Violet touched a hand to her niece’s shoulder. “Just don’t let your pa catch you dawdling down by the river with Will Montgomery. You know what his temper’s like.”
She may as well have talked to the wind. Carrie tossed her curls and lifted the bucket before flouncing away. When a girl was fifteen, and in love, and all of life was spread out like a banquet, nothing else mattered.
The sun lay low on the horizon. Even as Will watched, it seemed to disappear below the waters of the river, leaving behind a shimmering golden glow.
He turned to study the girl who hurried toward him. Her dress was pure white, reminding him of the cotton fields of home. Her hair fanned out around her shoulders. As she ran the empty bucket slapped against her thigh. Her light, girlish laughter trilled on the breeze.
“You beat me. I thought I’d get here first.” She set down the bucket, then took the hand he offered and was pulled behind the tree, where both would be hidden from view.
“I finished my chores early.” Will grinned. “I think Mordecai noticed that I was itching to get away.”
“Me too. But Aunt Vi was reading from your book. I want to learn all about a farmer’s life in California before we get there.”
“I thought you were going to be a seamstress.”
She smiled a secret, woman’s smile. “I am. But something tells me I ought to know all about farming too.”
“Carrie ...”
“Shh.” She touched a finger to his lips. Instantly he felt the jolt clear down to his toes. As he started to back away, she laid a hand on his arm. “I think about you, Will. I think about you all the time.”
He studied her hand, feeling the warmth of her touch through his shirt, but made no move to touch her. “I think about you too.” His voice was low, shaky.
“I knew you did. Oh, I just knew you did.” Carrie took a step closer, until their bodies were almost touching. “When you think about me, Will, what do you think about?”
He felt the beginnings of a flush creep along his throat. “It wouldn’t be right to tell you.”
“If you tell, I’ll tell.”
He swallowed. “I think about kissing you. About holding you.” His voice lowered. “About lying in the grass with you.”
Without realizing it, Carrie’s fingers tightened at his shirt. “I think about the same things.”
Will closed his hand over hers, then drew it away from his chest. Dropping his hand to his side, he said softly, “What we’re thinking wouldn’t be right.”
“Why? I love you, Will.”
His voice took on a fierceness, an earnestness she’d heard only once before; on the day he’d confronted Flint Barrows. “It isn’t enough to love someone, Carrie. My father loved me. But he had to send me away because he couldn’t bear to look at me.”
“But I...”
“Listen to me.” He grasped her arm, holding her away when she tried to move closer. “To me you’re a princess, a wonderful, glorious dream. You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. But Carrie, you’re a sweet, sheltered girl.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “I couldn’t stand to have you look at me, at my ugly shattered body, and turn away in horror.”
“How can you say such things?”
“Don’t you understand?” His tone roughened. “I’d rather just live with my dreams of you for the rest of my life than have to watch you face the stark reality of what I am.”
Tears glimmered in her lashes, and she blinked them away. “What you are, Will Montgomery, is the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. I don’t want just a few stolen kisses by a river. I want to be with you forever. Just like everyone else, you think I’m a child. A spoiled, helpless child. But I intend to prove to you that I’m a woman. And your scars won’t make any difference to me.”
As she reached her fingers to the buttons of his shirt, Will grabbed them. She was surprised at the strength in his hand. He easily pinned both her hands in his big palm.
“Don’t, Carrie. Once you cross this line, you can never go back.” His voice was no longer shaky. It was low and firm, the commanding tone of a man who had given orders and taken them.
She tilted her head back, staring into his eyes. She could read the pain there, the hopelessness. And something else. The loneliness. He was as desperately lonely as she. And just as afraid of rejection.
“I don’t want to turn back,” she whispered.
For long, tense moments their gazes met and held.
“I want to look at you, Will. I want it to be my decision to go or stay.”
Still he didn’t move. Unblinking, his eyes stared down into hers. Watching her, he allowed his hand to drop to his side. With stiff, nervous movements, she unbuttoned his shirt, and let out a barely audible gasp. A thin, jagged scar crossed from his left shoulder to his right side. With her finger, Carrie traced the scar, feeling his muscles contract as she reached his stomach.
Will didn’t speak. He even forgot to breathe. He studied her eyes, waiting to see the shock, the horror.
Bringing her hands to his shoulders, she slid the shirt from him. It floated to the ground and lay unnoticed. Where his left arm used to be, there was now an indentation over which had been pulled a flap of flesh, and a mass of scars twisted like a rope.
Tears sprang to Carrie’s eyes. “Oh, Will. How you must have suffered.”
He hung his head, waiting for her to turn away from him. Now that she had been given a chance to see for herself just how mutilated his body was, he knew that she would be unable to look at him. How would she react? He knew. With horror. Pity. And then revulsion at what he had become. He had seen it all before. All these emotions, he was certain, would cause her to run and hide.
Tentatively Carrie touched a finger to the scarred flesh that had once been his shoulder. Will flinched and forced himself not to turn away. She had to see it, to touch him, before she walked away from him for good.
“Does it hurt?” she whispered.
“Sometimes.” He swallowed. “Sometimes I swear my arm is still there, throbbing like a toothache. Sometimes I have to reach over and feel the empty sleeve to prove to myself that it’s really not there.”
Most people met that response with complete rejection. How could a man feel an arm that wasn’t there?
Still, Carrie didn’t question him. She accepted his answer as fact. “And this. This scar. Does this hurt?”
“Not anymore.” He felt his flesh quiver beneath her probing fingers, and cursed himself for his weakness. Even now, knowing that she was probably feeling revulsion at the mere touch of him, he was becoming aroused.
“They’re wicked scars,” she murmured, tracing the pattern of raised flesh that crisscrossed his abdomen and side. “But your body, Will”—she lifted her face to him—“is beautiful. I’ve never”—she moistened her lips—“touched a man before.”
“Don’t, Carrie. You don’t have to pretend to be brave for my sake.”
“Brave?” She took a step back and stared up at him in surprise. “I’m not brave. I’m the biggest coward there is. You’re the brave one, Will. I don’t know how you managed to go through a war, and the loss of your arm, without dying, or at least wanting to. I would have run away rather than face what you did. I think you’re the bravest man I’ve ever known.”
As she moved closer, he dropped his hand to her shoulder. “Now that you’ve satisfied your curiosity, I want you to go, Carrie. Walk away. And never look back.”
“I can’t do that.”
His voice roughened with emotion. “Go on now. Save yourself for a real man.”
The tears she had been fighting spilled over, coursing down her cheeks. She wiped them away, angry at their betrayal. “I’ve already found a real man. And I won’t settle for any other.”
“For God’s sake, Carrie.” The words were torn from his lips. “I can’t even hold you in two good arms.”
Carrie wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her lips to his throat. “One go
od arm is enough, Will, as long as it’s yours. We’ll hold each other.”
“Oh God.” Her words unlocked all the emotions Will had so long been denying.
As he brought his arm around her, they fell to their knees. For long minutes he stared into her eyes, feeling a welling of love he’d never known was possible. Then, slowly, reverently, he lowered his mouth to hers.
Her lips opened for him, and he felt her warm breath mingle with his. She was sweeter, far sweeter than anything he could ever have imagined. She clung to him, thrilling to his strength as he drew her even closer.
As the night crept over the land, they lay nestled together, murmuring the words that lovers have spoken from the beginning of time. And they knew that from this moment on, each would find it impossible to live without the other. Their bodies, their hearts, their souls were one.
Chapter Seventeen
Abby stirred the ashes and patiently fed kindling to get the morning fire blazing.
Her father had been too drunk last night to notice that Carrie wasn’t in her blankets. But if she didn’t return before he awoke, he was bound to fly into one of his famous rages.
Where had that girl gone? Abby had lain awake most of the night worrying. And she knew that beside her in the darkness, Aunt Vi had been unable to settle down as well. Carrie had done some foolish things before, but never anything as worrisome as this.
She heard her father moving inside the wagon and felt the first tiny thread of fear skitter along her spine. What could she possibly say or do in Carrie’s behalf?
Violet emerged from the far side of the wagon, drying her hands and face as she walked. Though her skin glowed from the vigorous washing, her eyes were still puffy from lack of sleep. Both she and Abby turned at the sound of footsteps.
Carrie and Will approached hand in hand.
Violet took one look at their nervous little smiles, at the way they looked at each other, and knew. Even a spinster lady like herself, unschooled in the ways of the flesh, recognized the look of love.
“Carrie.” Abby dropped the wood onto the fire and wiped her hands on the back of her britches. “Where have you been? Pa’s going to throw a tantrum when he sees you and Will together. How could you be so foolish?”
“We . . .” Carrie glanced at her aunt, then back at Will. “We want to talk to Pa about...”
“About what?” James Market stepped from the wagon and shot his daughter an angry glare.
“About getting married, sir,” Will said softly.
“Married! By God, Violet, bring me my rifle.”
As James turned, Carrie rushed forward, clutching his sleeve. “Please, Pa. Just listen to what we have to say.”
James allowed his gaze to trail her rumpled dress, her uncombed hair streaming down her back. His eyes narrowed, then focused on Will Montgomery.
“I told you once, boy, that if I caught you hanging around my daughter I’d blow your head off. I’m not blind and I’m not stupid. From the looks of her I’d say you’ve taken liberties no man has a right to, least of all a cripple like you.”
“Pa!”
Will’s hand clenched into a fist. Carrie ran to Will, gripping his hand as tightly as she could.
Staring around the wide-eyed family members, Will’s voice grew thoughtful. “Maybe he’s right, Carrie. Maybe a few days from now, when you’ve had time to think it over, you’ll agree with your father.”
Her eyes were clear and cold, and hard as ice. “We’ve been over all this before, Will. My father may not agree with me, but he can’t live my life for me.” Turning to her father, she said, “We’ve agreed to marry. Will came to ask your permission to court me.”
“Court you.” James laughed, a cruel, harsh laugh. “From the looks of the two of you, I’d say the courtship was a short one.” He strode closer and grasped Will by the front of his shirt. “Now you listen to me, Montgomery. And listen well. I’m not going to allow my daughter to waste herself on half a man. The next time you come near her, I’ll kill you.” He gave Will a shove and sneered when he stumbled and fell. “Do you understand me, boy?”
When Carrie tried to go to his aid, James caught her roughly by the shoulder and threw her to the ground. Seeing Will make a move toward her, he stepped between them. “Don’t come another inch closer. You’re never going to touch my daughter again, boy.”
From the dirt Will stared up at the man and felt hot anger roiling inside him. If ever he had wanted to unleash his anger and frustration, it was on this man. In that moment, he felt a hatred building inside him that left him stunned. He had thought such emotions dead. But if Carrie was able to unlock feelings of love, her father was even quicker to bring out a deep hatred.
As he got to his feet, his hand clenched and unclenched at his side. Just inches away, his gun rested in its holster, taunting him. It would be so easy. There was no way James Market could get to the wagon and his rifle in time. Then Will’s gaze slid to Carrie, lying in the dust, crying as if her heart would break. If he were to kill her father, he would lose her forever. If he walked away, she would think him a coward. Either way he was bound to lose.
“Get out of here, boy. Quick, before I really lose my temper and show my daughter what a man with two good arms can do to the likes of you.”
Will turned and strode away. As he did, the sound of Carrie’s sobs followed him.
All day as they ate the dust of the lead wagons and sweated beneath a scorching sun, Abby and Violet tried to reason with Carrie.
“You just have to be patient, Carrie, and give Pa a chance to get used to the idea of you and Will.”
“Patient?” Carrie snorted. “Why? So Pa can find me a man more to his liking? Maybe we can catch up with Flint Barrows and Pa can decide which one of us to give to him.”
“Carrie.” Violet dropped an arm around her niece’s shoulder, but Carrie pulled away.
“Do you really think Pa’s ever going to change? Can the two of you really believe things will ever get better?”
Abby and Violet glanced at each other and grew silent.
“I love Will, and I intend to marry him, whether Pa approves or not.”
“That’s fine, Carrie. But why not give it some time? We’ll be in California in another month or two. Why don’t you and Will wait until we’re settled to make a decision?”
“That’s fine for you, Abby,” Carrie hissed. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand how I feel because you’ve never been in love. Look at you.” Her voice rose in anger. “You’re determined to be a dried-up old maid just like Aunt Vi.”
Stunned at the vehemence of her sister’s words, Abby glanced at their aunt. Violet plodded along the dusty trail, holding her head high as if she hadn’t even heard the cruel words just hurled in anger.
Abby bit her lip. Was Carrie right? Would she counsel patience if she were in her sister’s place? She knew in her heart that if she truly loved a man, her father’s opinion of him wouldn’t matter at all. She would probably do what Carrie was doing. If she loved a man. If any man could ever love her. The words echoed in her mind, causing a fresh stab of pain.
Driving the team, James Market studied the three women and cursed the fates that had given him no sons. Women. Silly, useless women. At least he could have two fine strapping sons-in-law. They might not know it yet, but those two daughters of his were going to learn that he was the lord and master of his family. They would do his bidding, or they would taste the whip. He gave a last contemptuous look at his sister. Frivolous woman. She ate his food, accepted his shelter, and then chose sides against him. But not this time. This time he would make her understand that his word was law. If he had to, he’d kill Will Montgomery before he’d allow his daughter to be touched by him again.
* * * * *
The wagon train barely made twelve miles that day. When they finally stopped for the night, the travelers felt drained. All day they had trudged into the wind. Everything was covered with a fine layer of dust. It was in their clothes, on th
eir food, even in their drinking water. As evening settled over the land, the wind picked up, sending dust clouds that clogged eyes and lodged in throats.
Carrie sat alone, refusing dinner. Her father ignored her. When James had eaten his fill, he picked up his jug and headed for Jed Garner’s wagon. Jed had become his latest drinking partner.
Nancy Garner, her clothes dirty and rumpled, her hair wild and unkempt, spent the evenings prowling about the wagons, muttering to anyone who would listen that they were all doomed. The once-perfect wife and mother was clearly teetering on the edge of insanity.
Abby’s heart went out to little Timmy Garner, whose parents seemed to be drifting further and further away from him and from each other. Most evenings, she brought him back to her wagon, where she and Violet would bathe him and wash his clothes before taking him back to his own wagon. There she would tuck him into bed and tell him stories. Whenever she made ready to leave, he would cling to her, begging her for one more story, one more song. She understood his fears, and usually relented, sitting with him until he fell into a troubled sleep. Often when she left him, she would see Rourke standing in the shadows, watching her. Once or twice when she was close enough to see his face, she was shocked by the haunted look in his eyes. Almost as if he were seeing a ghost.
This night, when she returned from the Garner wagon, Abby saw Violet sitting beside Carrie, her arm around the young girl’s shoulders. Their heads were bent close, their conversation whispered. When she approached, they looked up, then fell silent. Feeling like an intruder, Abby climbed into the back of the wagon, allowing them their privacy. She could hear the low rumble of their voices long into the night. And though she couldn’t make out their words, she detected the soothing note in Violet’s tone, and gradually began to relax. Aunt Vi was a reasonable, sensible woman. She would calm Carrie’s fears and give her good counsel. And in the morning, her father’s temper would cool. They would have weathered another storm.
* * * * *
Carrie was gone.
In the eerie gray dawn, Abby moved stealthily about the wagon, searching for her sister’s belongings. Everything was gone. Her clothes. Her blanket. Even Will’s book.
Leaping from the back of the wagon, Abby began to run, not even realizing that she was heading toward the cook wagon. When she arrived, barefoot and panting, everyone was asleep. Everyone except Rourke, who was calmly pulling on his shirt. Abby tried not to stare at the mat of dark hair that covered his chest.