by Nan Ryan
The deadly white cloud, rising higher in the air, careened down the slope in pursuit. Gathering up snow, scouring every gorge, tearing loose immense boulders of solid granite, the powerful avalanche overtook the running man and buried him in a icy tomb.
The thundering White Death swept on past the timberline, ripping trees up by their room. In seconds it took Kane's alpine cabin, shoving the structure down the mountain, ripping it apart, splintering pinon logs and glass and furniture.
Gaining momentum, the avalanche plunged to the high mountain valley, ran completely across it, and rammed into the mountain on the opposite side, the grinding crash echoing throughout the soaring San Juans.
It was over almost as suddenly as it had begun. Silence followed the fading echoes, and all was eerily quiet. It was five minutes past noon.
Chapter Forty-Two
Gold glittered and gleamed and glistened.
The gold-leaf bell tower of the First Presbyterian Church on Cloudcastle's Main Street caught the strong afternoon rays of the warm June sunshine.
Inside the gold-domed structure, a wedding was taking place, Friends and neighbors packed the high-benched pews and spilled out onto steep marble steps.
Blond and pretty, Carol Thompson, seated near the front, held hands with her faro-dealing beau, silently vowing to herself that she would be the next to the altar. Esther Jones with her adoring husband, Ben, and their two boys were seated across the aisle, dressed in their finest.
The bride, lovely in a gown of pale peach, wore a look of serene happiness. Calmly composed, she held a bouquet of vivid blue columbines resting on a white Bible that shook not at all in her small hands.
Beside her, the beaming bridegroom shifted his weight, his hair slicked back off his forehead, his eyes dancing, face as pink as the rose in his lapel. At his elbow the tall, self-assured best man stood erect, hands at his sides, eyes resting on the magistrate conducting the services. The official spoke in a soft, clear voice: "… and do you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband, to cherish and honor, through sickness and in health, until death do you part?" Marge Baker, her plump face dimpling with happiness, said breathlessly, "I do."
The judge smiled at the bridegroom and told him he could kiss the bride. Joe South, sober now for the past six months, awkwardly embraced the new Mrs. South and bussed her briefly, his pink face turning scarlet.
The organist pounded out the wedding recessional. The newlyweds exited the church, Joe limping hurriedly, Marge, clinging to his arm, accommodating her steps to his, her sparkling eyes filling with tears of emotion. Everyone followed the glowing pair into the street, throwing nee, shouting, and whistling.
Only the best man and the magistrate remained behind inside the flower-scented chapel. Without a word the tall, dark man stepped up onto the platform, plucked the rose from his buttonhole, tucked it into the shimmering red hair falling over her small left ear, took the robed justice in his arms, and kissed her.
Kane lifted his head and looked down into Natalie's beautiful face. "Let's don't go to the reception, sweetheart. Let's get a room at the Eureka and—"
"And what?" Natalie teased softly. She pulled back a little, placed her hand on her huge, robed belly, and laughed. "You know what Dr. Ellroy said. No more 'unrestrained joy' until after your son has entered the world."
Kane's lean protective hands joined his wife's on her swollen stomach. "Hear me through, will you?" Kane had solicitously accepted the fact that the days of their wild and wonderful lovemaking were over until after the arrival of the baby in July. "You'll tire yourself," he told her, "that's all I meant. We could take a hotel room and you could lie down—"
"Kane." She abruptly pivoted, showing him her back so that he might help her shed the long, hot robe. "I have never felt better in my life." She turned again to him. Face suddenly screwing up in a worried frown, she said wretchedly, hands once again on her stomach, "But I've sure looked better, haven't I?" She suddenly flushed as red as the shy bridegroom had earlier. Kane was ashamed of her! He didn't want her going to the party. Didn't want their friends to see her fat and ugly body when it wasn't discreetly covered by the billowing judicial robes.
Doubts seised her as they had repeatedly in the last uncomfortable few weeks of her pregnancy. Kane was so strikingly handsome, so tall and lean. And successful as well. In a matter of months her husband had become a prominent and very busy attorney in Cloudcastle, drawing clients from all over the Colorado Territory. Some of those clients were women. Rich, beautiful women. Slender, attractive women.
Natalie was overcome with jealousy.
As though he had read her thoughts, Kane gently pulled his wife into his comforting embrace and said against her cheek, "Listen to me, Mrs. Covington. Never in your life have you been more beautiful than you are today. No other woman is as lovely; no other exists. I love you, sweetheart. Worship you and always will." He felt her go limp against him and he smiled. "Now kiss me and let's go wish the newlyweds well."
The June sun had changed from a white, blinding disc high in the clear blue sky to a sinking orange ball resting on the western horizon, tinting the low, puffy clouds a pale lavender.
The green valley where the spacious white Cloud West ranch house sat was fully in the shade, had been in the shade for the past two hours.
Kane Covington, naked to the waist, sat alone on the railing of the wide front gallery, facing the lush valley spread out before him. Natalie, wearing a white, loose-fitting robe, no shoes on her feet, silently joined him, stepping out onto the wide verandah. Standing behind him, she studied her husband's smooth, dark back with its slashing ribbon-white scars and felt a shiver of excitement. She wanted to touch him… had to touch him.
She crossed to him, skimmed a forefinger along the smooth leather thong around his neck, then placed her hands on his bare shoulders and leaned her chin on his dark head. Kane smiled lazily and drew her hands across his bare chest. She felt his steady heartbeat beneath her flattened palm at the same time that his unborn child gave her a forceful lack. She was not certain which made her happier.
Natalie sighed contentedly. Her dreamy eyes slowly lifted to the towering southern peak of Promontory Point. Flowers now blazed color down the rocky slopes; the delicate pink of the wild rose, the blue of the columbine, the vivid yellow of the snow buttercups.
Squinting in the fading light, Natalie searched for the location where the Cliff Palace's wide opening once had been. It was there no more. The avalanche had sealed the cave forever. The vast cavern with its Manitou gold lay bulled beneath tons of solid, savagely beautiful rock formations.
"Kane."
"Hmm?"
"You're not sorry, are you?"
"About what?"
Dreamy green gaze still fixed on the sealed sanctuary, Natalie said softly, "You didn't get the treasure."
Kane lifted one of her hands to his lips and kissed the soft palm. "I have the treasure, sweetheart."
Natalie smiled. The Anasazi could rest in peace. And so could she.
A native Texan, Nan Ryan is the author of sixteen single title historicals, one category romance, and one mainstream contemporary, which was published in hardcover. Nan's books consistently make the Walden, B. Dalton, and USA Today bestseller lists, are selections of the Double day Book Club, and have sold in fourteen foreign countries.
She is the recipient of a Golden certificate award from Affaire de Coeur, and a Critic's Choice and three Lifetime Achievement awards from Romantic Times, the last of which named her "historical storyteller of the year" for 1995.
She has written for Zebra, Dell, Topaz, and HarperCollins. She recently signed a three-book contract with Mira and her first Mira title, Wanting You, will be published in August 1999. She is presently at work on her second Mira book, entitled The Countess Misbehaves. Her latest historical, The Princess Goes West, was a July 1998 release from Harper.
