The Taming of Shaw MacCade

by Judith E. French

  Chapter 21

  "Peregrine?" Shaw demanded. "Peregrine? Where did you get Peregrine? I'll get even with you for that, woman."

  Giggling, Becca backed away from him. "I thought it sounded dangerous."

  "Or like a madman?"

  "It suits you," she said mischievously. "And everyone's always said you were crazy."

  He caught her around the waist and shoved her back laughing onto a bale of trade blankets destined for the western Indian market. Hidden here, among the stacks of cargo on the lower deck of the steam packet Lexington, they were alone for the first time since Dewey had appeared on their balcony. Shaw was determined to make the most of it.

  After they fled Penny's warehouse and barely eluded pursuit by three of his clerks and a deputy, they had returned to the Macintosh House. There, he had left Rebecca's sister with enough money to maintain her until he could get her home. Dewey had promised to stay with Eve—so long as he was paid handsomely and she didn't force him to take another bath. And Rebecca had given the boy instructions to go for a physician if Eve's fever returned.

  Before they'd visited Penny's office, Rebecca had purchased clothing for Dewey and had it delivered to the hotel. Eve was close enough in size that she could wear Rebecca's dresses. There was no way to take the things with them on horseback while they searched for Jamie.

  As Shaw had suspected, Eve was more than willing to seek shelter with the MacCades. When they departed, the four of them had taken a vow of silence regarding Eve's occupation in Saint Louis.

  "Leave your past here," he'd advised. "No need for anyone else to know. Plenty of women doing just that in California."

  The following morning he had purchased tickets on a stern-wheeler bound up the Missouri for Jefferson City. There they'd killed off the maniacal Peregrine Carr and his companion, purchased used clothing suitable for simple farmers, and assumed new names. And then, as John and Mary Wright of Tennessee, they'd started asking questions about wagon trains that had passed through Jeff City later than usual.

  At a crossroads just outside the growing town, Shaw discovered a blacksmith who remembered shoeing mules for the Yoder party. "They come through about a month ago," the smith had said. "I tried to tell them that it was way too late and they needed oxen, not mules. Mules are wrong for Oregon. Headed south through Salt Lake City, maybe. Mules are good in the desert, but not the mountains. For pulling loads through them mountains, you need oxen. This time of year, they're bound to hit snow before they get through the high passes. But they were from Pennsylvania. Claimed their mules were different. Thought they could make up the lost time by driving their animals hard for the Rockies."

  The smith, a garrulous woman with more facial hair than most miners, stood nearly as tall as Shaw and wore men's trousers. She'd spat a wad of chewing tobacco in the street and predicted that the Yoder party would come to bad ends. "Some folks think they know mountains cause they've crossed the Alleghenies," she concluded. "But they ain't but foothills compared to what's waitin' out there."

  With the knowledge that the Yoder train was still moving west toward Oregon, Shaw had felt safe in taking the river on to Miles City, where they'd left the horses. To be certain that they wouldn't be followed by any charges that Edward Penny might have placed against them, the "Wrights" hadn't purchased tickets on the Lexington. They'd sneaked aboard amid a crowd of immigrants and laborers.

  "Next, I suppose you'll be wanting to wear the pants in our family," Shaw said as he placed a hand on her knee and inched slowly up her stockinged leg. "Like that blacksmith. And that would be a pity... to cover legs like these." Becca was soft, so soft, and he wanted her so bad that his heart was racing like he'd just lost a wrestling match with a yearling steer.

  "Pants?" Becca's throaty voice seeped into his soul as he explored her inner thigh with searching fingers. "I'm sure pants would be more practical for riding," she teased.

  He nuzzled the hollow between her breasts. "Umm," he murmured. "I like you just as you are." Was it his imagination, or did the air seem thin? He swallowed, finding it hard to catch his breath as the hot night seeped into his blood, setting it on fire.

  "Maybe I should take up wearing pants," she teased as she ran her fingers over his neck and shoulders. "Maybe I..."

  He cut off her words with his mouth, forcing his tongue between her teeth, trying to quench his thirst with the taste and feel of her. She caught his hand, pressing it to her breast. He could feel her nipple, and he caressed her, rubbing and softly pinching until she gasped with pleasure.

  He kissed her again, all the while cupping and squeezing her breast. His mind spun as desire flamed through him. Moaning, Becca arched against him, taking his tongue deep inside until the clean, hot scent of her drove him wild with wanting her.

  He felt himself growing rigid, straining against the fabric of his coarse trousers. The ache became a throbbing, an overwhelming need to bury himself in her sweet, wet folds. "Bee... Bee," he rasped. All reason, all caution fled. His heart slammed against his chest; his mind tumbled with images of her creamy white skin and woman's curves. He couldn't see her here in the darkness, but he didn't need to.

  Memories of her in lamplight, stretched across the bed with heavy-lidded eyes and breasts heaving with passion, and memories of Bee rising out of the tub, sleek with droplets of water, seized him. He groaned with the effort of containing his release.

  Then her hand slid lower and grasped the source of his excitement.

  He jolted, crushing her against him. "Becca!" He gasped. "Do you know what I'm going to do to you?" He leaned close to her ear and whispered words he'd only dreamed of saying to her.

  In seconds they were locked in a sweaty tangle of hungry mouths, damp, straining limbs, and thrashing bodies. Fingers and tongues sought and thrust. Hips ground, and backs arched. Buttons flew, and he feasted at her breast, laving the sweet, hard nipple and suckling until she writhed against him.

  "Yes, yes," Becca cried. Her breath came in quick, short gasps. Her hands moved over him, seeking, stroking, and demanding.

  His fingers tangled in her lace bloomers, and he ripped them away. He had to have her, had to ease his hunger before he died of the pleasure-pain. She tore at her skirt, yanking it up around her hips as, cursing, he fumbled with his own trousers. With a hoarse cry, he rammed into her, slamming deep.

  She rose eagerly to take all of him, opening wide and then wider, meeting thrust for thrust, all the while crying his name.

  Fierce desire, lashed on by the nearly primal throb of the boat's engine, fired Shaw's need to drive himself over and over into Becca's willing body. Neither the oppressive heat nor the dozens of passengers crowding the lower deck just beyond the stacked cargo tempered the unbridled lust that fired his blood.

  His climax, when it came a fraction of a second after hers, was as explosive as the deafening blast of the steamboat whistle. Shaken, humbled by the intensity of his emotion and the realization of how precious she was to him, he cradled Becca in his arms. Whispering her name hoarsely, he covered her face with kisses and held her close to his heart. "I'll never let you go. Never. You're mine, Becca. Only mine."

  "And you're mine, Shaw MacCade," she replied between kisses. "Forever."

  Shaw couldn't have said how much time had passed, but later, they made love twice more in the steamy blackness of their hiding place and whispered plans that he knew might never be fulfilled.

  "I love you," she whispered. "More than my own life... I love you."

  And the words were the sweetest he'd ever heard.

  * * *

  "I'm still not convinced that bringing you along was the right thing to do," Shaw said to Rebecca the following morning as they walked down the gangway to the dock at Miles City. "If I had any sense at all, I'd leave you here while I go and fetch Laird's boy."

  "I'm going," she insisted. "How else would you recognize Jamie if you found him? I can ride as far and as fast as you can. And I'll do what needs to be done, Shaw. You know
I will."

  She would have gone out of her head if she'd had to remain in Saint Louis, waiting on Eve to recover her strength. She'd had enough of the city and wanted to get back to the part of the country where she felt useful.

  But if truth were told, as important as finding Jamie was, going with Shaw would be the answer to her prayers. It would mean a reprieve from the inevitable. All too soon their honeymoon would be over, and she'd have to return to the uncertainty of life at Angel Crossing. She wanted to be alone with Shaw while it was still possible, and she didn't care how long their journey took. She would do her duty to her family, but she knew in her heart that life without Shaw wouldn't be living at all.

  "You might not know Jamie yourself," Shaw said, interrupting her thoughts. "How long has it been since you've seen the boy? A year? Two? Kids change."

  "He was an infant, but I still think I'll know Jamie when I see him. He had a mop of dark hair and the MacCade eyes. You need me. He's my sister's child, and he'll be terrified. He doesn't know you any more than he knows the people who took him out of his mother's arms."

  Shaw looked unconvinced. "If he was a babe when they left, he won't know you either."

  "No, he won't. But Eve and I have similar coloring. And I'm a woman. You don't know the first thing about taking care of a young child." She knew next to nothing herself, but she wasn't about to admit to that. "Make up your mind to it. I'm part of this expedition." She quickened her step to match his long-legged stride. "You're not leaving me behind," she said. "If you try, I'll just follow you."

  "You're going to be trouble. I just know it."

  "I'm not," she protested. But when she glanced up at Shaw, she saw that he was smiling. He wanted her along. She'd known it from the first. He only wanted her to think that he didn't want her.

  Shaw no longer looked the part of a prosperous gentleman, but even in the plain trousers, a rough shirt, buckskin vest, and slouch hat, he never failed to turn women's heads on the street.

  She couldn't decide if it was his eyes or the way he carried himself when he walked, but she felt proud just being seen with him.

  "Why must you be so contrary?" she asked him.

  "I have to be contrary," he teased. "I'm a MacCade. It's in my blood."

  Rebecca smiled at him. "I believe that. My Poppa says your granddaddy was the devil himself. Any truth to that?"

  "I don't know if he was or not, but he always wore his hat in the house." He grinned that slow, crooked grin of his that never failed to make her as soft inside as warm taffy. "Maybe it was to hide his horns."

  She laughed, and they walked along in silence for nearly a block before she said, "I hope Eve will be all right until someone can fetch her to your mother's."

  Once they found Jamie and reunited him with Eve, things would go back to the way they had been. Despite Shaw's protest, she could see no way that they could be together without turning her back on her family and her responsibilities. But she'd given up arguing with him about it. For now, they would live day by day, and she would treasure every moment.

  She was still haunted by Eve's statement that their father or uncle, even one of their brothers, had murdered Laird. She wondered if Eve had seen more than she was saying.

  Rebecca would not believe that her father was capable of cold-blooded murder. She refused to dwell on that. The consequences were too awful to contemplate. She was certain that Shaw loved her, even if he hadn't said the words she wanted so much to hear. But even that love might not be enough to keep him from killing someone she loved if he found out they were guilty of shooting Laird.

  It's the curse, she thought. Grandma's right. We'll never get beyond killing each other until every Raeburn and MacCade is gone from the face of the earth.

  "I said that the first thing we have to do is get the horses back," he repeated. "Where exactly were you for the last block?"

  She smiled at him. "Just thinking about Eve and Dewey," she replied. "But you're right. We should stop and get Sasha and Chinook."

  At the livery stable, they found both animals in good health. The horses greeted them with anxious nickers and stamping feet. When Shaw had paid the boarding fee, he and Rebecca saddled the Appaloosas and rode them down the street to a store where they could purchase supplies.

  "Can you do this alone?" Rebecca asked. "I want to find Judge Thomas and get our marriage papers."

  Shaw frowned. "I'm not letting you out of my sight. Suppose one of your brothers is still here? As soon as we have what we need, we'll both go."

  They found the courthouse and Thomas's office without problems, but the door was locked and hung with a black mourning wreath. Rebecca went to the other office and spoke to a young man in a pinstriped suit who was seated at a long table poring through a thick book on Spanish land grants.

  When she'd told him what they were looking for, he shook his head. "Judge Thomas passed away two weeks ago," he said. "Perhaps I can be of assistance. I'm Joshua Newport, attorney-at-law."

  "Then we need to see his clerk," Rebecca insisted. "The judge performed our marriage last month and—"

  "I'm afraid that Judge Thomas's clerk, Harvey Nation, is in Jefferson City on important business. Harvey kept all the judge's records. He's the man you need to see for a copy of your marriage lines."

  "But we're only passing through, on our way west," Rebecca said. "Surely, there must be a way that I can get—"

  Newport shrugged. "I'm sorry. The judge's files are chaos. Your best bet is to wait until Harvey returns from Jefferson City. He'll find them for you."

  "We can't do that," Rebecca said. "We have an urgent matter—"

  "Leave your name and address. I'll tell Harvey when he gets back, and I'll have him send them on." He pulled a pocket watch from his waistcoat. "That will be a dollar to cover the post and four bits for the certificate." He glanced past them to the open doorway. "I'm sorry, but I have a trial starting in ten minutes."

  "There's nothing you can do?" Shaw asked as he counted out the money.

  "Nothing. Sorry. Leave a proper address where you can be found. You have my word that if Nation can find record of your ceremony, it will be promptly forwarded. I won't charge you anything extra for my trouble."

  * * *

  They wasted that day and most of the next searching for anyone who remembered Daniel Yoder's wagon train. But the following evening, a farmer's wife was able to direct them to a man who'd dropped out of the party to settle nearby until spring. An hour's ride took them to the sawmill where Andrew Byler worked.

  Rebecca waited with the horses while Shaw questioned the lanky, blond Pennsylvania Dutchman. When Shaw returned, Rebecca leaned forward in the saddle, unable to tell from his expression whether the news was good or bad.

  "We're still on the right track," he said, meeting her gaze levelly. "This Andrew Byler says that Yoder's stubborn. He still means to try for Oregon before winter. Byler and another family dropped out. Yoder bought supplies and replaced some of his mules. But he wouldn't consider waiting until next year."

  "Did this Byler actually see Jamie? Is he with the train? Is he all right?"

  Shaw nodded. "He says that people in the party took two children from a church orphanage in Saint Louis. One was a boy about three; the other was a girl, a little older. Jamie's with two brothers, Mast and Aaron Beachy. Byler doesn't know which brother took him. He thinks it might be Aaron, because he's got five daughters and no sons. The other brother has boys. He definitely took the girl; Byler saw her tending the man's infant. This Mast has four or five sons and one older daughter, but she is sickly."

  "But how is Jamie? Is he well? Are they treating him..."

  Something in Shaw's eyes troubled her. "Is he sick?"

  "No, the boy was well enough as far as Byler knew."

  "Then what's wrong? What are you hiding from me?"

  Shaw's face hardened, and his dark eyes turned darker. "Byler says these Beachys are a bad lot. Hard on their women and their animals. He saw Aaron take
a belt to Jamie for breaking a lantern. And he claims the boy had bruises."

  She felt suddenly sick. "But he's only three, just a baby. Aaron Beachy should be horsewhipped."

  "If Byler's tellin' the truth, I might just do that." Shaw's voice was so low that someone who didn't know him as well as she did might not have realized the fury behind his soft words.

  "How far ahead of us are they?" she asked. "And why do you—"

  Shaw jammed his foot into the stirrup. "I think we need to cover distance before dark, darlin'." He flashed her a wry look. "Byler thinks Yoder's route will take him close to Angel Crossing if not straight through it. I'm leaving you there, Bee. I'll travel faster alone."

  "Like hell you will."

  "Don't argue with me. You can contact Bruce. Tell him that I want him to fetch your sister from Saint Louis. Bruce will do what I ask him, no questions."

  Rebecca drew Sasha up alongside Chinook. "This doesn't change anything, Shaw. You still need me to identify Jamie. Suppose they try to hide him from you. You might—"

  "If I've got to worry about protectin' you, I might do something foolish that would put me or the boy in harm's way. If you're safe at Angel Crossing, then—"

  Anger made her voice hard. "I'm not a MacCade woman, Shaw. I don't put my head down and do as I'm told. But I've got brains enough to—"

  "Is that what you think of my mother? My sisters? That they lower their heads and say, 'Yes, sir,' 'No, sir'? MacCade women aren't sheep, Bee. They've got grit. But they know when to stay out of a man's business."

  "You pompous ass!" she retorted. "A man's business! Jamie wouldn't be in danger if your brother had taken care of his business. He should have married Eve. Given his son a name. Stood up for what was right."