Teton Sunrise (Teton Romance Trilogy) (26 page)

Alex dropped to his knees. He pushed against the stone with his shoulder, leaning his entire weight into the massive object, grunting in frustration. It wouldn’t budge. Frantically, he dug at the dirt around the rock with his bare hands. His fingertips and knuckles soon tainted the ground with his blood, scraped raw from the hard ground. The pain only drove him to greater effort. It was no use. The earth below the boulder was hard and packed down.

Alex panted, and his chest heaved in painful spasms. He barely managed to scrape away several inches of dirt. Defeated, he sank to the ground, drawing his knees up to his chest.

“
Evie
,” he murmured. Abruptly, he turned and pounded his fists against the rock. “Evelyn,” he roared, his voice reverberating off the mountains. The sights and sounds around him ceased to exist. He slumped against the hard earth, pounding his fist repeatedly against the gravelly ground.

“I love you,
Evie
. You made me whole.” His voice cracked, whispering her name over and over. He cursed the Creator and everything around him, but most of all, he cursed himself.  His life held no meaning. Everything he lived for lay buried under the rock he leaned against.

Chapter 20

Laurent strained against the leather binding his hands behind his back. Discreetly, his eyes scanned the camp. Leaning against the trunk of a
lodgepole
pine, he slowly worked his wrists up and down along the rough bark of the tree. For several hours, he’d sat here already, and his efforts seemed to produce some favorable results. The ties didn’t bite quite as painfully into his flesh, and he hoped to work his hand through one of the loops very shortly. Breaking through the leather would be impossible. The pain was a small price to pay in order to be free.

Quietly, he listened to the three men sitting around the campfire a short distance away.  Oliver Sabin tilted his head back, taking a long drink from the leather bag in his hand. Soon, these men would be drunk enough to fall asleep. Or so Laurent hoped. Sabin had made a grave mistake when he boasted that he wanted to keep Laurent alive to prolong his death. Apparently the man still held a grudge for not handing Evelyn over to him.

Although it had been unfortunate that he had been found out as a spy against the American Fur Company, Laurent had gained valuable information in the process. Two days ago, he had met with a couple of the men who considered him one of their own.  It hadn’t been until Oliver Sabin showed up in their camp that his cover had been revealed. Without warning, Sabin had pointed a pistol at his head, and ordered the other men to disarm and bind him.  How had Sabin known that he was a spy?

Laurent shook his head. No matter now. He would get his answers. Whiskey quickly loosened a man’s tongue. He only needed to ask, and Sabin was all too eager to boast, and share his information with him.

“Laurent, you French bastard, the very person you tried to keep from me is the one who gave you away,” Sabin had slurred, waving the pistol in front of his face. “That sweet little morsel that you bartered away at rendezvous told her dear brother.” He laughed. “She was supposed to be mine,” he shouted, spittle drooling from his mouth. “Henry Lewis told me I could have her, after I staged his death. And then I was supposed to kill her.”

Laurent quickly processed the information in his mind. Henry Lewis was alive? He was the man behind the cargo thefts against the Rocky Mountain Fur Company? Anger surged through him. Evelyn had grieved for him. He would have handed his own sister over to men like Sabin.

“
Mademoiselle
Evelyn, she was in on the plan, no?” he asked with narrowed eyes, hoping Sabin would supply him with more answers. The man laughed scornfully.

“Of course not.
Stupid Lewis tried to marry her off back in St. Charles to be rid of her. A few weeks ago, after I met up with him, I finally thought I’d get my chance at her, but he refused.” He swayed back and forth, taking another swig from the whiskey bag. He leered at Laurent. “Damn big wig told me he was taking her back to St. Charles. The man she was supposed to marry threatened to expose Henry to Jed Smith’s outfit if she doesn’t, so he had to come back to find her.”

Sabin leaned toward Laurent. The smell of whiskey and foul breath nearly choked him. “Lewis sent me here to kill you, Laurent. We can’t have you exposing the operation. Soon, I’ll take care of that
corncracker
in St. Charles, and then that trapper’s whore will be mine.” His ugly sneer gaped at him.

“What about Walker?” Laurent asked, ignoring Sabin’s threats. “He bartered for her. Did he simply let her go with her brother?”

Sabin shrugged. “He didn’t come after her. Bastard probably got tired of her and is glad to be rid of her.
Always heard he was a loner.”

Silently, Laurent wondered how Henry Lewis had managed to find his sister. Not many people knew of Alex’s plans about his cabin. It didn’t matter now. He was certain that Evelyn wouldn’t leave Alex of her own free will, and Alex would certainly not allow his wife to return to St. Charles to marry another. The answers to these questions would have to wait. Once he was free of his bindings, and away from these men, he would head back into the mountains and seek out his friend. The thought that he would see his wife again sooner than he had thought brought a smile to his face.

“What’s so funny, Laurent?” Sabin demanded, his speech slurred. He raised his pistol again, and held it to Laurent’s forehead with an unsteady hand. He laughed coldly. “I could just put this bullet between your eyeballs right now. But I learned a trick or two from the Paiutes. They know how to make a man live for a long time, writhing in pain so great, you’ll beg for a merciful death.”

Laurent had no plans to find out if Sabin was well-versed in Paiute torture methods firsthand or not. He pulled against the leather thongs wrapped around his wrists. The binding sliced into his skin, and he gritted his teeth against the pain. His hand finally slipped through the loop. In one swift move, he swung his fisted hand forward, knocking the pistol from Sabin’s grip. He grabbed the surprised
man
by the neck with his other hand and shoved him to the ground. Picking up the pistol, he fired it at one of the men who’d turned his head at the commotion. Before the other man even had a chance to react, Laurent pulled the tomahawk and knife from Sabin’s belt, aimed, and threw the ax. The weapon lodged itself in the trapper’s chest, and he fell to the ground. Sabin staggered to his feet, and bared his teeth.

“You
sonofabitch
,” he snarled. His unfocused eyes darted from Laurent to his dead companions.

“You will die, too,
mon
amie
,” Laurent said calmly, holding the knife out in front of him.

With a savage roar, Sabin charged. Laurent sidestepped, and raised the knife. The toe of Sabin’s boot caught on a protruding root. He stumbled forward, and collided against Laurent. A scream of anguish reverberated through the forest. Laurent pulled the knife back, and Sabin clutched his hand over his face, blood running in rivulets between his fingers. Laurent stepped back. He realized the weapon had stabbed Sabin in the eye.

Like a rabid dog, the river pirate screamed, breaking the stillness of the forest. Then he ran between the trees into the thicket. Laurent watched him disappear. His chest heaved as he drew in a deep breath. He could just follow Sabin and kill him, but nature would do the job for him. The evil man deserved a slow death. He rushed for his horse and pulled the reins free of the picket line. Without a backward glance, he leapt into the saddle and kicked his horse into a run. It would take several weeks to reach Alex. There was already snow in some of the passes, but he had to find out why his friend hadn’t gone after his wife. He dreaded what he might find when he reached the cabin.

****

Muffled voices reached Alex’s ears from outside the cabin. He ignored the sound, hoping it was only Yancey talking to
himself
. The bitter wind that had howled all day had finally ceased. A few days ago, several feet of snow had fallen, blanketing his cabin and everything around him in a dusting of white powder. Evelyn would have loved the way the morning sun sparkled off the ice hanging from the cabin’s roof or from the tree branches nearby. 

They would have sat by a roaring fire, listening to the wind howl outside. He’d wrap her in his arms, and they’d kiss and touch under a blanket, and talk about nothing important. Instead, he sat alone in a dark corner of his cabin, the fire dead in the hearth, and the windows boarded up. Unable to look at the bed he’d built for her, and the memories it sparked, he hadn’t set foot inside the bedroom since the day of her death.

Yancey had arrived earlier in the day, bringing fresh meat. Not that he had much of an appetite these days. He wished the greenhorn would just go away. He had served his purpose when Alex asked him to bring him Laurent’s stash of whiskey from his cabin several days ago. At first, Yancey had refused, but a quick threat with a knife held to the coward’s throat had changed his attitude. His old man had always preferred to drown his troubles in liquor. Maybe it was time he gave it a try. Nothing else he’d done seemed to take away his pain.

Days had dragged into weeks, and weeks into several months since
Evie’s
death. He’d tried to immerse himself in his work, felling trees and chopping wood for hours at a time that would see him through two winters. He left his cabin for days, sometimes even a week, to wander the streams and tributaries of the Snake River, setting his traps, and hunting game. A strong blizzard finally forced him back to his cabin. Nothing seemed important anymore. Nothing held any meaning. He fingered the cork on the whiskey pouch in his hand, and slowly pulled it open. The strong scent of alcohol filled his senses.

You are not like your father.

The softly spoken words of the woman he loved above everything else echoed in his mind. Only those faint words had prevented him from uncorking the pouch before now. Would he betray her love, her memory, if he took a drink?

The hinges on the cabin door creaked, followed quickly by an icy blast of air.

“He’s over there, Laurent. It’s good that you’re back.”

“
Mon
dieu
!
I thought I could warm up by a fire. It is no warmer in here than it is outside.”

“I’ll get one lit,” Yancey said. He shuffled toward the hearth. “He prefers to sit in the cold.”

“Well, we will have to change his attitude, no?”

Alex cursed under his breath. Why the hell was Laurent here? It couldn’t be spring already. He had lost track of time, for sure, but not that much time had passed for Laurent to have been to St. Louis and back. He held the tip of the whiskey pouch to his lips.

“Shouldn’t you be with your wife, Laurent?” he grumbled, and tilted his head back. The taste of whiskey on his tongue nauseated him.

Laurent reached for the bag and yanked it from Alex’s hands before he could even swallow. Spitting out the small amount in his mouth, Alex shot to his feet, and grabbed the Frenchman by the front of his shirt. Baring his teeth, he glared at his friend.

“You will not waste my good whiskey to drown your misery,
mon
amie
,” Laurent said without flinching, and stared him in the eyes.

“Leave me the hell alone, Laurent, and mind your own business.” Alex released his hold on the Frenchman’s shirt and shoved him away. He ran a trembling hand through the coarse hairs on his face. He hadn’t shaved in weeks.

“Get the hell out of my cabin. Both of you,” he roared. Yancey dropped the flint in his hand, and stumbled to his feet. Wide-eyed, he stared from Alex to Laurent, uncertainty in his eyes.

Laurent advance on Alex, and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, tightening his grip when Alex tried step to the side.

“I told you to leave me alone. Go and be with your wife, Laurent. Enjoy the time you have with her.”

“I will do that,
mon
amie
,
” Laurent said lightly. “But I think it is you who should be with your wife, also.”

Alex blinked. Pain jabbed his heart. Perhaps Laurent was right. Maybe he should go and be with
Evie
up on that mountain. “My wife is dead and buried, Laurent. I suppose I should go join her.”

Laurent’s bushy brows drew together.
“Dead and buried?
That is not what I was told.”

Alex stared blankly. Moments passed in silence.

“Evelyn is alive and well, I presume, in St. Charles, my friend.” Laurent finally released his arm.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Alex scoffed. Why would he tell such a lie?

“Henry Lewis is not dead. He came for her, and took her. I didn’t know why you would not fight for her. I thought perhaps I might find you dead. Young Yancey here has told me what has happened.”

Alex tried to absorb what he had just heard. Henry was alive?
Evie
went with him? Why would she do that? Who lay buried under those rocks at the base of the mountain?

“Who told you this?” Alex asked slowly, the air leaving his lungs. His chest tightened, and a tiny spark of hope ignited in his heart. A tingling sensation replaced the emptiness inside him all these weeks. Was there a chance
Evie
was alive? He stared at Laurent.