Page 44 of Texas Destiny
“Please be careful,” she said quietly.
He gave her what he hoped was a smile. He couldn’t remember the last time his face had broken into a real smile. The muscles felt tight, unaccustomed to the movement. He hoped he didn’t look ridiculous. “Got no choice in the matter. Dallas would have my hide if I left you out here all alone.”
She gave him a smile, a beautiful smile that made her green eyes sparkle and chased away the worried frown. The sight of it tightened something in his chest.
He prodded Sorrel back across the river. Once on the other side, he tied a rope to the saddle horn, his intent to lead Sorrel back across the river. He left the other end unsecured, simply threading it through his fingers along with the reins. He didn’t want the horse tethered to the wagon if something should happen. Every now and then, a strong rush of water had pushed against them as they’d crossed back over.
His more practical side told him to wait … but the side that housed his heart urged him to take the wagon across and get Amelia to the ranch as soon as possible.
He looked across the river. She stood on the far bank, watching him, not gathering wood as he’d told her. For some reason he couldn’t explain, it alarmed him and warmed him to see her watching, waiting for him.
He indulged himself for a moment and envisioned her standing within the doorway of his cabin, wearing that green dress they’d purchased in Fort Worth, her loose hair brushed to a golden sheen, the scent of fresh-baked bread wafting behind her …
He shook off the image. She’d be standing on Dallas’s veranda. Houston Leigh would be nothing more to her than a brother by marriage, which was as it should be. Women like Amelia belonged to men like Dallas. And Dallas had branded her as his long before Houston even knew her name.
With a slap of the reins and a coarse yell, he sent the mules moving slowly toward the river’s edge. The wagon teetered as it rolled over the uneven, muddy ground.
Houston whacked the reins over the mules’ backsides and yelled louder, urging the animals forward into the rushing water. The four mules moved sluggishly, dragging the wagon slowly across the river. Floating brushwood rushed rapidly downstream, spinning and dipping.
The wagon jerked to a stop. Houston slapped the reins and hollered. The mules strained against the harness, strained against the water. Houston was on the verge of jumping into the water in order to work the wheels free when the wagon lurched forward, a loud crack filled the air, and all hell broke loose.
A mule brayed, and the other mules no longer worked as a team. It flashed through Houston’s mind that something—possibly a snake—had spooked them.
Then nothing but panic roared through his mind as the wagon began to lean with the force of the current. He released the rope holding Sorrel and prayed the horse had the good sense to cross to the other side of the river. Then he prayed Amelia would have the good sense to ride the horse west.
A log traveling rapidly with the current rammed into the wagon. The mules screeched. Houston was losing control, losing control of the team, losing control of the wagon. He jumped into the river with the thought of gaining control by grabbing the lead mule, but the current was stronger, the river bottom slicker than he’d anticipated. His foot slid out from under him and he went under.
Amelia watched in horror as Houston disappeared beneath the raging current. When he surfaced, he plowed through the water until he reached the back of the wagon. He wrapped a hand around a wheel, then bent, his other hand disappearing under the water, and she wondered if he thought he could lift the wagon, free it, and push it across the surging water.
Then the wagon groaned and tilted further until it looked as though it might topple onto him. She balled her hands around his duster, silently urging him to leave the wagon, to escape the river. As though he heard her pleas, he began to fight the current. She barely had time to release her breath before she realized he wasn’t heading toward shore, that his destination was the mules. Helplessly she watched as he struggled to release the mules. An eternity seemed to pass before one mule began to wander toward the shore where she stood.
Amelia’s heart leapt into her throat when she spotted another log traveling quickly with the current. She screamed out a warning at the same moment that one of the remaining mules sidestepped and shoved its shoulder against Houston. Houston stumbled backward. The log rammed into the base of his skull. Once again, the current dragged him down.
Amelia threw off his duster and jumped into the river.
White light exploded in Houston’s head before the brown water sucked him under. He heard Amelia’s scream, and dear God, help him, he thought he saw her leap into the river.
He forced back the pain, forced back the welcome oblivion, and resurfaced to see her splashing in the water, screaming his name.
With long, swift strokes born of desperation, he swam toward her, fighting the current, fighting the fear. If she lost her footing as he had, she’d go under the murky waters … and find herself surrounded by the darkness that terrified her. No sunlight would filter through the churning river to guide her back to the surface. He wanted her to see another sunrise, to know again the feathery touch of dawn.
As he neared, he could see the fear darkening her eyes. Gaining his footing, he snaked out his arm, wrapping it around her waist and drawing her trembling body against his. The mud sucked at his boots as he hauled her to the bank of the river and collapsed in the mud, her body falling alongside his, her breathing labored, his own chest aching as he fought to draw in air. With the blinding stars dancing across his vision, he rose up on an elbow and glared at the quivering woman lying beside him. Her lips were incredibly blue in a face that was amazingly white. He pressed his wet body over hers, trying to warm her.
She laid her palm against his bristled cheek. “You’re safe,” she whispered.
“What the hell did you think you were doing?” he growled, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.
“I was going to save you.”
He threaded his fingers through her tangled hair. She’d lost her bonnet. She was damn lucky she hadn’t lost her life. “You little fool,” he rasped in a voice rift with emotion. “You brave little fool.”
His mouth swooped down to cover hers. Her cold, quivering lips parted slightly, and he thrust his tongue through the welcome opening like a man desperately searching for treasure.
And treasure he found.
He gentled the kiss because she wasn’t a whore whose body he wanted to use to gratify his lust. She was a woman whose warmth he wanted to relish as it seeped through his body, touching his heart as none had before her. He wanted to feel the gentle swell of her curves as they pressed against the hard planes of his body. He wanted—for just one moment—to be young again and innocent. To have no knowledge of betrayal.
Her mouth was warm and sweet, so incredibly sweet. And small, just like the rest of her. She tasted so damn good. He savored her flavor the way a man might enjoy a glass of fine whiskey, leisurely, allowing the whiskey to fill his mouth before releasing the brew, allowing it to burn his throat.
