White Wolf (18 page)

She grew warm just thinking about his hard, lean body so close to hers. This new attitude toward her was driving her to distraction. What was she going to do? A helpful and friendly Wolf was torturous, far worse than when he barked out orders. While it was nice to have him off her back, she wished he’d go back to being mean and obnoxious. That she could handle!

“What is wrong with me?” she asked herself, torn between her conflicting emotions. It was times like this that she missed her ma. She had so many questions about what was happening inside her. Her brothers would think her crazy if she started talking about weak limbs, shortness of breath and a racing heart. And sometimes her stomach fluttered at the very thought of Wolf. Just thinking about it brought on a familiar ache. “Stop thinking of him,” she commanded herself, willing her racing pulse to calm. This was ridiculous nonsense, pure and simple.

When she heard the sound of someone whistling, she lifted her head, grateful for any diversion that would take her mind off Wolf. Edging closer to the ledge, she glanced down, then gasped and dropped her head back to the ground, praying that the tall grass concealed her presence from the very man who haunted her thoughts. She slowly inched back from the edge. The last thing she wanted right now was for Wolf to see her here, away from camp, where they were alone. She didn’t trust herself or her feelings for him, especially as she had no trouble envisioning them together, hidden from the world behind the falls below. Her lashes fluttered closed, and in her mind’s eye she saw him: his golden-brown hair dark from the water, his eyes bluer than the sky above and his lips as soft as his chest was hard.

Her breathing quickened and her eyes shot open, filled with dismay and longing. Her heart raced, and she wondered just what it was about the wagon master that drew her like a bee to a sweetly scented bloom. Each day he intruded into her thoughts, her dreams, and now even her fantasies.

Life would be considerably simpler if it were still Elliot who held her heart, but it wasn’t. The dream of one day becoming his wife and the mother of his children—miniatures of their easygoing father—no longer held any appeal to her. Since leaving home, she acknowledged that her feelings for Elliot had been no more than a young girl’s starry-eyed first love. What she’d taken to be love had faded into a strong friendship. And while she still considered Elliot handsome, his looks paled beside the formidable and frustrating White Wolf.

The silence broke through her thoughts. The cheerful whistling had stopped. Was he gone? Jessie scooted forward, peering through a small bush. “Oh, my God.” She gasped, her eyes growing wide as she gulped air into her burning lungs. Wolf stood below her—gloriously naked!

Jessie squeezed her eyes shut, but of their own accord they opened to feast on his muscular and sun-baked backside. From the broad shoulders down to lean, tapered hips, he presented a magnificent sight. But it was that one narrow swath of pale skin, the tight slope of his buttocks, that sent blood crashing through her veins like rapids churning down a river. Her face grew hot, and a hard, tight ball of desire seemed to seize her stomach.

With agonizing slowness, she watched him enter the pool of water until it lapped at the bottom of his buttocks. She must have made some sound, however slight, because he suddenly turned and faced her. Jessie closed her eyes against that most private part of him, but not fast enough. She’d caught a glimpse.

And unfortunately that one small peek was enough to take her breath away. How foolish she’d been to think she was immune to the male body! She backed away. She had to get out of there, but it was too late. She’d been spotted. When Wolf called her name, she nearly died of embarrassment.

“You sleeping up there, Jess? Water’s fine if you want to come down for a dip.” Jumping to her feet, Jessie fled.

Wolf’s laughter drifted over the pond. Oh, it was so perfect, he thought with a shake of his head. If Jessie had been thinking clearly, she’d have realized that men and boys washed or relieved themselves together on a daily basis. She’d given herself away and hadn’t even realized it! Her flight also told him that she wasn’t immune to him. She was attracted, all right, and he planned to make full use of that.

What a stroke of luck that she’d been up there. He waded over to the falls and let the steady stream of water wash the trail dust from his body. As the cool water hit his skin, pangs of guilt assailed him, but his fury at being so thoroughly duped quickly overrode any misgivings.

His pride still smarted. By observing the emigrants carefully, he’d ascertained that everyone but the Nortons knew the truth. He figured that the only reason Hugh and Rosalyn didn’t know was because they kept to themselves. Well, he’d show Jessica Jones. He’d teach her the folly of pretending to be something she wasn’t. His plan to make her uncomfortable in her role of a boy was going better than he’d hoped. Each day he made it a point to have some sort of physical contact with her, and it was succeeding beyond his original hopes.

He knew she was battling her attraction to him, that the pretense of being a boy was becoming harder with each passing day—exactly as he’d planned. “This’ll teach her a lesson,” he declared, wading out of the pond. His smile faded as he grabbed his clothes and stared down at himself. Trouble was, he too was paying a price for indulging in his little game of revenge. Just her gaze on him had been enough to stir him, forcing him to sit in the water quickly to hide his swelling erection. His mind might deny his desire, but his body couldn’t.

After donning his buckskin pants, Wolf rested his hands on his hips and shook his head, sending droplets of water into the air. He was disgusted with himself for slipping under her spell despite his intention to remain aloof. His gaze narrowed. He didn’t like this feeling of impending doom, of helplessness—not one bit.

He’d sworn to guard his heart against a woman’s wiles, and before Jessie he hadn’t had any trouble maintaining the cold and forbidding demeanor he so carefully adopted around all women. But Jessie was like no other woman he’d ever met. Something about her drew him against his will. Despite her impulsiveness and her tendency toward wild and mischievous behavior, he knew he’d pegged her wrong that very first time he’d seen her from Lolita’s window. From Elliot, he’d learned of the long-standing feud between Jessie and Coralie.

Over the last two weeks, he’d also discovered that Jessie harbored a kind and generous nature that was apparent in all the little things she did each day, like giving rides to the young Macauley children or spending time with the Svenssons’ girls, who openly adored her. Even Wahoska, who had no use for most humans, had fallen under her spell. In the evenings, the wolf could usually be seen dogging her heels, despite her dog’s resentment.

Wolf rolled his shoulders, his gaze narrowed. Her temper was her biggest flaw, and he had shamelessly used it to build the barriers between them. Ah, it felt good to know which strings to pull. Getting her riled was easy, and watching Rook or one of her brothers hold her back gave him immense satisfaction. A soft laugh broke forth as he conceded that Jessie Jones was a feisty, spirited filly.

Wolf stared up at the sky, then gave the treetops careful consideration. Another soft laugh escaped. Yep, she was spunky, all right. He just had to make sure he stayed away from trees with hornets’ nests. Macauley had been stung so severely, he’d been forced to remain in the wagon, swollen. Wolf shook his head, recalling Birk’s screams as he’d run into camp naked, red welts
covering his body. After he and Rook had seen to the man’s stings, Wolf had gone to the river to retrieve Birk’s clothing. While there, he’d found three rocks on the pile of clothes and spotted the holes in the nest above.

Someone had deliberately riled those hornets, and by the pleased smirk Jessie had worn the rest of the evening, Wolf knew she’d found a way to exact revenge on Eirica’s behalf.

Wolf finished dressing. If he were smart, he’d keep his distance from her, deliver the whole damn bunch of Joneses to Oregon, then get the hell out of there, but deep inside he knew he couldn’t. A twig snapped behind him. Whirling about, cursing himself for being careless, Wolf wrapped his hand around the hilt of his knife. It was Rosalyn, standing behind him. He should have known it’d be her. She made it a point to try to come upon him whenever he was alone. Wolf hid his displeasure and resheathed his knife.

“Why, Wolf, what are you doing here all by your lonesome?” she cooed, her voice low and seductive. “What a shame you’ve already bathed. I could have washed your back for you.” She ran her fingers up and down his chest.

Wolf grabbed her fingers and squeezed, noting that her eyes were filled with desire as she stared at his bare chest. “I’ve told you before, Rosalyn, I don’t mess around with married women. You don’t interest me. Get it through your head.” Ignoring her harsh, indrawn breath, he removed her hand and walked away, his vest and moccasins gripped in one hand.

Jessie bit back a yawn as she and Rook repacked the wagons. In between handing Rook the supplies, she nibbled on a hard biscuit and drank her coffee. Lifting the half-empty tin cup to her lips, she grimaced. It was stone cold. She poured the remaining coffee out onto the ground and stared up into the bleak, early morning sky. Her gaze swept across the wide expanse above them, noting the dark, roiling clouds that were heavy with the promise of rain.

“Why the rush, Rook?” she asked, handing him the empty coffeepot, then bending down to pick up a sack. “We only have a mile to go to reach the Big Blue.” Receiving no answer, she tossed the sack of hard biscuits into the wagon.

“Hey, watch it,” Rook shouted, poking his head out the back.

Jessie winced. “Sorry. Didn’t know you were still in there.”

“Dang foolish young’uns,” Rook muttered.

Jessie yawned again and leaned against the side of the wagon, listening to Rook mutter to himself. Tuning him out, she rubbed her eyes. She hadn’t slept well, and it was all Wolf’s fault. Her dreams had been punctuated by visions of his golden, sculpted body. Never in her wildest fantasies had she imagined that the sight of a naked man could affect her so. The memory of him standing below her in the pool left her breathless, even in the light of the new day.

She remembered how the sunlight caressed his tight buttocks, gleamed across his broad back and rock-hard chest. But what left her feeling weak-kneed was the memory of the dark golden curls that arrowed downward to surround his male member. She’d been raised with three brothers, so the male body held no secrets for her. But before yesterday she’d never really given much thought to
that
part of a male body. At Coralie and Jordan’s small wedding, many of Coralie’s friends had whispered behind gloved hands all the horrors they’d heard about the wedding night, but Jessie hadn’t paid much attention to their silly chatter.

Unlike her sister-in-law, Jessie looked forward to discovering the secrets between a man and a woman. She imagined how it might feel to touch and explore his firm, heated flesh, and she longed for him to kiss her. She groaned, her head falling back against the canvas of the wagon, her cheeks suffused with heat.

“Hey,” Rook shouted, sticking his head out the back. “You gonna hand me up the rest of the stuff or not? What’s with ya this mornin’? Quit yer daydreamin’. We’s got work to do,” he ordered, nudging her head from inside the wagon.

“All right, all right,” she grumbled, feeling out of sorts. “Here, take this.” She handed him the lantern, then kicked dirt over the small firepit and poured a bucket of water on top of it for good measure. “Why the rush this morning?” she asked for the second time, tossing the remains of her biscuit away.

Rook climbed down from the loaded wagon. “See them clouds?”

Jessie glanced up and shrugged. “So? Looks like rain. Won’t be the first day we’ve had rain. What’s that got to do with anything?”

Rook shook his cold and empty pipe at her. “If it’s gonna storm here, then you can bet it’s gonna be stormin’ upriver—if it ain’t already. The Blue rises fast. If we don’t cross afore the storm breaks, we might find ourselves stuck here for a long while, waitin’ for the water to go down. Now, enough talk. Git them oxen hitched.”

The sun was barely peeping over the horizon when the wagons rolled the short distance toward the north fork of the Big Blue. When they arrived at the crossing, Jessie drew Shilo to a halt and stared at the sight before her in open-mouthed amazement. The Big Blue was a large, deep river. Gnawing at her lower lip, she dismounted. Unlike at the Kansas and Vermillion
rivers, there was no one to ferry them across. They’d have to ford the swirling waters on their own.

But staring into the steely gray sky, Jessie worried that it was already too late. Leaf-laden branches whipped to and fro in a mad frenzy and churned the river to a foamy white. She glanced at Rook doubtfully. “Are you sure it’s safe to cross?” Her eyes grew wider as she tried to take in all the noise and confusion. They weren’t the only ones trying to cross before the storm broke.

Mules brayed, oxen lowed, and women and children screamed. Adding to the profusion of chaos came the sound of the men cursing and swearing in several languages. Rook patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry none, lass. We’ll git across jest fine. Let’s git lined up.”

Jessie held Shilo by the reins, watching anxiously as a small party of six wagons proceeded to cross. The wind howled and ripped at the canvas covers, rocking the wagons. Three wagons had already made it across, and the fourth one plunged into the water. She glanced around, noting other wagons camped along the banks, not anywhere near ready to cross as men sat around finishing their meals. She lifted her nose to the wind, inhaling the aroma of bacon. Her belly rumbled in protest. “They got to fix a hot meal,” she grumbled beneath her breath.

Rook heard her. “Aye, they did, but I reckon they won’t make it across afore the river swells. Looks like we’s goin’ next.”

“Oh, fine. Lucky us,” Jessie mumbled, not sure she wanted to go through this. Suddenly she needed reassurance from her family. “I’m going to find Jordan and see how Coralie’s doing.” Just as she turned away, shrill screams rent the air.

She jerked around just in time to see that the wagon in the river had fallen prey to the strong winds and relentless current. Helplessly, those on the banks watched the overloaded wagon tip over. Choruses of screams came from both sides of the banks and rose in volume. “Oh, my God,” she cried in horror, her gaze glued to the middle of the river, where three young children and their mother clung to the inside of the sinking wagon. There was no sign of the father.

Jessie forced her way through the onlookers gathered at the bank. Already several men on horses were swimming toward the fear-stricken family.

“Stay put,” Wolf ordered, plunging in on horseback. Jessie held her breath when she saw him reach out and grab two of the children. Someone else grabbed the mother and the third child. When Wolf reached the bank, sobbing relatives took the children from him. The mother and other child joined them, but the father was nowhere in sight. Men fanned out along the riverbank.

Jessie sat frozen with fear. She stared at the wagon, but it was too late to save it. The greedy current carried most of the lighter items downstream. The oxen pulling the wagon had drowned, unable to free themselves of their yokes. A shout from downstream brought a hush over the crowded banks. Jessie couldn’t hear what was said, but word quickly spread that the man had been found alive. A wave of relief rushed over the emigrants.

Jessie rejoined Rook. He laid a comforting hand across her shoulders. “Don’t fret, now, lass. They’s safe. Damn fools, overloading them wagons with heavy furniture.”

“But what will happen to them, Rook?” Her voice was husky with emotion. She’d seen that family several times along the trail and knew they were all related, traveling together, the young and old, all with the common goal of starting a new life in California.

Wolf came up behind her, heard her question and stopped. “Unfortunately they will continue on, blinded by dreams of becoming rich. But not, I hope, before they unload some excesses from their other wagons.”

He stared at her, his gaze hard and unrelenting. “Forget them, Jess. Only the tough and prepared survive. Remember that the cowards never started, and the weak die along the way.” With that bleak forecast, he rode off.

Jessie stared, open-mouthed. “How horrible! What a mean thing to say,” she said, trembling with the aftershock of the disaster. “That man and his family nearly drowned!”

Rook patted her on the shoulder. “Life is full of tragedy, lass. Ya listen ta him. He might be an arrogant bastard at times, but he knows what he’s doin’. Them folk are fools and are lucky no one drowned.”

The strong winds ripped across the water and tore through leaves and branches, causing the limbs to twist, bend and tangle together. Several wagons turned away, their owners fearful of the impending storm and the near loss of life. But not Wolf. He knew this was no small spring shower but a full-blown storm. They either crossed now or waited a week or more for the waters to recede. Bellowing out commands, he ordered the removal of all wagon covers, including the hickory-slat frames, in order to lessen the saillike effect.

After witnessing the disastrous scene earlier, each man, woman and child hastened to obey his orders. The dangers and harsh realities of what was in store during the coming months weighed heavily on all. And though it wasn’t too late to turn back, no one voiced such a suggestion. The call of the promised land beckoned, giving them the strength to meet the challenge at hand.

Each wagon was lowered by rope down the bank, and the Oregon-bound emigrants crossed the gravel-bottomed river in grim silence. Prayers were said and thanks given for each wagon that made it across under Wolf’s expert guidance. Once the wagons were on the other side of the bank, their canvas covers were quickly replaced. Water barrels and canteens were checked and filled, as there was a good chance they wouldn’t find another drinkable source of water until they reached the Little Blue.

The skies opened up, and fat drops of rain pelted the earth. The downpour blinded man and beast, but still they continued. Wolf exchanged his stallion for a fresh mount and issued orders to start swimming the cattle and horses across. After dozens of trips into the water he was chilled to the bone, but there was no time to stop and warm himself—the water had already risen past the booted feet of the men on horseback. His voice rose to join with the others as they urged, shouted, swore and flicked their whips over the heads of the wild-eyed, brawling cattle.

By the time the cattle and the remuda had been driven across and counted, the rain was falling in a steady downpour. When the final count came in, Wolf was thankful that he’d lost only a few head of cattle. He gave the signal to move on. Both men and beasts were weary, but he pushed onward. Originally he’d planned to take another much-needed day of rest after crossing, but now he wanted to get away from the angry-looking river. Hunched over the neck of his horse, he rode ahead, searching for a sheltered place to camp.

That night, the cold, wet and miserable weather made an evening fire impossible. The emigrants were forced to settle for another cold meal and damp clothing. The contrary weather stayed with them through the next day as well. It didn’t storm hard enough to force a halt to the traveling, but it was wet enough to make their lives miserable as they plodded on.

With the abundance of rain, a new problem arose. Wagon after wagon mired down in the thick, oozing mud of the prairie. Precious time and energy was spent double-teaming the oxen to break the wagons free. Tempers grew short and nerves were frayed. On the third consecutive day of wet weather, Wolf was forced to stop early when an axle on one of the Svenssons’ wagons snapped.

It was early afternoon, and a small patch of blue streaked across the sky to dispel some of the gloom that hung over the group of weary travelers. He frowned when he noticed another bank of dark clouds looming on the horizon. There would be more rain. Angry voices rose behind him. He closed his mind to the squabbling as wagons were corralled and oxen unhitched. Running one hand over his jaw, he stared out across the open prairie and spotted a small herd of antelope in the distance. He stroked a finger down his nose. A plan took shape. He found Rook. “I’m going out to hunt. Fresh meat should perk spirits up around here.”

Rook puffed on his pipe, then nodded. “Mebbe we should have one meal for all and git Lars and them Jones boys to play some music to lift spirits. If you takes care of the huntin’, I’ll organize the rest.”

“Good idea.” Wolf slapped Rook on the back, then caught sight of Jessie walking toward them. He watched her run slender fingers through her hair, fluffing the curls to form a cloud of ebony softness that surrounded her elfin features. With difficulty he hardened his heart to the pull of the woman before him, but it was getting harder to resist her.

“Oxen unhitched, Rook,” she announced, interrupting his dark thoughts. When she saw him, she stopped and turned away.

Wolf narrowed his gaze, then grinned. She’d avoided him ever since his dip in Alcove Springs, and due to the adverse weather and the resultant problems that had plagued the wagon train, he’d been forced to concentrate on other matters. But perhaps it was time to pick up where he’d left off.

“What’s that no-good grin fer?” Rook demanded.

Wolf raised his left brow. “Think I’ll find out just how good a hunter your young protégée is.” He walked away, ignoring the old man’s sputters of protest. Molding his features into a stern and forbidding glare, Wolf called out to her.

“Got a job for you,
boy.
”

Jessie made a face, her eyes wary and her voice cross as she asked, “What?”

He bit back a grin and pointed. “See them antelope yonder?”

When she nodded, he continued, “We’re going to get us one.”

“We,” she choked out, looking around for an excuse not to go. “Maybe you should ask Rickard or Bjorn to go. I’ve still got chores to do, and I’m tired.”

Wolf knew she was tired from her late-night wanderings with Eirica. The two of them often strolled at night now, many times without talking, until Eirica tired enough to return to her family and sleep. Neither woman knew he was always nearby in case of trouble.

Wolf wasn’t willing to risk a repeat of the last incident. Now he made it his business to learn about the wagon trains they came across. The man Jessie had whipped was part of a small party of seedy-looking men heading for California.

“The Svensson boys are busy, and your other chores can wait. Time’s a-wastin’; let’s go.”

Jessie’s green eyes filled with a combination of fear and excitement. Wolf wondered which would win. He didn’t have long to wait. She turned wide, innocent eyes on him. “I’ve never hunted anything so big. I’d just scare them away.”

He coughed to cover a laugh. What a lie! She was a good hunter. He suspected that the only reason she hadn’t killed anything bigger than rabbits or prairie chickens before now was because she didn’t have time in the evenings to preserve any uncooked meat from a larger animal.