Full Steam Ahead (27 page)

D
arius held his mount to a slow canter as he tracked the wagon wheel grooves he’d been following since leaving Liberty. Not knowing how long it would take to catch up to the freighter, he didn’t want to risk exhausting his mount. Yet the restraint was taking its toll. A giant clock ticked in his head, the sound growing louder the longer he rode without overtaking the wagon. Had the Jenkins brothers found Nicole? Was she even now suffering at their hands?

His tracking skills were minimal at best—growing up in New York he’d had little use for the skill, after all—so he didn’t even try to decipher the myriad hoofprints lining the road. No, he focused on the wheel marks, praying they were indeed from the freight wagon and not some random farm vehicle.

Even if the Jenkins brothers had already made off with Nicole, Holsten would be able to tell him what happened.

If the man was still alive.

A sweat droplet beading on Darius’s forehead rolled into the corner of his right eye. He swiped his sleeve impatiently
against the sting and squinted back at the wheel tracks. So intent was he on the ground directly in front of his horse that he nearly missed the buckskin-clad man limping unsteadily toward him along the west side of the road. A quick glance north revealed a listing wagon bed protruding from between a stand of pines.

Darius immediately reigned in his mount. “You Holsten?”

The man lifted his head, his stare hostile. A line of blood trickled along his temple from beneath his dust-laden hat. “Who’s askin’?”

“Name’s Thornton.” When no recognition brightened the man’s eyes, Darius hastened to add a bit of context to his name. “I bought the Oakhaven plantation outside of Liberty a year or so ago.”

Holsten cocked his head. “The crazy easterner who blows things up?”

Darius winced. Perhaps he should have left the context off. “Only in the name of scientific inquiry, I assure you. But my choice of pastime is not at issue here. I’m looking for a woman. Average height, brown hair, red dress. I believe she stowed away in your wagon.”

“What you want with her?”

Darius bit back a growl. Must the man respond to everything he said with a question? Getting information out of Holsten was like getting steam out of lukewarm water.

“She is to be my wife,” Darius said, leaning over the saddle to better meet the man’s eyes, “and she’s in danger. I believe you may have had a run-in with the two villains chasing her.” He tipped his head in the direction of the abandoned wagon.

The freighter stared up at him as if he couldn’t make up his mind as to whether or not Darius could be trusted.

“Please,” Darius begged. “If you saw which way they headed
or know anything about Nicole’s whereabouts, please tell me. They will stop at nothing to get what they seek. I fear for her safety.”

“I do, too. It’s why I’m hiking down this dad-blamed road with my head poundin’ and my eyes crossed from the pistol butt I took to the skull. Didn’t even know the gal was there until them yahoos started waving their guns around, demandin’ I hand her over. Poor thing lit out like a scared rabbit, hoppin’ out of the wagon and dashin’ for the trees as if she were lookin’ for some kind of hole to hide herself in. Didn’t see her for long,” the freighter admitted, scratching at his beard, “but I do recall that red dress of hers. She’ll have a hard time hidin’ anywhere with a flag like that waving around.”

“Where?” Darius demanded, jerking straight in the saddle and scanning the trees for clues.

“See that sapling with the broken crown?” Holsten pointed to a spot about ten yards behind Darius, where a young pine’s top dangled sideways. “I saw her run that way, headin’ toward the river. The first feller lit out after her, cursin’ and hollerin’.”

Darius didn’t wait for more explanation. He kicked his mount into action and raced for the sapling.

“The second one’s got my shotgun as well as a pistol,” Holsten called out after him. Darius shifted the reins to his left hand and retrieved his percussion pistol with his right.

“Don’t let me be too late, Lord,” he whispered. “Not this time.”

Nicole gasped and sputtered when Fletcher finally yanked her head out of the river. Wet hair slashed across her face, making it even harder to breathe. Coughs wracked her body as she fought to expel the water she’d swallowed. She couldn’t
see anything, feel anything. Her entire being focused on drawing air into her aching lungs.

How many times had he forced her head under the water? Four? Five? She’d lost count. Waist-deep in the Trinity, she couldn’t feel her legs any longer. Her energy flagged. The cruel hand clutching the hair at the top of her head might very well be the only thing keeping her upright. The river’s current tugged at her sodden skirts, tempting her to just float away and leave her troubles behind.

But leaving her troubles behind also meant leaving her family behind. Leaving Darius. She didn’t want to leave him. She wanted to feel his strong arms about her, to feel his lips press into hers, to hear him whisper words of love in her ear.

“Where . . . is . . . the dagger?” Fletcher’s growl brought Nicole’s mind back into focus. His heaving breaths told her he was winded, as well, weakening. If she could last just a little longer, maybe he would falter.

Not wanting to waste the energy it would take to choke out the same answer he’d already punished her for multiple times, Nicole kept her mouth shut.

“Come on, Nicki. This feud has gone on . . . long enough. The Lafitte Dagger . . . belongs to the Jenkins family. Your . . . grandfather stole it from us.” He paused and glanced over at the riverbank. Searching for answers? Patience? A rock to finish her off with? “Your father’s had his whole life to reap the dagger’s rewards. It’s our turn.”

His grip tightened on her hair, and terror leaked into Nicole’s veins. He was going to send her under again.

“Give up the dagger, and I swear I’ll not threaten you or anyone in your family again.”

The pressure built against her neck. She tried to resist, but
she’d lost too much strength
.
Fletcher’s arm slowly bent her head down. The water rose up to meet her.

No!
Not again.

Gulping what air she could, she braced herself for the shock of cold and the smothering swirl of water.

She couldn’t forfeit . . . had to hold tight . . . stay strong. For her father. For Darius. If Fletcher found him with the dagger, he—

Her face hit the water, then the icy blanket closed over her head. She didn’t fight it. Not anymore. It did no good. Yet when her feeble supply of air grew thin and her lungs protested, panic crawled over her like a thousand tiny spiders.

She started to thrash, grabbing at his hand even though she knew it would do her no good. He wouldn’t let her up until the black edges of unconsciousness threatened. Yet this time something changed. A garbled rumble reached her through the water, the sound deep and resonant. An instant later, Fletcher yanked her upward, blessed air finding its way back into her lungs.

“Nicole!” The deep rumble she’d heard underwater turned into an anguished roar.

She knew that voice. Nicole clawed at the dripping hair swathing her face, desperate to confirm with her eyes what her ears had already told her.

Darius!
Her heart gave such a leap of joy it nearly flew from her chest. But as quickly as it leapt, it plummeted to the ground like a bird shot out of the sky. What was he doing here? He was supposed to be on the way to Galveston with the dagger.

He met her eyes briefly before turning his attention to Will. Only then did she realize that the two men had pistols trained on each other. Will stood on the riverbank slightly
upstream from her position, while Darius, still mounted, was situated closer to the trees.

“Let her go, Fletcher,” Darius demanded, “or I’ll shoot your brother.”

“You can try, but he’ll get a shot off, as well. Then who will rescue the lady?” Fletcher spun Nicole around in a half circle, forcing her into deeper water. Her footing slipped. She squealed as the current swept her feet out from under her.

“Nicole!”

Fletcher grasped her about the waist and hoisted her upright, just as a gunshot rent the air, his distraction a success. Darius fell from his horse, and in that moment, Nicole didn’t care one fig about the blasted Lafitte Dagger. All she cared about was the man she loved and whether or not he was alive.

“No!” She fought Fletcher’s hold, desperate to get to Darius, but her enemy’s grip was as unshakeable as iron.

“Get his gun, Will,” Fletcher shouted, but Darius was already regaining his feet, the pistol still in his hand.

Nicole searched his form for injury but saw nothing. Surely he must have been hit to have been thrown backward off his horse. Keeping his pistol trained on Will, who had traded his pistol for the freighter’s shotgun, Darius turned toward her, easing his way closer to the river. That’s when she saw it—a line of red blooming against the white cotton of his shirt beneath his coat. How deep had the bullet penetrated? It could be a scratch or a mortal wound; she had no way of knowing. At least he was on his feet. Yet even as she watched, the red line on his shirt widened and spread. He’d not be able to hold them off for long. And what would happen to him then?

“I have what you want, Fletcher.” Darius’s voice resonated with a forcefulness that heartened Nicole’s anxious spirit, until she realized what he was holding.

He was going to forfeit the dagger.

Nicole shook her head in slow denial, even as logic told her it was the only chance to save both their lives.

She never should have taken the dagger. Should have left it at home with her father’s guards. But, no. She’d wanted to prove herself. Show her father that she was as good as a son. Sure, she’d also wanted to keep her parents safe, but had that been her true motive or just an excuse?

“Will?” Fletcher’s grip tightened painfully about her waist, but Nicole made no protest. She stood against him, limp. It was over. Jenkins had won.

“It looks like the real thing,” Will called out. “I can see the jewels from here.”

Darius took another step closer to the river. “Let her go, Fletcher, and it’s yours.”

A sob caught in Nicole’s throat. She hated feeling helpless. Trapped. Responsible.

“Set it down on the bank and step away,” Fletcher ordered. “Once you’re clear, I’ll release the girl.”

Darius obeyed, keeping his pistol trained on Will so the other man would not be tempted to make a premature move for the dagger. “The dagger’s yours,” Darius called. “Now, release Nicole.”

Fletcher’s grip loosened from around her waist. Nicole staggered for purchase, having lost her anchor. The current eroded the sand from beneath her shoes and her sodden skirts tugged her downstream. Losing her balance, she lifted her arms to steady herself, but just as she found her footing, a boot shoved against her backside, sending her sprawling into the river.

The greedy current snagged its prize and pulled her deeper into its grasp. She tried to swim, but the toll of fighting Fletcher
had sapped her strength. Her skirts dragged her under. She fumbled with the fastenings as the river turned and twisted her beneath the surface, frantic to free herself from the leaden fabric. But her fingers were too numb. As the blackness rose to claim her, she battled to the surface a final time, gulped a breath, then let the river take her.

W
hen Nicole’s head disappeared beneath the river’s surface, Darius’s heart stopped beating.

No!

In that instant he forgot about Will Jenkins and his shotgun. He forgot about the wound throbbing in his side. Every ounce of his attention focused solely on the patch of red fabric floating away from him with alarming haste.

Dropping his pistol, he sprinted for the river. His boots tore up the bank as he ran past a dripping Fletcher. The man made a dive for the dagger, yelling at his brother to shoot, but Darius never slowed. Nothing mattered more than getting to Nicole.

Her head broke the surface once, but the current immediately sucked her back down. She wouldn’t have the strength to fight the current and the weight of her skirts for long.

Darius slid down the muddy bank and hit the water. High-stepping through the shallows, he rushed forward on foot until the river reached his thighs. Then, after a final glance to pinpoint Nicole’s position, he dove headfirst into the Trinity.

Never had he swum so hard. Agony pierced his injured side each time he stretched his right arm over his head for a full stroke. He steeled his mind against it, defiantly stretching his arm even farther the next stroke. He would not slow. Not for anything. His waterlogged boots dragged at him like twin anchors, but he simply kicked harder. If he couldn’t reach her in time, all would be lost, and his well-being would no longer matter.

Feeling the currents swirl and tug, Darius did his best to swim with the river instead of against it, but even so his fatigue grew. He lifted his head, needing to gauge his distance from Nicole, make sure he wasn’t off course. For one heart-stopping moment, he saw nothing but dark water. Panic seized him.

Scenes from his last nightmare flashed through his mind—him searching the waters for the drowning girl from the
Louisiana
only to have her identity shift as he watched her face take on Nicole’s beloved features.

This couldn’t be happening again. He couldn’t lose another girl. He couldn’t lose Nicole.

Then, as if the Lord had heard his unformed prayer, he glimpsed a bit of red.
Thank
God!
She was close. Only a few yards ahead.

He cut through the water toward her, choosing a line that would take him slightly past his target so the current would push her directly into his arms. But he had to fight the current to get there. He kicked and stroked, pulling with all his might. Just as he lifted his head to check his position, something heavy thumped into his side. He grabbed for it, knowing it had to be Nicole, but she eluded his grasp.

He hadn’t had time to take a breath, but he didn’t care. He had to get a hold of Nicole before the river dragged her away
from him again. Working beneath the surface, he opened his eyes and fumbled with the seemingly endless fabric of her dress to find her arm or waist to latch on to. Murky water clouded his vision. He could make out a swirl of red but little else. Then all at once, the mass rubbing against him slid beneath, escaping.

His lungs burned for air, but his heart screamed louder. He would
not
let the river take her. With a forceful kick he lunged downstream and threw his arms wide before closing them like a crab’s pincer around something blessedly solid. Darius clasped it to his chest and surged to the surface.

Sunlight hit his skin and air rushed into his lungs, but the woman he held hung limp over his arm. Her back was to him, one arm pinned upward at an awkward angle, her hair full of river soil and debris. He turned her toward him, gaining a better hold around her ribs. Desperate to see her face, he swiped roughly at the hair covering her features. All color had been drained from her skin. Her neck flopped against his arm like that of a lifeless doll. Like the girl from the
Louisiana.

No!
Nicole was a fighter. No woman who could run as well as she and kill snakes with a toss of a knife would let a river take her down. She was his pirate, raised on the isle of Jean Lafitte, king of the pirates. She knew how to swim, how to survive against the odds. He’d not give up on her.

Turning onto his side, careful to keep her face above water, Darius swam one-armed toward the bank. With each pull toward shallower water, the current’s grasp on him eased. When his fingertips finally scraped the muddy bottom, Darius’s strength was so spent, he struggled to get his feet under him. He wobbled as badly as a newborn foal, but somehow he managed to gather the woman he loved into his arms and stagger onto solid ground.

He fell to his knees when he cleared the bank, Nicole still clasped in his arms. Gently, he laid her upon the grass and bent over her to listen for breath.

Nothing.

She lay too still, her skin too pale. Memories flooded his brain of the last female he’d pulled from a river.

Grabbing her shoulders, he thrust his face into hers. “You will not die,” he ordered. “Do you hear me?” He shook her shoulders as if he could somehow rouse her if he just startled her enough. “You will not die!”

Yet her limp form looked too much like death already.

Darius ran a hand over his face.
Think, man!
There must be something he could do. If he could build a boiler with a pump that moved water from the— Of course! He’d pump the water from her.

Kneeling over her supine body, he pushed against her chest, firm and sharp. He repeated the action. Again. And again.

“Come on, Nicole. Breathe, honey. Breathe for me.”

Her head lifted slightly with each press of his hands, but she gave no sign of life. A vine of despair slithered through his wall of determination, cracking the mortar. Mentally uprooting it, he flung it from his mind. He refused to consider that she wouldn’t recover. He could still save her. He just needed to stay focused, to expel the water that kept her from breathing. But a second vine slid past his barrier, then a third.

Don’t take her from
me. I beg you.
A hot tear rolled down Darius’s cheek as he worked, his pace growing frantic.
I need her. I love her. You restored Lazarus to
his sisters. Restore Nicole to me. Please.

Darius put more and more of his weight behind each push until his entire torso acted like a piston, moving up and down. Up and down.

“Don’t you dare give up, Nicole,” he growled at her. The salt from a second tear rolled over his lips and leaked onto his tongue. “You promised to marry me, blast it all, and I intend to hold you to it. Now, breathe!”

He rocked forward, desperation lending a greater sharpness to his motion. All at once, water spewed from Nicole’s mouth. Darius snatched his hands from her chest and immediately turned her head. He rolled her to her side and pounded the flat of his hand against her back as she coughed up more of the river.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Get it all out,” he crooned, his heart doing such crazy flips his whole body shook.

She drew up her knees as more spasms wracked her, but the tiny gasps she took between the coughs echoed in his ears like the finest concerto ever played.

He mouthed a thank-you toward the heavens, then cradled Nicole in his arms, stroking her hair, pressing kisses to her forehead, murmuring words of love. Her lashes slowly lifted, and brown eyes met his.

“Dar-ius?” she croaked.

“I’m here, love.” He smiled down at her and gathered her just a little closer as he rocked her gently. “You’re safe now. Everything’s going to be all right.”

“The d-agger?”

He stilled. She wasn’t going to like his answer, but he refused to give her less than the full truth. “Fletcher has it.”

She moaned and turned her face away from him. The action stabbed him like a sword to the gut.

“We’ll report it to the Rangers. Give them a description of the Jenkins brothers as well as the dagger.” He turned her face back toward him, but she closed her eyes, as if she couldn’t bear to look upon him. She couldn’t have cut him
any deeper had she thrown her knife into his chest. “We know where they’re headed,” he cajoled, his gut clenching as a new panic set in. He couldn’t lose her. Not now. Not when he’d just gotten her back. “The Rangers will track them down and retrieve the dagger. You’ll see.”

Nothing. Not so much as a flutter of lashes.

It was too much. After all they’d endured, he wouldn’t let her give up on him. Not without a fight.

“Look at me, Nicole,” he demanded in a rough voice he barely recognized as his own. His grip on her chin tightened. “Quit hiding like a coward and face me.”

That got a reaction. Her lids flew open and her eyes shot brown fire at him.

Good.

“I didn’t drag you out of that river to have you mope around like a dog that lost her favorite bone. And I’ll not apologize for exchanging that blasted dagger for your life, either. It’s a knife, Nicole. A dull, ancient blade no longer good for anything except causing friction between two feuding families. No matter how valuable it is, it’s not worth dying over.”

Nicole stiffened and jerked her chin out of his grasp. “Don’t you think I know that?” she shouted at him, her voice a hoarse rasp. “I don’t blame you for handing over the dagger, Darius. I blame myself for taking it in the first place. I thought myself so clever. So capable. So noble for taking the danger upon myself instead of leaving my parents to face it.” Her bitter tone scraped his heart raw. “I disobeyed my father, and thanks to my pride, the Lafitte Dagger—the Renard family legacy—is in the hand of our enemy.”

Darius glared down at her. “Do you think having the Lafitte Dagger hanging on the Renard family wall would comfort
your father if your lifeless body was delivered to him in an undertaker’s wagon?”

She flinched at the callous question, uncertainty clouding her eyes. Darius ruthlessly pressed his advantage.

“That dagger is not the Renard family legacy, Nicole. You are. You are the next generation, your parents’ hope for the future. Any man who would choose the welfare of a knife over that of his child is a fool, and from what you’ve told me, your father’s no fool.”

“But if I hadn’t taken the dagger, none of this would have happened.”

“And we never would have met.” A tragedy that didn’t bear contemplation. Darius crooked a finger beneath Nicole’s chin and forced her to meet his eyes. “There is no way to predict what could have happened if you had chosen another path. For all you know, something even more dire could have occurred. Fletcher and Will could have murdered your parents and stolen the dagger while you danced with a bunch of New Orleans dandies.”

She hissed in a breath. “Never say such a thing!”

Darius released her chin and ran his hand through his wet hair. “I didn’t mean . . . Sorry . . . I just . . . Look. What I’m trying to say is that torturing yourself with
what if
s and
could have
been
s serves no purpose. Take it from one who speaks from experience. Repent of your mistakes, learn from them, and move forward. Trust God to bring good out of whatever mess you’re in.”

She sniffed and ran her hand beneath her nose. “He’s already brought good from it,” she said in a quiet voice he had to strain to hear. “He brought me you.”

Darius’s heart thudded against his ribs. “Am I enough, Nicole? Is my love enough?”

Please let her say yes. Please.

She said nothing for six long heartbeats—the throbbing intensifying with each pulse. Then she pulled slightly away from him, and it was all he could do not to seize her by the arms and imprison her against his chest.

“All my life,” she said, her gaze resting somewhere in her lap, “I’ve tried to prove to my father that I was as valuable to him as a son, because deep down I feared that no matter how much he loved me, having a daughter wasn’t enough.” Slowly her eyes lifted and met his. “I have never felt that way with you, Darius. From the beginning, you’ve respected me, partnered with me, treated me as an equal. Your love is a blessing I can barely comprehend.”

She reached out and touched his face, her fingers stroking over his brow, past his temple, down to his jaw. “No, Darius. You’re not enough.” Her finger paused atop his lips. “You are
everything
.”

Darius seized her, clasped her to his chest, and melded his mouth to hers. Nicole cupped his jaw in her hand and returned his kiss with a fervor that matched his own. She tasted of hope, of forgiveness, and of love.

Thank you, God
, his spirit shouted as he bent over her to deepen the kiss.
Thank you
.