Magnificent Passage (33 page)

“Get over here and open this thing—and make it quick.” A burly man with a beard and long stringy hair pushed the purser into the office on the main deck. Henry Jeffers had been finishing some paperwork in his cabin when the men broke in on him. At gunpoint they forced him down the stairs to his office below.

He spotted James Long's body, noticed the rise and fall of the man's chest, and wondered where the other man was. With trembling fingers, he unlocked the safe and slowly withdrew the heavy contents. His spectacles magnified the terror in his eyes.

“Hurry up in there.” A second man, thin and pale, his clothes wrinkled and dirty, stuck his head through the door. “Hurry up! This tub's takin' on water like a hairy dog gets fleas in a flea patch.”

Henry Jeffers stared at the two men dumbfounded, his
first realization that the men had blown the boiler to cover their crime seeping into his fear-drugged brain.

“What do we do with him?” the burly man questioned.

In answer, a gunshot rang out. Henry felt a burning pain in his chest, the room dimmed, and he crumpled to the floor. His eyelids felt heavy.

“Had to be done,” the pale man replied. “He could 'ave identified us.”

“Let's get the hell outa here,” the burly man said.

The pain in Henry's chest became fierce. He let his eyes close and wondered who would care for his wife and child. Then he drifted into blackness and the pain went away.

The bearded man pushed the purser's short squat body out of the way. He grabbed the heavy strongbox by one end, his partner picked up the other. They fought their way through the screaming pandemonium outside the door. Instead of making for the lifeboats as the others were doing, they headed calmly toward the bow of the sidewheeler.

A small wooden dinghy bobbed patiently beneath the pulpit, a heavy-featured, one-eyed man grinning at its helm. Max Gutterman adjusted the patch over his eye and glanced toward the bearded man and the pale man beside him.

“Maybe I get two dead birds with one big blast.” Gutterman laughed heartily at his own joke. “Revenge is sweet, my friends.”

The two men joined him, taking their places in the dinghy, and rowed toward the distant shoreline. Gutterman watched in deadly fascination as the rapidly failing vessel—and its terrified passengers—battled the freezing depths of the bay.

Three questions weighed uppermost on Hawk's mind. Was the explosion a diversion to rob the gold shipment? If so, what was happening to James? And most importantly, where was the chestnut-haired girl? James was capable, he knew that. Money could not buy lives, and Sam might need help. He fought his way through the departing throngs, searching madly. She hadn't been in the dining salon. That meant she was either on deck, in the social hall, or in her cabin. By now, unless she was hurt by the blast, she would be swallowed by the hysterical mob. He searched the social hall, moved to the second deck, then headed downstairs. He checked each lifeboat thoroughly. She wasn't among the frightened passengers.

Rounding a corner, he spotted James holding his head and swaying slightly. “They got the shipment,” James told him. “Killed poor old Jeffers. You okay?”

Hawk nodded. His eyes scanned the last of the remaining passengers.

“Samantha!” James gasped. “Where is she?”

“I don't know. I've checked the main salons, the second deck, and looked in the lifeboats. She isn't there. But Denton was, the bastard. Couldn't get near enough to talk to him. I'm heading back up to the top deck. You search down here. The lifeboats look like they're full. If you can't get on, make for the closest island. That's what I'll be doing.”

“Good luck, my friend.” James clapped Hawk on the back and headed toward the stern.

Hawk knew the odds were not in their favor. By staying aboard, they might lose their lives. The icy bay had claimed many others. The boat was listing strongly as Hawk raced
up the stairway. If he didn't find Sam soon, it would be too late. The water had reached the second deck, and the lifeboats had all been launched.

Mandy opened her eyes to a swirling world and a throbbing in her head. She rubbed her temples, trying to get oriented. She thought she'd heard screaming earlier, but now it seemed eerily silent. She could only discern distant voices. She tried to sit up, then discovered the deck was slanting crazily beneath her.
My God, we're sinking!
She tried to stand and swayed crazily. Flames flickered and smoke curled. Her eyes burned. Was there no one left on board? Her heart pounding, she glanced around desperately. There must be something, some way to survive.

“Sam!” It was Hawk's deep, resonant voice. Suddenly his powerful arms were around her, his face buried in her hair. “I'd almost given up hope,” he breathed in her ear.

She clung to him with every ounce of her strength and felt a surge of joy at being held in his arms, regardless of the circumstances.

“The lifeboats have already left,” he told her. “We'll have to make for the island. Can you swim?”

She smiled up at him. He had risked his life for her. Worry etched lines in his face. “I'll race you!” she said.

Hawk felt his heart twist. His chest swelled with pride at her spirit. He ached to set aside their differences, tell her how much he cared. But now their lives depended upon the next few crucial moments.

“It's a long, cold swim. We'd better lighten up.”

He unlaced his moccasins and threw off his leather shirt.
Then he turned Sam's back to him and ripped her dress to the waist. She stepped out of her garments quickly and stood facing him in just her chemise and thin pantalets. She looked achingly beautiful. He longed to take her in his arms again.

The ship lurched and shuddered, throwing them to the deck. The rapidly rising water covered all but the upper level.

“It's now or never.” Hawk drew her to him, kissed her soundly, then they dove into the freezing water of the bay and began the long, desperate pull toward the island.

Sam's strokes were smaller, but she surprised him with her strength. They seemed to be getting closer to the island, but it was still a fifty-fifty chance at best. The icy water did its deadly work quickly. He could feel his muscles knotting up. He thought of his Indian father and used his Cheyenne training to will himself to feel no pain.

The shore was clearly visible now. He felt a rush of confidence. They might make it. Then Sam went under.

Inky blackness enveloped her, so cold she wondered if she were already in the grave. Her stomach knotted in agony; her arms and legs would not move. She said a prayer for Hawk's safety—she knew it was the end.

I
t was the shivering that woke her. She knew she was alive—she'd never experienced such all-encompassing pain. Her body trembled violently, her arms and legs ached, her chest burned—just from the sheer effort of breathing. She shook her head, trying to clear it, then glanced around for Hawk. Terror clutched at her, its tentacles threatening to sap her strength again. Had she lived only to find he had not? Her eyes searched the darkness for some sign—then he was there, hugging her to him.

She sobbed softly against his chest and thanked God for his safety. He was alive! Nothing else mattered—not all the hateful words, not the misunderstandings, not the mistrust. He was here, and he had saved her.

“It's all right, Sam. Hush now . . . we're safe. I've built a shelter in the willows.” He slipped his arms beneath her legs, lifted her effortlessly, and carried her away from the shore. “We've got to get warm or the cold could kill us yet.”

She sniffed, wiped her eyes, and smiled, happy to be back in his arms. He carried her to the shelter and sat her down on a mat of leaves.

He'd constructed a kind of lean-to against a bluff with reeds and branches. Now, patiently and persistently, he
spun a dry branch between his palms, the point against a notch in another branch surrounded by shavings and dry leaves. At last he coaxed the tiny pile into a puff of smoke.

“Take off your clothes,” he ordered, stripping off his soggy buckskin breeches.

Mandy's eyes flew wide.

He smiled. “We have to get these dry. I'm going to lay them across the top of the lean-to; the fire will dry them in a few hours. Besides, without these wet clothes, our bodies will provide each other with warmth.”

She felt the color rush to her cheeks. The muscles of his powerful frame rippled in the flickering firelight.

“But I . . . ”

“Take them off now, or I'll take them off for you, Sam,” he threatened. “And you know I mean what I say.... Our lives are more important than your modesty.”

She swallowed hard and slowly discarded her wet garments. He ducked his head through the small opening and placed them above, near the fire. When he returned, she glanced at his solid physique, then turned away, not wanting her eyes to betray her thoughts.

Hawk had every intention of maintaining his distance. The girl had suffered enough already. She didn't need him forcing his attentions on her again. But damn, she was a tempting sight. Seeing her sitting on the soft mat of leaves, the fire highlighting her silken skin and glistening hair, he could not control his desire. He reached out a hand to cup her chin, then gently brushed her lips with a soft kiss as he pushed a strand of damp chestnut hair from her face.

“God, I've missed you, Sam,” he murmured against her
cheek. He pulled her down beside him and caressed the swell of her breasts, the line of her hip. He ached with wanting her.

Mandy knew, the moment they lay together, she would not stop him. He didn't love her; she knew that. But he wanted her, and she wanted him. Just to be near him again after their weeks apart was pleasure for her. As his tongue parted her lips, she smelled the deep musky scent of him. His hands moved knowingly across her shoulders, rubbing her aching muscles, soothing away her pain. He kissed her neck, cupped her face, and kissed her deeply. She felt his feather-light touch all over her body. When she trembled with need, he entered her slowly, carefully, pleasing her with gentle soothing motions.

She responded, her nipples taut beneath his hand. She locked her fingers behind his neck and pulled him closer, heartbreakingly aware this might be the last time they would lie together. Her fingers traced the corded muscles of his back and moved along the narrow line of his hip. He kissed her again, fully, longingly, and began to move within her. As always, he stirred delicious sensations.

At first he moved slowly, gently. His lips savored hers, his tongue touched the corners of her mouth, then plundered the depths within. Then he moved faster, urgently, yet gently, careening her forward, her desire mounting along with his. His large hands grasped the roundness of her bottom, pulling her against him with each powerful thrust. His strength, tempered with gentleness, set her aflame. Each thrust carried her to a higher peak than the last.