by Tess LeSue
“I said I would arrange a meeting place, so none of our people come to their village. I gave him our word.” Deathrider fixed Matt with a cool stare.
“Your word is my word,” Matt agreed. He’d have his scouts go down the line tonight and tell everyone firmly not to violate the agreement. He had no intention of antagonizing the Pawnee. He’d seen them in battle before, from a distance, against the Sioux and the Cheyenne, and he had no desire to see it up close.
He wondered if Georgiana would be interested in trading with them . . .
Ah hell, he was doing it again. He scowled and turned his mind to getting his job done for the day. And then he rewarded himself for not thinking about her for a few hours by taking her and the children to trade.
“These will be so warm to sleep in,” Georgiana said with great satisfaction, as they rode back to camp with a great pile of soft buffalo robes. Matt had images of her naked body wrapped in the robe. He imagined sliding a hand through the opening of the robe and down her smooth, warm body.
“Just marry her,” Deathrider sighed, when he found Matt riding hard in front of the train the next morning, galloping as though pursued by the devil himself.
“I can’t.”
“Of course you can.”
“I can’t. There’s Wendell,” Matt growled by way of explanation.
“You mean Wendy’s threats back in Independence?” Deathrider shrugged. “So what if he knows who I am? Who’s he going to tell out here? I’m well enough to look after myself again, and we’re well clear of Independence. I’ll be gone anyway once we hit Arapaho country. It’s been too long since I’ve seen Two Bears.” His gaze drifted to the horizon. Two Bears was his adopted father.
“You have a serious death wish,” Matt snapped. “You realize if word gets out that you’re still alive, you’ll go right back to being a hunting trophy? Do you want all those gunslingers after you again? It’s better if you stay dead.” He had vivid memories of their nightmarish winter. “The last thing we want is Wendell spreading the word that you’re alive.”
Deathrider shrugged again. “They might not believe him, especially now all these people have accepted me as your brother. For all intents and purposes, I’m Tom Slater now. Besides, I hear that Archer woman is writing a book about the bloody slaughter of the Plague of the West. A book like that should spread word of my death quick enough.” His expression turned grim. “And people do seem to accept those books as gospel truth.”
“How do you know she’s writing any such thing?” Sometimes Matt could throttle him. Why didn’t he ever take the easy path? “For all you know, she’ll write that you turned into a wolf and are roaming the plains, terrorizing emigrants with your supernatural powers.”
That brought the ghost of a smile. “I heard it from Seline,” Deathrider said. “The Archer woman was digging for stories.”
Matt sighed. He could only imagine what that conversation had been like.
“Seline was nice enough to give her the blood and gore version of my death. Blood and gore sells, you know.”
Matt rolled his eyes. Seline was causing him no end of trouble back there at the end of the train. Joe was about ready to cut the wagons of whores loose, and it took all Matt’s diplomacy to keep him from doing it.
“I gave Seline a few dollars to keep spreading the word,” Deathrider said, “and I promise to stay looking this white and go by another name, if you’re worried about me. So don’t be using me as an excuse not to marry the woman.”
Marry the woman! Goddamn it. He wasn’t the marrying type!
She wasn’t even the type of woman he’d marry, he thought grumpily as they traveled on over the tablelands. If he got married, he’d marry a practical woman, not a china doll. He’d marry someone capable, honest, hardworking . . .
Only, as they traveled, she seemed less and less like a china doll. Her skin grew freckled from the sun, and her hands roughened up from work. She grew leaner from all the riding and walking, and she was always one of the first up in the morning and one of the last to sit down in the evening. When they had to lower the wagons down into Ash Hollow by rope, so they didn’t careen down the steep hill, she was right there with the others, working the ropes. When they reached Courthouse Rock and Jail Rock, she climbed them with the children, looking off into the distance at the snow-topped Laramie Mountains with a proud grin on her face. She made friends with the other women and swapped recipes and chattered with them as they laundered clothes in the river. And she rode like a demon. He’d never seen a woman so capable in the saddle, nor one who loved it so much. She seemed a different person to the woman he’d met back in Independence. A much happier person.
“Just marry her, you idiot,” Deathrider said one last time when he bid Matt farewell at Scotts Bluff. He was leaving them before they reached Fort Laramie. The army had taken over the fort in June to protect the swelling tide of emigrants from the Sioux, and Deathrider had no desire to mingle with army types. Matt had known he’d be off eventually but was surprised to receive a proper good-bye. It wasn’t Deathrider’s way to say farewells. Usually, he just slunk off in the night. Farther west, they called him the Ghost of the Trails, and he was a restless ghost, one who appeared and disappeared at will. But he and Matt had been through hell together, and a farewell seemed fitting. Also, he wanted to press his point one more time.
“You’ve no reason to torture yourself,” Deathrider said. They were sitting at the base of the bluff, looking down at the campsite below. The cook fires sent threads of smoke into the indigo sky. “She’s a good woman. And more beautiful than most. Some might see the children as a problem, but the way I see it, they show her to be fertile. And a decent mother.” Deathrider regarded him curiously. “I don’t understand what’s holding you back. With your brother, I understood—he was too stupid to see what was in front of his eyes—but with you . . .”
Matt frowned. Below, he could see her tent glowing and shadows moving against the canvas.
“You haven’t slept properly since you met her,” Deathrider said. “You’re about out of your mind with lust. But it’s not just lust. Lust is an easy itch to scratch. You’ve got something worse than lust.”
“It ain’t your business,” Matt warned him.
“No. Only you saved my life, Slater, and that makes us brothers. I want my brother to be happy.” He rested a hand on Matt’s shoulder as he stood. “The next stop is Fort Laramie. It would be a decent place to have a wedding.” He began descending the slope toward his waiting animals. “I’ll see you,” he said. And then he melted away, as he had so many times before, and Matt was on his own for the first time in more than a year.
He’d grown used to the Indian being there. It was familiar. It reminded him of his childhood; like Deathrider, his brothers were quiet but constant presences, and, for all their difficulties, they had his back. Even when he was alone, he always knew he wasn’t really alone. If he was in trouble, all he had to do was send for one of his brothers.
Not like her. He watched the shadows dance in Georgiana’s tent. She was genuinely alone, with no one to call on for help. And she handled it with nerve, he thought admiringly. She’d come out on this journey, knowing nothing about the trail, completely unprepared for the hardship, but she hadn’t buckled. She’d risen to the challenge, and every day she got stronger and . . . happier. More resilient.
Which was saying something, as by this point, one-third of the way into the journey, most people on the train were exhausted. The animals were tired, and the people were looking grim. He let them stop at monuments like Scotts Bluff along the way to give them a chance to rest their sore feet and recharge their spirits, but it had been a long couple of months, and their spirits weren’t looking much higher tonight. Georgiana’s experience seemed the opposite, Matt thought. At the beginning of the trail, she’d started out exhausted, as her new daily workload had hit her like a ton of
bricks. She’d half crippled herself walking, and she was cranky and out of sorts. And then she’d settled into it. She’d stretched. She’d grown.
Not only did she accept her new roles, she seemed to thrive. To come to life.
So perhaps she wasn’t the china doll he’d thought she was.
But that didn’t mean that he knew her. There were things about her that bothered him. Secrets. Things the children almost said; things Georgiana stopped them from saying.
Marry her . . .
It was a mad thought. And yet . . .
There was no doubt that Matt wanted to bed her. He’d wanted her from the moment he saw her. But marry her. That was a big step, and he wasn’t a man to make hasty decisions. Laramie was too soon to be making a decision that big.
And what was the rush? It wasn’t like she was going anywhere. For all of Wendell’s clumsy attempts at courtship, Georgiana was in no danger of being wooed on that front. Matt had a good long while to get to know her and the children better before he made up his mind.
Hell. Look at him. He was seriously considering it. Him. Matt Slater! The most unmarrying man he knew.
He grunted and got to his feet. Well, considering wasn’t doing.
What he’d do was have a look at this idea from every angle. What did marriage have to offer him? And why marry this one and not another?
And if he did marry her, what kind of secrets were hidden in her past? Was there anything that would come back to haunt him?
He knew how he was going to start finding out about that one, at least.
22
“LEO’S MY BROTHER,” Susannah said as she helped him give the horses a scrub down when they arrived in Laramie.
They’d set up camp in the shadow of the adobe fort. The grounds around the river were lousy with emigrants and covered wagons. The last time Matt had been through, the army hadn’t taken control yet and it had been a run-down trading camp. There had been tepees on the far bank, occupied last year by the Arapaho, but sometimes the Cheyenne passed through, as did the Sioux. There were no tepees to be seen this year though, and the place had a different feel. More regimented.
Matt’s party had cheered at the sight of it. It was the closest thing they’d seen to civilization in six weeks or more. The trading post was still working, and the emigrants streamed in, looking especially for treats: tobacco and whiskey, rock candy and scented soap. There were even tin tubs to rent, which were busy at all hours.
“Is Leo your older brother?” Matt prodded. He kept his head down and his voice casual. Susannah had proven to be a fountain of information, as had her brothers.
“He’s the eldest,” Susannah said. “We don’t talk about him much anymore. It upsets Mother too much.”
Matt had gathered that much already. He remembered Georgiana crying over the map back in Independence. “I bet you miss him.” He passed her a currying brush. She liked to make her horse pretty. While she fussed over Princess (who really should have been called Prince, but who was he to judge), Matt sorted the boys’ horses for them. Even the hardy Indian ponies were thinner and tired looking. Pablo and Fernando looked weary too. He gave Fernando an ear scratch on the way past, and the donkey hawed.
“Rest up,” he told Pablo. “We’ll be here awhile.” Like him, his animals had barely rested in the last year and were looking a little worse for wear. Luckily, they’d have a few days to rest.
There was work to be done here in Laramie: they needed to refit the iron tires to the wagon wheels, which had shrunken until the tires clattered off; they had to reshoe the oxen, whose hooves had split; and they needed to wash clothes and bedding, and to restock and prepare for the next part of the journey, which would include the blistering heat of July, the storms of the High Plains, and the desolation of the Lava Lands. While they worked, the horses and draught animals could gather their strength and enjoy the pastures.
“Leo was nicer than the twins,” Susannah confided as she brushed Princess. “He was more like a grown up.”
“And your father took him to California?”
“Yes, the last time he was back. That was more than two years ago.”
Matt did the math. “Before Wilby was born.” After a couple of days of talking to the children, he was forming a pretty clear picture of their father. Leonard Blunt was a phantom presence in their lives, a visitor who appeared seemingly at random, who didn’t remember their birthdays, but who descended with gifts and tales of adventure in far-flung lands. The twins resented it bitterly that he had taken Leo with him and not them, while Susannah longed for the father she barely knew. A man who, apparently, got her name wrong in his letters.
“He wrote them in a rush,” Susannah said, turning her back so Matt couldn’t see her expression, but he could hear the hurt in her voice.
“I imagine so,” Matt agreed. “It’s the only way anyone could misspell such a pretty name. And the frontier is a mighty busy place.”
She gave him a shy smile. He didn’t want to hurt her further, so he dropped the topic and talked about horses instead, describing his brother’s horse farm back home. He had a feeling Susannah would love Luke’s horses.
After they’d finished with the animals, he left Susannah crooning to her horse and hunted the twins down. He took them out with their new slingshots, which the Colicut boys had helped them make. They were hoping to shoot down a prairie dog or two, but Matt didn’t fancy their chances. They were terrible shots.
After a while, he’d managed to turn the conversation to their father. “Why did he take Leo and not the rest of you?”
“Pffft.” Phin made a disgusted noise. “He should have taken us. Leo didn’t even want to go. We did.”
“I can’t work out why he took only one of you,” Matt said, watching as they hunted for projectiles. “Why not take everyone?”
The twins exchanged a cagey look.
“She doesn’t think we know,” Phin admitted, “but we read all the letters.”
“And we heard them arguing,” Flip added.
“She doesn’t think you know what?”
Flip loaded a stone into his slingshot. He sized Matt up, squinting at him. “The thing you need to know about our father,” he said slowly, “is that he’s not a very nice man.”
Matt tried to keep his expression even. He’d gathered that much on his own, but it was a shock to hear Flip say it so baldly.
“Let’s be frank,” Phin said, firing at a boulder. “He’s a bit of an ass.” The stone fell well short of the boulder.
Trust the twins to be blunt. They were clearly as hurt as Susannah, but rather than welling with tears, they smoldered with rage. Unlike their sister, they were in no mind to protect themselves or Matt from the hard truth.
“Mother cut him off,” Phin told Matt, snapping off another rock. This one flew wide, sending up a puff of dust as it hit the ground.
“Cut him off?” Matt gathered rocks and tossed them into a small pile between the twins.
“All our money was Mother’s,” Flip explained. He was more patient than his brother. He’d discarded his first missile and was crouched down, sifting through the rocks until he found one he liked. Matt’s bet was that he’d hit the target first.
“That’s why he married her,” Phin said. His next rock went sailing past the boulder he was aiming at. “Just like all those men back in Independence were trying to marry her for her gold.” He looked disgusted.
“She told me there wasn’t any gold.”
“There isn’t.” Phin snatched up another rock.
“Well, there is,” Flip said calmly, putting his chosen projectile in the hammock of the sling. “But we have to give it away to get Leo back.”
Matt’s fingers clenched around the rock he’d just picked up. “What?”
Flip stood up and sighed. “It’s a long story.” He tossed his head to g
et his hair out of his eyes and met Matt’s gaze. “She really hasn’t told you any of this? I mean, you’re marrying her.”
“We’re still getting to know each other,” Matt said carefully.
Phin made another disgusted noise. “The whole point of getting you was so you could help us get Leo back.”
Flip rolled his eyes. “Not exactly. Mother wanted someone to protect us while she went to get Leo.”
“I told her she should have advertised for a bounty hunter instead of a husband.” The ground around the boulder was exploding in puffs of dust as Phin hammered away at it. Not a single shot hit the boulder itself. Matt felt a pang of sympathy. The kid was racked with anger. Hurt. Fear. “At the very least,” Phin continued, “she should have kept that line I wanted: skills with firearms a must.”
“Matt’s good with guns,” Flip said. “I’ve seen him bring down a deer from the back of a moving horse.” He was as unruffled as his brother was ruffled, but Matt bet that beneath that smooth exterior were all the same feelings Phin had. There was something about the slightly bitter edge to his voice that gave it away.
“We got lucky,” Phin said stubbornly. “It certainly didn’t say anything about shooting in the ad.”
“Good thing too.” Matt tossed him a stone. “Or you would have had a hotel full of gunslingers looking to take your ma’s gold. She might have ended up murdered.” He watched as the kid shot wild again. He’d let him get the rage out of his system for a bit, and then he’d show him how to shoot the thing properly.
Flip, meanwhile, was lining up to take his first shot. He adjusted his stance and tested the slingshot, pulling it back a few times until it brushed his cheek. When he fired, the shot missed, but not by as much as his brother’s did.
“You were asking why Father took Leo,” he said calmly as he reached for another stone. “It was because Mother cut him off. We kept getting creditors coming to the door and bills in the post, and she was worried, so when he came back last time, she said she wouldn’t be allowing him access to her bank account anymore, not unless he stayed in New York or took us with him.”