The Trail Master's Bride

by Maddie Taylor

  “War?” she squeaked, horrified. “Is that what you think this is?”

  “No, Mina. This is play, so let me rephrase. All’s fair in love and tumbling your wife in the sweet grass of Oregon Territory on a warm August afternoon.”

  She grinned down at him, so much in love with her big, handsome, kind-hearted, and yes, hard-handed husband that her heart felt near to bursting. “I can live with that.”

  Weston laughed, rolling them both. He then proceeded to not only tumble her, but to love her breathless beneath the clear blue summer sky. If the rest of the wagon train waited, wondering, neither of them gave a fig.

  * * *

  The rest of the journey was thankfully without incident, proving without a doubt to one and all that Hill had been behind the series of accidents and that Mina wasn’t as problem-prone as they all believed.

  Mrs. Gillespie came by their wagon the next evening with a ham and vegetable stew. A peace offering for wrongfully blaming her for the soiled laundry and then holding an un-Christian-like grudge for weeks.

  Mrs. Bishop stopped by the next night with fresh bread. “Amazing how good it tastes with fresh churned butter when it doesn’t have oxen tracks in it.” She’d winked to prove she was teasing and apologized profusely to Mina for faulting her incorrectly.

  The others dropped by in pairs or in family groups, which warmed Mina’s insides. Weston was pleased because the women always brought some of their cooking as a peace offering. Mina had grown more skillful with the skillet, but it was nowhere near as tasty as the other women’s fare and since, true to his word, Weston had taken over the cooking duties for the week, the gifts spared him and Mina from his own mediocre cooking. Neither of them would starve on their own, but she could tell by his huge grin he was right pleased to have something else as he wolfed down their offerings.

  Avery Hill spent the rest of the trip through the Blue Mountains trussed up and miserable in the back of Ben Jacobs’ wagon, which served his sorry hide right. Ben had volunteered for the job of watching over him until they could turn him over to the territorial marshal in Fort Nez Perce, the next to last trading post before journey’s end.

  Although Ben was in general a kind, forgiving man, he had neither kindness nor forgiveness for Avery, especially when the man perpetually whined and groused the entire way. Ben saw that his basic needs were met, but that didn’t stop him from finding every bump and rut in the road, thereby making the wagon jolt just right so that Avery jounced and dropped to the floor of the wagon every chance he got. A time or two, the older man had absolutely enough and gagged Mr. Hill, usually at night while the travelers were resting around their fires. The first time there was resounding applause as a wad of cotton gave them blessed silence from his incessant carping. It took several successive nights of being bound and gagged while the campers looked on with amusement for Avery to learn to keep his mouth shut.

  Nez Perce wasn’t as large as the others, and with no army garrison stationed on site, it was run and protected by the Hudson Bay Company. This meant they were able to purchase much-needed supplies and camp within the walls of their stockade for a few nights while they rested and tended to the medical needs of both the pioneers and the well-traveled cattle. They also took Avery Hill off their hands, placing him in the jail cell that had been erected when the U.S. officially incorporated the Oregon Territory, in 1848. This meant that a federal marshal was the ultimate law of the land and made regular stops by the fort. As luck would have it, the manager told them he was due back in a few weeks. Weston, Jeremy, Mr. Jacobs, and several of the other men, including Reverend Jamison, all left written statements and their direction if the marshal had further questions about the murderous intent of one Avery Hill.

  From there, the train turned due west, making its way along the Columbia River to The Dalles. Named by French trappers for the treacherous rapids and the rocky channels in the river, it was the final trading post on their journey. Until a few years earlier, The Dalles was the end of the trail. Other than an exorbitantly priced river transport, there was no way for wagons to go over the Cascades without traversing high cliffs that fell away right into the Columbia River. That was why the Barlow Road was constructed. It opened a route for overland travel through the mountains and into the Willamette Valley and Oregon City on the other side, which, or course, was the goal for their band of weary settlers.

  A toll road, charging five dollars per wagon and ten cents per head of cattle, the Barlow route was still cheaper than river travel. They soon learned the hard way that just because they paid to use it, didn’t mean the road was easy. It was almost as steep and rough as the Blue Mountains, but it also signaled that they were near the end of their long, arduous journey and each family gladly paid the price.

  On September fifth, a little more than five months after departing Independence, Missouri, the exhausted troop of pioneers cast their tired eyes on the lush, green, fertile valley that would become their new home.

  As Weston pulled the oxen to a halt on the crest of a hill, Mina was practically speechless as she took in the valley and the magnificent waterfall that was the backdrop to the growing city below.

  “The falls are beautiful, Wes.”

  “Agreed, but deadly. Many a fool has tried and failed to go over them in boats, tubs, and barrels, believe it or not.” He shook his head at their idiocy. “My land is several miles south of here. We’ll check in with the land office and get the direction of yours. I’d planned to sell the team to Jeremy, so we’ll have to find a livery and buy horses to pull the wagon from here.”

  Mina listened with only half an ear as she scanned the frontier town. “Might they have a hotel? With a bathtub?”

  He chuckled. “My thinking exactly, darlin’. Although it isn’t Boston, I think we can find a place to stay that can offer a hot meal and a bath. We’ll be here several days taking care of business.”

  “It sounds like heaven. I’ve dreamed for months of sleeping in a real bed with pillows, clean linens, and a mattress that consists of more than animal hides and a bedroll, and isn’t lumpy from rocks.”

  “Definitely. My dreams have been similar but involved a certain new bride naked lying among those clean linens.”

  She swatted his forearm lightly when he leered at her and wiggled his brows. “You, husband, have a one-track mind.” But she grinned before turning back to the gorgeous view. She breathed deeply of what wasn’t prairie dust, or buffalo dung, or the endless toil and fatigue of overland travel. What she did scent was lush greenery, a faint aroma of salted ocean water, and finally, the clean, fresh smell of her new home. “I can’t believe we’re finally here. If I ever speak of leaving our land and traveling anywhere, ever again, please smack me.” She blanched, realizing what she had said, then giggled. “Did I really just say that?”

  “I believe you did, and when we find that soft bed, I’ll be happy to oblige.”

  “But—”

  He wrapped his long arm around her and pulled her into his side. “I mean for play, Mina. You’ll have to give me the benefit of the doubt on this one when I say you’re in for a treat.”

  He chuckled, her perplexed face likely giving him impetus for amusement.

  “Get up,” he called to the team as he led the wagon train onward. But this time, it was for the last time as they began the final leg of their journey.

  Epilogue

  “If I never see the underside of a wagon, or sleep in a bedroll on the hard ground, or have to bathe in a pan of creek water, or eat pemmican again,” she grimaced, collapsing onto their soft bed with a full-body shudder, “it will be too soon.”

  “I recognize your song, darlin’. You’ve been singing it for nigh on six months, ever since we came off the trail.”

  “It’s a catchy tune that I’ll probably sing for the rest of my life, honey. I’m that serious.” She snuggled into her soft pillow while pulling the thick down comforter up to her neck. With avid eyes, she watched her grinning husband unbutton
and strip off his shirt.

  “You city girls like your comforts.”

  “True. That reminds me to thank you again for this wonderful bed and linens. It’s like sleeping on a cloud.”

  “Thank yourself, Mina. It was your land that turned up gold and made all these luxuries possible.”

  “Elliott’s land,” she grumbled. “No wonder he and Avery were so eager to kill me off.”

  “Jacobs is the one who discovered it, so he gets the credit for the find.”

  “I’m so happy he was able to purchase land next to ours, with the three hundred free acres plus the seven hundred he purchased, not to mention his acreage butting up against Melissa’s, which I still can’t believe was so near to ours; we won’t have to be worried about being crowded out, or land rights or water ways, or—”

  “Money,” he cut in. “While giving credit where credit is due, don’t forget it was your money that made Hobart’s purchase of the land possible in the first place.”

  “And your grandfather who left you that fertile land, the sale of which allowed us to buy double here.”

  “Thank you, Grampa Earl,” he chuckled, as his hands dropped to his button fly.

  Mina watched the first one pop open before echoing his gratitude, sort of. “And thank you, Nana Rebecca! It was her money, for which I am grateful and that made all this possible. Although, if someone had told me as a girl it would be spent on a cross-country trip from coast to coast, beginning with a week by train, then five long months in an oxen-drawn wagon traveling two thousand miles on a bone-jarring rocky road with sickness, death, scorching heat, swallowing pounds of prairie dust, nearly drowning in the Snake River, and later almost dying at the hands of some lunatic, but that ultimately I would have to bury one husband and marry a second, a rugged, handsome, hard-handed wagon master who turned out to be the love of my life, I’d have said they were cracked.”

  “Don’t forget about making love under a wagon, or declaring your love at Soda Springs, or screaming with pleasure during a high plains thunderstorm, or being captured by your one true love and being tumbled in the sweet grass of the Blue Mountains.”

  “Ah, yes. There was that, too.”

  He grinned at her as he continued getting ready for bed with Mina following his every move. When he finally shucked his jeans and approached the bed, she welcomed him by lifting the covers invitingly. As he crawled naked into their bed, her mouth watered at the mass of gorgeous bunching and flexing muscles that was her husband.

  When he settled onto his pillow and pulled her close, she blinked up at him. “It’s amazing it all worked out, honey. Our beginning was the rockiest part of the trip.”

  “That’s because you were always running off halfcocked, and like a trouble magnet, finding yourself in one predicament after another.”

  “That was hardly my fault, Wes, you know that now.”

  “I didn’t say you were at fault, just that trouble finds you.”

  She grunted, somewhat appeased, deciding not to argue the point. She didn’t want him dwelling on the running off part, which she couldn’t deny. Snuggling against his warm, broad, muscular chest, she sighed with contentment. “I’m so happy that everything is behind us now and I’m not finding trouble any longer.”

  “Not so much trouble since we’re safe at home; however, the scatterbrained Mina still rears her head every once in a while, doesn’t she?”

  Pushing up on an elbow, she frowned down at him. “What does that mean?”

  “I found the cistern valve undone before I came in. It was a slow leak thankfully and only half empty this time, but if I hadn’t noticed it, you would be doing without the hot bath that you love so dearly, or flushing the commode in your water closet downstairs.”

  Her mouth fell open as she thought to protest, then she remembered she’d been filling a bucket from the spout to water her garden when Melissa and her family had driven up unexpectedly. The darn thing was tricky and most likely she hadn’t closed it properly. She snapped her mouth shut, any basis for an argument shot all to pieces.

  Blowing out a breath, she dropped her head on his shoulder a moment, before throwing back the covers, pulling her gown up to her waist, and crawling over his lap.

  “Guilty,” she admitted. “Let me have it.”

  She lay there a moment, waiting. Time ticked by and he made no move to give her the spanking she deserved. After another moment, she felt the bed shaking. Pushing up on her hands and knees, she twisted to look at him. He wasn’t spanking her because he had both his arms crossed over his face. She also noticed his entire upper body was shaking.

  “Wes?” she asked in concern. Reaching up, she tugged on one of his forearms. When his arms came away, his laughter broke free. Not little chuckles either, but in full rolling belly laughs.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You are, sweetheart. Never, in a million years,” he sputtered, laughing between his words, “did I ever expect that the sassy, fiery-haired termagant who I swatted in the moonlight a year ago to one day crawl willingly, face down and bare ass up, over my lap and ask for a spanking.”

  She sat back on her heels and glowered at him. “That can easily be remedied, you big oaf.”

  That only made him laugh more.

  “Fine,” she huffed, scrambling toward the edge of the bed. “I don’t have to stay here and be laughed at.”

  As her feet were coming over the side, a steely arm locked around her waist and hauled her back. Her gown came up as did her bottom as she found herself put in her previous position with an unyielding arm holding her in place.

  “Oh, yes, you do. You go where I go and sleep where I sleep, oh, beloved wife of mine.”

  A loud crack echoed around the room, and Mina screeched a second later. But the noise wasn’t from the first spank, as she expected. Rather, it had been a booming clap of thunder that rattled the windows and shook the shutters, quickly followed by heavy rain hitting the roof.

  “That, my darlin’ Mina, is why I didn’t scold you for your lapse when I got home. You do have to be more careful though. If we were in the middle of a dry spell, the rainwater in that cistern could be used for other than bathing; your vegetable garden, for instance. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But I wouldn’t spank you for that, sweetheart.”

  “You wouldn’t?”

  “No, not having a bath is inconvenient, not dangerous or life-threatening.” As soon as he said that, another loud crack sounded inside and out. The one inside was accompanied by heat blazing across her cheek.

  She screeched in surprise. “Hey! You said you wouldn’t spank me for that.”

  “I wasn’t. I was spanking you for trying to run off in a temper. That habit has proven to be dangerous and life-threatening. I mean to put a stop to it, here and now.”

  As the room lit up with a brilliant light, another hard spank fell on her bottom.

  “I’m also spanking you for the big oaf remark, which is getting rather worn, wouldn’t you say?”

  “It started as big stupid oaf, actually. I can go back to that.”

  A sharp swat landed with his big hand covering most of both cheeks at once.

  “Wes!”

  He began to rub gently in big circles over her heated skin. After a moment, his fingertips dipped into the cleft of her cheeks and glided downward to the warm, wet, trembling groove between her thighs. Probing deeper, he found her center passage and dipped a finger inside.

  “What did I say, darlin’?”

  “Uh, what?” she asked on a panted breath, completely lost as to the meaning of his question.

  “I said you were in for a treat.” He wiggled his finger, twisting it about before leaving her.

  “No,” she groaned in protest.

  But eight more spanks followed, given slowly with his open hand and interspersed with more rubbing, touching, dipping, and twisting. He alternated her cheeks, igniting every inch of her bottom. His finger tea
sed inside her between each one, firing her passion.

  After the final smack, he flipped her upright, pulling her astride his hips. Weston surged up inside her, his cock finding its warm, wet home by rote memory. As his hands clenched on her freshly chastised bottom, he growled, “Ride me, darlin’.”

  “Is this part of my treat?” she asked, breathless from following his command and moving vigorously up and down on his hard, thick length.

  “Yes, Mina. It’s also a little lesson in how much I love you and need you.”

  She melted at his words, bending forward to take his mouth as he took her below with unabashed passion.

  He plunged into her hard as his fingers threaded into her hair and held her head still. He paused while buried deep. “Look at me.”

  Without so much as a thought of hesitation, she obeyed the clear command in his voice.

  Midnight blue appeared black in the dim light of their bedroom. His hand flexed around the back of her head as he looked upon her with intensity. “Never run from me again, Mina. I want that promise now.”

  She nodded, meaning it with every fiber of her being. “I won’t, Wes, I promise. I never want to leave your side, ever. I love you too much, honey.” The last words were muffled against his lips as he pulled her down to him, his mouth taking hers in a crushing kiss. Linked together, his hand in her hair, hers gripping his shoulders, their tongues entwined and legs entangled, he began to move again after receiving her vow. His cock thrusting relentlessly into her warm, wet passage spurred her cries of sweet bliss as her climax quickly overtook her. His release came later, after he brought her to pleasure a second time. If not for his lips by her ear, the rain and thunder would have drowned out his shout of fulfillment as he surged into her with his body, filling her with his seed.

  * * *

  Nine months later, Mina safely delivered their first daughter, who they named Joy. Two years passed and Weston found himself the father of another little girl called Virginia, after his mother. Margaret, who they called Maggie, followed a year after that, bearing the name of Mina’s mama. It wasn’t until Joy was seven that Mina gave her husband a set of twin sons. Where twins had come from, neither of them had a clue, but he was overjoyed to at last have some male support in his house full of women. They named the first boy Weston, but decided to call him by his middle name, Jacob, to avoid confusion. The second son was Benjamin, both boys named for their good friend who had watched the couple’s love story evolve, every step of the way along the Oregon Trail.