Love's Revenge (Entangled Scandalous) (11 page)

Chapter Twelve

“Katherine, my dear. How good it is to see you.” Otto Mears’ heavy Russian accent cut through the hubbub at the stage coach depot.

Kate had liked Otto Mears from the moment she had met him. A Russian Jew with a finely trimmed black beard and impeccable Eastern clothing, he was as out of place as Kate herself in this wilderness. Yet he had not only acclimated, he had thrived, forging toll roads deep into the wilderness.

“Are you ready for a great adventure, my friend?” Otto smiled broadly.

Had she made the right decision? She would only be gone two weeks, she reassured herself. Andy had barely acknowledged her goodbyes. And yet doubt gnawed at her. She truly didn’t know what she was getting herself into. This was not St. Louis. This was not a train. The huge stagecoach was over eighteen feet long and had to weigh thousands of pounds, and yet it lacked even the most basic comforts. The mammoth assemblage of wood and iron had only leather “springs” to protect its passengers from the jarring of the ruts and rocks.

At least fifteen miners, heavily laden with gear and eager to make their fortunes farther west, milled around in front of the coach.

“We will be off as soon as they load the mail,” Otto Mears continued, unaware of her trepidation.

“It is all a little overwhelming, Mr. Mears.”

“Call me Otto. You must call me Otto. I insist.” He smiled.

“There are so many people. Surely they are all not going on this one stage.” Kate was aghast at the prospect of being crammed into the coach with all these unwashed men.

“The coach was meant to hold nine. But it is not unusual for them to put eighteen or twenty on one. There is money to be made, and they are reluctant to turn down anyone.”

She could barely comprehend how the stage, however large, could be made to accommodate that many people. Her horror must have registered on her face.

“Not to worry, Katherine my friend, not to worry. I myself have purchased six tickets to prevent this problem. We will sit inside. The men”—he indicated the miners—“will be just as happy on the top.”

Kate looked up to the top of the vehicle and the small iron railing barely ten inches high that offered the only hope of preventing a rider from being thrown off the ten-foot tall coach during its journey.

“Stephen says we are to take the stage only to Pueblo.”

“Yes, that is correct. And then you will be my guests on the trip to Canon City. I am having my man meet us with a wagon.”

“You have business in Canon City?”

“I am to meet with General Adams. We have much to talk about,” he added somberly. “But that does not mean that we cannot share the beauty that is Colorado along our journey.”

“That would be lovely. Stephen has kept me cooped up since I have arrived.”

Otto commiserated. “No doubt. No doubt.”

This man
knew
, she realized. But he would not easily give up Stephen’s secret.

“Ah, you are in for such a treat.” He waved his arm expansively at the mountains that dominated the western sky. “It is better than Switzerland, my darling Katherine. Have you seen Switzerland?”

“No, I’m afraid I haven’t.”

“Not to worry. Not to worry. It pales in comparison. You must see these mountains to understand them and love them as I do.”

“I suspect no one could love them as you do.”

“There you are wrong, my dear. I suspect that your Stephen has grown extraordinarily fond of them himself. We foreigners develop a special appreciation for such beauty in another’s land.”

She felt the heat of a blush. “He is not
my
Stephen.”

But she remembered the look she had seen on Stephen’s face the day they had arrived. She had attributed it to his being home. But now she realized his eyes had never left the mountains. They were his true home.

“Ah, but how could he not be yours? He is a fool to ignore such a beautiful woman at his side. Do not be misled, my friend, I have seen the way he looks at you when you do not know. He could be yours if you wished it.” Otto laughed.

She could not free herself from the thought.
He could be hers.
The sequitur added itself
. She could be his.
The possibilities bombarded her. Every touch, every kiss, every longing came back to haunt her.

Otto’s off-hand comment had brought it all back. Even now she could not dampen her heightened sense of expectation, dry her moist palms, or calm her beating heart.

Without Lizzie, without her tragedy, without Stephen’s callous disregard of Andy for two long years, she would have weakened in an instant.

It was all too confusing.

You cannot love someone if you do not trust them,
he had said.

Now, at this moment, she needed desperately to trust him.

Otto helped her enter the stagecoach. Stephen soon followed. A newspaperman, whom Otto Mears identified as William Vickers, was the last to board. He took the seat next to Otto, across from her and Stephen.

“Worth.” William Vickers acknowledged Stephen with a nod. “You didn’t buy quite enough tickets to deprive yourself of my charming company.”

“Otto made an attempt, but had I known you would be coming, I would have purchased every last seat myself.”

“You haven’t introduced me yet to your beautiful companion.”

Stephen performed the required introduction curtly. “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Vickers.” She smiled and extended her hand. She had no reason to be rude to this stranger.

William Vickers took her hand. “The pleasure is all mine, I assure you. It is particularly pleasant to find a member of the family who will speak to me.”

“You have given me no reason not to, sir.”

“True, true. Let’s hope your brother-in-law does not turn you against me before we have even begun our acquaintance”—he released her hand—“which I hope will be a warm one.”

Stephen tensed slightly next to her. She tried to diffuse the tension. “I hardly think we will have much time to acquaint ourselves.”

“Let’s hope not.” Vickers wisely pulled his hat over his eyes and laid his head back to sleep. She sighed in relief.

…

The morning passed quickly. The land around them was rolling hills punctuated by trees. Occasionally a rocky outcropping served as a milepost. Otto would offer commentary when this occurred. Her seat by the window offered her a wonderful view of the mountains always present to the west.

The road was smooth and well-traveled. Still, the jarring of the coach grew wearisome and conversation was difficult with the noise of the fast-moving wheels. Shortly after their third relay stop, having lunched on cold meats and lemonade, she found herself fatigued and fell into a fitful sleep. When she awoke, it was late in the afternoon. Both Stephen and Otto slept, but William Vickers sat reading a copy of the
Denver Tribune
. The coach had slowed to a more leisurely pace as they approached Colorado Springs, their destination for the night.

The headline of the newspaper read
The Utes Must Go.

She was reminded of the terrifying encounter with Utes on the train. Her curiosity piqued, she wondered what the journalist knew of the tribe. “You must tell me why the Utes must go, Mr. Vickers. I am afraid I am ignorant of Indian affairs.”

“Then it is my pleasure to enlighten you, Miss Barker.” He meticulously folded the paper and laid it across his lap. A smirk lifted the corners of his mouth and made her uncomfortable.

“Quite simply they are a barbarous, illiterate people who stand squarely in the face of progress. To let an uncivilized tribe of aboriginal people defy those who are more civilized is an affront to good reason. You no doubt heard of poor Mr. Meeker?” he asked.

She nodded, although her knowledge was scant.

“They were shot down, Meeker in his office, Dresser and Price and the others as they were working on the roof of a new storehouse. Nine men in all. Shot down in cold blood. Their wives and children were taken as hostages by these savages, where they remain even today. One can only imagine what violations they must be enduring as we speak.”

Kate remembered the way Piah had looked at her. She shivered.

“Bravo, Vickers.” Stephen slowly clapped his hands.

He was awake. How long had he been listening?

Stephen stopped his clapping and said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “My hat’s off to you. You no doubt have won the lady’s sympathy with your half-truths and jingoism.”

Otto slowly stirred. His hooded eyes betrayed the fact that he too had been listening to her conversation with Vickers.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Is Mr. Vickers lying in what he has told me?”

“My dear Katherine,” Otto said, “the truth half-told is as good as a lie.”

“Then what has Mr. Vickers failed to tell me? I am not without reason. Justify to me, if you will, the murder of innocent men, and the violation of innocent women and children.”

Otto and Stephen remained silent.

“Go ahead and tell her, Worth. You have a particularly soft spot in your heart for the Utes. I want to hear you justify the massacre. I believe I will find great pleasure in your soft-bellied defense.”

She turned to Stephen. “If you consider me intelligent, then you must tell me all of the story and let me determine for myself what I wish to believe.”

“Vickers thinks the Utes lazy and stupid because they do not share the white man’s sense of greed. They own no property individually. Only their beloved ponies. The Utes refer to themselves simply as ‘the people.’ It is enough for them.” Stephen’s look dared Vickers to contradict him.

“They do little more than gamble and race their ponies. They cannot stop progress.” Vickers said angrily.

“The Ute have inhabited these mountains for over two hundred years. They peacefully retreated to the western slope of the Rockies by treaty in 1863. Within five years, the white man’s greed demanded their removal still farther west. The whites couldn’t accept sharing the land with a people who had cared for it, protected it for decades.

“Ouray ceded more land, despite the murmuring of the young hot-heads. Like any good leader, he recognized the odds and tried to protect his people. They were thirty-five-hundred against forty million.”

Vickers continued to goad. “You were there, Otto, tell Miss Barker the terms of the treaty. Tell her what Ouray got for his efforts.”

She looked over to Otto curiously.

“Tell her of the house he received and the ten thousand dollars a year we pay the heathen for his trouble,” Vickers said. “Ouray is little more than an opportunist. To attribute noble ideas to this savage is incomprehensible. It is costing us a fortune to support a people who are lazy and shiftless.”

“Does he receive payment?” she asked Otto.

“Yes. But what Vickers does not say is that there are many mines that take in over a thousand dollars a day in Ute lands. The payments salve the government’s guilty conscience. Ouray cares not for the money for himself, but rather for what it, and the food that they are given, can do for his people.”

“But what of the massacre? How can you justify it?” she demanded.

“I do not wish to justify cruelty in any form, my dear friend, but they are a peaceful people who have been lied to and cheated at every turn,” Otto said.

Stephen shook his head. “Meeker could have prevented it all. Last winter, the Utes were forced nearly to starvation because the annuity of food supplied by the Indian Bureau was left to spoil in Rawlins. It is our bureaucracy, our lack of honesty, that is killing these people. The violence could have been predicted and avoided with a little common sense. It is little wonder that Chief Douglas retaliated.”

The stage was coming slowly to a stop. They had reached Colorado Springs. But still the argument continued.

“And in turn massacred nine people.” Vickers smirked.

Stephen burst out in anger. “You give every detail when it supports your position, but where were you and your kind when Chivington and seven hundred of his men without a word, without any discussion, massacred more than three hundred Cheyenne women and children? What a great and noble victory for America, the papers proclaimed. Forget the fact that they pleaded for their lives, forget the fact that Chivington’s men had the audacity to save body parts as souvenirs, forget the fact that they used a toddler lost in the midst of carnage for target practice.”

A toddler... She felt ill. She fought with the door and, without waiting for assistance, hurried down the coach steps. She began to wretch. She fled alongside the stagecoach depot, seeking to flee the words that painted pictures of carnage so vile that she could not drive them from her head, and intermingled with them was the carnage of Stephen’s back. Why had she ever assumed only Indians could inflict such horrors?

Chapter Thirteen

At Pueblo, Otto provided a large covered wagon so they could continue their journey. The large spring-less vehicle made it clear that even minimal comforts would be a thing of the past. They had stayed in Pueblo only long enough to grab a quick meal. Now, the sun was low in the sky and Kate’s stomach rumbled with hunger. She sat beside the taciturn driver whose skill with the horse team was his only distinguishing feature.

They were finally heading west, however slowly. To the north, Pike’s Peak was inching behind them. The wind had picked up and blue-gray sagebrush caught in its breath wandered the low rolling hills.

They had followed the Arkansas River for over four hours. She wished she was on horseback with Stephen and Otto. The awkward rocking of the wagon left her empty stomach queasy and her backside numb.

Otto reined in his horse ahead of them and dropped back beside the wagon. “We will stop up ahead at the curve in the river.”

It was an answer to her prayers.

“How long will it take us to reach Canon City?” Canon City meant she would be free from this torturous wagon.

“If the weather holds, we should arrive tomorrow by late afternoon.”

“Thank you, Otto.” She watched as the small bearded man rode forward again to join Stephen. Late in the evening, they made camp and ate a sparse meal. Kate pulled a buffalo skin tighter around her. The fire before her leaped and twirled in the increasing breeze. There was a definite bite to the air.

A tent had been removed from the wagon behind her and erected by the men on the far side of the fire. The horses grazed peacefully where they had been tethered near the river. Her head drooped uncontrollably. She could barely keep her eyes open. She was more tired than she had ever been in her life.

“Otto has made a place for you in the wagon. Perhaps you should retire. You look exhausted.”

“No, I’m not that tired.” She would lie through her teeth not to give Stephen the satisfaction of knowing how exhausted she really was.

“We will be starting at dawn tomorrow. At Canon City there is a hotel,” he offered sympathetically. “Let me help you.” He extended a hand.

Reluctantly, Kate took it. He pulled her up, then took the heavy buffalo robe and followed her toward the covered wagon. He helped her climb inside and handed her the robe.

“Sleep well. It will be a long day tomorrow.”

He walked back to the fire and Otto. He had said little to her during this leg of the journey, but he had talked to Otto incessantly. Their conversations were often intense and the same words would always reach her—Ouray, Meeker, Adams, and disaster.

She undressed to her chemise and drawers and lay down pulling the buffalo robe up to her chin. Within moments, she was asleep.

When she opened her eyes, her face tingled with the cold. The sun was up. Its brilliance pierced the white canvas, giving the interior of the wagon a warm glow, but the sun, however bright, did little to warm the frigid air. She sat up and shivered. Her breath left a moist cloud. She hurried to dress. She did not want to slow their progress. Slipping on gloves and her heaviest cloak, she pulled back the canvas.

She had to squint. When she realized why, she gasped with delight. It had snowed. The sun sparkled and flashed like an exuberant child jumping from here to there and back again.

All was still quiet. There was no sign of the men. It was earlier than she had first imagined. The snow around their tent lay undisturbed. Only the fire showed signs of life. It still smoldered, sending a thin wisp of smoke up into the clear, brisk air.

She lifted her skirts and climbed down. The ground was slippery and she grasped the wagon briefly for support. There was always something magical about the first snowfall of the year. The tall blue spruces that covered the gentle slopes around them stood with their branches outstretched like welcoming arms. Their white confectionery topping only added to their beauty. A rabbit sprinted across the clearing, leaving its telltale tracks in the snow. Here and there, other small tracks suggested nocturnal visitors.

She carefully took a step testing her way. She needed to find a bit of privacy to complete her toilette. A large group of trees and boulders ten yards or so to the north offered the shelter she needed. Gingerly, she worked her way toward the spot.

When the necessities were taken care of, she walked farther toward the stand of blue spruce and stopped quietly for a moment amid the undisturbed snow. She took a deep breath, reluctant to go back. A bird settled on a spruce branch above her, sending snow cascading down on her head. She laughed.

“Be careful my feathered friend. Two can play this game.” She stooped down and made a soft ball out of the new-fallen snow. Aiming above the bird, she threw the snowball. The mischievous bird was gone long before the snowball hit the branches above it. The movement sent another batch of snow tumbling down on her and Kate laughed. She picked up another handful of snow and rose, studying her surroundings. About thirty feet away, back toward the camp, a magnificent spruce tree towered over the rest. A large boulder hid its base, but high on its branches a lone pinecone hung, defying the weather. She threw her snowball at the hanging target. The snowy missile passed wide of its mark. She bent and collected another handful. This time she pressed the snow tightly, packing it until it shone slick. Correcting her aim, she fired the snowball with all her might. This time she hit her mark. The cone dropped with a branch full of snow.

“What in...?” Displeasure was obvious in the male voice.

She couldn’t help herself. She laughed as her unintended victim appeared from behind the boulder.

Snow had settled on Stephen’s black hair and across his shoulders. He looked so mystified and so ridiculous that Kate clapped her hands in delight. Her clapping soon ended as a glint in his eye told her that she was in trouble.

He bent down and picked up a handful of snow. As he started to press it into a ball, she ducked behind the spruce.

“Don’t you dare,” she commanded.

“Don’t dare what?” A sly smile crossed his handsome face.

She bent to collect more snow herself. She never took her eyes off of him as he moved menacingly closer. He was in no hurry, she realized. He seemed to be enjoying her discomfort.

“Please, Stephen, don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it was an accident. I really didn’t know you were there.”

“Not good enough, Kate.” He shook his head, the infuriating smile still taunting her.

“Go ahead, then. I dare you.” She realized almost instantly it was the wrong thing to say. She ducked and his snowball grazed her shoulder, leaving a snowy trail on her dark coat. She fired her own snowball and he sidestepped and ducked, collecting more snow in the process.

She hightailed it for a nearby aspen. Using its trunk as protection, she grabbed more snow herself. When she looked up, he had disappeared.

“Stephen?”

There was no answer. A response would betray his position.

His footprints led off to the right, to a clump of spruces that circled around behind her. Their branches were so dense that he could be anywhere. She moved to the far side of the tree, hopefully placing it between them. She peeked out from behind the trunk. A snowball flew in from behind her, bursting on the tree a foot above her. She gasped as the cold snow washed across her face.

As he stooped to collect more snow, she sent her own snowball flying. The wet weapon found its mark, bursting on his head.

“Yes.” Kate shouted.

“So it is war then?” Stephen met her gaze, his face dripping with melted snow, his eyes alive with childish fun.

Kate turned and ran. Hiking her skirts up above her ankles, she fought the slippery ground. When it became clear she couldn’t outrun him, she stopped and scooped up another handful of snow.

She molded it and threw it as quickly as she could, hoping to stop his steady progress. It hit his chest. He paused only long enough to gather more snow. She darted away. Her heart was beating erratically. Her skin tingled with excitement. She couldn’t stop smiling even as she retreated. A snowball splattered against her back.

She was about face him when she lost her footing on the snowy slope. Her derriere hit the ground with a
thud
amid a flurry of skirts and petticoats.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She started to laugh uncontrollably. He stepped closer, relief evident on his face. When he had almost reached her, she grabbed a handful of snow and threw it at him. The loosely packed mass threw him off balance and as he took a step to steady himself, he hit the same slippery patch she had.

He came tumbling down beside her. Kate laughed harder. She rolled away from him until his arm caught her and pulled her back. He was up on one elbow, smiling.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. Are you hurt?” she finally managed to say between gasps of delight.

“Are you?” he asked.

“No.” Tears of laughter pooled in her eyes.

“Good.”

He pulled her closer. His face was over hers. Her heartbeat quickened again.

He didn’t say anything. Gently he brushed away her tears, first one eye and then the other. He did not pull his hand back but nestled it into her hair as his thumb softly stroked her cheek.

He bent lower and she closed her eyes. His lips were warm. Warmer than she imagined, softer than she imagined. They found the corners of her own mouth and left a delicate trail across her own slightly parted lips. Her body responded to his cautious inquiries. She didn’t want him to stop.

She ran her hand through his thick black hair. When he pulled away slightly, she opened her eyes.

There was something besides lust in his eyes, something even more enticing. She pulled him toward her. She kissed him and, when he kissed her back, his tongue sought access to the moistness of her mouth. She opened herself to him, overcome by a longing unlike any she had ever experienced.

She arched against him as his tongue thrust and parried with her own. She held him tighter, both her hands buried in his long dark hair. He laid her back and trailed kisses to her eyes. His warm breath washed across her cheek and then the slightest tug on her ear raised her flesh deliciously. He nibbled at her lobe and a tingling spread over her, seeking out other, more private places.

He pulled away again, his eyes hooded with passion. She raised her hand to explore him. She closed her eyes and memorized his face as if she were blind, running her fingertips over his brow. She touched each eyelid with a gentle caress of her thumb. She traced his temples until she cradled his face in her hands. She opened her eyes. She brushed his lips with one of her thumbs and he drew it slowly, exquisitely, into his mouth. There was a pull then, like a string attached from the top of her head to the deep recesses between her legs. The tugging was insistent and irresistible. He suckled on her thumb and she grew more and more needy.

She wanted him, and it frightened her as much as it excited her. What mysteries did a man and woman share? What delights?

He released her thumb and his hand slid under her cloak and along her ribcage. She drew her breath in sharply as he arrived at her breast. He ran his hand over the soft mound tantalizingly and then he unhooked her cloak and pushed it back.

The cool brisk air washed over her but it was not the chill of late autumn that sent a frisson of delight shooting through her.

“My friends, are you there?” The breeze carried Otto’s voice to where they lay in the snow.

Stephen laid his head quietly on her chest, covering her. Kate was taut with emotion. He rose on one elbow and pulled her cloak tightly around her. He brushed her cheek with his hand. And kissed her softly.

“We’re coming, Otto. No need to worry,” he yelled. He rose and extended a hand to Kate. When she regained her feet, she fastened her cloak. Stephen strode toward the wall of boulders.

Thankfully, Otto, ever tactful, had remained on the far side.

“Katherine will be along in a moment. What still needs to be done before we head out?” Stephen’s voice grew more distant as the two men walked away.

Kate stood dazed for a moment. Dazed and embarrassed. What had just happened? Why had she allowed it? And more importantly, why had she enjoyed it so much?