Beyond The Horizon (5 page)

Perhaps punishment had been Blade’s original intent, but it was soon forgotten as the sweetness of Shannon’s first timid response warmed his heart. It was that tentative stirring of passion that jolted Blade abruptly to his senses. What in the hell was he doing?

Just as Shannon felt herself on the brink of a great discovery, Blade broke off the kiss, steadying her as he backed away. “Play with fire and you are likely to get burned, Miss Branigan,” he said pointedly, his voice deliberately harsh. “Enticing men can lead to trouble, as I’ve just demonstrated. I could have taken you right here on the ground in sight of all the wagons if I wanted you. Chivalry as you know it doesn’t exist on the Western frontier. Keep away from Clive Bailey and the other men sniffing around you. But if you find you have an itch that needs scratching, I’d be more than happy to take care of it.” Blade knew he was being deliberately cruel and insensitive but felt it necessary to impress upon Shannon the danger she faced on this journey.

That was the last straw! “You—you filthy, savage bastard! You’re the one I need to beware of!”

Blade winced, the viciousness of her words scalding him, yet he had asked for it. He had meant to teach her a valuable lesson and succeeded, at the cost of his own pride. He didn’t usually treat women with such casual disregard, but his assignment demanded nothing less than total concentration, and the only way he could do that was make Shannon hate him. It was in Shannon’s best interests to think of him as a despicable savage, he told himself sadly. And it was neither the first nor the last time he’d be referred to that way.

The first weeks on the trail were easy, the wagons traveling northwest toward Nebraska and the Platte River. Small streams were forded without mishap. The climate was mild and the land bucolic. It provided the emigrants with a perfect time to learn to handle a prairie schooner, to shake down the routine and to become accustomed to the extraordinary adventure on which they were launched.

They spotted their first stray Indians, but were neither challenged nor molested by them. It amused Shannon to note that these initial few sightings produced a display of arms in the most approved warriorlike style. Actually, the Indians of Kansas were pitiful, defeated, ragged, starving creatures who often approached the emigrants begging for food.

Because the long summer days did not exhaust the travelers, evenings at the campsite were given over to children’s games and to parties, music, and dancing by the elders. Shannon didn’t lack for partners, being one of the more popular single women. Blade, she noted, kept to himself, neither invited to join the gaiety nor expecting to be asked. But that still didn’t stop some of the young women, Nancy Wilson in particular, from shamelessly competing for his attention. Shannon tried to tell herself she didn’t care how many women fawned over the half-breed. Yet the fact remained that the memory of his kiss still burned her lips and warmed her soul.

On Sundays the emigrants were left much to their own devices according to their beliefs and tastes. If a minister or missionary traveled with a wagon train, a service was offered. None, however, was listed among Shannon’s traveling companions. Horseraces were often held and a general day of relaxation and rest was called for.

Under Blade’s competent guidance, the wagon train arrived at the Big Blue, a tributary of the Kansas River. The Big Blue was a cantankerous, crotchety stream that demanded strict attention. It had rained the night before and word passed down that the travelers would camp on the bank until the water receded. Shannon welcomed the respite. It was one of the most idyllic campsites along the entire length of the trail, as well as one of the most romantic. It was called Alcove Springs, its name carved in rock at the site.

That night Callie was feeling uncomfortable and Shannon worried that delivery was imminent. Since there were still several weeks remaining before the expected delivery, Shannon’s concern was very real. Knowing something about birthing and babies from her large family, she quietly prepared for a premature delivery. Mercifully, she was relieved of that duty when two women more experienced in such things offered their services. Somehow the news filtered down to Blade and he showed up unexpectedly at their campsite after weeks of ignoring Shannon. Howie was inside the wagon with Callie, leaving Shannon alone when Blade arrived.

He moved into the circle stormclouds gathering in her blue eyes, hunkering down beside Shannon where she sat close to the wagon. “How is Mrs. Johnson?”

“Hanging on,” Shannon said tightly. “It’s too early for her to deliver.”

“These things happen.” Blade shrugged philosophically. “Do you need help if the baby decides it’s time?”

“Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Cormac have already volunteered.”

“They are both capable women, and Mrs. Johnson is young and healthy. There’s no need for you to worry.”

If Blade’s words were meant to reassure her, Shannon reflected, they failed miserably. She lowered her head, trying to overcome her apprehension. Suddenly her head jerked up, startled when she felt Blade place his hands over hers in a gesture that struck Shannon as very intimate.

The flickering campfire softened the hard planes of his face and the expression in his dark eyes was one of warm regard instead of the usual stern disapproval he exhibited toward her. For a brief moment Blade had lowered his guard, allowing Shannon an unintentional glimpse of the sensitive man beneath his austere facade. He looked—my God, Shannon thought, thunderstruck—he looked like any other man burdened with responsibilities and worries!

Then, just as swiftly as he had appeared, the man Shannon thought she had discovered vanished, replaced by the half-breed, Swift Blade. When the warmth of his hands left hers, Shannon felt strangely deprived, yet vastly relieved.

“Don’t fret, Shannon,” Blade said softly. “Callie will be just fine. I suspect the baby is large enough to survive should she deliver early.”

Then he was gone. One moment he was there beside her, the next he was gone, nearly convincing Shannon that she had imagined the whole thing.

Chapter Three

L
ate that night Callie went into premature labor. Mrs.
Wilson and Mrs. Cormac were hastily summoned and Shannon was shooed outside to placate Howie who was on the verge of panic. The poor man was beside himself with worry, and with good cause. At dawn Callie appeared to be no closer to delivery than she was at midnight. By noon the entire wagon train was aware of Callie’s travail and her difficulty in delivering. As dusk approached both Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Cormac came out of the wagon to announce that Callie was growing visibly weaker and they feared for her life. Both good women looked exhausted and Shannon immediately offered her assistance.

“There is nothing you can do, honey,” Mrs. Wilson said, patting her hand consolingly.

Those words seemed to send Howie, already prostrate with grief, over the edge. “Please do something,” he begged, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Don’t let Callie die.”

“Perhaps I can help.”

All eyes turned to Blade. His silent approach never failed to amaze Shannon. Obviously he had heard both Mrs. Wilson’s words and Howie’s impassioned plea.

“What seems to be the trouble?”

Mrs. Wilson flushed, unaccustomed to discussing intimate details of childbirth with a man. Blade sensed her reticence and resisted the urge to rail at her misplaced modesty. Didn’t she realize that a woman’s life was at stake?

“How can I help if I don’t know what the trouble is?”

Mrs. Wilson glanced at Howie and, when he voiced no objection, explained, “The baby won’t come. We think it’s turned wrong.”

Grasping the situation instantly, Blade turned to Howie. “Do you trust me, Howie? Do you trust me enough to let me help your wife?”

At first Howie seemed disturbed by the thought of another man touching his wife. But contemplating her death was even more abhorrent. If Blade could help Callie, what did it matter that he was a man—or an Indian? Howie reasoned sensibly. “I’d be grateful if you could help Callie,” he said evenly, realizing by the shocked faces around him that his fellow travelers thought he had lost his mind. What did a half-breed know about birthing?

“I’ll assist you,” Mrs. Wilson offered, her lips pressed tight in disapproval.

“You’re exhausted, Mrs. Wilson, and so are you, Mrs. Cormac,” Blade said dismissively.

Blade glanced around the circle of people gathered around the Johnson wagon, aware that propriety demanded another woman be present during the birth. He scanned the faces staring at him, some with awe, others with outright distrust, and settled on one. “Miss Branigan is close to Mrs. Johnson. She’ll do just fine.”

Surprised, Shannon stepped forward, more than eager to do whatever was necessary to help Callie.

“But Miss Branigan is unwed,” Mrs. Cormac complained, shocked to the core. “It’s not proper.”

“I have several younger brothers and sisters, and childbirth is no mystery to me,” Shannon declared stoutly. Turning on her heel she climbed into the wagon, followed closely by Blade.

Shannon knelt beside Callie, who lay moaning softly on a sweat-soaked pallet. Deep purple shadows marred the delicate skin beneath her eyes and it was obvious her strength was swiftly ebbing.

“Callie, can you hear me? It’s Shannon.”

Callie opened her eyes, grasping desperately for Shannon’s hand. “Am I going to die?” Her fear was stark and real.

Shannon and Blade exchanged worried glances. “No, of course not. Blade has come to help you.”

“Blade?” Callie asked, confused.

“I can help you, Mrs. Johnson—Callie—if you let me,” Blade said. “Do you trust me?”

Callie shifted her gaze from Blade to Shannon, then back to Blade. She wanted her baby, wanted to live, and found only one answer. “I trust you, Blade.”

Flashing a reassuring smile, Blade stuck his head through the wagon flap, issuing crisp orders. “Hot water and strong lye soap.”

When they arrived he told Shannon to sit beside Callie and hold her hand. Shannon complied without question while Blade thoroughly washed his hands and arms. When he was ready he began talking to Callie in low soothing tones, telling her what he was going to do and not to be afraid.

Shannon held her breath as Blade carefully inserted his hand into Callie’s body, examining the position of the baby. He grunted in satisfaction when he discovered the problem and then proceeded to turn the infant into the right position for birthing. Callie screamed once, twice, panting from the pain. From that point things moved along swiftly and shortly afterwards the baby slid effortlessly into Blade’s big hands.

“It’s a boy,” he said, handing the child to Shannon. Then Blade climbed out of the wagon, satisfied to let the women take over. Within seconds he had disappeared into the encroaching darkness.

Later that night Shannon sought out Blade. No matter what she thought about him personally, the man had saved Callie’s life and received little thanks for his efforts. Having learned he was on guard duty that night, she found him leaning against a tree some distance from the perimeter of the camp.

He looked as if he were totally relaxed, but Shannon detected a constant alertness in his gaze and stance. He seemed aware of every noise and movement, knowing the precise moment Shannon neared.

“What are you doing roaming about this time of night?” Blade asked, frowning.

It was as if he had conjured her up, for he had been thinking of her and how she hadn’t turned squeamish or appeared shocked when he did what he had to do to save Callie and her child.

“I—I want to thank you. For what you did for the Johnsons. Callie would have died if you hadn’t offered to help and known what to do.”

“I told you before, I’m responsible for every person on the wagon train. I do what I have to do.”

“How did you know
what
to do?” She hadn’t meant to be so nosy, but curiosity got the best of her.

“Indians know many things,” he replied. His cryptic words told her little.

What he couldn’t say was that as a young army lieutenant he was once called upon to assist the company doctor in just such a delivery. During a march, their outfit had sought lodging at a remote plantation and they couldn’t have arrived at a more convenient time. The young mistress, alone but for a single male slave, was giving birth. The doctor promptly offered his services and Blade volunteered to assist. As it was with Callie, the baby was turned wrong and the mother and child would have perished if the good doctor hadn’t known what to do.

Shannon searched Blade’s face, wondering how so compassionate a man could look so big and dangerous. This was a side of him he rarely showed. It was also a mystery to her why he seemed to dislike her.

“Why don’t you like me?” she asked bluntly.

“Is that what you think?”

“It’s obvious my presence on this wagon train offends you.”

“Nothing about you offends me, Shannon,” Blade muttered beneath his breath, “except what you do to me.”

“What?” Surely she hadn’t heard him right.

“I said you don’t offend me and I don’t dislike you. It’s more like I offend you for being what I am.” Blade hadn’t meant to say so much, but somehow this exasperating female put words in his mouth.