Colorado Hope(8)
He weighed all he knew with what he stood to lose. And he had much too much at stake to risk crossing the Cache la Poudre at flood stage.
“We’re turning back,” he told her over the bellowing wind whipping their faces. Grace looked down at her sodden, muddy clothes and mustered a weak smile—for his benefit, he surmised.
“I’m such a mess,” she said apologetically. She tried to stand, but winced at the effort.
“What is it?” He studied her carefully, knowing she wasn’t one to complain. She’d had a pretty easy pregnancy so far, and he had a mind to keep it that way. He grunted as he scooped her up in his arms and carried her—with some difficulty—away from the river, hoping to find ground a bit more solid and less slippery.
“Montgomery Cunningham! What do you think you are doing?” She added a playful swack with her protest. “I must weigh . . . two hundred pounds—”
He laughed as he gently set her down on the only patch of grass he could find amid all the mud. Rain squalled and squabbled like a flock of cantankerous birds overhead, and by now they were both thoroughly drenched.
“Well, maybe a hunnerd and eighty pounds . . . not two hundred—” He received another swat for his teasing, but at least Grace was smiling now—a genuine smile that heated his blood.
He could never tire of seeing the love burning in her eyes. He drank in her soft, sweet facial features: the small mouth and pouty lips, her high and prominent cheekbones and button nose. Sometimes when he looked at her he saw the feisty, outspoken ten-year-old he’d first met all those years ago sporting a patch of freckles galloping across her nose. But that little girl had grown into quite the lady—one still full of spirit, but mature and kind. And fully woman, her child’s body given way to just the right curves in the right places. Curves he never tired over exploring.
What a shock it had been to check in at the boardinghouse years later, expecting to see Grace the tomboy. Instead, a stunning young woman with a radiant smile had opened the door, and for a long moment he hadn’t recognized her. Not until she spoke his name. And on her lips, his name sounded angelic. Her dark amber hair that had tickled her ears six years prior now tumbled like a honey waterfall over her shoulders, unpinned and unbonneted, for she had just had her evening bath and hadn’t had time to yet put it up properly. But at the sight of her, he had blushed, not she, for Grace made no apologies and welcomed him inside, as if long-lost family.
He shook his head, remembering how hard he’d fallen in love with her. How many hours they’d spent talking in the parlor, singing popular songs at the piano as her aunt pounded mercilessly on the keys, the notes coming from the ancient instrument as out of key as their voices. Sipping chocolate in the kitchen by the giant cast-iron stove while watching Grace roll out biscuits in the early hours of the morning, before all the boarders had awoken. He almost didn’t leave to go on that first expedition with Ferdinand Hayden, but he had made a commitment, and the team was counting on him. But he knew he’d be back.
He didn’t dare tell Grace how he really felt, for he nursed a certain trepidation, knowing what disasters often befell those who explored the wilds of the West. If he declared his love, she might fret all the more. And more to the point, he worried that she might not reciprocate the feelings he had, and he couldn’t bear to head west to unknown parts for untold years knowing she wasn’t duly fond of him. So he just gave her a kiss good-bye that he hoped she’d know was a promise, and if he made it back alive and in one piece and she was still unmarried, well then, he’d ask her to marry him. Which he did. And to which she agreed, much to his great relief and joy.
And here she now sat, a muddy mess, soaked to the bone, her belly round with their first child.
A frantic need to protect her welled up in his chest, unhinging his usual calm. Another blinding spear of lightning smacked the earth not thirty feet away, and Grace shrieked and covered her head with her hands.
The horses squealed and ripped at their harnesses, upending the wagon. A rush of helplessness swept through him as thunder ricocheted across the sky.
He wrapped soaked arms around her shivering body and nestled his mouth against her ear. He whispered, “Don’t be afraid, Grace. We’ll get through this. The Lord will make a way—He always does.”
He felt her nod against his hammering heart. Oh, how he wished to stay with her, keep her safe in his arms. But he couldn’t risk the animals suffering injury.
“Stay put,” he told her, making sure she saw the seriousness in his eyes. She nodded, and then he raced back to the horses, who were tearing their breeching apart. When he saw they would not calm from any of his words, he threw up his hands, and with teeth gritted and steam snorting out his nostrils in the chill air, he fussed at the leather straps, his fingers numbing, even inside his thick gloves.