffered on his near-impossible trek through the mountains these past months to reach St. Louis, and finally St. Charles? The few mountain men he and Laurent had encountered had told him they’d never survive the trip. Sometimes days or even a week had gone by when they’d been forced to hole up somewhere when a mountain blizzard made travel impossible.

  Visions of Evelyn kept him going. The emptiness in his heart, and the unbearable yearning to see her smiling face and to touch her drove him to attempt the impossible. Even Laurent had suggested it might be better to wait until the spring thaw. Alex refused to listen to reason. The moment Laurent’s words had sunk in that Evie wasn’t dead, he’d sprung into action. The next morning, he’d left Yancey in charge of his cabin, and mounted his horse. Laurent had insisted on going with him, and Alex was grateful to his friend for the company.

  To the best of his estimate, it was October the day the earth shook and she disappeared. Since she’d come into his life at the summer rendezvous in early June, he’d barely had five months with her. No matter how much time had passed, her face remained etched as clearly into his memory as if she stood before him. During those horrible months when he thought she was lost to him forever, her soft voice and delicate feminine scent had remained imprinted on his mind.

  His fingers tingled, and he gripped the reins tighter. If Henry had harmed her in any way, the bastard would pay with his life. Alex’s jaw clenched. His father’s farm was just a few miles outside of town. The closer he came, the stronger the anger and rage coursed through him, as if his old man held some kind of power over him now that he was back. He shook the unpleasant feeling aside. Anger at Henry had nothing to do with his father. Any man in love would react the same way if his wife had been kidnapped.

  Nagging thoughts had consumed him during those cold and lonely weeks of trekking over frozen mountain passes. What if Evie had married Charlie? He knew without a doubt that she would never consent to marry him of her own free will, but Henry could have easily forced her. She had no proof that she was already married. Alex shifted in the saddle. The ways of the mountain men were not honored in St. Louis. She had no proof that she was already a married woman. If she was legally wed to another man, what recourse did he have? Pushing the unpleasant thought from his mind for now, he nudged his gelding forward.

  After leaving the last buildings of town behind, Alex led the way along the narrow dirt road that followed a shallow stream. Recollections from his childhood rushed back to him. How often had he walked this road as a young boy, running errands for his mother or simply to escape his father’s temper? He glanced toward the creek. A vague memory of a young girl arguing with a boy seeped into his mind. Alex pulled his horse to a stop.

  “Let’s rest here for a moment,” he called to Laurent, who shot him a grateful look. As eager as he was to find Evelyn, he didn’t want to show up at her doorstep looking and smelling like the man she’d first met in the mountains. Although he was sure that she would receive him without distain and animosity this time, he ignored the urgency to reach the farm so that he could clean up before seeing her again.

  Dismounting his horse, he pulled a shirt from a pouch tied to his saddle, and headed for the creek. He could clearly see Evie, a sassy young girl, punching Charlie Richardson in the nose. He’d laughed silently, hiding in the bushes that day. When Charlie grabbed her and pushed her into the creek, anger had exploded inside him. He hadn’t thought twice about coming to her aid, and punching Charlie as hard as he could. The look of gratitude in her eyes that day had sent his young heart fluttering, and he’d run off like a coward. From that day, he’d avoided Henry’s sister as best as he could. A slow smile spread across his face.

  You’ve been drawn to her since that day, and you never even realized it.

  Quickly, he finished shaving the beard from his face that he’d let grow over the months, and slipped into his clean shirt. Impatient to find Evelyn, he strode to his horse, which was eagerly grazing the green grass along the creek bank.

  “I will catch up with you, mon amie,” Laurent said. He leaned up against a wide sycamore tree. “I will give my horse a little more time to rest. You go and be reunited with your wife.”

  Alex nodded, and climbed into the saddle. He patted his horse’s neck. “A little further, and then you’ll get some much deserved rest.”

  Guiding his horse along the road, his gaze scanned into the distance. If he took the cutoff to the left, he’d reach the farm where he’d grown up. Alex had no desire to see the place. He didn’t care what became of it. He nudged his mount with his heels, and continued on his way to the Lewis farm.

  Only a few more miles. His heart pounded with apprehension and eagerness in his chest. That he’d have to confront Charlie went without question. What he didn’t know was the reception he’d receive from Evie. Did she think he’d forgotten about her when he didn’t come looking for her? Perhaps she had thought that he was dead, just as he had presumed about her.

  A man walking behind a team of oxen in a field stopped to watch him ride by. The smell of freshly tilled soil mingled with the pungent scent of cows; scents he’d grown up with but long ago forgotten. He’d traded those smells for the musky scent of beaver. Soon, the familiar house and outbuildings of the Lewis farm came into view. A dirt yard separated the simple farmhouse from the much larger barn. Chickens cackled and scratched at the ground in the yard. He pulled his horse to a stop in front of a small corral. A shaggy brown dog came running from around the other side of the barn, barking loudly and scattering the chickens.

  Alex turned his head slowly, taking in the well-kept house and barn. This property was vastly different from his cabin in the remote Teton Mountains. He
suddenly felt strange and out of place here. His mountains called to him. What if Evie didn’t want to go back with him? He couldn’t offer her what she had here. There was no constant threat of hostile Indians or wild animals to endanger her life. Slowly, he brought his leg over his horse’s neck and hopped to the ground. The dog continued to bark at him, but kept a safe distance away.

  The front door of the farmhouse opened, and a man stepped outside. Alex dropped his horse’s reins. His jaw clenched, and anger rushed through him. Charlie Richardson, the man who had put a bullet in his chest a year ago. The man who had killed Evie’s parents.

  Holding a rifle in his hand, Charlie pointed it at Alex.

  “I see you haven’t changed, Charlie. Gonna try and finish what you couldn’t do last spring?” Alex glared at him, his eyes unwavering.

  “Henry Lewis warned me you might show up here one day,” Charlie said, and stepped further into the yard. Alex noted the slight hesitation in his step, and the unsteadiness in Charlie’s hold on his weapon.

  “Is that right,” Alex said casually, his hand slowly inching toward the tomahawk hanging from his belt. He stepped away from his horse, a few paces toward the farmer. “Then I suppose you must know why I’m here.”

  “Leave, Walker. You have no business here,” Charlie called across the space that separated them. He continued to step away from the house, pointing his rifle at Alex’s chest. “Go back to where you came from.”

  Alex’s lips parted in a sneer. “ I’ll leave, as soon as I get what I came here for.”

  “There’s nothing here that concerns you,” Charlie said hastily.

  Alex inhaled deeply. “Where is Evelyn,” he demanded, tired of beating around the bush.

  “She doesn’t concern you. You need to leave.”

  “Like hell she doesn’t—”

  A muffled cry came from inside the house, and Charlie’s head whipped around toward the sound. A woman’s cry of pain jolted Alex to the chore. Evie! What was happening to her inside that house? Cold sweat and fear raced down Alex’s back. It sounded as if someone was torturing Evie inside. His first thought was of Henry. He seized on the diversion, ignoring the rush of panic to his own heart, and charged at Charlie. Grabbing the rifle from the distracted man’s hands, disarming him proved rather easy. Charlie was a farmer, not some Crow or Blackfoot warrior out to kill him. Alex tossed the weapon to the ground, and pulled his knife from his belt, holding it to Charlie’s throat.