White Dawn (23 page)

Though he was afraid he’d see longing and regret for her Indian lover, sparked by her return to this place, when Emily glanced up at him, his heart eased. Except for a lingering sadness, there was no regret in her eyes. And he could live with that. The Indian had touched Emily deeply, but as long as John had most of her heart, he’d not begrudge a small corner of it for the past.

“Are you ready?” John took her hands in his, needing to touch her and reassure himself that she was there—and that in a few minutes they’d be on their way.

Emily smiled, the ghosts of her past fading from eyes that rivaled the sky for blueness. “I’m ready.” She turned to hug Mary.

The older woman had tears running down her face. “I’ll miss you, Emily. You take care now.” She dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her plaid shirt.

Ben set his pack on the ground and withdrew two small parfleches—the ones that belonged to Emily. She took them. The big trapper then pulled his wife into his arms and addressed John. “Don’t worry about your grandfather. We’ll stay and help him out.”

John shook Ben’s hand. “Thanks, friend.”

“Take care. And let us know what happens to you.” He cleared his throat, and for once it didn’t boom through the treetops. “Mary and I’ll return to the camp in the morning as planned. That gives the two of you a full day to get out of here without Willy trying to follow.”

John nodded. After a moment, he went into the trees and came back leading two chestnut geldings, each with saddlebags and supplies tied to its back. A third horse was hitched nearby. “Figured I should just get two more horses so you could take back the one I borrowed. Old Charlie still had these two—ones I’d broken and sold to him three years ago.”

Originally, John had just been planning on purchasing one horse, but in case his cousin tried to come after him, he didn’t want to leave his grandfather without any. And he knew Willy would not think twice about taking Gascon’s only mount.

Leaving his grandfather now, knowing the old man’s health was failing, was the hardest thing John had ever done. But Emily needed him more. As well as the danger from his cousin, John wasn’t sure he wanted her giving birth out here in the wilds. He wanted her near a doctor, or at least a midwife.

Holding out his hand to Emily, he gave her an embarrassed look. “I couldn’t get you a sidesaddle, Sunshine. I was lucky to get these two beat-up ones.”
Lucky hell.
He grimaced. They’d cost him plenty.

Emily’s eyes glinted with mischief as she stood back and held out the skirts of her dress: they were full. She pulled the hem up through her legs and over the skirt’s waist. “I was prepared in case you couldn’t. Mary helped me sew a new dress with fuller skirts.”

John grinned. “A practical woman. I like that.” His smile faded. “Emily—”

“What is it?” she asked. Her blue eyes clouded with worry.

“If you want to find your baby’s father, we can try.” The words came out in a rush, his voice raspy. He’d thought a lot about it and knew he had to at least offer her the choice. With the carved box and necklace that she’d said she wanted to keep to give to her child, along with knowing the location of the attack on her parents and the spot where John had first found her, John knew a good scout would probably be able to locate her child’s father’s tribe. They could find the babe’s father, the man who’d saved Emily, the man who’d made love to her.

Holding his breath, he waited for her response.

“Why are you offering to do this?” she asked. “Have you stopped wanting to marry me?”

John reached up to cup her face between his hands. “Hell no, Sunshine. But I don’t want you to have any regrets. If you still love the father and want me to try to find him, I will. I can take you to him, can return here…”

Emily smiled but her eyes grew moist. “I thank you for the offer, John. It’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.” She reached down to stroke the hard line of his jaw. “But the answer is no. I did love him, and he’ll always have a special place in my heart. But it wasn’t a love that was meant to be. Maybe it was to show me something. To teach me. Just as loving you has shown me things.”

“Yet you can’t take all that I offer?” His confusion and sadness filled his voice.

Emily looked uncomfortable, glanced down at the wolf hopping between the horses. “What about Fang?” she asked, changing the subject.

John felt even sadder. “He’ll have to stay here. Gramps will bring him to St. Louis in the spring.” He stared down at the wolf. “You stay, fella. I’ll see you again.” He gave Ben and Mary a long look, wishing they hadn’t heard any of the earlier exchange. “You two make sure Gramps takes good care of Fang. And make sure Willy stays away from him.”

Then, mounting, he waved farewell. With sadness in his heart, he and Emily rode away.

Over the next few weeks, John and Emily made steady progress east over flat plains broken only by river valleys. They rode around heaps of earth and stone and spent the night atop a
coteau,
a high rolling area with lower land on each side. Short grass gave way to medium-high grass, burned brown by the summer heat. Trees losing their leaves gave way to woodlands of evergreens and large bodies of water.

Emily remembered much of it—though it was not the same path, this was the same land she’d traveled during her months with her Indian lover. She drew in deep breaths and let her gaze wander, soaking up the vastness of this country. It still frightened her even as its sheer beauty took her breath away. Late summer had given way to fall. The wind whipped around them and the nights grew cooler, warning that winter was once again on its way.

Emily deliberately rode a few paces behind John. While the land they traveled over held its own fascination, she loved even more to watch him. She loved the way he sat a horse; tall and proud, at one with the majestic animal, as if he’d been born to ride and be one with an untamed land. He was as much a part of this world as her Apollo had been, even though each was different in how he walked, lived and worked it.

She couldn’t picture John in a city or on a farm. Yet he was willing to leave here for good, to settle with her elsewhere. He’d give up everything for her. But would he be happy back in the confines of society?

Catching the direction of her thoughts, she tried to banish them. Whether or not John might be content in a city or on a farm didn’t matter—because she would make him return to his grandfather. She wouldn’t cage him or tie him down with responsibilities that weren’t his.

The baby was hers alone. The consequences, too.

Not true,
a small voice reminded her. The child would bear the brunt of her actions. Thinking of that, Emily better understood why her mother married. John had been right; to bear a child out of wedlock meant a lifetime of contempt. Emily didn’t want her child to be called a bastard.

Yet the only solution—pretty as it might seem at first—wasn’t fair to John. Emily’s only choice was marriage—letting John give her child his name, and in doing so, giving them both protection. But how could she tie him down with her mistakes?

Of course, many women were left behind while their husbands explored new lands or trapped. If she married John, she could set him free to get on with his life. But was that fair either?

She knew she couldn’t get on with her life if they married. In fact, the thought of living among society and all its restrictions no longer appealed to her. For years she’d hated traveling from one mission to another, hated going farther and farther away from civilization, had dreamed of returning to put down roots. She’d wanted a home. Friends. A place where she belonged. Yet could anything make her happy ever again?

As she stared around her, Emily felt a wave of sadness roll through her. Her time here with John had seemed like home. They’d built their own world. And it was a world she knew she’d never find back in the East.

John turned, waiting for her to catch up. “We’ll stop over there.” He pointed to a sheltered area near the river they’d been following for the past four days.

Grateful for an end to her depressing thoughts, she attempted a smile. “Good. I’m tired.”

John’s gaze roamed over her face. “Just hang in there, Sunshine.” As soon as John found a likely spot, he dismounted, hitched his horse, then came to help her down. His hands, large enough to span her still-trim waist, lifted her off the horse. She slid down, brushing against him, her palms resting on his shoulders. Their gazes locked, each filled with hunger for the other.

But, as he had for the past two weeks, John released her. He began unloading their supplies and Emily watched. Because of the threat of Indians being attracted to their fire, they didn’t cook their meals but ate dried meat, that and the pan bread she and Mary had made while John had gone to the trading post. He had also returned with enough hard, thin biscuits to last for some time.

“Maybe we should stay here a day or two,” John said, studying her. “We’ve been riding pretty hard.”

Glancing up, Emily shook her head. “I’m fine. Just tired. But that seems to be the way of it nowadays.”

He nodded. “The sooner we get to the mission, the better. Winter’s coming early this year.”

Biting into a hard, dry biscuit, Emily wrinkled her nose. She longed for a hot meal. Still, she made the best of the situation. Attracting hostile Indians was the last thing she wanted. The memory of her parents’ deaths still haunted her dreams.

Dusk fell and John laid out their pallets—a few feet from each other. Staring down at them, Emily wondered how she’d get through another night without crawling over and begging him to make love to her. She loved him. Needed him. And wanted him badly. The look of love in his eyes told her that all she had to do was ask.

But no matter how much she needed him, she wouldn’t ask. She had to be fair to him, because in the end the love she felt wouldn’t matter. She might not be able to stop herself from loving him, but she could prevent a catastrophe. She could avoid a marriage that would sour. She could prevent his love from turning to hate. This pain seemed a small price to pay.

Wandering downstream a bit, keeping John in sight, she stared out into the inky water of the river. Little daylight remained. The air had cooled, and the wind was brisk as it pulled at her hair. Suddenly she felt hemmed in, needed to feel the air on her skin as she’d grown used to—but she felt too shy.

Instead, she unbound her hair and let the long strands fly free through the air. Using her fingers, she separated her locks until they were threads of gossamer in the wind. She twirled in small circles with her arms stretched overhead and her eyes closed, letting the cool air stream through the cloth of her dress to caress her body…the way that John could not.

Standing a few feet away, John watched—and yearned to catch Emily’s whirling body in his arms. Swaying in tune to her own inner music, she reminded him of an elusive fairy. Or an angel. He didn’t dare blink for fear that she’d disappear. She tipped her head back, her hair floating around her.

His body reacted and hardened with the painful intensity of his desire. How could she not see that they were meant to be together? Couldn’t she feel it? She was his other half.

The light to his darkness.

The laughter that made his tears fade.

The half that made him feel alive. Whole.

For weeks he’d kept his distance. He couldn’t force her to accept what he so freely offered. She had to want it, and want his love. She had to trust and believe in him. A relationship without those things would destroy itself. So he waited and kept his distance. And he prayed she’d overcome her fears of the future.

But as he watched, his heart near to bursting with unspoken love, he took a step toward her. His rational thoughts were scattered. His patience had fled. He couldn’t bear to waste another day. They had each other and today. The problems of their future could be dealt with later.

As if she’d placed a spell on him, he took another step. Then four. Then eight. And when she twirled close, he reached out and pulled her to him, all the reasons why he shouldn’t take her in his arms gone.

Emily felt John’s presence, knew he was there. Then he reached out and grabbed her. Her arms slid down over his head and encircled his neck. She stared up at him with eyes full of hunger.

“Emily—”

She placed a finger over his mouth. “Don’t talk. Just love me.”

She lifted her mouth to his in an explosive kiss. It consumed her. Their hands touched, caressed, demanded; they spoke louder than words, conveying love, overriding the voice of reason.

John’s fingers fisted in the full folds of the skirt, then her dress was gone in one smooth movement. In the soft, dreamy twilight, he stared at her gleaming body, ran his hands down the gentle indent of Emily’s sides and over her smoothly rounded hips. The fingers of his right hand slid down to grip her left thigh. He pulled her leg up and over his raised right knee. His other hand slid around her back and pulled her close. His breath hitched when he felt the soft mounds of her breasts press against his chest.

God help her, but she loved this man. He spoke to her, returning her feelings: “I love you, Emily.” The words came out harsh, for raging need was consuming them both. With his mouth he forced her head back and took her lips in a kiss that was wild, hot.

Emily’s fingers closed over his shoulders, her mouth opening under his assault. She gave. And gave. Then, when she couldn’t stand it, she became the aggressor, taking from him. Needing what he so willingly offered. She moaned at the feel of his smooth, buckskin-covered thigh beneath her.

She ached and throbbed. When his hands cupped her buttocks and pressed her hard against him, she tore her mouth free and let her head fall back. Tiny eruptions deep inside had each of her breaths coming faster. She moved, pressed down; he pressed up, rubbing insistently against her. Shivers shook her body as desire took hold, driving all from her mind except him. Everything but the storm of fire he’d released within her.

John’s fingers dug into her buttocks, squeezing and clenching, pulling Emily forward, releasing her, then pulling her forward, faster and harder. She shook and clung to him as her body responded to the demands of his every touch. If not for his grip on her, the leg she balanced on would have given way; she trembled and shook with raw need.

Her hips jerked, and her insides clenched and released as he rocked her against him. Her tension built. It was not a slow, leisurely rise in passion, but it came with the suddenness of a prairie storm. This was no sprinkling of desire but a downpour of passion.

How could she respond so fast? So hard? So completely that nothing else mattered? She tried to hold back, to retain some control, but the moans tore from her lips and her body moved with the desperate need of the release he promised.

“God, don’t stop, Emily. Don’t stop.” He held one hand to her back, keeping her pressed hard against him.

“Like this? We can’t,” she said in a gasp, not certain she could give herself over in such an uncivilized, almost savage fashion. Standing, with him still clothed, and her so shamefully falling apart, made her feel sinfully wanton.

“Exactly like this,” he rasped, covering her breasts with his other hand. Slowly that hand moved down over her belly, then slid between her and his knee. Suddenly she was sliding back and forth against the ridge of one long finger.

His head bent, his mouth nipping at the tender underside of her throat.

Emily bit back a scream. Her body lost control, jerking wildly while brightly colored stars of reds, blues and greens exploded behind her closed eyes. The breath left her body, and she felt herself flying away, soaring as one with the wind, as spasms racked her body.

The sound of a soft cry brought her back. It was her own, she realized, feeling hot tears sliding down the sides of her face.

John drew her back against him, lifting her high so she had to look down at him. They kissed as he twirled them around. Supporting her, he yanked at the buttons on his buckskin breeches. When he had freed himself, he lowered her until they merged as one. Emily wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and let him carry her to that special place where the world could not intrude. There were no problems for now. No doubts. Only him. And her.

Willy paced along the bank of the Missouri. Darkness had forced a stop for the night. Balling his hands into fists, he stared out into the inky blackness impatiently. It didn’t matter that his cousin would have to stop for the night, too; all Willy could think of was finding him. And Emily. His angel.

He couldn’t believe that she was gone. Pain tore through him, increased the pounding in his head. His eyes blurred with the force of it. How could John do this to him? His lips hardened. His cousin had always taken more than his share, been given more, stuck Willy with the leftovers.

For the past days, he’d ridden hard during the day, trying to catch up with the pair. He’d been stunned when Mary and Ben had returned without Emily. He’d been furious when they’d told him they had run into John, who’d volunteered to take her to the grave site. Fury had turned to gut-burning rage when they didn’t return that night. Just thinking of them spending the night out together, alone, had made Willy see red.

And when they hadn’t returned by the following night, he knew they’d left. No one had to tell him so. It was clear that they all had known that John was going to take Emily away. When he’d told them he was going after them, his grandfather had tried to stop him. But no one was going to stop Willy—not from reclaiming what was his.

It worried him that they’d had two days’ head start. He’d ridden hard to catch up and still there was no sign of them. Panic clawed deep inside him. He had to find them before they reached St. Louis. Before they married.

“I’ll find her. She’s mine,” he whispered. Never had he wanted anything so badly. The blond angel was special. With her at his side, Willy could do anything. Be anything. He had to have her. He just had to have her.

Sinking down with his back to a tree, he buried his head in his hands. Without her he was nothing. No one special. He needed his angel. His beautiful angel.

Rocking back and forth, Willy waited for the dawn.

Far away, beneath the rising sun, Emily and John woke and made slow, tender love. No words of feelings or the future were spoken. They knew only the here and now. It was a time of joy. But it had to end.

After a quick bath in the river, John went to saddle the horses. Emily packed their belongings. Kneeling on the damp ground, she watched him work. He moved stiffly—not from soreness of body but from a broken heart.

Despite the fact that they had spent last night in each other’s arms, nothing had been resolved. Emily felt more lost and alone than either time she’d been abandoned.

When John had their horses loaded, she went to him. All this way she’d ridden her mount. What she truly wanted was to be cradled in his arms. Amazingly, he seemed to know. As he mounted, he held out a hand. She breathed a sigh of joy. It was selfish of her, but she wanted as much time with John—close to him—as she could get.