Beyond The Horizon

by Connie Mason

  “Two months!” she mused aloud. “I haven’t enough money left for the stage coach. But if I join another wagon train I’ll be able to meet my family in Idaho.”

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, lady,” the man said, “but it’s gettin’ a mite late in the year. Most wagon trains have already begun their journey.”

  A look of absolute horror crossed Shannon’s lovely features. “You mean I’m stranded in Independence until next spring?”

  The man she spoke with owned the outfitting store which, sooner or later, most emigrants found cause to visit while in Independence. He seemed to know everything and everyone.

  “Well now,” he said, scratching his whiskered chin, “might be yer in luck. There’s a wagon train formin’ outside town fer latecomers.”

  “Who do I talk to?” Shannon asked, heartened. Perhaps God hadn’t abandoned her after all.

  “Have yer man talk to Clive Bailey, he’s the train captain and organizer. He owns the trading post at Fort Laramie and is carrying supplies to sell in his store. If you can’t find him, ask for a man who calls himself Blade.”

  My man? Shannon thought dully. But before she could give voice to the question teasing the tip of her tongue a deep male voice asked, “Did someone mention my name?”

  He stood like a tall shadow in the doorway of the store with the sun at his back blotting out his features. The breadth of his shoulders touched the jamb on either side and the magnificent expanse of torso and slim hips was supported by legs as sturdy as oaks. Shannon shuddered, feeling oddly threatened as he moved toward her with the rolling gait of a stalking panther, his pelvis pivoting in a manner so blatantly masculine that Shannon felt a dull red crawl up her neck.

  “This young woman was ask’n ‘bout joining yer wagon train, Blade,” the storekeeper explained as he turned away to help another customer. “I’ll leave you two to make arrangements.”

  Blade turned the full magnetic power of his penetrating black eyes on the young woman—he judged her to be under twenty—staring at him with unrestrained curiosity. She was a fetching little thing, he reflected, with chestnut hair neither red nor brown but rich and glowing with golden highlights. Her pert nose sported a sprinkling of tawny freckles and her full lower lip was caught between small white teeth. Deep blue eyes, wide and intelligent, sloped upward at their corners. A thrill of anticipation caught Blade by the scruff of his neck and refused to let go as Shannon fearlessly met his gaze, her eyes narrowing when she belatedly perceived what made this man so different from any others she had met.

  He was an Indian!

  Not only was he a member of a race feared and despised by good people everywhere for their cruelty and heathenish ways, but he wore the tattered jacket of a Union army soldier, thereby adding insult to injury. He looked ruthless, dangerous, and quite capable of violence.

  “If you and your husband want to join the wagon train you have little time left in which to outfit a wagon. Clive Bailey is the captain and organizer. He’ll advise you if you need help,” Blade said, a brash smile hanging on the corner of his mouth. The young woman’s reaction when she recognized his heritage had amused him.

  It was puzzling, Blade thought in a burst of insight, that impeccably turned out in his army uniform, his hair cut to a respectable length and his face pale from Eastern winters, no one suspected he was Sioux. Yet now, dressed in buckskins, his shoulder-length hair held back by a rawhide headband, his skin burnt a deep bronze, he was unmistakably identified as a half-breed “savage.”

  “I—have no husband,” Shannon stuttered, momentarily stunned by Blade’s blatant sexuality.

  His eyes were the dark black of night, mysterious and unrelenting, framed by thick, spiky lashes. His brows, finely drawn and faintly slanting, were velvet black. His mouth was wide and sensual, one corner tilted just enough to reveal the sardonic wit that doubtless lay behind his ruggedly handsome features. And there was no denying, Shannon admitted with brutal honesty, that the Indian was handsome. His features spoke eloquently of a bold nature, and those large, strong hands suggested a power and strength she could only guess at.

  “You’re not married?” Blade repeated sharply. “Single women aren’t welcome on this wagon train unless they are traveling with family. How old are you Miss—?”

  “Branigan. Shannon Branigan. I’m twenty, old enough to take care of myself.”

  “Hardly old enough to undertake a hazardous journey on your own. It is out of the question, Miss Branigan. Go back home where you belong.”

  Shannon bristled indignantly. No Indian, no matter how imposing or intimidating, was going to dictate to her. “Perhaps Mr. Bailey will have something to say about it.”

  “Clive Bailey might be train captain, but I’m wagon master and guide. Without me the wagon train can’t leave Independence. I say you’re not going. Furthermore,” Blade stated, “I know of no other wagon train willing to take on an unattached woman as young and pretty as you. I suggest you find yourself a husband, Miss Branigan, if you want to travel West.”

  His dark face was stern and unrelenting, but undaunted, Shannon pressed on, forced to resort to the feminine wiles she abhorred. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

  “I have no home, Mr.—Blade, that is your name, isn’t it?”

  Blade nodded warily. “I am known as Swift Blade among the Sioux, but Blade will do.”

  “My family left two months ago for Idaho. I remained in Atlanta to care for an elderly aunt who died unexpectedly and left me all alone in the world.” She batted feathery eyelashes, managing to squeeze out a tear from the corners of her eyes.

  “So you can see how desperate I am to leave.” Her voice assumed a tremulous quality few men could resist. But Shannon had already guessed that Blade was not like most men. “If I joined your wagon train, I’ll be able to meet my family in Idaho.”

  “Spare me your tears, Miss Branigan,” Blade said, unmoved. “A beautiful young woman like you on a wagon train would only cause trouble. Big trouble. My answer is still no. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve some last minute purchases to make.”

  Blade’s refusal unleashed Shannon’s famous Irish temper and she lashed out viciously at the handsome half-breed whose language sounded far too refined for an Indian, even while his bold, dark features spoke eloquently of his savage ancestry.

  “Somehow I doubt you have the final say on this wagon train, Mr.—er, Blade,” Shannon observed, her lip curling derisively. “What civilized man would trust his life to a wild Indian? You might speak like a white man, but you are pure savage. What poor soldier did you steal that jacket from? Let’s hope he still has his scalp.”

  Stunned by her scathing insult, Blade stood stiffly aside as Shannon pushed past him and out the door, her skirts swaying in angry motion around her shapely ankles. It was the first time he could remember being rendered absolutely speechless by a female!

  “Damn infuriating woman,” Blade muttered beneath his breath as he approached the counter to make his purchases. When he passed a woman customer lingering nearby, she deliberately swept her skirts aside, her face a mask of disgust and fear. With Sioux uprisings now threatening the frontier, few if any decent citizens had any truck with savages.

  Outwardly, Blade exhibited no reaction to the woman’s insult, but inwardly he seethed with impotent rage. How ironic that he was good enough to fight for equality for all men, yet was treated like an outcast for the very reasons that persuaded him to join the war. Having lived as a white man for so many years had spoiled him; he had grown unaccustomed to being openly shunned and ridiculed. He felt shamed, for he had nearly forgotten his proud heritage and the noble people whose features he bore.

  As Blade Stryker, handsome, mysterious army officer, women were drawn to him like bees to honey. He was sought most diligently by some of the loveliest ladies in Washington. But his transformation from army captain Blade Stryker to Sioux half-breed Swift Blade changed him overnight into a loathsome creature unworthy of respec
t. Even Clive Bailey, who needed his expertise on the trail, treated him with barely concealed contempt.

  Blade had been in Independence nearly a month, snooping and secretly searching each wagon train for hidden weapons as they formed outside the city. Thus far he had found nothing incriminating, which was why he had narrowed his sights on the wagon train Clive Bailey had organized. Blade thought Bailey a wily scoundrel. He was damn slick—a dishonest type who probably cared little that providing guns to Indians could result in the loss of countless lives to both whites and Indians. If the man was a gun smuggler, Blade intended to find out. As special agent to the president, he took his duty seriously. No woman, no matter how beautiful, was going to interfere with his assignment. And intuitively Blade knew Miss Shannon Branigan represented more trouble than he needed.

  “I’m looking for Clive Bailey.”

  Clive Bailey peered over his shoulder at the striking, chestnut-haired woman addressing him. She was a looker all right, Clive decided, raking her tantalizing face and form with slow relish.

  “I’m Clive Bailey. What can I do for you, miss?”

  Shannon had rented a buggy and driven herself outside town to where the wagon train was forming so that she might speak to Clive Bailey personally. Fortunately, the Indian wagon master was nowhere in sight and Shannon visibly relaxed. That man was far too intimidating for her liking. “I’m Shannon Branigan and I understand you are the man to talk to about joining your wagon train.”

  “Do you and your husband have a wagon, Mrs. Branigan?” Clive asked, disappointed that the little beauty was already spoken for.

  “I’m not married,” Shannon said, lifting her chin defiantly. “Does it matter?”

  “You’re going West alone? What about your family?” Clive was impressed by Shannon’s willingness to undertake the hazardous journey alone and unprotected.

  “To make a long story short, my family left for Idaho two months ago with an earlier wagon train. I want to join them and yours is the last wagon train forming this spring.”

  “It’s more or less an unwritten law that young women travel only in the protection of family or husband. I’m sorry, Miss Branigan, but I don’t think—”

  “Please, Mr. Bailey, can’t you make an exception?” Shannon implored. “Isn’t there some family I could travel with? I’d work hard, and I could pay something for my passage West. I just don’t have enough money to stay in Independence till spring.”

  “You are far too young and beautiful to be traveling alone, Miss Branigan, and there are too many unattached males along for me to believe your presence would go unnoticed or unappreciated. But perhaps this one time ….” he relented, never one to turn down an opportunity when one presented itself. Shannon Branigan looked ripe for the plucking, and he was a man who relished tender ripe fruit.

  The fiery glow in Clive’s pale eyes should have alerted Shannon, but she was too excited to notice.

  “It’s out of the question. Miss Branigan has no place on this wagon train.”

  Shannon raised startled eyes to meet Blade’s determined gaze.

  “You’ve met Miss Branigan?” Clive asked, furious that a half-breed savage had the audacity to address a lady.

  He had employed Blade as wagon master and guide because Blade had been highly recommended and Clive needed him. This late in the year most qualified guides had already been hired. It grated on Clive’s nerves to see Blade put on airs, as if he were as good as a white man. But at this late date Clive was grateful to find a competent man to lead them to Fort Laramie. Clive had too much at stake to wait around until next year, his cargo too precious for lengthy delays. If Clive hadn’t had problems obtaining his goods, he would have left weeks ago.

  “We’ve met,” Blade said tersely, favoring Shannon with a brief nod. “And I won’t have her disrupting my wagon train.”

  “You seem to forget you work for me,” Clive said bluntly. “I can always find another guide.”

  Blade’s anger simmered as he struggled to keep from boiling out of control. Orders from Washington were to investigate Clive Bailey, and the only way he could do that was by remaining with the outfit. However, he felt obliged to point out the dangers involved in accepting an unattached female. Especially one as lovely as Shannon Branigan.

  “Who will protect her when every randy buck on the wagon train starts fighting over her?”

  “I can take care of myself!” Shannon shot back, angered over the way the two men talked over her but not at her, as if she weren’t capable of making her own decisions.

  “The hell you can!” Blade blasted, his hot temper erupting. Then realizing how he sounded, his voice softened. “Look, Miss Branigan, I have nothing against you personally, I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

  “Strange words from a savage,” Shannon snorted, tossing her tangle of chestnut curls.

  Clive roared with laughter, delighting in Shannon’s show of spirit. If the intimidating half-breed wasn’t built like a bull and didn’t look tougher than a two-bit steak, he would have put him in his place himself. “The lady is no cream puff, Blade. I think she will manage just fine. I’ll see that no harm comes to her.” And bed her in the process, he thought.

  Blade’s full lips tautened, stung by the smug expression on Shannon’s face. He didn’t like the way things were going one damn bit, but he had little power to change them. The strange light in Bailey’s eyes told Blade exactly what plans the man had in mind for the unsuspecting Shannon Branigan. Still, he might be able to salvage something out of this, find a way to thwart Bailey’s devious intentions for the young woman. She was too innocent to realize what Bailey intended for her and determined enough to make her way West some other way if she didn’t travel with them. If she had to go, at least she would be where he could keep an eye on her, Blade reflected, though why it should matter to him totally escaped him.

  “All right, it’s your decision,” Blade finally agreed.

  His decided lack of enthusiasm did little to bolster Shannon’s shaky conviction that she was doing the right thing by traveling alone. She wasn’t ignorant of the dangers involved, just determined to catch up with her family. Tucker always said she was too stubborn and impulsive for her own good. “But I insist on finding Miss Branigan a place on the wagon train myself,” Blade added.

  “See to it, Blade,” Clive ordered, sending Blade off with a careless wave of his hand.

  Try though she might, Shannon couldn’t take her eyes off Blade’s loose-limbed gait as he strode off, his spine stiff and proudly defiant. His moccasined feet made silent footsteps on the dusty ground and his taut buttocks, tightly encased in fringed buckskin trousers, moved with sinuous grace. His shoulders beneath the offensive blue jacket were wide and impressive. Then, incredibly, her imagination took her on a forbidden path, for she could almost feel the smooth bronze skin of his torso beneath her fingertips.

  Mercifully, Clive Bailey interrupted her dangerous mental journey.

  “Miss Branigan—Shannon. May I call you Shannon?” When she nodded, Clive continued smoothly, “A word of caution about the half-breed. He comes highly recommended, but as you just saw he has lost none of his savage ways. It is unwise to trust him. I strongly urge you to steer clear of Swift Blade. Well-bred young ladies don’t consort with Indians.”

  “I appreciate your advice, Mr. Bailey, and I assure you that Blade is not someone I’d care to associate with.” Shannon had thought Blade full Indian but felt little comfort in learning he was a half-breed.

  “It’s just as well, Shannon—and please call me Clive. Everyone else on the wagon train does. It will be a wonderful experience, you’ll see,” he predicted. Especially for me, he added silently.

  Chapter Two

  Shannon hung on for dear life as the awkward prairie schooner, pulled by eight lumbering oxen, jerked into motion. Beside her on the unsprung bench sat the very pregnant Callie Johnson and her young husband Howie, who wielded the whip above the oxen’s sturdy backs with amaz
ing dexterity for an Ohio farmer.

  Shannon was more than happy to be sharing the Johnsons wagon rather than buying her own and hiring a driver. The cost of purchasing her own equipment would have been more than double what she paid the Johnsons for her passage. She hated to give Blade credit for the idea, but it was working out well. Callie was grateful for the company and someone with whom to share the chores, for her pregnancy hadn’t been an easy one. Howie was also agreeable, concern for his young wife reason enough to share their wagon with a virtual stranger. Another pair of hands was always welcome on so arduous a journey.

  From the corner of her eye Shannon saw Blade working his way down the line, speaking with each driver, offering encouragement where needed. Less than a week ago she had been introduced to the Johnsons, each sizing the other up as potential traveling companions. After a few hours spent in their company, Shannon felt right at home with the young couple, impressed by their courage and determination in seeking a new life despite their parents’ objections to their marriage.

  Callie’s parents were wealthy tradesmen, while Howie’s were poor dirt farmers. Despite countless obstacles and against all odds, the unlikely couple fell deeply in love, meeting in secret. When Callie became pregnant, they fled Ohio, fearing reprisals. Oregon and a new life beckoned and nearly all their savings were used to purchase a wagon, oxen, and the supplies necessary for the trip. They were married in Independence just a few days ago. Callie’s condition was the only drawback to the great adventure they had undertaken.

  “Everything all right, Howie?”

  Blade’s deep voice brought instant awareness and a tenseness to Shannon’s body. For an electrifying eternity, black eyes burned deeply into blue ones, and Shannon was aware of nothing but his overwhelming presence. The very arrogance of this half-breed seared her, confused her, scattered her wits.

  “Everything’s just fine, Blade,” Howie grinned with boyish enthusiasm.