Magnificent Passage (9 page)

Hawk watched as the girl knelt and straightened her bedroll. He smiled and shook his head, remembering the rush of warmth he'd felt with her pinned beneath him. The scent of lavender still clung to his buckskin shirt. He pulled a single long strand of chestnut hair from where it curled deliciously against his chest. No matter how he looked at it, this was going to be one hell of a long trip!

T
hey finished a simple breakfast of hard tinned biscuits and jerked venison. James packed up the camp and Hawk saddled the horses. They were headed into the Laramie Mountains, not following the usual route along the Platte traveled by stagecoach and wagon. It was a tough trail, but Hawk seemed to know exactly where he was headed. Mandy already thought of him as Hawk. He seemed so much a part of the land, so much a part of nature, just the way the Indians did. In fact, most of the time he seemed more Indian than white.

Mandy's little mare stumbled, then perked up her ears as the men picked up the pace. Mandy gave Lady Ann her head. She was trail wise and surefooted, comfortable to sit. Mandy had owned a horse only once in her life. Schooner, her big sorrel gelding. She'd loved that horse. Loved the freedom that riding the big horse gave her. Now, as she rode along on Lady Ann, she thought of Schooner and, as always, felt a sharp stab of guilt.

She had been racing Schooner over the prairie, defying her father, running him faster than ever before. She hadn't been watching the terrain and suddenly he stumbled. His head went down and Mandy pitched forward; she could feel the stiff strands of his mane against her cheek as she flew
over his head. Great clouds of dust billowed around them, blotting out the light as she and the animal thundered to the earth. She felt a shattering pain in her arm when she hit the ground, and heard Schooner's shriek of agony. Then the horse began neighing shrilly as he tried to lift himself up from the dirt.

Oh, God, what had she done?
She rolled over. The pain in her arm shot through her, throbbing with every movement, but the pitiful sounds Schooner was making drove her on. Her mouth tasted gritty, her cheeks were scratched and smeared with dirt. She crawled toward the sorrel and watched helplessly as he tossed his russet mane wildly and thrashed his hooves in the air.

“Schooner, oh, God, Schooner. Please, boy. Please lay quiet.” She stroked his sleek neck, crooned softly in his ear. She looked about wildly for her father. He'd been riding behind her, mad at her for being too far from the fort. When she spotted him at the bottom of the hill, he was headed toward her at a gallop. He dismounted before his horse came to a full stop and ran to her side.

“Are you hurt?”

She nodded. “I think I broke my arm, but it's Schooner. See what's wrong with Schooner.” She closed her eyes and prayed the big sorrel would be all right.

Her father moved along the horse's withers, along his back, and down his flanks, stroking, soothing, probing, and examining. When he finished, he returned to her side. He untied the yellow bandanna from around his neck and lashed her arm across her breast as best he could. Then he helped her to her feet.

“But what about Schooner?” Her heart pounded. She felt
light-headed. She knew the answer but prayed she was wrong. Her father didn't speak. Instead, he lifted her carefully atop his sparse military saddle, then pulled his carbine from its scabbard behind the cantle.

“No!” Mandy shrieked. She grabbed the barrel of the weapon and refused to release her hold, even though each movement caused needles of pain to shoot through her arm. “You can't shoot Schooner! It was my fault. My fault we fell, not his.” Fresh tears ran down her cheeks.

“Please, Papa,” she whispered. “I'll do anything you ask, but please, please don't shoot Schooner.”

“Schooner has a broken leg,” he said gently. “It isn't fair to make him suffer.”

“Please, Papa. Please. It's my fault.”

“Yes, it is your fault! Now do you understand where your recklessness leads?”

Mandy looked helplessly at Schooner. For years the horse had been her friend—her one ally. Now his soft brown eyes were wild with pain.

“He's asking us to do what's right,” her father said.

She nodded, then looked away. Her father's footsteps crunched on the dry earth and pebbles as he walked toward Schooner. She heard the hammer on the Springfield cock, and closed her eyes tightly.

The wind whistled beside her ear. Then the gunshot echoed its grim message, and the labored sound of Schooner's breathing ceased.

“Miss Ashton?” Hawk's deep voice broke her reverie. “The trail gets a might steep through here. I'd advise you to start
paying attention instead of daydreaming about your beau.” His tone annoyed her and she couldn't resist answering in kind.

“What's the matter, Mr. Langley, afraid I'll fall off a cliff, and you won't be able to collect your reward? That is what you're after, isn't it? The reward. Just like in the posters: Wanted dead or alive, Julia Ashton, for unspeakable crimes of the heart.”

Hawk dropped back beside her and scowled fiercely. “I don't think that's funny. Your father believes what he's doing is in your best interest. From what I've seen so far, I think he's probably right.”

“And just what's that supposed to mean?”

“It means, Miss Ashton, it's time you grew up and started thinking about someone besides yourself.”

“And what about you, Mr. Langley? Just who do you think about besides yourself?”

He scowled even harder, his mouth a hard grim line. She was smiling at her slight victory when Lady Ann stumbled again and nearly went down.

“Pull up,” he commanded, his tone gruff.

Mandy did as she was told. Hawk dismounted and picked up Lady's right front foot. The mare whinnied and shook her head, her bit jingling with the movement.

“She's picked up a stone.” He shoved back his hat, then turned to Mandy, his mouth curving in a smug, satisfied smile. “Looks like you'll have to ride with me.”

“I will not! I'll walk first.” She dismounted, straightened her skirts, and started along the narrow trail.

Hawk caught her in two long strides.

“I said you're riding with me. Your horse will be fine by
tomorrow, but now is not the time for your games, Miss Ashton.” Before she could open her mouth to protest, he scooped her up and deposited her roughly astride his saddle, then swung himself up behind. She tried not to lean against his broad chest, but there was little room between them.

James followed on his gelding, intent on navigating the tough trail.

By the end of the first hour the effort not to touch the big man had tired her greatly. She could feel his hard gaze boring into her back, and knew he was enjoying her discomfort.

“Tell me, Mr. Langley,” she began, deciding maybe a little conversation would take her mind off the feel of his hard torso, uncomfortably warm and close. “How is it my father trusts you to bring me home?”

“Why shouldn't he? Do you think he expects me to tear off your clothes and ravish you somewhere along the trail?”

Bright heat rushed to her cheeks.
How could he say such a thing?

He seemed to study her reaction, as if measuring her in some way. She kept her back to him, but her hand trembled slightly, and she knew he'd seen it.

“Don't tell me I've shocked you,” he said, turning her face toward him and noting her high color. “I had no idea you were a woman of such delicate sensibilities.” He was having a hell of a time figuring the woman out. He could usually read women like a book, fit them into just the right mold, but not this one. The last thing he expected from Julia Ashton was the blushing virgin act. How big a fool did she think he was? Half the dandies in Sacramento City told
stories of her lusty appetites, yet she made him feel guilty for a simple, honest remark.

She finally stopped fighting the saddle and rested her back hesitantly against his chest. Her head fit well beneath his chin. He was having a devil of a time concentrating on the trail and a tougher time controlling the swell in his breeches. He wished he'd let her walk after all.

“Your father and I met five years ago,” he told her finally, hoping to divert the train of his thoughts. “Your aunt Maude introduced us. I'm surprised she never told you the story.”

He felt the girl stiffen slightly. Then she shrugged her shoulders.

“Well, you know how Maude is,” she said simply.

He smiled. The image of the feisty, gray-haired Irish woman came clearly to mind. “I like your aunt Maude. She's a real lady. But she's not meek. She's got plenty of fire left in her boiler.”

He heard the girl laugh softly at his description, the clear lilting sound giving him another twinge. He cleared his throat and continued.

“Anyway, she and a friend were attacked by highwaymen on a back road between San Francisco and Sacramento City. James and I happened onto the scene and foiled the robber's plans. We're good at that—foiling plans, I mean. Don't you agree, Miss Ashton?”

“There seems to be very little on which we agree, Mr. Langley.”

He chuckled softly. Mandy could feel the vibrations in his chest. The feeling sent shivers the length of her.

“Maude introduced us to your father. We did some work for him, some of it highly confidential. Over the course of time, we became friends as well as business associates. Your father's a good man—but then I'm sure you've known a lot of good men, haven't you, Miss Ashton?”

She paused. “I'm not sure what you're implying, but if you're referring to Jason Michaels, you're quite right. He is a good man.”

She knew damn good and well that was not what he meant. The woman was really incredible, he thought. Not only spoiled and selfish, but an unbelievable actress as well.

Mandy tried to concentrate on the big man's conversation, but all she could think about were the muscles rubbing against her back. She flushed continually, the heat of his body making the day seem hotter than ever. By the time the ride ended, all conversation had ceased and Hawk's dour mood had returned. He was grumpy and couldn't seem to be rid of her fast enough.

He paid little attention to her the rest of the evening and she was glad for the time to herself. She turned in as soon as she'd eaten dinner and, exhausted, fell asleep even before the sun went down.

Hawk looked over at the tiny figure, deeply asleep on the opposite side of the camp. He was glad she was getting some rest—she was going to need every ounce of her strength. He intended to push her hard again tomorrow, just in case her
Jason
had any plans of retrieving her. He didn't trust the little minx. Not one bit. So far things had been too easy. Something was just not right. He could feel it in his bones.

The long afternoon shadows gave way to darkness. He checked the horses once more, then sprawled beside the campfire on his bedroll, propping his back against the puzzlebark of a fallen log. He stared into the night sky.

Towering pines surrounded the clearing like straight-backed guardian soldiers. The pungent smell of smoke, pitch, and grease—remnants of a roasted venison supper—tinged the air. He'd had a hard day, thanks to the closeness of the green-eyed girl, but the weather had been tolerable, and the hearty meal left him quietly satisfied. James was also propped against the log, his black leather boots strewn casually beside him.

James chuckled softly, his gaze resting on the sleeping figure. “Well, Hawk, what do you think of her so far?” he asked, breaking the silence. Absently, James poked a naked branch into the exhausted fire, sending a shower of sparks into the clear night sky.

Hawk watched the flickering lights disappear among the stars. He furrowed his brow and groaned aloud, forcing himself to face the inevitable question.