California Caress

Stunned by the thoughts churning through her head, Hope rolled to a sit. The blanket fell in lumpy folds to her waist. She didn’t retrieve it.

I’ll go with him to Boston, she decided abruptly, firmly. Whatever it took to get Drake’s precious business back and ruin his brother, she would do. Then, when this whole damn mess was over, she’d take the money he’d promised, with interest, and go home to Lake’s Edge, where it was safe, leaving Drake to his precious Angelique. They deserved each other!

With that decided, she pulled the bedroll high, crept as far away from Drake’s sleeping form as she could and still keep warm, then plopped back down on the floor. But she didn’t sleep. Not for a long, long time.

Chapter 13

The robin’s-egg-blue sky was cloudless, broken only by the golden ball of sun that warmed the hard-packed ground. Up ahead, wide open plains stretched as far as the eye could see, an unwelcome, barren expanse, interrupted sporadically by clumps of thick prairie grass and an occasional gnarled mesquite tree. To the right was the Platte River, a long, winding ribbon that had the look and taste of gurgling mud.

The California Trail twisted toward a hill which spanned the distant horizon. The hill looked to be rich, cast-iron blue. With the dappled gray moving beneath her, Hope attributed the illusion to the position of the late afternoon sun, coupled with distance.

As had been the case for the last week, the widely traveled stretch was littered with graves. Ahead and behind, old grave sites blended with new, the total too numerous to count. The tally increased wherever the cholera epidemic had run rampant through a wagon trains, then decreased as the disease tapered off. In a vicious circle, the course would repeat itself every few miles.

Hope had long since abandoned the habit of reading the crudely chiseled crosses or carefully etched stones used as markers for some of the fresher mounds. Her heart went out to the families who, upon reaching their destination of California or the Oregon Territory, came back to reclaim the remains of their kin. The chance of finding any specific grave among so many was slim. As Drake had curtly pointed out scarcely two days before, such luck was the exception, not the rule.

She repressed a shudder as his words lingered hauntingly in her mind. “If the Indians don’t dig up the bodies, the wild coyotes will. Some of the ones buried under rocks stand a chance of surviving. A minimal chance. The coyotes’ll probably leave them alone. The Indians aren’t so easily fooled.”

With each passing mile, Hope began to think the term “coyote hole” would be more appropriate here than in the mines she’d left behind. In three weeks’ time they had passed more clawed out holes in the ground than she cared to remember. Most were empty, although a few still bore the scattered remains of sun-bleached bones. It was a grim sight, one made even more disheartrending when the marker declared the body inside the pit as that of a child.

Hope swallowed hard and pushed the depressing thoughts aside. The dappled gray swayed beneath her and she leaned low over its sinewy back. Her heels nudged the mare forward, but the horse’s gait barely increased. Lazy easily earned the nickname she’d been given, Hope thought derisively, as she willed the gray to a swifter pace. Her attempt to outstrip Frazier’s darker, more accomplished mount was almost comical.

The mare took her own sweet time, but eventually Lazy responded to the insistent prodding, as though she could actually hear the words that were silently screamed at her. Gradually, the pace quickened. The distance between Hope and Drake shortened, but even the gray’s best was not enough. The second Drake had seen what she was about, he’d urged his own mount faster. The distance widened until it was too great for Lazy’s sluggish sprint to close.

Raising her hand in good-natured defeat, Hope slowed the horse to a canter, then reined Lazy in. The horse whickered, shaking her speckled head from side to side. “Easy, girl,” she crooned. Holding the reins firm in one hand, she patted the silky mane with the other.

Drake fell back alongside the gray. Grudgingly, Hope had to admit how perfectly he held his seat atop the jet black mustang, back rigid, head straight, knees tightly gripping the winded stallion’s sinewy ribs. A boyish grin split his face, and the shock of the expression made it all the more endearing. The sea-green eyes sparkled with delight beneath the shadows of his hat as the large hands expertly reined the horse in.

Since the morning they had buried Tubbs behind the deserted shack, nearly six weeks before, she had rarely seen him crack a smile, aside from a derisive chuckle or sarcastic grin. But this reaction was instinctive, putting to good use the tiny lines that shot from his eyes; lines that indicated a man who had at one time been given to laughter. In spite of herself, she enjoyed the sight.

“Giving up so soon, sunshine?” he asked, as he pushed back his hat and mopped the sweat from his brow. “Or did you want to race best two out of three?”

“Trade horses with me and then we’ll see who gives up,” she countered contritely. But she couldn’t help the grin that tugged at her lips. Her dark eyes shimmered with challenge as her gaze touched on the pitch black animal beneath him. “What’s the matter, gunslinger, afraid you’ll lose?”

Chuckling, he pushed the hat low on his brow, once again casting the upper portion of his face in enticingly vague shadows. “I’m afraid you’ll kill yourself.”

“I’ve ridden mounts that would make that nag of yours look like a plow horse.” She nodded to the half-wild mustang. “Back in Virginia we had an entire stable full of them.”

“Is that a fact?” Drake’s glance was filled with barely concealed amusement.

“That’s a fact.”

The smirk was back in place as he dragged a hand over the stubbly line of his cheek. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you don’t like poor old Lazy here.” He reached out and patted the gray’s sweat-lathered side.

She fingered the reins as her horse sidestepped the black. She eyed Drake’s mount. “Lazy’s fine,” she evaded, “if you’re on your way to the market. Raven has more speed. Even an untrained eye could see that.”

The saddle squeaked as she shifted her weight. Cupping her hand over her eyes to shield out the blinding sun, she looked back over the rough terrain stretching endlessly behind them. The scattered imprints of horses’ hooves were the only indication that they had passed. Soon, the light, warm breeze would cover even those.

“How far do you think we’ve come?” she asked wistfully, her attention averting to Drake. “And how much farther do we have to go?”

“Not far. Another week, maybe two, and we should be in Missouri. From there, we’ll head due north and catch the first train going to Boston. With luck, we’ll reach the coast before the first snow flies.”

"And if we can’t?”

&nbs

p; Drake shrugged, a heartbreaking smile curling his lips. “Then we get wet. Won’t be the first time.”

Hope nodded absently. She hesitated, nibbling her lower lip in indecision. “I—I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I’d like to know what you plan to do once we get to Boston. Are you going to bring formal charges up against your brother?”