Savage storm (48 page)

A bright blush brought some color back to Gabrielle's cheeks, but she could see from Erica's shocked glance that her friend didn't believe there could be any truth to Patterson's supposition. Jason looked startled too, but he recovered quickly, and after giving Gabrielle a knowing glance, he shook the doctor's hand and bid him a good day.

"Why don't you go on to the party with Michael, Erica? I'm certain Gabrielle will be fine and you needn't wait for us." As soon as the doctor had left, Jason ushered the astonished young woman out of the study and closed the door without giving her an opportunity to offer any argument. Turning back to Gabrielle, he asked softly, "How long have you known?"

She could at least reply to this question truthfully, for she was still not entirely certain. "I don't know, Jason. What the doctor suggested might be true, or it might not; but I beg you

not to share his opinion with your friends for it would embarrass me greatly no matter what the truth proves to be."

Angered that she'd accuse him of being so thoughtless, Jason replied heatedly, "If you think Td tell anyone who would listen that my bride of one week is pregnant, you're wrong!"

Gabrielle raised her hand to cover her eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound so critical of you. Forgive me, for I still don't feel well. Would you please just take me home?" It was all she could do to hold back her tears, but how could she cry over Beau in front of him?

Jason was easily convinced of his bride's discomfort; he'd never seen her so pale and drawn. If she were pregnant, then perhaps a miscarriage was imminent, and wanting to take every precaution to avoid that possibility, he readily agreed to her request. "Let's wait just a bit longer until everyone has left for Clayton's. Erica will tell him you're all right so we needn't stop by his house to reassure him." He began to pace anxiously up and down beside the small couch, uncertain what would be the best way to transport his bride home. "Perhaps I should borrow some blankets and pillows from him so you could lie down in the back of the wagon. Would that be more comfortable for you?"

Gabrielle didn't feel dizzy or sick to her stomach, only unbearably sad. "No. I'd rather just sit beside you if I may."

Jason was not convinced she could make it home yet without fainting again so he waited awhile before he brought the borrowed wagon around to the side door. Since everyone had gone to the reception at Clayton's, he was spared the ordeal of having to offer an explanation for Gabrielle's sudden fainting spell—a bit of good fortune for which he was very grateful. He carried the pretty young woman out to the wagon and apologized that he had no more comfortable conveyance to offer.

"When we begin to raise horses next spring I will have to purchase a fine buggy to show them off. I don't mean to make you ride in a farm wagon forever."

Gabrielle took her husband's arm and rested her head against his shoulder, snuggling close to him on the high seat. She held her bonnet on her lap and let her long hair fly, unrestrained, in the breeze as they started for home. **Vm sorry we won't be able to buy the material for the curtains today, perhaps next week—"

'The curtains can wait, Gabrielle. Don't give them another thought." Jason rejected her apology swiftly. "I mean to see you follow Dr. Patterson's orders and do not get out of bed for a week."

Although she tried to make a teasing reply, to say that would be agreeable if he shared the bed with her, Gabrielle could not bring herself to speak the words. She just wanted to go home, to go into the bedroom, shut the door, and cry until she felt better. She bit her Up to force back her tears, but they soon began to trickle down her pale cheeks in a salty profusion. She missed Beau so terribly, and nothing but tears would takeaway her pain, not even the warm embrace of the handsome man by her side.

Beau Ramsey visited Oregon City only rarely. That morning he had bought little more than powder for his rifle and lead to be melted down into bullets. His partners, however, fascinated by the contents of the dry goods store, were taking far too long to make their selections so he left them. He walked along the sidewalk, looking in the shop windows as he made his way toward the saloon. The day was a pleasant one and he had little on his mind as he traversed the length of the thriving town. He was standing in front of the office where the local newspaper was printed, reading the headlines on the latest edition posted in the window when a wagon went by. Even in the reflection in the glass the rich sheen of Gabrielle's distinctive shade of red hair was unmistakable. Astonished by the unexpected sight of her. Beau wheeled around so rapidly he collided with an old man who'd been passing by, knocking the poor soul into the

dirt of the street. He hurriedly picked the gentleman up, set him on his feet, and brushed the dust from his clothes as he offered a sincere apology. Then when he turned to see the direction in which the wagonhadgone, there was no sight of it.

"Pay more attention to where you're going, son!" the disheveled man ordered, and with a disgusted snarl, he shuffled off down the walk.

Beau grabbed his victim's arm, hoping for some help. "Did you see the couple who just rode by in the wagon? Do you know who they are?" He told himself it was ridiculous to hope that Gabrielle was in Oregon City, but if she were, he wanted to waste no time in finding her. "Well, do you know them?"

The elderly gentleman shook his head, "You might say I do but then again I don't," he replied mysteriously. Then, seeing the young man was in no mood for riddles, he explained. "The man was Jason Royal, but I've yet to meet his new bride so I can't say I know her yet. Now was that so important you had to knock me into the street?"

"His bride? Did you say his bride?" Beau looked up and down the deserted street with an anxious glance. If Gabrielle had somehow made her way to Oregon City, she'd not be another man's wife; still, he had to find out who the woman with the red hair had been. Suddenly remembering he was standing in front of the newspaper office, he again offered his apologies to the old man and then rushed through the open door in search of the answers he needed. Finding a man seated behind the counter, he called to him in a loud voice, his anxiety plain. "Do you keep a record of marriages here?"

The editor of the paper looked up from his desk. He'd meant to go home for lunch at noon, but he hadn't yet resolved a problem in his bookkeeping. "This isn't the courthouse," he replied testily and went back to trying to balance his ledger.

"Damn it all, I need only one name. Do you know a man named Jason Royal?"

The weary editor turned again. "There are few in town who don't, but why don't you just findthemanyourself if you're so

eager to talk with him?"

"All I need to know is his wife's name. I caught no more than a glimpse of her red hair as they rode by just now, but she reminded me of someone I know. Do you know her name?"

The paper frequently published notices of marriages since they were often short of more significant news, and the editor recalled the wedding in question had taken place no more than a week earlier. Getting up from his desk, he opened his files and in a few minutes found the information required.

"Jason Royal married a young lady by the nameof Gabrielle MacLaren last Sunday afternoon. Now are you satisfied?"

But when the editor turned toward the counter he found the shop empty, his visitor had fled with such haste he'd not even heard him depart. "Damn fool," he muttered to himself. Taking his place at his desk, he again attempted to concentrate on the totals in the newspaper's various accounts, but his problem was still the same: no matter where he put the money, there just wasn't enough to go around.

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On the journey home, Jason could feel Gabrielle tremble. She was clinging to his arm so tightly he could scarcely keep a grip on the team's reins. The longer he thought about it, the more improbable her story became. He knew, no matter what fantasy she'd spun for the doctor's benefit, she'd not been affected by the heat. There had been not the slightest hint of distress in her manner earlier in the day. She'd seemed in remarkably good humor, in fact. They'd been surrounded by her friends when suddenly she'd simply gone to pieces, and he'd be damned if he'd accept the pathetic excuse she'd given for fainting.

When they arrived home he lifted her gently into his arms and carried her inside, but rather than placing her upon the bed as he'd promised, he took her to the rocking chair in front of the main fireplace. He brought the quilt from their bed and told her to make herself comfortable for a moment while he changed his clothes and unhitched the team. Once he'd put his suit in the wardrobe and donned his comfortable buckskins, he saw to his chores quickly and returned to the house to brew a pot of tea. After he'd watched Gabrielle sip two cups of the soothing beverage, he felt certain she'd be up to answering a few questions. "Would you like more tea?" he asked solicitously, his manner too open and friendly to put her

on guard.

"No, thank you. You've been so thoughtful, but Vd really just like to lie down for an hour or two. Tin certain I was just overtired, I'll be fine by supper time." Her hands were still shaking so badly she had come dangerously close to drenching herself with hot tea on more than one occasion, but her voice was unnaturally calm as she spoke. 'M

Before she could rise from her chair, Jason stepped in front of her to block the way. "You may sleep until dawn if you like, but first I've something to say. You're the bravest woman I've ever known, Gabrielle. In fact, I've seen you coolly face challenges which would make grown men weep. No matter in what sort of difficulty I found myself, I'd want you on my side."

"Well, thank you," Gabrielle responded, not understanding just what he was trying to say.

"You're welcome." That courtesy out of the way, Jason tackled the issue at hand squarely. "We both know you were lying to the doctor about what happened outside the church today. Rather than the heat, was it something I said or did?" He was fairly certain the incident had had nothing to do with him, but he was leading her as best he could, hoping she'd confide in him now that they were alone.

Gabrielle set her cup and saucer down on the floor at her side, afraid she still might drop them since her grip was so unsteady. "You have been wonderful to me, Jason," she managed to mumble, again on the verge of tears. Her hands now free, she twisted the edge of the quilt nervously in her fingers, hoping he'd accept the feeble excuse she'd offered and let her be. She dared not look up at him and focused all her attention on the tiny stitches with which his mother had sewn the quilt. The pattern was that of an ornate star repeated again and again. It was a popular motif and was beautifully carried out. The bright reds and blues had faded to'soft pastels over the years, but the colors were no less attractive.

"That's gratifying to hear, but beside the point. I want the

truth and right now, Gabrielle. You know I can make you tell me, don't you?" Jason promised in a voice too inviting to be mistaken for a threat. Clearly he meant to get the truth out of her with pleasure, not pain.

Gabrielle risked a hesitant glance at her husband's face. She'd seen his determined frown too often to doubt him, but she dared not reveal the source of her pain when he would suffer as well. "I've nothing more to say," she finally answered, but before he could respond their conversation was interrupted by a fierce pounding upon the front door. Gabrielle's eyes widened as Jason turned toward the door. She was certain she knew who'd come to call, and she was terrified of what her husband's reaction would be.

"No, wait!"

Jason again saw terror on his bride's face, and he reached for the loaded rifle he kept above the mantel before going to the door. When he found only an earnest-looking young man on his doorstep, he kept the weapon pointed toward the floor. "You need not pound on my door so frantically, for I turn no one in need away." That Gabrielle could dread seeing this man puzzled him, for he saw no reason for her fear in their visitor's inquisitive gaze.

Beau tried to see past Jason into the house, but the tall man's broad shoulders blocked his view. "If you're Jason Royal I wish to speak with your wife."

"Unfortunately, she is not receiving callers this afternoon," Jason announced forcefully, determined to spare her the bother.

"She'll see me," the handsome young man replied confidently. "Just tell her Beau Ramsey is here."

If Gabrielle had ever mentioned Beau's last name Jason had forgotten it, but since the first name was not a common one he had no doubt who the young man was. That Beau was so good-looking and obviously fit was something of a shock, but he let none of his surprise show in his glance. Reluctantly, he had to admit the caller was right. "Yes, I'm certain she will and I'd

like to hear your story too. Won't you please come in?" he asked with exaggerated courtesy. It was now plain what had happened to Cabrielle. She must have seen Beau and the sight of her beloved, appearing as if risen from the dead, had completely unnerved her. He stepped aside to permit Beau to enter and found that Cabrielle had folded the quilt he'd draped over her lap and had placed it over the back of the rocker by which she now stood. She appeared to be in the best of health, the pallor of her skin replaced with a radiant blush as she faced their visitor.

Cabrielle stared intently at the two men she loved so dearly. Side by side they were so similar in size and appearance she was shocked. She'd not realized how closely Jason resembled Beau until that very instant. Their coloring was different, her husband's black curls and smoky gray eyes a sharp contrast to Beau's fair curls and deep brown eyes, but their attractive features were nearly identical. They could have been brothers rather than complete strangers whom she knew would soon be bitter enemies. Both of them, however, were returning her astonished gaze with angry glances. '*I thought you were dead," she finally managed to whisper hoarsely. '*Your uncle sent word to your parents that you'd drowned while saving your cousins from the waters of the Platte."