by Cora Brent
They had only just returned to the bleak quiet of their home when James had turned to her with questioning sorrow.
“It’s still about him, isn’t it?”
Even as James said it, Annika saw how the fact was an open wound. She opened her mouth to deny it, to deny it all. The sudden fury James grabbed her with was unlike him.
“Dammit, you are my wife,” he growled, shaking her. And when he’d kissed her she’d felt something. It had been a long time since he had kissed her and the unwitting response of her body was inevitable. If he’d kept only kept kissing her like that she might have eagerly opened her legs and guided him inside. She could feel how he wanted it. His large hands crudely grappled with the buttons on her dress and suddenly he broke away in a furious cough.
Then Annika realized it wasn’t James at all she was imagining inside of her. It was Mercer. As James faced away and continued to cough painfully, she also remembered the rumors of her husband’s visits to The Rose Room. She needed to know.
“Do you have other women, James?”
He stopped coughing, struggling to take deep breaths. “What of it, Annika?” His voice was so weary. “It hurts to breathe and my wife wishes I was my brother.”
Annika shook her head. She should cry. She should beat on his chest with raging fists. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t the self-assured lawman who had met her at the stage stop the day she arrived in Contention City. “What’s happened to you James Dolan?”
He did not answer. She didn’t know if she had a right to one anyway. James tiredly replaced his hat on his head and shuffled toward the door. “I will not be back tonight,” he said. He did not return the following night either. As for Mercer, Annika had not been alone with him again since the day of Lizzie Post’s funeral.
Annika forced her thoughts to return to the children. The rain was falling at enough of a slant to make its way into the room. She stretched a square of burlap over the protruding nails in the window frame to keep most of the water out. It was the best she could do.
When she noticed Desi de Campo staring at her curiously, she managed a small smile. She should not allow the heaviness in her heart show in front of her students. Desi smiled back and raised his hand.
“Yes, Desi?”
“I have finished my sums, Mrs. Dolan. May I use the outhouse?”
“Of course.” Annika handed him a spare piece of burlap. “Use this to keep the rain from your head.”
“Mrs. Dolan!” cried little Juanita Garcia, “There’s water on my feet!”
Annika looked down. There was indeed water on the floor. Vaguely she was aware that Desi had run to the door and flung it open. She stared in puzzlement at the water as it covered the tops of her shoes. Something was wrong. Rain couldn’t fall that quickly.
“I think the dam’s broke!” Desi shouted.
Annika hurried over to the door. Her horse, Misty, was fretting underneath the shaded lean to as the water continued to climb. Misty lurched inside of her harness and the buckboard was already halfway up the wheels in water. Fifty yards away she saw the Hassayampa River, usually so tame and shallow, roiling over the banks so that it was indistinguishable from the landscape surrounding it.
“Children!” Annika shouted. “We must go at once. No Anita, do not stop to collect your lunch pail!”
The children gasped in frightened tones. Some of the smaller ones began to cry. Annika muttered a weak prayer of thanks that she had brought the small wagon today. She would have had to usher the children out of the low valley on foot otherwise. From the looks of the rising water, Desi’s conclusion was correct. The Orange Grove Dam had broken.
Annika grabbed the tiny Garcia girl in her arms and urged the children along, helping them squeeze into the narrow bed of the wagon. The rain still poured in thick sheets, but it was a small inconvenience next to the rising peril of the river. Annika counted fourteen children huddled in the wagon and breathed with relief as she climbed into the driver’s seat.
Misty was skittish and Annika struggled to drive to higher ground. As they slowly climbed out of the low valley, Annika wondered about the farming families whose homes lined the banks of the river. She fervently hoped they were seeking safety before the rising water overcame them.
Annika heard the frightened exclamations of the children and shouted to them that everything would be all right. Twice she felt an urgent tap on her shoulder but she was in the midst of fighting to control Misty’s reigns and could not answer.
When she reached the Scorpion Road people seemed to erupt from everywhere. Annika saw several miners clustered together and pointing toward the bridge which was on the verge of overflowing. Riders and wagons picked up those hurrying along on foot. The city itself was likely to be safe from the water, as was the higher ground which sloped west of the road, where Lizzie Post’s ranch sat.
Annika felt hands pulling her arm with panic. “Mrs. Dolan!” screamed Alba Avarez.
“We’re almost there!” she shouted back.
“NO!” sobbed Alba. “Desi…” The girl began wailing incoherently. “Jumped off!”
Annika spun around, suddenly terrified. Desi de Campo was nowhere in sight. For a moment the only thing she could do was gape at the children in horror. Then she heard her name being urgently called from a distance. Looking through the chaos of the panicked crowd, she glimpsed a woman driving a wagon toward them.
“Mama!” cried little Juanita.
Lupe Garcia’s sodden black shawl framed the relieved mother’s face as she saw her two children huddled safely in the wagon. There was no time to explain anything though.
“You’ll need to take them all!” Annika shouted to the woman even as she jumped down and began to unharness Misty. Alba Alvarez, the oldest of the girls, began helping the children out of the buckboard and into Lupe’s wagon. Annika looked at the woman beseechingly. “I must go back,” she gasped as she mounted the bay without awaiting a reply.
She knew what Desi had done. In her haste to see the children to safety, Annika had left the books behind. Desi would not have been able to bear the idea of those precious volumes being washed away by the waters of the Hassayampa. Annika drove Misty ruthlessly, praying she would reach the boy before the water carried him away.
The horse struggled as the roiling river reached her flank. Annika fought to see as the rain lashed at her face and tore her hair loose from its pins. When she reached the shack and there was no one in sight her heart sank. She saw the water pouring through the open door and one of the barrel seats floated out.
“DESI!” she screamed.
The small dark head which appeared in the doorway caused Annika to cry out in relief. Desi clutched the doorframe with one hand as he struggled to hold a sack of books over his head. Annika jumped from the mare and pulled her the remaining distance.
Desi looked at her sheepishly as she held out a hand to him.
“Remind me,” she grumbled, “to scold you later, Desiderio de Campo.”
She held Misty with one hand and helped Desi with the other. The current was growing stronger as the water deepened. Annika estimated they had only moments before the water would be too deep for Misty. As she began helping Desi onto the horse she heard an ominous crack. Desi gasped as he pointed over her shoulder, seeing something she could not. The sound of the rushing water was deafening and Annika slowly turned around with a knot of terror in her gut.
A gigantic limb of a nearby mesquite tree had sheared from its base and spiraled towards them with terrifying speed. Annika slapped the horse’s flank hard, forcing her into motion to move Desi from the path of the tree. But she was not so fortunate. The impact topped her into the water and for a few horrifying seconds she was beneath the surface, flailing to get her bearings. She emerged to hear Desi screaming for her and she held her arms up to show she was all right as she choked out the brackish water. Desi rode the horse over to her, holding his hand out.
But when Annika tried to take a step her left
foot would not follow. Some unseen debris had caught her in its vice. She pulled with all of her might but it was futile. Invisible claws held fast and the water continued to rise.
“Desi,” she gasped as the boy fought to control the horse. “No! Don’t get off the horse! Desi, I’m stuck. I cannot get free. You have to go.”
The boy gaped at her in disbelief. “No!” he yelled.
Another mighty yank on her left foot told her it was no use. But she would not allow him to remain here and drown with her. “Desi, please!”
He shook his head as his face crumbled. “No, Mrs. Dolan.” Desi began to cry.
“ANNIKA!”
She thought she had imagined his voice. She knew her own death was nearby and that his face would be the last image which consumed her. But Desi had heard it too. He swiveled the horse around and began frantically waving.
“Mercer,” Annika whispered as she saw him riding confidently through the current.
Mercer reached her in seconds and held out an arm as if to pull her up. But she shook her head.
“I can’t.”
Mercer comprehended the situation in a heartbeat. He turned to Desi. “Go on, son. Get to high ground. I’ll see to Mrs. Dolan. Now, Desi!”
The child jerked at Mercer’s harsh tone. He flung Annika one last despairing look and then began to make his way toward the road.
Mercer jumped off the horse and into the water. He put his hands around Annika’s waist and tried to lift her.
“It won’t move,” she began to sob. “Please Mercer, you need to leave me.”
Mercer Dolan tipped her chin up and looked directly into her eyes. In spite of the rage of the river and the precious minutes remaining before it would overcome them, he stared at her for a seeming eternity. “Never,” he said with finality and then dove underneath the surface.
The water had reached Annika’s chest. Mercer’s horse shied away, his eyes bulging in panic as the water rose. Annika grabbed his reins, trying to whisper soothing sounds. She felt a tug around her left leg and then her ankle shrieked with agony as it was released from its captor. She closed her eyes, momentarily sick from the pain.
“Anni.” Mercer had resurfaced. He held fast to her as she stumbled. She knew if it were not for his strong arms around her body the current would have carried her away.
After helping her onto the horse he climbed behind her. Despite the fact that they were both soaked to the skin the heat of his body kept her from shivering. His arms enveloped her as he took the reins. Her left ankle was a throbbing torture. Dimly she wondered if it was broken and then figured it was a small issue. They were still in grave peril. The next few moments were a struggle against the fury of nature as Mercer fought through every inch to reach higher ground. When Annika screamed in sudden shock Mercer saw what terrified her and pulled her head against his shoulder.
“Don’t look,” he told her gruffly.
The floating corpse of a man had appeared right in front of them. It bobbed in the water for a second and then was carried off by the current.
“Just hold on to me, Anni. Just hold on.”
Annika’s eyes remained closed as Mercer fought for their lives. She wrapped her arms around his broad chest and prayed for a miracle. There were things which needed to be said. She couldn’t bear the thought it might end this way. If only she and Mercer would survive she would not allow another day to be wasted.
“Mercer, I love you,” she said, but she knew her voice was muffled by the roar of the water.
And then, incredibly, the water was not as high. Annika opened her eyes and saw Desi de Campo. He was on a hill a ways away, still seated on Misty, his small face worriedly scanning the tree line which fell away into the low valley. He broke into a jubilant grin when he spotted them and he waved furiously, pointing down. Annika saw how the bridge had broken, flooding the Scorpion Road and rendering it impassable. Desi stood on the side closest to Contention. She raised her arm and pointed towards town. He understood and waved once more, then began riding toward Contention.
Annika leaned weakly into Mercer, grateful for his resolute strength. They were out of immediate danger, yet it would be a poor choice to risk crossing the road. Mercer turned the horse west, towards Lizzie Post’s ranch.
The rain still fell without pity and Annika’s left angle throbbed with increasing intensity.
“How did you know?” she asked him.
Mercer’s chin rested atop her head. “I’d heard you were teaching down there. When word came of the dam break, I rode hell for leather that way.”
“You saved me,” Annika said in a choked voice. There were so many emotions churning within her. Gratitude, fear, love, desire. She didn’t know where to put them all.
“Of course,” he answered in the matter-of-fact tone which had bothered her so many times with its glib familiarity.
When they reached the house Mercer carried her through the door. Gentle though he tried to be, she cried out when he removed her boot. Mercer examined her ankle with care, bending and pressing. Annika bit her lip and bore the pain.
“Doesn’t seem to be a break,” he said, “but it’ll feel powerful nasty for at least a few days.”
“I can handle nasty,” Annika said, leaning back on her elbows. She was exhausted. Yet even the brief feel of Mercer’s hands had fired her blood.
Mercer built a quick fire in the stone hearth and then brought her pile of soft quilts. A length of linen was ripped from an old sheet and he tied this carefully around her ankle.
“You’ll want to get dry,” he said brusquely, not looking at her. “I need to see to the horse.”
He left her there on the floor and ventured back out into the rain.
Annika’s dress was heavy with water. It was a relief to have the sodden calico and petticoats away from her skin. She laid it all out as best she could in front of the fire and wrapped herself in a worn quilt as she waited for Mercer.
He did not stay outside long. Annika turned at the sound of the door opening. The water dripped from his clothes. He had lost his hat when he sank beneath the water to free her and impatiently he pushed his hair out of his face. But Annika scarcely noticed any of these things. What she did notice was the hungry look in his eyes as he beheld her sitting quietly by the fire.
Underneath the quilt Annika wore only a corset over her thin chemise. She pulled the remainder of the pins from her hair as Mercer turned to the small kitchen and opened a cupboard.
“It’ll do your stomach some good to get something inside. And I’ll give you a thumb of whisky for the pain. Here,” he said, handing her a heavy iron pan.
“Biscuits,” Annika said in surprise, peering at the doughy lumps within.
Mercer nodded as he also handed her a silver flask. “Sourdough. An old trail secret. Keep the starter alive and you don’t need to worry over all that work of rising dough.”
Annika bit into a biscuit and took a burning sip from the flask. Mercer continued to watch her.
“You’re dripping,” she told him.
Without missing a step Mercer hauled his shirt over his head and threw it on top of her discarded dress. Annika swallowed. It was an effort to pull her eyes away from the sight of his bare chest. She recalled the hard feel of his coiled muscles beneath her hands. She wanted to feel him again.
The fire glinted off the ring on her left hand and she shook her head. Annika was a married woman. She could not do as she pleased.
“So where have you been for the last two years, Mercer?”
He smiled. “Everywhere, Annika.” He paused, staring into the fire. “It’s a big country. Most of it’s filled with empty space and there’s nothing like the freedom of riding it from one end to the other.”
“With The Danes?” she asked.
A mocking tone had crept into her voice and Mercer’s eyes returned to her sharply. He did not answer her question so she asked another one.
“Are you still riding with them? Is Cutter Dane some
where nearby?”
“He’s somewhere,” Mercer said slowly.
“Somewhere,” Annika whispered, nodding.
“Like your husband.” Mercer’s grin was wicked. “He’s somewhere too.”
“My husband visits brothels and wretchedly coughs his way to an early grave,” Annika said flatly.
Mercer’s grin disappeared.
Annika threw the quilt off. She stared into the fire, welcoming the heat on her bare shoulders. She knew she was at a crossroads. What she did in the next moment would determine the course of her destiny. Annika remembered her own fervent promise as the waters threatened to consume them only a short while ago. Life was precious. And love was precious. The words were difficult. “He thinks I care more for you than I do for him.”
Mercer had crept directly behind her. She felt his hands pulling roughly at the laces of her corset.
“Do you?” he demanded.
“Yes,” she said, wincing briefly as he pulled too hard, breaking the binding. “God help me, Mercer, but I do.”
He spun her around as the corset fell away. His breathing was ragged and she could plainly read the passion in his face as he eased the chemise over her skin. She had always been sure of how much he wanted her. She hadn’t been sure how much else there was beneath the longings of the flesh. Despite his despairing confession the night of her wedding she still wasn’t sure. But what she was sure was that if he removed his trousers he would be hard as iron, ready to take her. And she was going to let him.
Mercer cupped her breasts in his hands, running his thumbs over her nipples.
“You are still wearing wet clothes,” she said, feeling between his legs for the hard organ which awaited. “You should take them off.”
He pressed her hand against his rigid need. “Take ‘em off yourself, Annika.”
She pushed the wet fabric away and he seized her. His hands were everywhere at once as his fevered kiss blotted out every other sense save the manic desire for his body to invade hers. Nothing else mattered. Not her vows to James or the perils of succumbing to lust with a man as mercurial as Mercer Dolan.
