For a long moment she said nothing. Then, "All right." Leaning forward, she closed her eyes and pursed her lips.
Luke scooted closer. "I ain't your brother," he said, taking her into his arms.
He took his time. First he tasted her lips, licking at the corners, running his tongue along the crease until she opened to him. Then he dipped into the honey-warmth of her mouth, finding every crevice, every secret. When she moaned, he swallowed the sound and pulled her closer.
The soft pressure of her uncorseted breasts against his chest inflamed him. He drove his tongue into her mouth again and again, in desperate imitation of what he wanted to do to her. His fingers released the buttons at the neck of her gown and found skin, tender, delicate, softly rounding into the swell of her breasts.
"No. Please. No more," she said into his mouth. Her words were weak, as if she was saying them reluctantly. "No more."
Luke immediately released her, ashamed that he'd let his hunger overcome his good sense. With an effort he controlled his breathing, forced his body into compliance.
"Godalmighty!" he said as she slowly pulled herself away from him. "You let me know next time you need help, hear? I'll be around."
He'd do most anything to be kissed like that again.
* * * *
Katie woke at dawn when the redheaded man came for his jenny, but she didn't move, didn't even open her eyes. What would she say to him? That she'd relived his kisses over and over again in her dreams? That she wanted more?
No, it was better that she let him think she was fast asleep. Now she'd never see him again, and that would be all for the best. A man like that, capable, independent, chivalrous--he'd want to take care of her.
Katie Lachlan needed no man that way. Until last night, she'd needed no man, period.
As soon as she'd put up her hair when she was sixteen, the boys had started flocking round. "Like bears to a honey-tree," Pa had said. She'd laughed with them, danced with them, even flirted a little bit with them. But that was all.
It had been hard for her to take her popularity seriously, considering how few girls there were in Boise City five years ago. Ellen had gone East almost as soon as they'd moved to town, and their younger sisters had been seven and two. No wonder all the males between seventeen and fifty-six had paid Katie court.
By the time she was in school back East, Katie had recognized she was far pickier about men than most of her friends. Of course, having a pa like hers--not to mention her uncle and her godfather--to compare all her would-be suitors with hadn't made matters any better. It would take quite a man to live up to her idea of a husband.
Hamilton Steens Whitney III definitely didn't fit the mold. She wouldn't have considered him even if he'd approached her in the accepted manner. Not an Easterner.
Admitting to prejudice had been hard for her, this past winter. From earliest childhood, Katie had been taught to value a man for what he did, not for who he was or where he lived. She liked to think she didn't have a bigoted bone in her body.
But she could never marry an Easterner as Ellen had. Nice as Charles was, he simply wasn't a cut of cloth that would wear well in the high country. Which was where Katie now knew she had to live. Up among the tall pines, where the horizon was either close up and looming high above you, or so far away it made your eyes ache to look at it.
In just a few more days she'd see the Rocky Mountains. Then she'd really, truly believe she was on her way home. In the meantime, she had to figure out what to do if Hamilton Steens Whitney III followed her all the way to Idaho.
That thought brought her up short. What the dickens am I running from? He can't hurt me! He'd have never laid a hand on her yesterday if she hadn't been caught unprepared. It was her own mistake, but one she'd not repeat.
She sat up and stretched. Her breath made a cloud in the cold morning air. Goosebumps chased down her arms as she tucked the cold derringer into her bodice and raised her skirt to check the knife she wore in a sheath strapped just above her knee.
I'll be ready for him if he tries again.
* * * *
"Hey! You with the mules! Your name Lucas Savage?"
Luke turned slowly, taut with dread anticipation. The conductor stood in the wide doorway of the stock car. Forcing himself to relax, one muscle at a time, he said, "It is."
"You got a telegram." The conductor hooked a thumb to his right. "I left it at the depot, in case it wasn't for you."
"Thanks. How long before we pull out?"
"You got just about time enough to pick it up. If you hurry."
Checking the catch on Salome's stall one last time, Luke patted her gray rump. "Mind your manners girl. You don't want to get us kicked off, do you?"
The ass whuffled and nodded her head vigorously. Luke was pretty sure she understood every word.
He loped to the depot and identified himself to the telegraph operator. The man handed over a flimsy sheet of paper.
Good news never came in telegrams. He'd heard that more than once. Luke swallowed hard, steeling himself to unfold it.
BREEDLOVE KIN ON YOUR TRAIL SEEN ARRIVING CHICAGO YESTERDAY STOP MICK
Well, hell!
"Bad news?" the telegraph operator asked.
"Ain't it always?"
"I dunno. Last week I got one telling a gent he had a son. He was plumb tickled."
Luke grinned in spite of himself. "You get one like that for me, I don't want it. Talk about bad news!"
"This fella was married. Guess that makes a difference."
"Guess it does. Thanks for telling the conductor about this," he said, waving the telegram. "I'm obliged."
"Just doin' my job."
Luke chewed his lip as he strode back to the train. So Japhet Breedlove's kin were on his trail. Sooner or later they'd trace him to the stockyards, where he'd worked for a few days. There wasn't any reason why the foreman wouldn't tell them Luke had gone West. And once they found out he'd acquired two asses and the mule, they'd have no trouble following him.
Maybe he could stay ahead of them until he got to Ogden. Then he could disappear into the hills. They'd have a hell of a time finding him after that.
* * * *
Katie followed Lizzie down the aisle of the railcar, stepping over parcels and feet, doing her best not to drop the rolled-up quilt she carried under her left arm. And trying to avoid hitting people with the fiddle case she held with her right hand. The carpetbag had been far easier to handle.
An elderly man took her elbow and helped her past a pile of blanket-wrapped bundles in the aisle. He looked to be about the age she hoped she appeared. She ought to be helping him, not the other way around.
So far her disguise was passing muster. She just hoped it would last until they were well away from Omaha. She'd have to be careful not to rub her ash-whitened hair against anything. It wouldn't do to have it go from gray to black right there in the railcar.
The Deatons occupied two facing seats in the middle of the car. There was room for Lizzie's parents and the two youngest children and all of their belongings, but Katie, Lizzie and the older boys were on their own. Katie nudged Lizzie and pointed to two empty seats close to the opposite end of the car. "Hurry! Before anyone else gets them!"
Lizzie pushed her way through, shoving past people who were vainly trying to fit all their possessions onto the overhead shelf. She reached the seats just before two young men did, and slipped into the inside one next to the dirty window. When one of the young men moved to crowd himself in beside her, she said, "Oh, please! This seat's for my old granny!"
Katie did her best not to dissolve into giggles. But she took the seat without a twinge of regret. Safety lay in staying close to the Deatons, at least until they were well away from Omaha.
The young men took a look at Katie and departed. She winked at Lizzie. But she didn't relax her scowl, or allow her lips to return to their natural curve.
"They'd'a stayed, if I'd have given 'em a smile," Lizzie whispered. "The one wi
th the moustache was real nice-lookin'."
"Take my word for it, Lizzie. There will be plenty of men as good looking as he is where you're going. You'll be fighting them off with a stick by the time you've been there a month."
"Oh, I hope so!" Lizzie stood on the seat to stow her bundle in the skimpy overhead rack. "You want to put that fiddle case up here? I think there's room."
"No. I'll hold onto it," Katie said. She knew she should stow it, as big and awkward as it was. But the scarred case held the means to her survival, and she was not going to let it out of her hands.
Katie found she could wedge the case between her and the armrest on the aisle side of the seat. Perhaps she could even lean against it if she decided to nap.
The train's whistle sounded, two long wails. Slowly objects outside the window started to move backward--that was always the impression she got. Katie forced her hands to relax, her jaw to unclench. They were on their way.
"Katie, look there! On the platform! Ain't he about the fanciest man you ever did see!"
Leaning forward, Katie peered through the window. But she stayed far enough back that anyone outside would have trouble seeing her clearly.
"He looks like one of them senators I saw a picture of in a newspaper once." Lizzie sounded awed. "All spiffed up, with shiny shoes and a gold-headed cane. Right pretty, ain't he?"
"He looks like a horse," Katie said, turning her face away from the window. "And his shoes won't stay shiny long, not in Omaha." She leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. "I'm going to take a nap."
As the train picked up speed, the clackety-clack of the rails soothed her. The sleeping car she'd had tickets for would be coupled to another train, one that did not carry hordes of emigrants and stop every five miles or so. Mr. Pockets-Full-of-Money Whitney could still get ahead of her. He could be waiting for her at any station along the line.
* * * *
The distance between Omaha and Sidney was four hundred and fourteen miles, according to the timetable Luke had tucked into his coat pocket. On a fast train, it took about twenty hours to make the journey.
On a slow train, like this one, it might take as much as two days. According to the conductor, this was a special, put together just to carry the emigrants to their new homes. One like it ran twice a week, carrying up to five hundred settlers at a time. The emigrant train would spend almost as much time on sidings, being passed by fast freights and passenger trains, as it did moving.
If Miss Lachlan had taken the faster train, he would have been forced to also. He would have had to ship his stock, trusting someone else to feed and water them. This was better. Lafayette and the jennets were his best chance for a new life.
At Sidney the stock car would be hitched up with the through passenger railcars for the rest of the journey. The conductor had said that this week they were carrying passengers as far as Bridger, adding, "But I'll be damned if I know why a body'd want to go there."
Restless, unable to sleep with the constant noise of crying babies and snoring adults, Luke got to his feet. Immediately the fellow in the other seat spread out and lay across both.
Luke didn't blame him. A man could get a permanent crick in his neck, trying to be comfortable in these wooden seats.
There were no poker games in this train. Not that he minded. He'd had enough good luck to last a lifetime. Nor was there much else to take his mind off the Breedlove boys. He kept his eye out for Miss Lachlan, but didn't see her as he passed through two more darkened railcars. There were women a'plenty, but none with hair so black, a mouth so kissable. He knew she was on board, though. He'd seen her as she boarded. That old army coat she'd acquired somewhere was unmistakable.
He reached the back end of the last railcar and stopped to lean out of the open vestibule window. Black billows from the engine's smokestack climbed straight up to the gathering clouds tonight, instead of drifting back along the train. The night air was cold and fresh--he'd forgotten how clean it could smell--and carried a hint of rain. The air inside the railcars was thick with smoke and the sour odor of tired folks who'd had no baths for a long time.
No stars tonight, he thought, looking up into blackness. Sunset had been merely a fading of light, for clouds had been moving in, scudding along ahead of an icy wind. Winter was on its way, for certain. As long as it got no colder, he would be happy. He'd lived through enough Northers to go a long time without another one.
With one last deep breath he turned, and almost ran into a little old lady in the doorway. "Beg pardon, ma'am," he said, grabbing the door and holding it.
She slipped by him, moving easily, and leaned out the open window. He could see her taking deep breaths, her eyes closed. One hand grasped the edge of the window, steadying her against the sway of the train, while the other clutched a shabby violin case.
"Are you all right?" he said, wondering if she was sick.
She looked back at him, smiling. "I'm fine," she said. "But I wouldn't have been if I hadn't gotten some fresh air soon. All the windows in our car are closed, and the air is so thick you could slice it up and serve it for supper."
Luke looked more closely. Her hair was gray, her face lined, but her voice...."Miss Lachlan!"
"I beg your pardon?" Her voice was starchy, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
"You're the girl I left Sheba with. The girl I ki--"
"Thank you for the use of Sheba," she said, smiling.
She still looked like an old lady. But she didn't, either, because no old lady had a smile like that. "You're welcome, ma'am. Anytime."
"I sincerely hope I won't need a guardian donkey ever again." Her smile flashed again. She held out her unburdened hand. "Please call me Katie. I feel like we're old friends." And she blushed!
He took it, wishing he had the fine manners to lift it gracefully to his lips as he'd seen some men do. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Luke...Lucas Savage." He stared at her, seeing now that the lines on her face were drawn there, the gray in her hair ashes or something. "You're still hiding?"
Nodding, she said, "Until I can find a bucket of water, at least. I think...I hope the man I'm hiding from is still back in Omaha. I should be safe until we reach Laramie."
A succession of short blasts sounded from the engine, eerie cries in the lonely night. Luke leaned out to see why.
"Buffalo on the track?" Katie said.
"Can't see." He leaned farther. "Yeah, I think so." A moving, shifting mass blacker than the night extended as far as he could see. Metal shrieked against metal as the train slid to a stop.
Katie crowded against him, trying to see.
Lordy, but she was a little bitty thing. Her chin barely topped the bottom window frame. Without thinking, Luke caught her around the waist and lifted so most of her upper body hung out the window. The violin case bumped against his thigh, her bottom against his groin. He swallowed, hoping she would hold still. "Can you see now?"
"There must be thousands," she said. "I can't see the end...."
A shot sounded. Another.
Luke put her down, leaned out himself. Up toward the front of the train lanterns and torches were appearing. In their flickering light he could see men with long guns standing on the sides of the engine and in the doors of the baggage cars. They were firing at the mass of buffalo.
Even as he watched, a magnificent bull crashed to the ground next to the train. Other animals stumbled and fell, or reared, attempting to turn away from the rain of lead. Raucous yells sounded with the collapse of each slain animal.
"Oh, no!" Katie gasped. "No! They mustn't!"
"I guess there's always more where they came from," Luke said, although he was sickened by the slaughter.
"How can you say that? Those men are shooting simply for sport." Tears glistened on her cheeks, washing white traces in the lines making her seem an old woman. "They'll leave the meat to rot."
Luke had never thought much about killing, he had just done what was needed. Until he'd seen Japhet Breedlove di
e in the dust of a cattle town street. He'd thought about little else for the two months since. He put his arm around Katie. "A man oughtn't to kill unless he's hungry," he said, stating the conclusion he'd come to in long hours of soul searching. Holding her close to his chest, he stared out into the night, listening as animal after animal died so that men might have sport.
Eventually the train began moving. Behind it lay the carcasses of forty or more buffalo, their meat unused, their hides untanned.
Luke walked Katie back to her seat. Neither of them said a word.
* * * *
"Next stop, Fort Kearney!"
Katie opened one eye as the conductor brushed by her, nudging the violin case she was leaning on. The lamp at the far end of the railcar had gone out, but cold, gray light struggled to shine through the grimy windows, making everything in the railcar into ghostly shadows.
When the conductor left the car, the noise from the rails swelled, then subsided again to the muffled clackety-clack that seemed to penetrate into her very bones. "Lizzie," she whispered, nudging the young woman whose head lay on her lap. "Lizzie, wake up!"
Down the car she could see the elder Deatons gathering their bundles, could hear the querulous protests of the two youngest children. "Lizzie! You've got to wake up now!" She patted the girl's cheek until her eyes opened.
"Huh? Whazzat?"
"We're coming to Fort Kearney. Time to get off."
Lizzie sat up quickly. "Oh. Oh, lordy! Where's my shoe! Are Timmy and Joe awake?" She bent over and peered under the seat. "I can't find my shoe!"
"It's over by the wall. And your bonnet's up there on your bundle."
Lizzie scrambled about, gathering her belongings, fussing with her hair. "I must look like I've been sleeping in the barn. And there's a hole in my stocking." She took the bonnet Katie handed her. "Oh, Katie, I wish you were coming with us."
"I'm going home, Lizzie. But maybe I can come visit you when I go back East to see my sister." For a moment she considered staying in Nebraska a while with the Deatons. Whitney would never find her there.
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