The woman paused. “I never told her where I was going. How did you find me?”
Nathan realized her confusion, but hesitated to offer an explanation while she pointed a potentially loaded gun at a portion of his body he’d rather keep. She might not have ammunition in the weapon, but he didn’t think it would be wise to take chances.
“I give you my word. I won’t harm you in any way, but would you please put the gun down so I can explain it all to you?”
Miss Hart wavered and uncertainty played across her face. Nathan had memorized that face during his long journey from Texas, but the photograph hardly did justice to the reality of the woman before him. While she was comely—something any man alone in the wilderness for days would notice—it was her eyes that surprised him the most. They conveyed a seriousness and depth missing from her photo. The picture was that of a young girl entering womanhood, but the female before him had matured beyond that stage already, in some intangible way more than she should have. The high canyon walls dwarfed them on the tiny boat, bringing a certain insignificance to their showdown, but Nathan sensed there was nothing insignificant about Emma Hart.
Slowly, she lowered the gun.
Nathan let out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding.
They both watched the other as the boat continued its slow trek down river, the sun moving behind the western canyon wall, illuminating the rocky pillars to the left. On the outskirts of his vision he noticed the stunning scenery, but Nathan wasn’t sure if he was thinking of this amazing place borne from the natural processes of wind and water, or of the woman facing him.
Everything’s different now.
The thought came out of nowhere.
“I don’t have news from Mary,” Nathan said, referring to Miss Hart’s eldest sister. “I have news of Molly.”
She looked sharply at him, and a momentary flash of anger in her eyes made him worry she might lift the gun and shoot him after all.
“What did you say?” she whispered, her tone lethal. The last bit surprised him, because despite her stamina and obvious grit, lethal was not a word he would use to describe her. Watching her now, he knew she would be a fierce mother one day, unyielding in the protection of her young. The image appealed to him.
“I’ve come from Texas. I’m a friend of Matt Ryan. You remember the Ryans, don’t you?”
She stared at him, her expression guarded. He took that as a yes.
“Ten years ago your parents were killed in a raid at your family’s ranch in Texas,” he continued. “Your older sister Molly was kidnapped, then murdered by Comanche. But the body recovered wasn’t hers.” He stopped, trying to imagine how it would feel to have someone thought long dead suddenly resurrected. How would he feel if he learned his father still lived, and had all these years, instead of being drowned and buried at the bottom of the Mississippi as he knew him to be?
With compassion, he delivered the news that would shift her world as surely as an earth tremor. “Molly’s alive.”
Miss Hart froze; her face blank and motionless with shock. Dazed, she sat down and set the gun beside her. The rush of the river filled the silence and the sound of chirping birds echoed off the canyon walls. Despite her complete astonishment, Nathan thought she'd taken it well. When she spoke, her voice caught the breeze and floated toward him with the barest of a whisper. “I’ve known it all along.”
Chapter Two
Emma absorbed the truth the man in her boat had told her. A truth she had known all her life. But despite her gift of sight, she always believed the visions were simply a desperate yearning on her part for a beloved sister brutally taken from her. She’d convinced herself they couldn’t be grounded in reality.
Now this stranger told her otherwise.
She had every reason not to trust him, and yet she knew he spoke the truth. With relief, she knew he spoke the truth.
Molly lived. Tears sprang to her eyes. It was a miracle. In a haze of grateful disbelief, her focus shifted back to Nathan Blackmore. And that’s when it hit her.
Him.
Her.
This place.
Stunned, she couldn’t move.
Her knowledge of the future had come upon her at a young age. From the time of her parent’s deaths until she was fourteen she had been overwhelmed by visions, haunted by dreams she didn’t understand, and sickened by the mere presence of certain people. She withdrew from life, unable to cope with even the most basic social requirements.
She never confided in her Aunt Catherine or her sister Mary because she simply hadn’t understood what was wrong with her. They worried over her depression, and did their best to help her, but until Emma met Maeve she’d begun to think she wouldn’t be able to live in such a way much longer.
The elderly Irishwoman helped Emma realize her gift, and began to teach her how to control it, as well as how to shield herself from the swirling emotions, memories, and longings that existed everywhere, all the time. Emma came to feel a responsibility to her visions, and began using her gift to help others—mostly locating missing children. For the first time in her life, everything seemed to make sense.
It was also during this period, beginning with her fifteenth year, that she began to have recurring dreams of him.
Tall, dark, powerful. The dreams were potent, erotic, completely beyond her understanding at first. Tentatively she tried to ask Mary about it, her sister visiting Emma in San Francisco while giving birth to her second child. Mary told her she was becoming a woman and that such longings were normal. Soon, she would marry and then she would understand.
What Mary didn’t know, however, was that Emma wasn’t normal. Inexplicably drawn to the man in her visions, Emma told herself this wasn’t her gift at work; it was simply some odd conjuring of her own imagination. She had, after all, experienced numerous visions of her dead sister—Molly running through the woods with another Indian girl, Molly bitten in the foot by a rattlesnake, Molly nearly beaten to death by a trader. But Molly lived.
Those visions must be true.
Struggling for breath, Emma realized the dreams of her mysterious lover must be true as well. It seemed inconceivable that such a man existed.
Nathan Blackmore.
He sat a few feet from her, dwarfed by the overwhelming canyon walls that hugged the river, as they began a journey Emma had spent months planning. He exuded strength and restraint, his damp clothes clinging to a well-muscled physique. His black hair was wet and in disarray, his eyes dark and unreadable, and a noticeable scar compressed his left cheek.
He moved toward her. “Are you all right?” he asked, concern evident in his voice. “Maybe you should turn around and face forward. Going backwards might be making you light-headed.”
He reached for her. Holding her breath, Emma waited for the onslaught of visions to hit, as they often did when people touched her, but the effect was surprisingly small.
Warmth coated her skin where his long fingers wrapped around her upper arm. She sensed a strong will…control. And something else. A horse. And concern.
He turned her to face the river then sat behind her.
“Your horse will be fine,” she said before thinking better of it. She could not, in good conscience, ignore someone in distress. Especially when she knew she could alleviate it.
“Pardon?”
“You’re worried about your horse.” She glanced over her shoulder.
“How would you know that?”
She rarely spoke of her gift to anyone, only to Maeve, and that had been, in the end, a mistake. Emma knew what it was to have her gift abused by another, to feel helpless, to be betrayed.
She vowed never to speak of her affliction again, to anyone.
“A lucky guess,” she responded, looking straight ahead. “The Johnsons are fine people. They’ll take good care of him.”
“I hope so,” he said, more to himself. “Black can be a handful.”
“Have you seen Molly?” she asked, turning her b
ody so she could look at him.
Emma noticed his eyes were brown, not dark and fathomless, not mysterious and full of passion. She began to relax a little. Mister Blackmore was just a man, no more, no less. Isolating herself from others had given her an overactive imagination.
“Yes. She’s looking forward to seeing you and wanted me to tell you that she’s missed you. She sent word to your Aunt Catherine in San Francisco, but apparently you left before the letter arrived. She and Matt were ready to ride after you, but I offered instead. Your aunt mentioned in a letter to Matt’s ma you might’ve headed here.”
“Why?”
“Why’d you come here? Believe me, I’d love to know.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Why did you come after me?”
He hesitated. “It was on my way. And Molly and Matt were married, ‘bout a month ago. It made sense for me to offer.”
“Married?” With a half-smile she savored the unexpected, an outcome she hadn’t seen in a vision. At times it was nice to be surprised, few as they were.
“Does that bother you?” he asked, his tone laced with something more than concern, but Emma couldn't put her finger on it.
“No. It makes perfect sense. The summer that Molly disappeared, she did nothing but trail after him. He must’ve waited for her.”
Losing her parents during a brutal attack on their ranch one late summer evening, and several days later learning, incorrectly she now knew, that Molly had been burned alive by Comanche Indians had ripped Emma’s life apart.
But over the years, as she began to master her gift, she became aware of the rhythms of life, songs that made perfect sense once she was able to recognize them. It was this knowledge that finally gave Emma some desperately sought peace of mind. But she now knew that peace was as elusive as happiness, easily lost. Nothing had been quite right since that rainy night in San Francisco when Bethany had died in her arms.
“Do you mind me asking what you’re doing with a boat loaded with provisions?” Mister Blackmore asked. “You can’t possibly want to run this river alone.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s more than a little dangerous. And why were those men shooting at you?”
“I guess they wanted to rob me. I don’t know.” She shrugged. She’d never been good at lying. She hoped Mister Blackmore wouldn’t notice.
He glanced around the boat. “You’ve a lot of supplies. How long were you planning to stay?”
“I’ve estimated six weeks, but I wasn’t going to do it alone. I was waiting at Lee’s Ferry for Mister Johnson to employ a guide, but the attack from those men forced me to take to the river before I was ready.” At least that part was the truth. “I’ve wanted to come here ever since I read John Wesley Powell’s Exploration of the Colorado River two years ago. I’ve planned a long time for this. When I’m finished, I’ll go immediately to Texas and see Molly. Will you tell her that?”
Mister Blackmore stared at her with dark, unreadable eyes. What happened to the warm, brown-eyed gaze he had bestowed on her just a moment ago?
“I’m sure we could stop now,” she continued, “and you could hike up river, back to Lee’s Ferry Ranch, and get your horse. I appreciate you trying to find me, and I’m really sorry about hitting you with the oar.”
“So am I.” He retrieved the object she used to defend herself and fastened the wooden paddle into its lock. “I agree that we should stop, then I’ll decide what should be done.”
He swiveled on the bench and began rowing before she could move. With every stroke his shoulder blades bumped against hers; she scooted forward as much as she could. It wasn’t proper that he should touch her.
And it wasn’t proper that she should like it so much.
Chapter Three
Guiding the dory ashore, Nathan considered his options. The only one worth contemplating was to abandon the boat and hike back to Lee’s Ferry; he could retrieve his horse and accompany Miss Hart to Texas. Grimly, Nathan suspected he would be taking such a trip alone. As the two of them disembarked from the skiff and dragged it further onto the beach, he noticed that she seemed resolute to make this journey.
The alternative was incredibly bold and insanely conceived. And Nathan suspected he was about to become a part of it.
But perhaps Emma Hart wasn’t as stubborn and strong-willed as she appeared. Perhaps he could change her mind. It was worth a try. Yeah, and maybe my pa will return from the dead. Not likely.
Miss Hart began digging around in the boat again. “I think I have an extra hat in here somewhere.”
Nathan glanced at the high canyon walls, the wide Colorado River, and the narrow embankment where they now stood.
The pull of the water tugged at him. It was more than ten years since he helped his father run riverboats up and down the Mississippi River. More than ten years since he walked away from a life he thought he’d never leave. More than ten years since his pa died.
Somewhere deep inside, a sliver of excitement unfurled in Nathan’s belly, anticipation for what Grand Canyon and the Colorado might hold. Anticipation for a trip he never intended to make but which now called to him, enticing in its allure, irresistible in its promise.
Damn. He wanted to do it.
“Here.”
Nathan returned his attention to Miss Hart, who now stood before him, her outstretched hand holding a black hat.
“I had an extra one.” She smiled. “You’re welcome to have it since you lost yours.”
Carefully, he took it. “My thanks.”
She stood back and scanned the surroundings. Her face took on a serious frown. Without effort, Nathan knew what she thought.
“There’s no place for me to hike out,” he said.
She nodded. “Not here, but maybe further downstream. Powell mentions side canyons, I’m sure one of them could lead you out.”
“Would you know the location of any?”
“Not precisely, although where there’s a rapid, there’s usually one. It shouldn’t be too hard to find.”
Nathan contemplated the situation. When they found the first rapid he would climb out of the adjoining canyon while Miss Hart did what…traverse the rapid alone? Not a good plan in his mind. It would seem the decision was made for him.
“How long will your supplies last with two people?”
“At least six weeks. I’d planned to take a guide, remember?”
“I won’t serve as much of a guide, but I do have some boating experience.”
“Really?” Her tone sounded hopeful.
“Do you mind me asking why you’re down here?”
She watched the water, giving him an open view of her profile. An array of freckles covered a sunburned nose, petite and straight and feminine. The graceful lines of her neck, the smooth cheekbones that blended into rosy lips—she was every inch a female and prettier than many a saloon girl he'd seen painted and packaged for display.
The upturned edges of her tan hat showed its use and wear, running contrary to the button-upped young woman in the photograph he possessed. He expected to find a city girl in over her head, but she looked as if she belonged with the river that had carved a path through solid rock.
“Have you ever been compelled to do something?” she asked, flashing blue-gray eyes at him.
“Yeah.” Nathan could understand that. “Why didn’t you tell your aunt about it?”
“She wouldn’t have let me come. She’d worry too much.”
“I imagine she’s worried now. Even you must understand how dangerous this is.”
“Yes.” She paused. “And I’m sorry if my aunt is concerned, but I needed to come anyway.”
“Even if you die in the doing of it?” Nathan was never one to sugarcoat things. He needed to know if Miss Hart was truly ready to do this.
“Dying doesn’t frighten me anymore,” she said quietly. “Does it frighten you, Mister Blackmore?”
“I’ve seen enough of it to know the dead aren’t afraid. It’
s the ones left behind who have to carry that burden.”
“Possibly,” she murmured. “I’ll do my best to stay alive so my aunt won’t mourn losing me, but this journey is unclear, so I’m prepared to go alone. Don’t feel obliged to look after me.”
She said the oddest things sometimes. When she’d mentioned his horse, he had been thinking of Black at just that moment. It was as if she’d read his mind. But those were just carnival tricks; Nathan didn’t believe people could actually do such things.
“I think I owe it to Matt and Molly to see you safely back to Texas,” he said. “So if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to hang around for a time.”
Miss Hart reluctantly nodded her agreement. It suddenly occurred to Nathan that as a properly raised young woman she would most likely be uncomfortable alone in the presence of a man with no chaperone. On the other hand, she had run off alone to traverse one of the greatest wildernesses ever created by nature. Rules would need to be stretched a bit.
“I promise to behave like a gentleman,” he heard himself say.
“I never thought you wouldn’t.” Her voice sounded defensive.
Taken aback by her response, he felt the need to reassure her. “You can trust me.”
Nodding her acknowledgement she moved toward the boat, saying over her shoulder, “I’d like to get back on the river while we still have a few hours of daylight left.”
Nathan didn’t miss her sweeping inspection upriver. She appeared worried someone followed. The three men shooting at her the most likely candidates.
“You’re sure you don’t know those men trying to kill you?”
“Well, not really. I think they’d been following me for a while. Well, it seemed that way.”
More stammering. She was nervous, and Nathan had no doubt she lied. Typical. It disheartened him more than it should have.
“I think they might have followed me from San Francisco,” she said.
“Why would they do that?”
She shook her head. “They must think I have something they want. I don’t know.” She threw her hands into the air in an awkward gesture. “Criminals. Who knows what they think?”
The Sparrow Page 2
