by Regina Scott
Her voice caught. “I understand.”
He gave her a squeeze. “Did you notice the shape of this draw?”
Her hair tickled his cheek as she must have nodded. “Rough and craggy. Is that important?”
“It is. That means there are branches on both sides of the stream. At least one should lead back up to the plateau, where we can regroup with the others.”
Her breath caressed his ear. “Oh, good. And searching for a way out is an efficient way to confirm your wagon road.”
Ben shook his head. “Why am I continually amazed by you?”
Once more her hair brushed him. This time he was fairly sure she’d tossed her head. “Because I am a thoroughly amazing woman, Captain Coleridge.”
He laughed.
She shivered.
Ben frowned in the dark. “Cold?”
“This skirt’s soaked.” She shifted away from him as if examining it with her fingers. “Give me a moment to find my knife.”
He’d never considered her armed, just dangerous. “Your knife?”
Her voice was prim. “My knife, sir. My father gave it to me. Surely all good Army officers carry one as well.”
He touched the leather sheath at his side. The knife and the few cartridges in his revolver might be all that protected them at the moment. He’d left his cartridge box and ammunition belt at the campsite.
“May I ask what you intend to do with yours?” he ventured.
His answer was the ripping of fabric.
“There,” she proclaimed. “Much better.” The faint light from the front of the overhang disappeared a moment as she straightened away from him and flapped the fabric up and out. “I can only hope it will dry by morning, and we can make use of it.”
Had she cut off her skirt? His mind boggled. “Meg, you’ll freeze.”
“Not at all,” she replied, settling back against him. “Hadn’t you noticed? I wear breeches under the skirt. The boots protected them from the worst of the wetting.”
It seemed the breeches he’d glimpsed earlier were everyday wear for her. His mother would be scandalized. Diana would probably want some. All he could think was that Meg was the most practical, intelligent woman he’d ever met.
“So how shall we make use of this windfall?” he teased. “Bullfight, perhaps? Though I seem to recall bullfighters using red cloth, not navy.”
“You won’t laugh when it’s keeping us warm tomorrow night,” she predicted. “Though I do wonder how we’re to keep warm tonight.” Another shudder went through her.
“Stay close to me,” Ben said. “The overhang will cut some of the breeze. Our body heat should do the rest.”
She snuggled against him, and suddenly he was quite warm indeed.
“Do people really fight against bulls using red fabric?” she asked.
“Major Daunton mentioned it at West Point,” Ben replied. “He was trying to impress on us that strategy rather than brute force could win a battle.”
“Using red fabric against a bull doesn’t sound like much of a strategy to me.”
He chuckled. “Ah, but the fabric was only a diversion. The fighter had a sword as well.”
“And we have your revolver and our knives. I’m not sure they’re any more use than a sword against a bull, though. I saw the cougar, Ben. It ran from the fire the same direction we did.”
He kept his body still so as not to worry her further. “Probably all the way to the river by now. And it has the luxury of being able to scale those downed trees when it’s ready to climb out.”
“Does nothing worry you?”
She sounded incredulous. He could not tell her that, of the many things that concerned him—finding the truth about his father’s disappearance, reuniting with the rest of the team—his biggest fear was for her safety.
“Try to get some sleep, Meg,” he murmured, arm slipping about her waist once more, as if it belonged there.
She laid her head against his chest.
Again he marveled. He could only imagine what some of the young ladies who had visited West Point would have said. How dare he take liberties? They would have preferred to freeze rather than damage their reputations. Meg did what had to be done to survive.
Even if her reputation could be damaged by this night alone with him. He’d have to note details in the expedition journal or at least inform Colonel Yearling. Ben knew how quickly word could spread from there. But, time enough to contend with that when they returned to the fort.
And they would return. He refused to lose her now that he’d found her again.
He had intended to stay awake, on guard, but he must have fallen asleep, for the change in light woke him. Meg slumped against him, one arm about his waist, pretty mouth soft in sleep. Aspen leaves, yellowed away from the tree, stuck like feathers in her hair, and dirt smudged one pearly cheek.
Sunlight strayed into the canyon from the east. They had made it through the night. Now they had to find a way back out.
23
“Meg, sweetheart, wake up.”
Meg smiled, eyes still closed. It had been a long time since she’d dreamed of Ben calling her sweetheart. She could imagine the warmth in his eyes, the gentle smile that softened his firm cheeks. And if she raised her chin, her lips would meet his. His kisses always made her feel treasured, beautiful.
Loved.
“Meg, honey, I need you.”
Oh, how she’d longed to hear him say that, until she’d realized his mother would never accept an unconventional daughter-in-law like her.
“Margaret Pero, attention!”
Meg jerked upright to meet Ben’s surprised look.
“I would never have thought that would work,” he said.
“Well,” Meg said, gathering her dignity, “don’t make a habit of it.”
He grinned, then sobered. “No, ma’am. An officer of lower rank should never presume.”
“Humph.” She climbed to her feet, and he joined her. “It looks like we survived.”
“And so did the canyon.”
Meg glanced out. The stream rolled along, muddy now with ash and clogged with debris. Higher along the cliff opposite them, uprooted soil and rock gave testament to fallen trees. At the top, blackened skeletons reached leafless fingers toward the sky, as if begging for mercy. The air still hinted of smoke.
“I see why it might be difficult to climb out the way we came,” she said.
“Ah, but look there.” Ben pointed across the stream to where another draw opened. “That might be our escape. I was going to explore, but I didn’t want you to wake alone.”
The thought was terrifying, and she had to stop herself from reaching for his hand. “I’m glad you waited. I’ll come with you.” She bent and picked up the skirt of her riding habit, stiff now with dried mud.
“Still think it will be useful?” he teased.
Meg shook it hard, the snap releasing dust that sparkled in the rising sun. “Yes, quite useful,” she said, draping it about her shoulders like a cape. “Come along, Captain Coleridge, and do try to keep up.”
With a laugh, he followed her out into the canyon.
The rest of nature seemed unconcerned about the havoc of the night. Birds welcomed the morning in the trees along the stream. Meg and Ben surprised a herd of deer in a small meadow. They raised their heads from the grass, long ears swiveling this way and that, as if trying to decide whether they faced friend or foe. Oh, for her camera.
Meg stopped with a gasp that sent the deer bounding down the stream for safer ground. Ben turned to her, body tensed as if ready to defend her from whatever she’d sighted.
“My cameras,” she said, tremor in her voice. “Do you think Dot or Hank had time to take them?”
His face confirmed her fears. Tears burned her eyes.
Ben gathered her close. “I don’t know for certain, Meg. It’s possible they salvaged something before lighting out. But if they didn’t, I’ll see that the Army replaces whatever was lost.”
I thought you cared, God.
No. Enough of that. She didn’t want to be ungrateful. She and Ben were alive, miracle enough. Besides, there was something right, something satisfying, in believing Someone was watching over her. And she needed him most of all now. She refused to give up that comfort for petty thoughts and blame. She’d been the one to bring her cameras into the wilderness, to leave her best plate behind when she and Ben went strolling. She had to believe this would all work out in the end somehow.
She pulled back. “Thank you. I’m sorry I lost my head. The important thing is that Dot and Hank and the others are safe.”
“Let’s see what we can do to find them,” he said. He offered her his hand, and they set off once more.
The way remained open only a short distance. The creek fell in three- and four-foot drops between rusty-looking soil that crumbled under their boots. Ben had to detour wider, help her clamber down boulders. The air was warming, until the skirt heated her shoulders.
It felt odd moving without it flapping about her legs. She’d grown used to the breeches she wore underneath, but her limbs felt more vulnerable without a skirt over them. It didn’t help that her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten dinner. A rumble from Ben’s direction told her his stomach was protesting too.
She stopped, then glanced around. There, by the stream, the nearly round emerald leaves bobbed in the breeze. Oh, and that lighter green plant with the jagged-edged leaves. And the fanciful one with the purple stem. She bent and gathered up handfuls.
“Here,” she said, mixing them together and offering him a batch.
He frowned at it without accepting it. “You want me to graze like a mule?”
“I do believe we have discussed the traits you share with a mule before,” she said. “But at the moment, I’ll settle for you eating this. That’s miner’s lettuce, wild mint, and cabbage. Think of it as a salad.”
He stuck out his lower lip as if impressed and accepted her offering.
“Where’d you learn about miner’s lettuce and wild mint?” he asked as they crossed the stream on boulders jutting up from the rushing water.
Meg took another bite of the crisp leaves before answering. “One of the private expeditions Papa and I joined hired a native guide. He was happy to show me.”
He helped her down on the other side of the stream. “Just like Hank showed you how to use the theodolite.”
“Everyone is good at something,” Meg allowed, letting herself enjoy being in his arms. “Everyone has a story to tell. You just have to listen.”
Ahead, the mouth of the draw opened, yet Ben seemed no more eager to reach it.
“What’s your story, Meg?” he murmured, head cocked as if he would see inside her.
“Oh, you know it,” she said. “Raised by a father fanatical about his profession. Finding myself drawn into it as well. There’s not a lot to tell.”
He released her at last and turned toward their goal. “So you just plan on taking pictures for the rest of your life.”
Why did that sound less than a lofty purpose? “More or less,” she admitted. “Papa never thought beyond that.”
“You could.”
Heretical idea. She stopped in the middle of the path he had broken through the brush. “Stop taking pictures?”
“Or maybe add something more.” He paused as well, one foot higher than the other, gaze going into the draw. “This one’s no good. Look at that overhang.”
She could see it now that they were aligned with the fissure. The cliff above jutted out, its underlip cutting back into a mass of tumbled stone. They’d never be able to scale it.
“Not to worry,” he said, turning and starting back past her. “There are plenty more.”
With a sigh, she followed.
He stopped when he reached the stream. The lettuce had had a certain amount of moisture in it, but the bubbling brook called to her. A shame it was so dirty now.
“Thirsty?” he asked as if he’d seen the direction of her gaze.
Meg wrinkled her nose. “Not enough to try drinking that.”
“We can drink it,” he said. “If you’ll sacrifice a corner of your new cloak.”
Meg glanced at the skirt, then unfurled it from around her shoulders. “Certainly. What did you have in mind?”
In answer, he took it and snapped it tight between his hands. Bending, he scooped up water so that it pooled in the middle. Silver drops fell from the underside.
“Catch it,” he said.
She cupped her hands to collect the precious water, then brought it to her mouth to drink. The wool filtered out most of the ash and mud. Oh, but she’d needed this. The cool trickle down her throat brought life and vigor with it. After several rounds, she insisted on holding the material for him.
“What now?” she asked as he finished and she began wringing the last of the water from the wool.
He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, gaze scanning the wall of rock beyond her. Already stubble lined his jaw, shining gold in the sunlight. He pointed. “We try that one.”
But that one didn’t prove worthwhile either, and neither did the next. Always the draw ended in an ascent too steep to climb.
“I don’t think much of the chances of making this your wagon road,” Meg informed him when they stopped to drink again later in the morning.
“If the Army wanted to build a road, we could clear this brush and go straight down Bright Angel Canyon,” he said.
She glanced around at the walls growing taller with each step toward the Colorado. “Bright Angel Canyon?”
“You wouldn’t recognize it at the moment,” Ben said, “but remember how clear that stream was when we first found it? Powell commented on a clear stream entering the canyon at about this spot on the river. He named it Bright Angel Creek.”
She could see why. After so many of the muddy streams in the area, this was a rare find. “So you want the Army to roll right down it?”
“Right beside it,” Ben assured her. “No doubt we’d need to find a way over the steepest part, and I don’t know if there’s a corresponding draw on the other side of the Colorado. Powell should be able to tell us when he finishes this time. For now, we have to find a footpath.”
“For me,” Meg realized. “You could probably climb out if you were alone, couldn’t you?”
He made a show of studying the cliffs. “I’m not convinced. The rock’s too weathered. Plenty of handholds, all of which could crumble when taking my full weight. I’d prefer to walk out rather than fall down.”
So would she, but she could not help thinking that perhaps his mother had been right. Once again, her presence in Ben’s life could hold him back, and this time it might mean his death.
Ben kept a cheery face as they climbed over another tumble of boulders on the way toward the west side of the canyon. In truth, the farther the sun moved in that direction, the lower their chances of escaping the canyon today. They were deeper now, the temperatures not as cold as they’d been higher. Trees, where they could root, were scraggly things, as were the bushes clustered between them. Deer had disappeared. Worse, the red limestone walls showed no sign of a cave, leaving less opportunity to find shelter. He didn’t like the idea of sleeping in the open with Meg.
So, he kept moving, though his legs and back protested, and his stomach demanded more of the greens Meg had found earlier.
Shadows were lengthening when he spotted a good-sized gap in the cliff. He led Meg to it, then paused, gazing up. The walls were wide enough apart, the way steep but steady. In the distance, he could see the rim. Hope surged through him. “This could be it.”
Meg clutched his hand. “Oh, Ben, you did it.”
“Let’s hold the celebration until we’re on top,” he cautioned. “We have a lot
of climbing to do.”
They drank their fill of the creek before starting. A stream trickled down the side draw, but Ben wasn’t sure how easy it would be to reach from the path they would follow. At least the water was relatively clear, proof that they’d outdistanced the extent of the fire. There appeared to be a game trail of sorts, just a flattening of the undergrowth, but he followed it gratefully.
Only a little farther, Lord. Help me save her.
Up and up they went, past massive gray stones with rain-smoothed sides, tufts of grass and shrub clinging to the red soil. His legs were leaden, each step a chore. The warm air didn’t seem to fill his lungs. She never complained, though he heard her gasp in a breath from time to time.
Partway up, they reached a small plateau, where the cliff had slumped. The stream pooled in a rocky basin before falling a few feet and continuing down to meet Bright Angel Creek. Ben called a halt, and they both collapsed beside the stream and quenched their thirst.
He glanced ahead, noting the rugged golden stone. “Looks like it gets a little steeper above here. But I think we can make it.”
She glanced up as well. “I can see the top. I’m not turning back.”
He smiled at her. “So catch your breath. We’re almost there.”
She shifted as if trying to find a comfortable position on the sandstone. “What happens when we find the others?”
When, not if. He appreciated her confidence. “We assess the damage. If they saved enough equipment and supplies, we continue at a faster pace, making sure we didn’t miss a better approach than the one down Bright Angel Canyon. But if we lost equipment, we’ll have to return to the fort.”
She drew in a breath. “I must be mad to hope we can continue.”
Ben shook his head. “Even after all this?”
Her cheeks were turning pink. “Well, it has been nice to have the bulk of your attentions, Captain Coleridge.”
Ben laughed. “I should have known it would require an act of nature to get you to take me seriously.”
