Orchids in Moonlight (15 page)

"You can sleep by the fire."

"No, I prefer the wagon." She noted that he looked settled where he was, and she had no intention of bedding down anywhere near him.

She had taken only a few steps when an eerie howl split the silence of the night. With a scream, she stumbled back toward the campfire.

"A wolf," Cord murmured. "Sleep here by the fire, like I said. He might decide to leap in the back of the wagon looking for food...

"... and find it," he added with a wink.

"I'll take my chances." With a deep breath of resignation, she headed into the shadows.

Cord stared after her, fury smoldering. Did she really think he would attack her while she slept?

With the spring of a cougar, he was on his feet to stalk to the back of the wagon and jerk open the canvas.

Startled, Jaime drew the blanket up to her chin and whispered in panic, "Don't you dare touch me," and then lied, "I've got a knife. I'll use it. I swear."

"Don't miss your mark if you do. You won't get a second chance." He swung up into the wagon and swooped her into his arms. Holding her against his chest, he dropped to the ground and returned to the campsite.

He fought the impulse to drop her right on her arrogant bottom. "You're sleeping here, where it's warm and safe. And you have nothing to fear. Believe me, I'd as soon tangle with that she-wolf out there screaming for a mate. Probably be a damn sight more enjoyable too," he added, dropping back to his own bedroll nearby. "Now settle down. It's enough you're making me lose time. Don't make me lose sleep too."

Jaime bit back an angry retort. Secretly she was glad he had gone and got her, for she had not relished thoughts of sleeping out in the wagon alone.

Several moments passed in silence, but she could tell by his harsh breathing he was still awake. Finally, she ventured to tell him, "You know, if you weren't so stubborn, you wouldn't have to lose time taking me back."

He drew an exasperated breath and let it out slowly. "All right. What are you talking about now?"

"Well," she began, framing her words carefully, "since I do need to get to California, I'd like to make you an offer."

He tensed, wondering what she was up to. "Get to the point."

Recalling how she had long ago fiercely made the decision she would use any means necessary to achieve her goal, she explained. "If you will honor my virtue..." She paused and winced, thinking how priggish that sounded, but felt it was necessary. She continued. "We can make a pact. You take me the rest of the way to California, and when I find my father I know he'll reward you. Meanwhile, I'll help on the trail."

Cord smiled in the darkness. He knew, despite her attempt at nonchalance, that she was desperate. He decided to make her squirm. "I'm sick of whining, complaining women."

"If you had been around me, you'd know I never once complained about anything."

"Well, frankly, I wasn't planning on taking the wagon all the way. I figured farther on I'd ride my horse and have just a pack mule."

"I told you I'd be willing to ride one."

Cord turned his back on her, and she had to strain to hear his next words. "I'll sleep on it and let you know in the morning. I still think you'd be a nuisance. And who knows?" he could not resist a final barb. "You might attack me in the night."

Jaime did not respond. She was far too happy. Something told her he was only teasing and had already made up his mind she could go. For the first time in a long time, she slept peacefully.

Chapter 9

Jaime gradually relaxed when it appeared that Cord intended to honor their agreement.

Pushing hard by day, they fell asleep, exhausted, as soon as the evening work was done, Jaime slept in the wagon while Cord camped out in the open. However, in bad weather, if there was no other shelter, he bedded down beneath the wagon.

Jaime quickly learned how to handle the mules, but even with thick buckskin gloves, the blisters came on her hands. When Cord saw her applying lard, he scolded her. "Why didn't you say something? That's not going to do any good." He rummaged around in the wagon and brought out a bottle of foul-smelling liquid.

As he smeared it on her palms, Jaime admitted it was soothing and, with wrinkled nose, asked what it was.

"Skunk oil, mixed with beeswax and tobacco. It's an old Indian remedy. They use it for sores on their legs from riding too long."

The mention of Indians reminded her of the strange language he had spoken the day he found her hiding in the wagon. She asked what it was.

"Paiute. Shoshone. The tribes around here. I thought one of them might have sneaked in."

She was impressed. "You speak both languages?"

"Enough to make myself understood." He had been wrapping her hands with lint and tied a final knot before adding with a lazy smile,
"Come out or die
is pretty much the same in any tongue."

Jaime persisted. "But how come you know their language? So much about their ways, like this potion?"

"I grew up in the West." That was all he was willing to divulge about his past. Long ago, he had locked the misery deep inside.

"It's still unusual to know so many different—" She fell silent as he walked away without another word.

* * *

The days were long and, at times, boring. Surrounded by white salt sand, at times she felt as though she were drinking dust instead of water. To while away the hours, she found herself watching Cord when he wasn't looking and wondering all sorts of things about him. Had he ever been married? Did he have a family? Why was he so reluctant to talk about himself, his past? Was he hiding a deep dark secret?

So many questions—and so much idle time to ponder the answers.

On occasion, when the day had not been too grueling, Jaime would tarry about the fire a little longer before retiring. They talked more, and she started thinking they were on the threshold of becoming friends.

One night, when they were enjoying the last of Jasper's wine, he surprised her by asking about her father. Something told her it was best to keep the information about the map and her father's fears of a dubious investment to herself for the time being. All she was willing to tell him was that her father was a prospector, explaining, "He's been out there since the early days of the rush. I was sent back east to live with my aunt and uncle when my mother died."

"Where is your father living now?"

"I'm not sure." Actually she knew his mine was located near a place called Drytown, but she was reluctant to share even that much.

Cord frowned. She did not seem stupid enough to come so far without knowing where to look, and he said as much.

Stiffening a little, she defended herself. "He was doing business with a man in San Francisco. I plan to see him and ask him if he knows where he is."

"And if he doesn't?"

"I'm no worse off than I was back east, I suppose. I had no one there either. I'll survive."

"It's a rough place, San Francisco," he warned. "Lots of money there, but violence to go with it. It's no place for a woman alone."

Jaime's laugh was short, bitter. "I'm beginning to think you consider a woman useless anyway, unless she's clinging to a man."

Cord raked her with insolent eyes. "Isn't that what you're doing now to get out there?"

"This... this is different," she stammered, swallowing against indignity. "Once we arrive, I can take care of myself."

"Good." He tossed down the rest of his wine and stood. "Because I've got other things to do besides look after you, Sunshine."

Cord walked away from the camp, wanting to be alone. Lying down on the ground, he gazed pensively at the curtain of stars spread above him.

He was drifter, a loner. Home was wherever he happened to be. He had no intention of getting tied down to any person, place, or thing.

Once in a while, when he happened to take a tumble with a woman who particularly pleased him, he would hang around a bit. That's what had happened in San Francisco, which eventually led to his agreeing to go east to recruit wives and whores, because he needed to get away and let things cool off. The wild little filly he had been sleeping with had got a little too possessive and demanding, so he had felt the need to take temporary respite before things really got out of hand. Not that he was falling in love. No chance of that. But it was dangerous, being as she was the mistress of the man he had been working for.

But now he was looking forward to returning to her, because being around Jaime was starting to get to him.

The days weren't so bad. He was always aware of Jaime's presence, of course, but it was the nights that anguished. Burning with hunger, it was torture to know she was so close, yet he was unable to touch her.

He wanted her fiercely. And though he was sure she was a virgin, instinct told him she was ripe and ready. The fires of blazing passion were just waiting to ignite.

And he wanted to be the man to strike the match, by God.

That was the way it should be, he brooded. They should be enjoying each other for the duration of the trip. And why not? Out here, with every day a struggle for survival, they needed to grab every pleasure they could, every golden minute of happiness to make up for all the misery and hardship. Tomorrow didn't matter. It was only the here and now that counted.

Only Jaime didn't see it that way.

She was too damn proud. In a way, so was he, knowing he'd rather be dipped in hot tar than give her the satisfaction of being able to say she was right to call him a savage.

Though she would never know it, she had cut him to the quick.

Savage.

Always, the word provoked deep, burning rage.

He prided himself on being a man of great self-control. He would not yield to his desire and instead would look to California and the willing female who waited.

In addition to his smoldering desire, his admiration for Jaime grew with each passing day. No matter how rough things got, she never complained. If there was work to be done she could help with, she was right beside him. He marveled at her spunk and spirit.

Because of his respect he became less reserved, and a gentle camaraderie began. He pushed aside chagrin over her ability to conceal her presence all those weeks. Wanting to hear of her experiences, he laughed as she recounted humorous episodes, like the night she had crashed into Wilma Turnage at the most private of times.

"You would have made my life so much simpler if you hadn't been so stubborn," Jaime told him.

Jovially, he countered, "Maybe you're the reason everyone abandoned ship. You got them to mutiny for revenge."

She laughed, a sound like silver bells in the wind, and he found himself thinking she was even more lovely now that the sparring between them was a thing of the past. No longer did she glower or frown or brood. They were both lighthearted, making the best of a trying situation, and the days spent with her were a delight.

But the nights were still hell.

Jaime went on to say, "Of course I did. I didn't want them around to help with the work. I wanted to do it all, and—oh!" She cried out as the rear wheel suddenly broke, bringing that side of the wagon sharply down.

Riding his horse alongside, Cord was quick to react and reached to pluck her from the bench and lift her up and out of harm's way.

A few seconds passed before Jaime calmed to realize she was being held tight against his chest.

"Damn," he swore, holding her with one arm while he reined the horse in a sidestep to the end of the wagon to inspect the damage. "Looks like the whole axle assembly is busted, and the bolster is cracked. The hound is ruined too."

Jaime, trying not to be unnerved by his nearness, managed to keep her voice even as she asked, "Do you have the parts to repair it?"

"Afraid not. Jasper took care of things like that. He was supposed to see to it in Salt Lake, and I was so mad at everything going on I didn't check to see if anything was needed when he deserted. Maybe it's just as well. We were going to have to abandon it in a few more weeks, anyway. We'll make better time with the mules."