Passage West Read online

  He watched the sway of her hips and felt the juices begin to flow. She and that crazy old aunt of hers always looked like they were going to a church social. While the other women in the train trudged along beside the wagons, those two rode inside, fanning themselves like queens. They weren’t anything special, he thought, feeding the hostility that always manifested itself in desire. They were just women. And Flint Barrows knew what he liked to do with women. All women.

  When Carrie stopped beside her wagon, Flint crept closer. If he moved fast, he could cover her mouth before she could scream. There’d be no one around to hear her struggle. With a grin, he snaked out a hand and caught her by the shoulder, jerking her backward against him. As her mouth opened, he clamped his hand over it and caught her around the waist, lifting her up into the back of the wagon. Before she could cry out, he was on top of her. Seeing her eyes widen with fear, he felt a surge of excitement. They were all alike. Young or old, it mattered not to him. Just as long as they knew real terror. The more a woman cried and lost control, the more excited he became. With one vicious tug her dress gave way at the shoulder, revealing pale creamy skin. His mouth covered hers, swallowing her cries.

  * * * * *

  As she approached the wagon, Abby smoothed down the skirt of her gown. It had been sweet of Aunt Vi and Carrie to make over one of her mother’s dresses for her. Now it was going to be even more difficult to have to be the one to tell them that they would have to walk alongside the wagon once the train left Fort Kearny. The journey to California was a long one. The extra weight of two women would have to be eliminated if the team was going to make it. Abby wondered how her fragile aunt would endure the trek. Dear Aunt Vi. If only she could have been spared this ordeal.

  Hearing a muffled sob, Abby paused. Was that Carrie crying? Had Pa done something to make her cry?

  “Carrie?”

  The sound stopped abruptly.

  “Carrie, what’s...” Drawing back the flap of canvas, Abby saw a man struggling with her little sister. Pinned beneath his weight, the girl was sobbing and thrashing.

  Abby’s voice was a hiss of fury. “Let her go!”

  The man looked up, swore, then shoved Abby backward with such force, she was flung against the rough bark of a tree. Crying out, she picked up a broken limb and sprang forward to strike him.

  He leaped down from the wagon and advanced on the slender figure brandishing the club.

  “So you like to fight, do you? Well let’s just see how long you can hold out against me.”

  In the glow of the firelight, Abby recognized Flint Barrows. His eyes were glazed. He reeked of liquor. “You animal. How dare you attack a helpless little girl.”

  “Little girl?” He laughed, and the sound sent shivers along her spine. It was the laugh of a madman. “If she’s old enough to bleed, she’s old enough to take.”

  With quick movements, he grasped the end of the tree limb and wrestled it from her hands. “Maybe you’d like to take her place.”

  As he advanced on Abby, he felt a sharp pain on the side of his head as he was struck from behind by a boulder. He swung around to find Carrie, her dress hanging in shreds, bending down to retrieve another weapon.

  “Two little she-cats. Now ain’t this going to be fun.” Swinging the club, he caught Carrie at the back of the head, sending her sprawling in the dirt. When she didn’t move, Abby let out a cry.

  “You’ve killed her.” In a frenzy, she bent and picked up a flaming stick from the fire and threw it at her attacker. With a scream of pain, Flint Barrows caught the fiery missile against his chest, setting his shirt on fire.

  Rolling around in the grass, he put out the flames, then turned all his fury on the girl who was bent over her younger sister.

  “You’re going to pay for what you just did, girlie.”

  As he advanced on Abby, he heard the click of a revolver and felt cold steel pressed against his temple.

  A voice as chilling as death said, “You have five seconds to get out of my sight. Or you’ll be dead.”

  Barrows froze, then turned and stared into Rourke’s hard slate eyes. As he started to speak, Rourke cut him off.

  “I’d relish the chance to kill you, Barrows. Now you’ve got three seconds.”

  Without a word, Flint Barrows turned and ran into the darkness beyond the circle of light.

  Tears stung Abby’s eyes as she bent over her younger sister. “Carrie. Oh Carrie, please be all right.”

  The girl moaned, and Abby clutched at her, then felt the warm, sticky mass of blood on the back of her head.

  Instantly Rourke was at her side. With an efficiency of movement, he lifted the girl in his arms and placed her on a blanket in the back of the wagon. Probing the wound, he said, “Bring me some water and a clean cloth.”

  As he washed the blood from her head, he felt the swollen mass at the base of her skull. “It’s bloody, but nothing serious. She’ll have a hell of a pain in her head tomorrow.”

  Kneeling beside him, Abby took the cloth from his hand. “I’ll tend my sister now.”

  Rourke glanced around the neat wagon. “Where’s your father?”

  Abby shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him all day. I suppose he’s at the post drinking with the men.”

  Or sleeping it off somewhere, Rourke thought.

  As he climbed down from the wagon, Abby followed him. All her earlier anger at this man had disappeared. Extending her hand, she swallowed and said softly, “Thank you, Rourke. For saving Carrie and me.”

  “You were doing a pretty good job of it yourself.” He glanced at the figure of her sister, lying so still.

  As she followed the direction of his look, her voice choked with anger. “She’s just a little girl.”

  “That won’t matter to a man like Barrows.” Rourke thought of some of the men he’d met in the war. Something had snapped inside them. Whatever goodness or decency they’d once had was gone. Now they knew only anger and killing and revenge. “Stay close to her.”

  Abby nodded. “I won’t let her out of my sight.” She stared up at his face, half hidden in shadow, and couldn’t think of anything more to say.

  As she climbed into the wagon, he realized for the first time that she was wearing a dress instead of her usual men’s clothes. He wondered if she knew how small and delicate she looked. Not at all like the kind of woman who drove a team and brandished a club at a man twice her size.

  Rourke glanced at the whiskey bottle he had dropped beneath the tree. All he’d wanted tonight was to be left alone, to drink away his memories and find relief in blessed sleep. The last thing he wanted was to get involved in Abby Market’s life. Dark clouds scudded across the sky, obscuring the moon. These women were alone. Alone and vulnerable. He let out a string of oaths. With reluctance he bent, picked up the bottle, and corked it. He’d need a clear head if he was going to keep watch on the Market wagon for the rest of the night. Not that he wanted to get involved in their troubles, be told himself. But if James Market wasn’t going to look out for these women, someone had to.

  Sitting with his back against the rough bark, he checked his gun, then drew out a cigar and bit the end. Might as well be prepared for a long sleepless night. But, he consoled himself, as long as he stayed awake all night, the painful dreams couldn’t touch him.

  Chapter Five

  Abby held her sister in her arms and waited until the latest bout of weeping subsided. So far she had managed to ascertain from Carrie that Flint Barrows had not managed to accomplish what he had set out to do. Abby’s intervention had fouled his plans. But he had managed to steal something precious from Carrie this night—her carefree childhood. Would she ever again feel safe? Abby shivered and watched as her sister lapsed into restless sleep. Or would she forever remember a man’s cruel hands hurting her?

  The men in Abby and Carrie’s young lives had not been kind. Until his death, their grandfather had been a harsh, demanding taskmaster, a preacher whose own children had nev
er measured up to his expectations. Their father, aware of his own father’s disappointment in him, had become bitter, reclusive, turning to the contents of his jug to smother his feelings of inadequacy. And if Flint Barrows was any indication, Abby thought with growing resentment, the men on this wagon train were no better.

  “What’s this? What has Carrie done to her dress?” Violet climbed up into the back of the wagon and stared in dismay at the torn fabric.

  In a whisper, Abby told her aunt what had happened. In her mind, she had rehearsed the delicate language she would use in order to spare this very proper lady any embarrassment. Her aunt’s uncharacteristic response surprised her.

  “We must find James and report this incident immediately. Your father will see that Flint Barrows is removed from the wagon train.”

  Relief flooded through Abby. She had expected tears, pity, even hysteria. What she discovered was a hint of steel beneath the ribbons and lace.

  Abby caught her aunt’s wrist as she turned to leave. “The men have all been drinking. I wonder if we should wait until morning.”

  Violet hesitated. What her niece said made sense. It was very late for her brother to be away from the wagon. Perhaps by now Mordecai Stump and Mr. Thompson were asleep. There was no point in waking them and causing a scene.

  “All right, dear. But in the morning, your father will go to Mr. Stump and demand that Flint Barrows leave the train.”

  Abby nodded, then squeezed Violet’s hand. A moment later Carrie began to cry. The two women lay on either side of her and stroked her hair, sharing with her their comfort and strength.

  * * * * *

  Rourke stretched stiff muscles, then stood and holstered his gun. In the morning mist his damp shirt clung. Picking up the bottle, he gave a last glance at the object of his night’s watch and strode toward the cook wagon. He didn’t want to be caught sitting there when they awoke. Each time Abby Market looked at him, he felt like every kind of fool. After that incident at the river, he’d never again be easy in her presence.

  He had observed Violet Market’s return, and had heard snatches of a whispered conversation. Though he had stayed awake all night, he hadn’t seen James Market return. Damned jackass didn’t give a damn about these women. Why should that fact bother him? Rourke wondered with growing anger. Stowing the bottle in his bedroll, Rourke pulled on a dry shirt and headed toward the fire. What he wanted was strong hot coffee. And enough work to keep his mind off people who weren’t any of his damned business.

  * * * * *

  Abby awoke with a start, feeling guilty that the sun was already up. The long night with Carrie had left her disoriented. She dressed and hurried to feed the team, then started a fire for their morning meal. Her father still had not returned to the wagon, and she felt a growing sense of dread. What if he had fallen in the darkness? What if he were lying somewhere, alone and hurt? Coffee boiled in a blackened kettle over the fire. Chunks of pork snapped and sizzled in a pan. The aroma of biscuits, baked over coals, added an almost festive air to their morning at Fort Kearny. Abby, kneeling by the fire, heard the sound of whispers from the wagon and knew that Carrie and Violet were awake. Glancing up, she saw the figure of her father approaching. With a little cry of relief she leaped up and ran toward him. At the look on his face she stopped.

  His skin was pale, his eyes puffy. His mouth was drawn into a tight line of anger.

  “I was worried, Pa. Where’ve you been?”

  “Worried, were you? But not worried enough to come looking for me. I spent the night in the wet grass, probably about to catch a fever, and not one of my family even thought to come fetch me home.”

  Abby touched a hand to his wrist. “Pa, we have to talk.”

  “Talk? I’m near to death and my lazy, good-for-nothing daughter wants to talk.” Snatching his hand away, he headed toward the wagon.

  “Pa.” Abby’s voice instinctively lowered so the people in wagons nearby wouldn’t overhear her. “Flint Barrows attacked Carrie last night.”

  James Market swung around to face her. Behind him, Carrie and Violet poked their heads through the flap of canvas.

  “Attacked her? With what? A gun? A knife?”

  “He grabbed her and threw her into the wagon, Pa. He was trying to ... ” Abby saw the look on Carrie’s face and stared down at the ground. “He was going to force himself on her.”

  James ran a tongue over his lips. His mouth tasted like straw. “Well? Did he?”

  “I came along in time to stop him. We fought. He knocked Carrie to the ground with a club. I thought she was dead.”

  James Market swung around and glared at his youngest daughter. “She don’t look dead to me.”

  “I’m all right, Pa,” Carrie said softly. “Just got a lump on my head.”

  “My head hurts too. I’m going to sleep.”

  “James.” As he pushed past them, Violet looked stricken. “Aren’t you going to do anything about this?”

  “What would you have me do, woman?”

  “Talk to Mr. Stump and Mr. Thompson. Have them remove Flint Barrows from the wagon train.”

  “The man has a wife, big with child. What will they do? Stay on here at the fort while the rest of us go on to California? Are you suggesting that we should do without another pair of strong arms on this train just because he tried to steal a kiss from Carrie?”

  “James.” Violet lowered her voice, striving for the patience a lady should always display. “What that man did last night was much more than try to steal a kiss.”

  Abby’s voice cut in, louder than she’d intended. “He was forcing himself on Carrie. If I hadn’t come along when I did, you know what would have happened to her.”

  James climbed back down from the wagon and turned to face Abby. In his rage, color returned to his cheeks. “Could it be you’re jealous, girlie? Look at you. You’re so busy trying to be a man”—he stared pointedly at her shirt and britches—“that you wouldn’t know what it feels like to have a man put his hands on you. And you know what, Miss High-and-Mighty? You never will.”

  For one stunned moment Abby could only stare at her father. How could he be this hateful? How did he always manage to turn things around, until she was somehow to blame for everything that happened? Regaining her speech, she asked, “Does this mean you don’t intend to speak to Mordecai Stump about Flint Barrows?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean. Now leave me alone.” Pushing past the startled women, he climbed into the wagon and rolled himself into a blanket.

  For long silent minutes the three women stared at each other. Then Abby turned back to the fire. Resentment, fury, fear boiled inside her. What chance did they have in this wilderness with men who considered them little more than servants? A man like Flint Barrows thought he had every right to take a woman too weak or small to fight back. Her father resented having to take care of three helpless women, when his only son had died at birth. And Rourke. Rourke had warned her to watch out for Carrie. But how much could she do? Feeling drained, she poured a cup of coffee.

  “Food’s ready,” she said listlessly.

  “I’m not hungry.” Turning away, Carrie stared around the enclosed fort, her arms wrapped tightly about herself.

  “Eat something, child,” Violet urged.

  “No.” Taking a blanket from the wagon, Carrie wrapped it around her shoulders and sat down beside the fire. Things weren’t going to change, she thought. Nothing ever changed. Except the landscape. They had gone from a miserable existence on a hardscrabble farm to a more miserable existence here in the wilderness. She swallowed back the tears that threatened. Abby never cried. Abby endured. Like a mule, Carrie thought angrily, then immediately regretted the thought. If it hadn’t been for her sister, Flint Barrows would have ...

  Filling a plate, Abby set it in front of Carrie, then filled a second plate for herself. She ate mechanically, her mind working frantically. Without her father’s cooperation, they would never be able to go to Mordecai Stump and have
Flint Barrows removed from the train. The men made the decisions around here. The women were forced to live with those decisions.

  At least now they knew what sort of animal Flint Barrows was. They would have to become more vigilant. From now on, besides the dangerous trail, the river crossings, the Indians, there would be another danger. But this one was far from unknown. And probably far more dangerous.

  * * * * *

  The respite at Fort Kearny left everyone in the train except the Markets more cheerful. The women had a chance to wash and sew and take on fresh supplies. The men had time to repair their harnesses and wagons and swap stories around the campfire. But when the wagon train made ready to pull out at dawn on the third day, the Market wagon was nearly left behind.

  James had spent the second day of their stopover sleeping off the effects of the liquor. By evening, he was back at the trading post, sharing a bottle with Flint Barrows. When James brought up the subject of his youngest daughter, Flint suggested that she was nothing more than a little temptress.

  “Flaunted herself in front of me, James, and asked me to come up in the wagon and help her move something.”

  Market downed his drink and poured another generous amount. “I thought as much.”

  “When she threw her arms around my neck, I figured the girl had gone crazy as a loon.” Flint leaned forward, giving his friend a conspiratorial wink. “Girls that age get strange notions. Want to test them on any poor fool who comes along.”

  James nodded. “She and that sister of mine. Always sitting around talking about kings and princes and castles and such. Useless.” He made a fist and pounded it on the table, causing several men to glance his way. “I’ve had enough of all that. From now on those two are going to pull their share. It’s time they found out what real life is like.”

  Flint signaled for another bottle and filled their glasses. “I’d be glad to take your youngest into my wagon. She could be a help to my wife. The baby’s due in another month or two.”

  Market gave him a narrowed look. It was tempting. Especially if Barrows was willing to pay him for Carrie’s services. But then he thought about the gossip that would ensue. “I ain’t giving away any of mine. She can earn her keep with us. And by God she’ll learn what it is to work.”