Beyond The Horizon Page 3

  “We’ll keep to the old emigrant trail along the Blue Ridge Road,” Blade informed him, finding it difficult to concentrate on anything but the play of sunlight on Shannon’s chestnut curls. “I’ll see you at the nooning.”

  With a curt nod, he rode off on his rangy gray pony. He looked every bit the savage with a battered felt hat covering his shoulder-length black hair. His superbly conditioned body was clad in deerskin trousers, with rows of long fringe along the seams, the same disreputable army jacket he constantly wore, and moccasins on his feet. The long knife attached to his belt looked dangerous and lethal. Once Blade disappeared from sight Shannon slipped back into her mental musings.

  Her trip to Independence from Atlanta had been tedious and uneventful. She had taken a train from Atlanta to St. Louis, then traveled by riverboat on the Mississippi River to Independence. Thank heavens she had arrived in time to join Clive Bailey’s wagon train for it was the last of the season. Composed mostly of latecomers and stragglers, the wagon train was small compared to others, which sometimes numbered two hundred wagons. Clive Bailey’s outfit consisted of fifty-six wagons and two hundred people, including emigrants and outriders. They were accompanied by a herd of five hundred cattle and other diverse livestock owned by the emigrants.

  They had left Independence just as the sun broke out of a bank of gray clouds. With slow precision the wagons rolled forward, each taking a previously assigned position in line. At the wagon master’s signal, outriders galloped far ahead of the line with a whoop and a holler, working off some of their pent-up impatience. The prairie schooners then lumbered across the Missouri border and into the prairie.

  At first the track was narrow, checkered with sunshine and shadowy woods, until, over an intervening belt of bushes, a green oceanlike expanse of prairie stretched to the horizon. For Shannon it was a moment of high excitement as well as one of nostalgia, for never again would her life be the Same, never again would she see her beloved Atlanta and Twin Willows. She imagined how Tucker and her mother must have felt when they left on their own journey West.

  After an hour or two, both Shannon and Callie joined most of the other women and children who made the going easier by walking beside the swaying, lumbering wagons. Mile upon mile of black-eyed susans grew in abundance amidst the tall prairie grass, and Shannon soon found herself stopping frequently along the way to gather up huge bouquets of the beautiful flowers.

  “Don’t lag too far behind, Miss Branigan.”

  Startled, Shannon glanced up to find Blade staring down at her from atop his gray pony, his dark eyes regarding her with penetrating thoroughness. Realizing how she must look with her sweat-soaked dress clinging to her body in a revealing manner—she had long since shed her petticoats—Shannon gathered the armful of flowers to her bosom, unaware of how wonderfully the yellow flowers complemented the golden tones of her skin.

  Shannon didn’t realize she had lagged so far behind until Blade rode up to remind her. Callie had gone inside the wagon to nap, and Shannon couldn’t resist the urge to stop and pick wildflowers. Belatedly she noted the last of the wagons had left her far behind.

  “I—didn’t realize,” Shannon stammered. “It won’t happen again.” The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself.

  “Be certain it doesn’t,” Blade warned sternly. “We can’t afford delay. It is too late in the year to accommodate daydreamers who become lost on the prairie and slow us down.”

  “I said I was sorry!” Shannon snapped, wondering why Blade was making so large an issue out of a small lapse. “I promise to be more careful.”

  Then, before Shannon knew what he intended, Blade swooped down and lifted her into the saddle in front of him. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking you back to the wagon.”

  “I can walk.”

  “Look ahead. At the rate you’re going you won’t catch them until nightfall. I’m responsible for every person on this wagon train, including you.”

  Blade’s hand was a hot brand against her ribs as he held Shannon firmly against the hardness of his body. The contact was electrifying, and far too stimulating for Shannon’s liking. Why should a man like Blade affect her in such a strange manner when dozens of beaux back in Atlanta had failed to move her? She had reached the ripe age of twenty with her heart untouched and her emotions intact and no savage was going to change that! One day she hoped to meet a man she could love and marry, but only with the approval of her family. Nowhere in her life was there room for a half-breed who wore a Yankee jacket with a confidence and pride that irritated her.

  Every place that Shannon touched, Blade burned. The little minx had no idea what she did to him. He was more than a little confused at the power exerted over him by a spoiled Southern belle he’d met mere days ago. From the moment he saw her he knew she was someone special, someone who could mean something to him if he allowed it. It was for that reason that he rebelled against the crazy attraction that sprang to life the moment they came into contact with each other. Shannon Branigan represented a dangerous distraction he could ill afford to indulge. The assignment he had accepted required all his wits about him. The only way he could function properly, Blade decided, was to make Shannon hate him, and from all indications he was succeeding only too well, for the fiery Irish lass couldn’t wait to be rid of his annoying company.

  Just being a half-breed earned Shannon’s contempt, Blade reasoned. Most respectable women steered clear of Indians, though Blade had to admit that some of the females on the wagon train appeared eager to claim his attention. But not Shannon Branigan, which was probably good considering his unaccountable attraction to her. But Lord, she smelled delicious, like the sweet-scented wildflowers she still clutched to her breast. And she felt so soft, so damn soft, causing his hand to tighten almost painfully against her ribs. With a will of its own his thumb separated from his palm and grazed the curved underside of her breast.

  The light brushing stroke was so fleeting, Shannon thought she had imagined it. But she didn’t have long to dwell on it, for Blade was already lowering her to the ground beside the Johnson wagon.

  “See that you don’t stray again,” he warned. Then he rode off toward the head of the long line of wagons, leaving Shannon flushed and confused.

  “My, he’s handsome,” sighed Callie, an incurable romantic. After her nap she had climbed into the seat beside Howie. Now she descended to join Shannon.

  Shannon snorted, an explosive, unladylike sound. “He’s a half-breed.” Her tone indicated no other explanation was necessary.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more compelling man, red or white. He’s so powerful and outrageously virile that just looking at him frightens me.” Callie shivered delicately. “It’s no wonder he has all the young women on the wagon train agog over him.”

  “Not me,” Shannon denied, blue eyes snapping. “The other girls are welcome to him.”

  “Nancy Wilson will be glad to hear that,” Callie teased. “She was a mite worried when you joined the wagon train. Until you arrived, she was considered the prettiest single girl of the group. I know she hoped to be noticed by Blade.”

  “I have no desire to compete with Nancy Wilson,” sniffed Shannon, recalling the brown-eyed blond beauty who looked to be her own age. She traveled with her parents, three younger siblings, and an older brother. Shannon remembered Todd Wilson vividly, for he spent a great deal of his free time making cow eyes at her.

  After the first easy day, the emigrants camped that night beside a creek where water and firewood were plentiful. Blade had made the decision to ford the relatively placid water the next morning. Shannon saw little of Blade. He spent the evening going from wagon to wagon offering advice and words of encouragement. She noted that he ate with the Wilsons, having been invited by Nancy who, Shannon noted with a hint of disgust, hung onto his every word with breathless awe. Instinctively Shannon knew that these very people who depended on him for their lives would shun him like poison once
the journey was over and they no longer needed him. She felt certain Blade knew it too.

  After supper was cleared away and the dishes washed and stashed in their places, Callie retired inside the wagon while Howie bedded down underneath. Previous arrangements called for Shannon to share the wagon with Callie, but she felt so guilty about separating the young couple that after she had donned her voluminous gown and robe, she sent Howie inside with his wife, insisting she’d rather sleep outside on such a warm night. But Shannon soon found she was too keyed up to sleep. Seeking a place she might be alone, she wandered to the outer perimeter of the camp and sat down on a rock, staring at the star-studded sky.

  “It’s a lovely night.”

  “Oh!” Startled, Shannon leaped to her feet, relieved to see Clive Bailey looming beside her instead of the intimidating half-breed. “You frightened me.”

  “Sorry,” Clive mumbled, his tone far from contrite. “How are you getting on with the Johnsons?”

  “Just fine. I’m positive it will work out well for all of us.”

  “Glad to hear it.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “But if for some reason things don’t go as they should, I’d be more than happy to offer my own wagon for your use. I refrained from doing so in front of the half-breed, but please keep in mind what I have offered. You are a lovely creature, Shannon Branigan,” he added, his voice low and insinuating.

  Shannon felt the first prickling of alarm when Clive sidled closer, replaced by panic when his words and their barely disguised meaning left his lips.

  “Mr. Bailey, I’m not certain what you are suggesting, but I have no intention of leaving the Johnsons’ wagon—for any reason. Now if you will excuse me, it is time I returned to the wagon.”

  She turned to leave, but found her way blocked by the hard wall of dive’s chest. Short and stocky, Clive was an immovable force before Shannon’s meager strength. “Are you trying to frighten me, Mr. Bailey?”

  “The name is Clive and the last thing I want is to frighten you, Shannon. I just want us to be friends—good friends,” he hinted. He raised a thick hand and stroked her shoulder in an awkward attempt to smooth her ruffled feathers. Evidently he had gone about this all wrong, he reflected wryly. The girl was as skittish as a young colt and required patience and gentling if he intended to seduce her.

  “Then I bid you good-night, Mr.—Clive,” Shannon said coolly, shrugging off his offending hand. Before he could stop her she whirled and fled to the safety of the shadows.

  Shannon was panting when she reached the line of wagons, not only from being out of breath but from incredible anger. How could she have thought Clive Bailey a nice man? she wondered bleakly. What made him think he could insult her in such a vile manner? She prided herself on her ability to judge character, but this time she’d been wrong. Clive Bailey was a slimy worm and she vowed to steer clear of him in the future.

  Just before she reached the Johnson wagon, Shannon felt a hand curl around her waist and froze, preparing to vent her Irish temper at Clive Bailey, certain he had followed her. She found herself staring into Blade’s stormy features. “What do you want?” she spat, suddenly weary of confrontations. Clive Bailey had been more than enough to deal with for one night.

  “Stay away from that man,” Blade warned, his tone implacable. “You are too young and inexperienced to know what he’s after. Set your sights elsewhere.”

  “If you are referring to Mr. Bailey, I assure you I have no designs on his person.”

  “Then quit enticing him,” Blade advised bluntly.

  “Entice him. Entice him!” she repeated, numb with disbelief. “Whyever would I do that?”

  “Don’t try to deny you lured Bailey out here tonight to meet you. You are even dressed for a midnight tryst,” Blade observed dryly.

  Shannon sucked her breath in sharply, stunned by Blade’s cruel taunts. She didn’t deserve his contempt, nor would she stand for it. “You were spying on me! How dare you!” she exploded.

  Shannon raised her hand to strike him, but to her dismay she found her wrist suspended behind her in a viselike grip as Blade caught her to him, molding her unfettered body to his. He shuddered in suppressed delight when the firm peaks of her breasts stabbed into the muscular wall of his chest. Something inside Blade erupted, and before he knew it he was kissing Shannon, discovering the soft shape of her lips, tasting the sweet essence of her. She gasped in shock, affording him the opportunity to slip his tongue into her open mouth.

  Blade’s superior strength easily conquered Shannon’s valiant struggles as shock rendered her nearly witless. At first Blade meant only to teach Shannon a lesson, to demonstrate what could happen to innocents who became involved with men they couldn’t handle or things they didn’t understand. But to his everlasting regret, what he accomplished instead was to prove to himself how susceptible he was to the Southern belle’s fatal charm.

  The kiss went on—and on—driving the breath from Shannon’s lungs and turning her legs to jelly. Never had she been kissed in such a manner—or felt so utterly transported by an act she felt certain was meant to degrade.

  Perhaps punishment had been Blade’s original intent, but it was soon forgotten as the sweetness of Shannon’s first timid response warmed his heart. It was that tentative stirring of passion that jolted Blade abruptly to his senses. What in the hell was he doing?

  Just as Shannon felt herself on the brink of a great discovery, Blade broke off the kiss, steadying her as he backed away. “Play with fire and you are likely to get burned, Miss Branigan,” he said pointedly, his voice deliberately harsh. “Enticing men can lead to trouble, as I’ve just demonstrated. I could have taken you right here on the ground in sight of all the wagons if I wanted you. Chivalry as you know it doesn’t exist on the Western frontier. Keep away from Clive Bailey and the other men sniffing around you. But if you find you have an itch that needs scratching, I’d be more than happy to take care of it.” Blade knew he was being deliberately cruel and insensitive but felt it necessary to impress upon Shannon the danger she faced on this journey.

  That was the last straw! “You—you filthy, savage bastard! You’re the one I need to beware of!”

  Blade winced, the viciousness of her words scalding him, yet he had asked for it. He had meant to teach her a valuable lesson and succeeded, at the cost of his own pride. He didn’t usually treat women with such casual disregard, but his assignment demanded nothing less than total concentration, and the only way he could do that was make Shannon hate him. It was in Shannon’s best interests to think of him as a despicable savage, he told himself sadly. And it was neither the first nor the last time he’d be referred to that way.

  The first weeks on the trail were easy, the wagons traveling northwest toward Nebraska and the Platte River. Small streams were forded without mishap. The climate was mild and the land bucolic. It provided the emigrants with a perfect time to learn to handle a prairie schooner, to shake down the routine and to become accustomed to the extraordinary adventure on which they were launched.

  They spotted their first stray Indians, but were neither challenged nor molested by them. It amused Shannon to note that these initial few sightings produced a display of arms in the most approved warriorlike style. Actually, the Indians of Kansas were pitiful, defeated, ragged, starving creatures who often approached the emigrants begging for food.

  Because the long summer days did not exhaust the travelers, evenings at the campsite were given over to children’s games and to parties, music, and dancing by the elders. Shannon didn’t lack for partners, being one of the more popular single women. Blade, she noted, kept to himself, neither invited to join the gaiety nor expecting to be asked. But that still didn’t stop some of the young women, Nancy Wilson in particular, from shamelessly competing for his attention. Shannon tried to tell herself she didn’t care how many women fawned over the half-breed. Yet the fact remained that the memory of his kiss still burned her lips and warmed her soul.

  On
Sundays the emigrants were left much to their own devices according to their beliefs and tastes. If a minister or missionary traveled with a wagon train, a service was offered. None, however, was listed among Shannon’s traveling companions. Horseraces were often held and a general day of relaxation and rest was called for.

  Under Blade’s competent guidance, the wagon train arrived at the Big Blue, a tributary of the Kansas River. The Big Blue was a cantankerous, crotchety stream that demanded strict attention. It had rained the night before and word passed down that the travelers would camp on the bank until the water receded. Shannon welcomed the respite. It was one of the most idyllic campsites along the entire length of the trail, as well as one of the most romantic. It was called Alcove Springs, its name carved in rock at the site.

  That night Callie was feeling uncomfortable and Shannon worried that delivery was imminent. Since there were still several weeks remaining before the expected delivery, Shannon’s concern was very real. Knowing something about birthing and babies from her large family, she quietly prepared for a premature delivery. Mercifully, she was relieved of that duty when two women more experienced in such things offered their services. Somehow the news filtered down to Blade and he showed up unexpectedly at their campsite after weeks of ignoring Shannon. Howie was inside the wagon with Callie, leaving Shannon alone when Blade arrived.

  He moved into the circle stormclouds gathering in her blue eyes, hunkering down beside Shannon where she sat close to the wagon. “How is Mrs. Johnson?”

  “Hanging on,” Shannon said tightly. “It’s too early for her to deliver.”

  “These things happen.” Blade shrugged philosophically. “Do you need help if the baby decides it’s time?”

  “Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Cormac have already volunteered.”

  “They are both capable women, and Mrs. Johnson is young and healthy. There’s no need for you to worry.”

  If Blade’s words were meant to reassure her, Shannon reflected, they failed miserably. She lowered her head, trying to overcome her apprehension. Suddenly her head jerked up, startled when she felt Blade place his hands over hers in a gesture that struck Shannon as very intimate.