Chapter Eleven
Rachel closed her eyes and tilted her head back, unabashedly basking like a lizard. Ogden, thank God, was sunny. It was also undoubtedly very windy and cold at this time of year, but it had brilliant green trees and distant snowcapped mountains. All in all, it held bountiful pleasures to enjoy while recovering from Lucas’s latest bout of possessive lovemaking—and preparing for the next.
She smiled at some very delectable memories, reminded herself not to lick her lips in public, and settled herself more comfortably onto her bench at the big Ogden train station.
The Empress had been uncoupled from the Union Pacific train and shuttled to the waiting Central Pacific train, with many short, repetitive hoots and bells, clanking and clacking of wheels and rails.
Once they’d arrived, Lucas had been quickly greeted by several big, tough Donovan & Sons’ teamsters. He’d politely introduced her to them, before leading her to this seat to rest. Other Donovan & Sons’ men from Utah now guarded her, while he was still absorbed in conversation.
She frowned slightly, watching her husband more closely with the railroad car’s distraction out of the way.
Now that she thought about it, his expression was very harsh. Had they said something to anger him? But he’d been abrupt ever since he’d woken her up from her nap onboard the Empress, by making such passionate love to her.
So whatever his concerns were, they’d appeared before Ogden. Even more unsettling, his old friends—Little, Lowell, and Mitchell—had gathered around and were vehemently arguing with him about something, only to be shaken off.
Her brows knitted, while she considered possible causes.
Surely it couldn’t be her fault. Oh, they’d had words back in Wyoming about how she’d scrubbed that emigrant train. But she hadn’t brought up the subject again and neither had he. Diplomacy forbade discussing something one wouldn’t apologize for. She could not regret acting with true Christian charity back in Wyoming.
“Rachel, please come with me.” Lucas stood before her, blocking the thin sunlight.
Rachel shaded her eyes and squinted up at him. Big, strong, everything a protector should be…
“We’re invited to lunch with my old friend Taylor at the Donovan & Sons’ depot.” Something about his tone sounded a little unusual.
Rachel pursed her lips, considering it, but couldn’t put the difference into words.
His voice sharpened. “Rachel?”
She could describe this mood with a single word: Peremptory.
Well, why not go? Dining with company and away from the train would be very pleasant.
She held out her hand to him. He accepted it and lifted her to her feet. An instant later, he had her hand captured under his on his arm.
Her hair ruffled slightly on the nape of her neck. None of the other men were with them. In fact, Lowell and Mitchell had turned their backs and were facing the Empress.
“Have you known the depot manager long?” she inquired as delicately as possible. She hadn’t felt this uneasy since she’d been on Collins’s Ledge.
“Almost ten years. Taylor and I served together in the Army. I helped him obtain the job with Donovan & Sons.”
So he was someone who owed much to Lucas, who would undoubtedly do a great deal to return the favor.
Surely the only reason she could possibly feel chilled was the brisk breeze coming off the snowcapped peaks…
Once they reached the street, Taylor came forward immediately. A weather-beaten, burly fellow with the look of a canny bloodhound, he appeared an honest man, but not one whose loyalty ran in the most conventional paths.
Rachel strolled down the boardwalk between the two men, her stomach icing over faster than the mountains’ summits and firmly told herself there was no necessity to calculate escape routes. Lucas, after all, had sworn to protect her with his life.
The large Donovan & Sons’ depot stood only a few blocks away. It could almost be called a fortress, with its stout stone walls, narrow windows, and iron-braced doors. Men, wagons, horses, and mules moved past in startling numbers, most of them laden with packages and crates and all of them in a rush.
Lucas immediately swept her close to his side and away from a particularly enormous dray, heavily laden with barrels, and pulled by eight mules. Rachel clung to him, far too grateful for this ordinary example of his protectiveness.
Taylor raised his voice to be heard from the other side of the entrance. “I’ll take these cables down to the office to be sent off.”
Lucas nodded his thanks, not bothering to shout over the clamor, and swept Rachel onto a long inner corridor, away from the great central courtyard. Here the central square broke into a smaller nook, with two sides composed of the corridor and the last made up of obviously private stables. A vegetable patch slept away the winter, while a handful of goats placidly chewed some hay. She could glimpse the Central Pacific’s offices through the stable’s windows.
A guard stood where the nook opened into the central courtyard, where he could watch both the stable and the great warehouse beyond.
This was obviously an extremely well protected, yet very quiet place.
Her heart began to thud in her chest.
Lucas opened a door at the corner and ushered her in very formally, without touching her.
Rachel took three steps and found herself in the center of a small private suite. It held a cot, chest, table, and chair, plus a hand-stitched copy of the Lord’s Prayer, all lit by a hanging oil lantern. A convenience and small hip bath could be glimpsed in another, even tinier, room next door. Everything was immaculately clean.
A single window showed the goat pen.
The entire suite was less than half the size of her quarters on Collins’s Ledge.
The tiny space grayed, becoming infinitely distant, and she forced it back into focus. Surely her presence here could not mean what she feared.
“What is this place, Lucas?” She was proud of how normal her voice sounded.
“Where I want you to stay while I’m gone, Rachel.” Lines were graven into his face, as deep and unyielding as the mountains high above. His blue-green eyes glittered, as frosty as their ice. “My darling, will you please stay here while I go to Nevada? You mean more than my life and I am sworn to protect you.”
“What if I say no?”
His jaw set hard. “You must stay here. No matter what it takes.”
She searched his face, desperate for a glimpse of the man she’d come to trust. He could not betray her like this. “No! You can’t mean that. You can’t lock me up in here.”
Brackets deepened around his mouth. “It’s the safest place for you. Collins will never steal you out of here. The walls are strong and the men will guard you. Taylor’s wife will stay in the depot with you.”
Her throat tightened. Her skin was colder than the snows in the Wasatch. “But—what about the Bluebird? You need me to talk to Humphreys!”
“Do you truly believe that anyone who’d been plotting with Collins for a year will meekly turn over a new leaf as soon as you walk up to his door? Can you ask me to risk your life by taking you exactly where Collins will be looking for you?”
She flinched, making a helpless sound. His logic was as implacable as his eyes. Tears gathered and she blinked them back fiercely. She revolved slowly, staring at the cramped quarters, her skirts whispering over the floor like lost hope. “How can you expect me to live here, for any amount of time? I’ll die, Lucas.”
“You can walk outside, as long as you stay within the depot.”
“At least when Collins locked me up, I could see the ocean and the far horizons!” she hurled at him.
He flinched slightly but didn’t back down. “You escaped from him. Worse, a villain could have stolen you, if they’d known where you were. I will not take any chances with your life.”
She grabbed him by his rough wool coat’s lapels. “Lucas, life is composed of chances. I’m willing to gamble.”
He firmly took her hands away. “I am not.”
Good Lord, why wouldn’t he understand? She stepped away from him, ran up against the chair, and turned back. “Will you do the same thing if there’s an epidemic of cholera or measles a year from now, when this is over and there’s no danger from Collins?
He hesitated, the affirmative written across his face.
She could have thrown something at him. “Lucas, if you always insist on hiding me away whenever any danger comes near, I’ll never be able to breathe. I cannot live like that; no woman can.” “Can you honestly expect me not to do my best?”
She bit her lip, the small pain echoing the larger ache in her heart. He’d proven to be a northern devil, but not for the reasons she’d expected. “Lucas, if you do this now, I will never be able to trust you again.”
Agony flashed through his eyes then vanished. “I know that—but your life is more important to me than how you view me.”
If logic wouldn’t reach him…She discarded pride and sank to her knees. Tears blinded her. “Lucas, please…”
He made a single, rough sound. “Rachel—just try to understand and forgive me.” He was gone an instant later, the door slamming behind him.
She stared at it, the sound ripping through her like her own agony.
Catullus had had the right of it:
Odi et amo, quare id faciam, fortasse requiris?
Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.
“I hate and I love. Why do I do this, you require an answer?
“I don’t know, yet, I feel it happening to me. I feel the fire and am crucified.”
Rachel curled up on the floor in a ball and wailed. She never knew how long she cried, only that she did so until she was exhausted, with her eyes and throat red and raw. A glance in the bathroom’s tiny mirror showed a wreck of a woman.
She gulped, appalled at how far she’d fallen since she’d left the station.
She glared at her reflection. Like hell.
She liked the sound of that forbidden word so much, she repeated it again—like hell.
Lucas thought she was so helpless that she needed to be locked up in a cage like a canary. She’d prove that he was wrong. She’d escape from here and she’d make it to the Bluebird, where she could help foil those nefarious plotters.
After that, maybe one day she’d find peace again studying the classics.
The first step was eliminating the ruined woman in the mirror.
Rachel was bitterly glad that the chest contained several clean handkerchiefs, enough to blow her nose and wash her face. No one had come in, which was another blessing.
Next she took stock of her resources, as she’d learned so painfully to do on Collins’s Ledge. There was food on the table—a simple meal of sandwiches and fruit, but at least something which would travel well. She also still had gold and jewels hidden around her corset, since she’d never lost the habit of secreting them. It would be a little clumsy and embarrassing to exchange a jewel for a train ticket, but it was certainly possible.
A minute later, the food was packed into the basket it had evidently arrived in. Two more minutes and she’d sliced through the stitches holding a single small ruby onto the corset and hid it in her basket.
The next step was to escape, a task easier announced than accomplished.
She grimaced and tiptoed over to the door. After long minutes of listening, she was confident enough to open it a crack and peek out.
Nobody was there.
Was everyone convinced she had so little gumption that she’d stay in her prison cell, rather than run? So spineless that they didn’t need to set guards?
Rage stirred hotter, speeding her pulse and tinting the world red. She’d teach them a lesson: She’d escape this cage and prove that she was braver and stronger than they’d thought.
She slipped out, easing herself through the door like a shadow. A very wary look told her that the guard was watching a wagon with a large team of mules being turned around in the central courtyard. He probably thought she was too heartbroken by her husband’s departure to cause trouble this soon. If she ran now, she might just make it to the stables without being seen.
She said a quick prayer under her breath, picked up her skirts and her basket, and went as quickly as possible down the corridor—without ever hesitating or looking back. Time was, after all, of the essence. In any event, what could the guard do that Lucas hadn’t already done to her? Shooting would be a mercy.
She whisked into the stables, with their door to the Central Pacific offices and the railroad station, and leaned against the wall, sweating far too profusely. A couple of horses poked their heads out of their loose-boxes to study her curiously. The light was filtered and golden, warm with the familiar, homey scents of a well-run, clean stable.
She listened, straining to catch something over the pounding of her heart.
She gathered herself for the last dash to the railroad station. She’d do her part to help save William Donovan’s life, of course.
After that? No matter what it took, she would not live with Lucas Grainger.
Lucas braced himself on the ornate brass overhead rack and stared out the window at the uncaring piles of rocks known as hills. Maybe, if he tried hard enough, he could convince himself he was calculating men and equipment for any necessary assault on the Bluebird, spurred on by his current stark surroundings.
God knows, the Great Salt Lake was a harsh enough sight with enough salt crusted along its shore to look like a snowdrift. Yet even the recent blizzards hadn’t quieted the alkali in the air, which ripped apart men’s lungs and had earned this area the sobriquet of The Great American Desert.
A small voice whispered that, if Rachel was here, he’d be playing chess with her or laughing or purring after another tumble in her bed…
He kicked the inoffensive chair next to him and swung away. He’d traded her safety for her love so he’d best start working on guaranteeing her safety.
The train wheezed to a stop at Promontory, permitting even more alkali to swirl over the Empress from the Great Salt Lake only a few hundred feet away.
Unlike every other passenger, Lucas swung down onto the platform, telling himself it was for sentimental reasons. After all, this was where the two railroads had joined, thus uniting a continent. The alkali dust immediately burned into his lungs.
Surprisingly, the train lingered at Promontory. In fact, the engineer placed the locomotive into a waiting state, until it barely seemed to hum. The conductor offered no explanation except railroad business. Apparently a guest of the company would join them, which required that the entire train be delayed for his arrival.
Lucas took great delight in cursing the ancestry of the arrogant, selfish newcomer. It was far better to think about that than a future without Rachel, or an ice-cold Rachel sitting across the table from him.
Finally, another locomotive approached from the east, chugging along at great speed. The conductor chivvied the passengers back aboard, at least the few who’d braved the frigid winds with their burden of raw dust.
Lucas lingered on the platform, confident that he could board the Empress within seconds once he’d satisfied his curiosity. His instincts stirred, for no reason that he could name.
His train eagerly began to make steam, ready to race on.
The new locomotive pulled in, its whistle and bell loudly announcing its arrival. Its conductor handed down a slender lady with chestnut hair and a queen’s proud bearing.
Rachel? Here? Impossible. His heart stopped beating. Good God, it was her.
His heart lunged back into action. How the hell would he keep her safe now? And how the devil would he keep his heart safe?
She sailed down the platform, carrying a single small basket, and halted in front of him.
Lucas instinctively drew himself up and looked down at her. “How the devil did you get here?” he inquired, as haughtily as possible.
“I told the district superintendent that
my husband and I were honeymooning on his business trip. He left me in Ogden to rest but I grew lonesome after only an hour. Given my tearstains—” her tone hurled calumnies at him for having forced those marks on her—“the superintendent believed me. He was very sympathetic and loaned me his inspection train to rejoin you.”
Her glare drilled him to the bone, an expression that Sherman would have been proud of. “I am going to the Bluebird Mine,” she announced. “If you try to stop me, I will simply find another way. Do you understand?”
His mouth tightened. There was nowhere between here and the Bluebird to leave her. He could take her back to Ogden—but that would give Collins even more of a headstart and time to plot Donovan’s death. He couldn’t do that. He’d have to bring her along and plan to bundle her up safely, guarded by some of the additional Donovan & Sons’ men who’d joined in Ogden.
He nodded abruptly, heartily disliking his options. “Understood. Come on.” He put his hand on the stair rail.
She stayed firmly fixed on the platform.
“All aboard!” called the conductor, from closer to their locomotive. Its whistle blew, signaling its imminent departure.
Lucas lifted an eyebrow. “And?”
“We will have separate beds, even if I have to sleep in the drawing room.”
He tensed, cut to the bone by this publicly announced rejection. Somehow he’d always believed they could build a future together, thanks to their mutual enthusiasm in the bedroom. “Separate beds? Why?”
Her golden eyes held all the warmth of sunlight glinting on a siege gun’s muzzle. “Because you are not a gentleman and do not deserve a wife’s company.”
She considered him that low? For having done his best to protect her? Having his innards blown apart would have hurt less than hearing that.
The world grayed for an instant.
Her train’s whistle blew sharply, signaling its departure. Bells ringing, its wheels clanked into action and it began to back up, slowly at first then faster and faster. Their conductor came hurrying toward them, prominently displaying his watch. “All aboard!”
The Northern Devil Page 21
