Colorado Hope(2)

A finger of wind lifted the brim of his felt hat, showing eyes as stormy as the day, his one hazel eye catching a glint as a fork of lightning snapped out of the brooding clouds overhead. A second later the ground rattled with thunder.

Grace cried out as the horses reared and whinnied—then thumped down hard on hooves that pounded the ground in agitation.

Monty jumped down from the buckboard and calmed them, speaking words that the wind snatched from his mouth as he held fast the hat on his head. He took the closest horse’s leather neck strap in hand and, cooing comforting sounds, got the frightened beast to take a step, then another. He shot Grace a look that set her heart racing. She could tell he was afraid, and that wasn’t a look she’d often seen on Monty’s face. He seemed to be searching for some shelter, but they were on wide-open land, with no trees in sight.

“We’d best turn back,” he yelled to her over the snarling storm, leaning close to make sure she heard him. Dirt and debris swirled in the air around their heads, and Grace squinted as it pelted her cheeks. “Maybe head to that ranch we passed a couple o’ hours ago.”

Grace wrapped her shawl tighter around her body as the balmy air suddenly turned chilly and icy fingers of wind tickled her neck. Monty grumbled something under his breath as fat raindrops assaulted them.

Monty rushed back to the wagon and pulled out a canvas tarp from underneath their boxes and crates filled with their possessions. Another flash of lightning streaked the angry sky, followed by an even louder thwack of thunder that sounded as if it had rent the earth.

Grace blurted out a cry and buried her face in her hands as she listened to Monty wrestle with the tarp. Presently, she felt it fling over her head, and the rain pelted the thick cloth sheltering her in dull thuds. Monty slipped in beside her and huffed, his body heat instantly warming the space.

He turned to her, and in the stuffy enclosure that ensconced them both, he planted a gentle kiss on her lips, then pulled her closer and deepened the kiss, as if to drink in every bit of her. As if the rain and the river were not moisture enough for his soul. Her heart thumped hard against his chest and the baby kicked again, making him chuckle as he reluctantly ended their intimate moment.

“He’s a strong one,” Monty said, his face gleaming. “And already making sure he’s not left out of the fun.”

“He?” Grace teased. For some reason Monty was sure she was carrying a son. But she knew he would just as gladly welcome a girl into his arms. He grinned and gave her a look that made her pulse race. That lopsided smile on his strong, square jaw never failed to stir her passion.

He lowered his voice and whispered hot words in her ears. “I’m looking forward to a bath and then a sweet night in your arms in a clean, warm bed—with a soft feather-tick mattress.” He rubbed her bulging belly mindlessly as he peeked out at the storm that now howled like a sick wolf. Grace ran a hand through his hair as thick and brown as molasses, which inclined to curl around his ears.

“Maybe we should just wait a bit?” she said, thinking how Colorado weather was known to change suddenly. Just as this squall had come upon them unawares, perhaps it would clear up just as quickly. Or so she hoped.

He chewed on that idea a moment, then shook his head. “We’re too exposed out here. The storm has stalled overhead, which means we’re a likely target for lightning to strike. We need to get moving, get somewhere safe . . .” He blew out a frustrated breath as rain seeped in under the tarp and soaked his hair. His eyes grew stormier with the weather, and water dribbled down his rough-shaved cheeks and under his shirt collar. Grace felt the weight of her soggy skirt hem pulling on her, and noticed her stockings were wet and leaking water into her shoes. Her teeth started to chatter.

“It’s bad and getting worse,” Monty mumbled as the horses began dancing in place, just as eager to get out of the rain and the open prairie, as if they sensed danger coming their way. He jiggled the reins and yelled out, “Haw!” to get the animals moving. With a lurch they trotted forward, throwing their heads in protest.

Grace now heard the river as the wind momentarily calmed. It was close, and raging. They’d been skirting the Cache la Poudre for miles now, admiring the wild waters bouncing over boulders in the narrow sluices carved in the canyon. Most of what they’d glimpsed showed a swollen wide river moving at a fast clip, but as they neared Fort Collins, the banks had risen more steeply, with evergreens growing clear to the water’s edge, and steep cliffs sweeping up into canyon walls that thundered with the echo of whitewater. Grace wondered if Monty would feel safer and more in control right now if he were at the bow of a canoe instead of holding the reins of two skittish horses he’d barely made the acquaintance of.