Beyond The Horizon by Connie Mason Read Free Book Online Page A

tiny brown freckles. The sight was so tempting that something compelled him to stop, to experience again the full magnetism of those incredible blue eyes. On his way back to the head of the line of wagons he deliberately stopped beside the Wilson rig to flirt with Nancy, hoping her teasing would divert his thoughts from Shannon.
    Shannon couldn’t help but notice where Blade stopped, or how long he lingered, flirting with that Wilson hussy. That it should even matter shocked her. Blade had avoided her like poison these past few days and that was just fine with her. The part of him that was Indian made her mistrust him—yet his blatant masculinity transcended all notions of red or white. He was a man. Beautifully, incredibly male. But so damn arrogant she wanted to lash out at him every time she saw him. Was it any wonder Nancy Wilson found him so intriguing?
    Clive Bailey watched the exchange between Shannon and Blade, a satisfied smirk lifting the corners of his mouth. Until now duties kept him from pursuing Shannon. But since they had adapted to a daily routine, he had more time to indulge his fantasies where Shannon Branigan was concerned. She had struck his fancy from the moment they met and he hadn’t given up his dream of possessing her. At first Clive had thought Shannon was attracted to Blade, but with each passing day it became more apparent that they couldn’t stand one another. Shannon was too much of a lady to allow a half-breed to sweet-talk her. A man like Blade deserved sluts like Nancy Wilson who spread their legs for anything in pants. Clive even had a taste of her himself a few days ago when she sneaked away to meet him in the middle of the night. But that hadn’t slaked his lust for Shannon Branigan—not by a long shot.
    A few days later they came upon the Platte River after traveling through two lines of hills flanking a narrow valley at a distance of a mile or two on the right and left. The level monotony of the plain was unbroken as far as the eye could see. The Platte ran through the valleys in a thin sheet of rapid, turbid water, half a mile wide and barely two feet deep. Its low banks, for the most part without bush or tree, were composed of loose sand. Only the islands sported cottonwood or willow trees, something Shannon thought most curious.
    They followed the Platte for some distance. Because it was so late in the year, the river was extremely shallow. The bed was quicksand that sucked at boats and wagon wheels. It could not be ferried and was too dangerous to ford. For a distance of three miles on both sides of the Platte, the land rose in sandstone cliffs that grew higher and more broken as the trail moved west.
    Shannon was amazed at the prairie wildlife—antelope, deer, coyotes, grizzlies, and black bears, buffalo, and prairie dogs. Prairie dog villages sometimes covered five hundred acres. Worst of all were the hordes of mosquitoes and gnats. Buffalo weren’t as plentiful as they once were but they could be a nuisance. Sometimes potable stream water turned dark and redolent as herds wandered through it. At other times, emigrants’ oxen and cows might stray off with the buffalo herd, never to be seen again.
    Trouble with Indians was rare along this stretch, for the Platte valley lay in a kind of no man’s land between the Pawnees to the north and the Cheyenne to the south. Though their meetings with Indians were peaceable affairs in which the tribesmen traded buffalo meat for tobacco, ironware, and the travelers’ worn-out clothing. Blade insisted the wagons be drawn up into a corral at every campsite. This also served the practical purpose of enclosing some of the livestock overnight so they could graze. The corral was formed by interlocking wagons, with the tongue of one extending under the wagonbed of the other.
    It was during the long tedious trek along the Platte that Clive Bailey began actively pursuing Shannon, much to Blade’s consternation.
    Shannon hugged little Johnny