Clay (14 page)

He sat up and gazed at her intently. “Are you saying you regret your marriage? I thought you loved your husband. You’re wearing his ring instead of mine.”

“I did love him. And I’ve learned that being in love makes you vulnerable. I don’t ever want to put myself in that position again. I can take care of myself.”

“Becky, you relinquished some of that independence when you married me. And as your husband, my honor dictates that I take care of you.”

“But you know why I married you, Clay. You know I don’t expect anything from you.”

“Perhaps not, but the fact remains we
are
husband and wife. So we both have to take responsibility for our actions—and the obligations that come with those responsibilities.”

“And I know you feel I’m not honoring my obligation to you by refusing to share your bed.”

“We’ve been together every day and night for six weeks. You’re a very desirable woman, and my wife, and I’m only human. It’s becoming more and more difficult for me to keep my hands off you. And I can tell by your response when I kiss you that you want me as much as I want you.”

“Please understand, Clay, whether I do want you or not, I can’t let anything interfere with getting that annulment. If we become intimate, that will be impossible.”

“So we stay married—I won’t dishonor my vow,” he said stubbornly.

“But I don’t
want
to remain married. That’s the point: I like my independence. I’ve been left destitute once, and I won’t ever rely on someone else to take care of me again.”

“And you don’t think one day you’ll need love in your life?”

“Definitely not.” Her tone lightened. “And furthermore, Clay, aren’t you the man who declared you’ll never love or trust a woman again?”

“Did I say that?” He chuckled. “I must have been drunk.”

“As a matter of fact, I think you were.”

They both broke into laughter.

“I guess a man says a lot of stupid things when his pride’s been hurt.”

“Or his heart.” The laughter left her eyes, and she said gently, “Did you love her very much, Clay?”

“I thought I did at the time. I realize now that I was more angry than heartbroken. But every man needs an Ellie in his life so he can recognize the merits in the next woman he meets.”

Her eyes widened with surprise. “Why, Clay, since I’m that next woman, are you implying you think I have some merits?”

“Well, for one, you’re a very hard worker.”

“And Ellie wasn’t?” she asked.

“The only thing Ellie knows about work is how it’s spelled.”

She grimaced with mock pain. “That sounds like sour grapes, and certainly not very gallant coming from a southern gentleman.”

“Yes, you’re right. That remark does sound like I’m bitter, and I won’t deny I was at first. But I’m not anymore. I feel I’m damn lucky.”

“So, what other virtues do you see in me that Ellie didn’t have?”

“You make a great cup of coffee.”

“Thank you. I have noticed you drink a lot of it.”

“And you’re a great cook.”

“It took you six weeks to get around to telling me. But thank you.”

His grin broadened in amusement. “I didn’t want to add to your vanity.”

“Are you implying I’m vain, Clay Fraser?”

“About your cooking?
Udderly
.”

She grinned and gave him a shove. He rolled over and grabbed her, pinning her to the ground with his body.

Laughing, she cried, “Get off me, you ungrateful lout! I’ve cooked my last meal for you.”

Suddenly cooking became the furthest thing on his mind as laughter turned to desire. The very air seemed charged with their awareness of each other. He could tell by the deepening in those gorgeous green eyes that she felt it, too.

“And what if I told you that I like the sound of your laughter, the smell of cinnamon on you from this morning’s baking, the way your hair catches the sunshine. I like just looking at you—and I like the feel of you under me right now.”

Clay lowered his head; she parted her lips. He kissed her with a fierce hunger, and his whole being flooded with desire when she responded with a hunger as great as his own.

She was breathless when he broke the kiss. “Let me up, Clay.”

“You don’t really mean that, Becky. That kiss belied every thing you’ve said. You want me as much as I want you.”

“That’s beside the point—I meant what I said. What you want from me, I won’t give you.”

The sound of laughter and voices caused him to glance up to see Etta and Tom approaching them hand in hand.

Clay gave Becky a quick kiss, then stood and pulled her to her feet. Slipping an arm around her waist, he headed toward the young couple. “Looks like you dodged the bullet again, Mrs. Fraser.”

“And I’ll do so all the way to California if I have to.”

He chuckled. “You’re sure about that?”

“Udderly sure,” she replied confidently.

After two restful nights at Ash Hollow, they pulled out. There wasn’t a person in the train who didn’t cast a wistful backward glance at the wilderness oasis.

Once again, the land began a gradual but constant climb as they followed the waters of the North Platte River. Exotic rock formations began to dot the countryside, and despite the heat of the day, the nights began to turn cool due to the higher elevation. In the far horizon loomed the snowcapped peaks of the Laramie Mountains, so the party knew they were nearing Fort Laramie.

Occasionally they’d glimpse a band of Indians watching from the higher cliffs, but Hawk said to pay them no mind, because you wouldn’t see a Sioux if he didn’t want to be seen. Nevertheless, as a precautionary measure, Scott had returned to having them circle the wagons at night.

The landmarks were becoming extraordinary, with formations with such names as Courthouse Rock and Jailhouse Rock. One, a slim, stone shaft that stuck straight up in the air called Chimney Rock, held Rebecca’s attention.

“How tall is it?” she asked Clay as they stood looking at it.

“They claim five hundred feet,” he said.

“How do they know?”

“I imagine someone climbed up to measure it.”

“Who would want to do that?” she exclaimed.

“Becky, some human beings feel compelled to climb anything—just because it’s there.”

She shook her head. “How silly. What can you do once you’re at the top?”

“Climb back down, I imagine.”

She leaned her head to the side and studied it. “You know, if you look at it from this angle, it looks like a long, inverted funnel.”

“I might have known you’d figure out some cooking connection to it.”

More followed, craggy shapes resembling parapets and towers, deep gulches, and rocky trails.

Three days later the wagon train arrived at the gates of Fort Laramie: the last bastion of civilization as they knew it, until they crossed the Rocky Mountains and reached California. Set in the foothills of the Rockies, the fort had originally been a fur-trading station, then converted to a United States army post.

Rebecca was delighted to reach the post at last. After traveling for six weeks and six hundred and forty miles, she could finally take a
hot
bath.

Mike Scott insisted the wagons form their usual circle outside the fort’s gates. The army had constructed pens and grazing corrals for the stock, but informed them that they were not responsible for guarding them—which meant Clay and Garth would be pulling duty shifts.

Clay had hoped they might be lucky enough to find Melissa at the fort, but that hope was dashed when they found out their train was the only westbound one there. There were more than a dozen wagons heading back East, and in the remote possibility that Melissa was among them, he and Garth checked them out.

“Sure, I remember that gal,” one of the men said when Clay showed him Melissa’s picture. “Mighty pretty she was, too. Long dark hair and eyes the color of a Texas bluebonnet.”

“That’s Lissy, all right,” Garth said. “Was she okay?”

He shrugged. “Never got more than a nod and a smile. Wife talked to her a time or two, though. Hey, Ma, you remember this gal, don’t you?”

The woman came over carrying what appeared to be about a two-year-old girl in her arm, and holding the hand of another a year or so older.

“Ah, yes,” she said, after glancing at the picture.

“Melissa Berg. Sweet little thing she was, too.” She shook her head sadly. “Poor little thing was sick most of the time.”

“Sick?” Clay asked with rising panic. He’d heard horror stories about how often cholera occurred on these wagon trains.

“She’s in a family way. Never saw anyone so sick in that condition. Hate to think of the poor dear crossin’ ’em mountains, as sick as she is.”

“What about her husband?” Garth asked.

“Fine young man. Fretted about her constantly and waited on her hand and foot, tryin’ to make her more comfortable. I sure hope they make it safely to California. Me, I’ve had enough of it. I told Clem here that I ain’t riskin’ our children’s lives anymore. We’re gonna find us a spot right here near the fort.”

“Thank you, ma’am. You, too, sir,” Clay said.

“How does she figure raising a family right smack among the Sioux is safe?” Garth said, when they passed through the gates of the fort. “Those Indians can go on the warpath over a dead horse, if they’ve a mind to.”

Clay had worried about Lissy’s safety, but until now hadn’t thought about her personal health. “That Yankee bastard should have turned back until Lissy was well enough to travel.”

“Maybe he figured we’d be hot on his heels,” Garth said.

“That’s no excuse for him to let her make this trip when she’s that ill.”

“Yeah, but it sounds like Lissy. You know how we all spoiled her, so she’s used to getting what she wants. The poor guy probably found it just as hard to say no to her as the rest of us always did. If Lissy thought there’d be a chance of us catching up and stopping her, she’d push on. The gal’s got a lot of grit.”

“Tell me something, Garth. Do you go through life making excuses for women who don’t care how much their actions affect others, as long as they get what
they
want?”

Garth chuckled. “With one exception, Brother Clay—that female shark you intended to marry back in Virginia. Ah… what was her name again?” he asked, tongue-in-cheek.

Clay couldn’t help grinning. “Jezebel. Her name was Jezebel, Brother Garth.”

Clay couldn’t believe he was actually making jokes over losing Ellie. What a difference a couple of months made. Slapping Garth on the shoulder, he said, “I’ve thought of another angle. Let’s try the post office.”

After a lengthy discussion with the cigar-chewing postmaster, who lectured them on the sanctity of the United States mail and the integrity of his office in upholding that inviolability, they finally resorted to outright bribery with a bottle of whiskey. Then he let them look through the outgoing letters from people on last week’s wagon. Clay found what he was hoping for—a letter home from Melissa Fraser Berg.

“At least he made an honest woman of her,” Clay grumbled.

“Good, that means we won’t have to shoot him after all,” Garth said.

A box of cigars convinced the good postmaster to let them open the letter. The main body of it described how much she missed all of them, the attributes of her husband, her happiness, and how much she looked forward to having the baby; then she described the sights they had encountered thus far on the journey. In closing, she apologized if she’d caused them any concern and assured them how much she loved all of them.

In the last paragraph Clay struck gold. Melissa had written down the name of her husband’s aunt, whom they would be staying with when they reached Sacramento. There was not one word about how sick she was.

“A real little trooper, isn’t she?” Garth said.

Clay nodded, brimming with pride as much as Garth. “She sure is. But I still might strangle her when we find her.”

Clay wrote Will a short letter to let him know where they were, and where they were heading from there. Then, under the watchful eye of the postmaster, he addressed a new envelope, enclosed his letter along with Lissy’s, and gave it to the man to see that it was posted.

They had no sooner stepped outside when Garth asked, “Do you think there are any whores here?”

“I doubt they’d allow them inside the fort. But this fort’s full of soldiers, so there’s some whores around someplace. You’ll probably find what you’re looking for among the buildings and Indian teepees outside the gates,” Clay said.

“Think I’ll pursue that. See you later.”

Clay watched Garth disappear through the gates of the fort. It wouldn’t have been a bad idea to go with him. That near miss he’d had with Becky at Ash Hollow had stoked a fire that the dozen of dips he’d taken in cold pools since hadn’t succeeded in squelching.

Thinking of that very issue, he spied Rebecca in the company of Etta and Tom. They’d arrived at Fort Laramie about an hour ago. If she was running true to form, it was plenty of time for her to have gotten into trouble.

“Oh, what a find!” Rebecca exclaimed, holding up the orange she just had the good fortune of purchasing. “The Good Lord has blessed the human race with many gifts, and two of the greatest are oranges and hot baths. I can’t decide which of them is the most refreshing, but today, my dear friends, I shall have the pleasure of relishing both.”

Etta giggled. “Oh, Becky, you’re so funny.”

“If you’re hoping for a bath, you’d better go and sign up for one soon, ma’am,” Tom said.

“You’re right. What about you, Etta?”

“No. Mama said as long as we’ll be here for another day, we should wait until tomorrow for the bath.”

“I’m hoping I can take another one tomorrow, too. It’s a long trip over those mountains. Who knows when the opportunity will present itself again? Clay said—”

“What did Clay say?” he asked, walking up and joining them. She’d been unaware of his approach.

“We were discussing the long journey, and that you told me we haven’t even reached the halfway mark to California.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Scotty said the worst is still ahead.”

Suddenly Rebecca did a double-take. “I can’t believe it! Etta, look.” She pointed to several Indians who had just arrived at the fort. “See that Indian with the white feather in his hair? He’s the same one I told you I saw at Ash Hollow.”

“That’s him!” Etta said in awe.

“Yes. Isn’t he magnificent looking?”

“Oh, yes indeed! He’s splendid looking,” Etta said.

“I don’t think he’s so great,” Tom said petulantly.

“Do you, Mr. Fraser?”

“I remember him. He’s a Sioux war chief named Eagle Claw. Scotty said at the time to give him a wide berth. He wields a lot of power and can be dangerous.”

“But you said the Sioux weren’t hostile,” Rebecca said.

“Today they aren’t. Who knows about tomorrow?”

“Just the same, he certainly is magnificent looking,” Rebecca said. “Well, I’m going to reserve a bath for tonight. Then I’m going back to my wagon and eat my orange.”

“I’ll come with you.” Clay followed her.

“You could save water and a tub if you shared the bath!” Tom yelled after them.

“The lad’s growing up,” Clay said with a grin as they headed for the bathhouse.

“Good Lord, he’s only seventeen, Clay,” Rebecca scolded. “Don’t you remember when you were that young?”

Clay nodded. “Sure do. That’s why I’d keep a closer eye on those two, if I were Howard and Helena.”

The bathhouse was located outside the turreted ramparts of the fort. A painted sign saying:
PUBLIC BATH
,
$1.00 PER PERSON
.
OPEN DAILY 5:00 A
.
M
.
TO 10.00 P
.
M
.
EXCEPT SUNDAYS
,
CHRISTMAS
,
AND THE 4TH OF JULY
hung above the door of the building. Behind it was a cabin partitioned into two sections marked
MEN
and
WOMEN
.

They encountered Mike Scott leaving the bathhouse. He stopped Clay to give him some instruction, so Rebecca went ahead and entered the office.

The room smelled of soap, and a lingering odor of burnt wood that emanated from an unlit pot stove in the corner of the room. Stacks of towels and colorful jars of bath salts lined several shelves behind a long counter, which was encased behind a ceiling-high wire grid.

“I’d like to make a reservation, please,” Rebecca said to the woman behind the counter. A young Indian boy sat beside her.

“Today or tomorrow?” the woman asked.

“Today.”

“Only got one left at nine-thirty tonight. None left for tomorrow.”

“That will be fine.” Rebecca smiled at the young boy. He just stared at her.

“Cost is a dollar for thirty minutes, paid in advance. Includes a towel, washcloth, and soap. Bath salts are fifty cents extra.”

“I’m not interested in bath salts,” Rebecca said. She slipped the money through a coin slot in the grid.

“You with that wagon train that rolled in today?”

“Yes, I am. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to a hot bath.”

“Well, be on time, honey,” the woman said, “ ’cause I close up promptly at ten.”

“I certainly will.”

There was no sign of Clay when Rebecca stepped outside, so she looked around for Etta and Tom. Having no success with that, either, she returned to her wagon, found a shady spot, and sat down to peel her orange. With most of the people shopping or plain gawking at the fort, it was peaceful and quiet at the wagons. It seemed like the first time in two months that she’d been entirely alone. As she savored the succulent sweetness of the fruit, she gazed at the looming peaks of the Rocky Mountains in the distance.

Clay left the meeting Scotty had called to inform his men the train would leave Fort Laramie the day after tomorrow. He wanted to make certain the train was out of the Rockies in the event of an early snowfall. When Clay went back to the bathhouse, there was no sign of Rebecca—not that he expected for her to still be there—and he registered for a bath.

He looked around the clearing, and then went into the fort, but there was no sign of her. He didn’t want her wandering around alone, yet he knew she resented him watching over her like a hawk. Well, the woman needed watching over. And like it or not, he intended to do so until they reached their destination.

Upon seeing Etta and Tom, he hurried over to them, but they hadn’t seen a sign of Rebecca. He encountered the rest of the Garsons and had no luck with them, either.

Clay rechecked the sutler’s store in the event she was doing some more shopping. Now he was really worried. He couldn’t believe she’d go back to the wagon so soon, when there was so much activity centered at the fort. But he’d give it a try.

The wagon area was deserted except for a few guards overseeing the grazing stock. Clay stopped in his track when he glimpsed Eagle Claw standing in some nearby trees, his gaze focused intently on something.