Cinch Your Saddle (The Widow Wagon Book 3)

by Megan Michaels

  “Yes, Sir. But all of... this.” She waved her hand through the air. “This has probably made it worse.”

  He tilted his head at her. Was she angry at him? “‘This is me taking care of you, protecting you and the girls both. Women, as you know, can be spiteful. I had to put my foot down to nip this in the bud.”

  “I know.” She dropped her gaze, playing with the ribbon from her bonnet. “It’s just... they’ll see this as favoring me again.”

  The concern in her eyes tugged at his heartstrings. He hated seeing the worry etched on her face. “Would that be a bad thing? Me favorin’ you and the girls?”

  She blinked, staring at him, obviously trying to read his intentions. He hoped she’d see it for what it was — him liking her and wanting to go further. “Do you?”

  He nodded, feeling a blush rise on his own face, like he was a damn teenager. Jesus, why did stuff like this have to happen around women, especially one he liked?

  “Yeah, I do favor you and the girls. I’d like to see where this takes us. How’s that sound to you?” His heart galloped in his chest. Would his boss, Charlie, at the Widow Wagon, view this as inappropriate? He hoped not.

  The hell with it. I’ll deal with that when I get back to Missouri. If I get back to Missouri.

  “I like you, and the girls do too. I think we could be happy, but—”

  “Nope. Not buts. We need to do what we want without regard to anyone else.” He pulled her into his embrace. “I think we’re officially courtin’, Miss Clara. Now, they can talk and it’ll be the truth.”

  Clara looked to see if any of the women were watching, pushing on his chest to give herself distance. “Shhh! God, my life may actually become hell.”

  He tipped her chin up. “In more ways than one if you don’t tell me if they give you trouble. You’ll be sittin’ on a tender hind-end for a while. Keep it in mind.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Angus kissed her forehead. “We best get going. I’ll see you later tonight at the campfire.” He winked her way before jumping up to sit on the wagon driver’s bench. It had been a long time since his heart skipped a beat like it had just now, and he felt like cheering. It felt good to be happy, his cock jerking to life, confirming that other parts of him were in full agreement.

  Chapter Five

  As promised, when they left Independence Rock, the first day was a shorter journey. They made it to Devil’s Gate well before nightfall. The two stones were so impressive jutting out the ground—a gorge for the Sweetwater River. Clara had heard one of the wagon masters say that the rocks were five hundred feet high. The rumbling roar of Sweetwater River racing through the crevice and smashing against the sandstone at the bottom was deafening. The divide was so shallow that only one wagon would be able to go through at a time but it widened at the top. Thankfully, it wasn’t an issue; they’d be going around Devil’s Gate, not through it. But they’d follow the river.

  The trading post was in the center of town, and there were buildings everywhere selling their wares. There were furriers selling pelts from various animal, farriers selling horseshoes, blacksmiths selling wheels, nails, and other parts for wagons for the journey West. Other buildings sold blankets, coats, mittens, hats, and underthings for men and women to keep them warm. For many of the pioneers it would be their last chance to stock up on oxen shoes, nails, and other supplies before the next leg of the route out to Soda Springs.

  The wagons made camp around the outskirts of the trading post, keeping close even though the threat of Indian attack was almost nonexistent in that part of Wyoming. The Shoshone were known to be peaceful. It was after Soda Springs that you had to worry.

  Sam, the cook for the Widow Wagon and second in command under Angus, yelled to the children. “I want all the young’uns and women to start looking for buffalo chips. We ain’t havin’ dinner until I can start a fire. So you better get along!”

  Due to the lack of trees, they used buffalo dung to cook their dinners. The women and children gathered them while walking during the day and then again when they set up their camp sites.

  Clara gathered the girls and started to walk toward the Widow Wagon women, intending to join the search. Immediately, Minnie rolled her eyes and lifted her chin, turning away. Clara steeled herself, taking a deep breath. She’d not let Minnie get to her. This had been a good day. Her spirit felt light and easy for the first time in weeks, and cattiness would not ruin it.

  She walked up to the women. “Hope we can find enough. It gets pretty picked over at some stops.”

  Margie picked her head up from searching. “You got that right. I’ve only picked up four. Hope we don’t have to walk too far.”

  Lizzie smiled sweetly at her. She enjoyed Lizzie. Although thirty, she seemed much younger. She and her husband had never had children — or at least she assumed so. Clara felt a little sad thinking about that, knowing Lizzie would have made a wonderful mother. She played with Nelly and Rose, and did a little stitching with them around the campfire at night. She only had a little cloth and a needle and thread that she picked up at one of their stops, but in the evening, her girls loved learning the new stitches with her.

  “I thought you’d be back at the wagon relaxing with Angus,” Minnie said, practically spitting the venomous words. “Didn’t think he’d make you pick up buffalo shit with the rest of us.”

  “Angus wouldn’t treat me different. I’ll get in trouble and get my ass spanked just like the rest of you.”

  “So are you two courtin’ or not? He wouldn’t say. Just kept saying it was none of my business.” At that point, the other women all turned their stares her way and Clara felt compelled — though she knew it probably wasn’t the smartest idea — to answer, and answer honestly.

  “We weren’t before. But we are now.” She bent over to pick up a buffalo chip at her feet, depositing it in her apron.

  “I knew it! Now the rest of us will be just servants to you two. It ain’t right. I’m thinking that the Widow Wagon wouldn’t want him gallivanting with any loose trollop on the wagon either.”

  Clara didn’t remember exactly what happened, but Minnie’s spiteful words had been like waving a red flag in front of a bull. All she remembered was sitting on top of Minnie’s back, pulling on her hair with all her might. Once her hands were full of her dark hair and Minnie’s strident shouts could be heard over most of Wyoming, she stood again, fishing the webbed hair out from between her fingers, letting the torn locks float in the warm afternoon breeze on the dusty plain.

  Minnie stood up, her face red and dusty from wailing while face down in the dirt. “You’re despicable! I refuse to talk to you or be anywhere near you from now on.” She spun on her heel, directing the next phrase to the other women. “I’m going back to the post. You women can gather your chips without me.” She stalked away, leaving a dust trail behind her as her skirts brushed through the dry sand.

  Clara looked over at the other women as they all watched Minnie storm off toward the wagons.

  “Don’t pay her no mind. She’s just acting immature. She nothing but a child, and a spoiled one at that.” Margie walked up to her, putting her arm around Clara and pulling her in for a hug. “I’m glad that Angus has taken a shine to ya. You two make a good pair, I’m thinking. And he adores your little girls. They’ll enjoy having a pa again, I’m sure.”

  “Well, we ain’t talkin’ marriage or nothin’, but yes, they’ll be happy if it becomes more.” She swiped at the tears on her face, the grit from the dusty air smearing across her cheeks.

  “I think it’s right nice. I mean the way you was left at the station, and all. It shows that Angus must have felt sad that you was leavin’. Don’t ya think?” Lizzie rubbed her arm, looking unsure as to whether she should hug her or not.

  Clara pulled her into her embrace. “You’re both being so sweet. I think you might be right, Lizzie.” She gathered up the buffalo chips that scattered from her apron when she charged at Minnie. “It feels nice to be
happy. I get that fluttery feeling when he walks by or winks at me, ya know?”

  They giggled. “I reckon I can recall that feelin’. Been a coon’s age since I felt it, but I’ve been in love before too.” Margie sniggered, elbowing Clara.

  It felt good to laugh with the women, especially after the ruckus with Minnie. Angus would be livid if he heard about it. She wondered if she should say something, or just keep quiet hoping he wouldn’t find out. She had a funny feeling that Angus wouldn’t cotton to her neglecting to tell him, and she was fairly certain he’d see it as a form of lying. She’d tell him as soon as she got to camp. Besides, he’d told her to let him know if Minnie gave her any more trouble.

  “I don’t imagine Angus is going to be too happy when he finds out that I pulled half of Minnie’s hair out.”

  “You aren’t going to tell him, are ya?”

  The surprise in Lizzie’s voice made Clara actually contemplate keeping it hidden — until Margie spoke up. “Of course, she isn’t going to hide it. Angus needs to know what she called you. He might not like that you pulled her hair, but I’m betting he’ll be madder at Minnie for calling you a trollop and insinuating that Angus would sleep with a trollop.”

  It was at that point that Angus galloped up to them on his horse. “Someone spotted Shoshone in the distance. Git back to camp.” He looked around. “Where’s Minnie?”

  The womens’ gazes skittered Clara’s way then back to the ground. Clara took a deep breath. “Well, her and I had a tussle of sorts — and she stormed off saying she was going back to the trading post.”

  “Tussle?” He pushed his tattered, dirty work hat back on his forehead. “What kinda tussle are we talking about?”

  He had that uncompromising tone to his voice.

  “She called me a trollop and said that the Widow Wagon might want to know that you gallivant with trollops.”

  His eyes narrowed and that tic in his jaw came out as it did when he was pushed to his limit. Clara quickly continued before he leapt off the horse to tan her hide. “I kinda had a conniption of sorts, and I tackled her to the ground, pulling out handfuls of hair. But… I stopped. I stopped myself Angus, I swear. I didn’t do anything else.”

  He chuckled, crossing his hands over the saddle horn. “Guess I always knew you could take care of yourself after seein’ what you did to Daisy. Seems to me that Minnie deserved more, and you stopped yourself from fighting or switching her like you did Daisy. I’d say you learned your lesson. Good Girl.”

  “You’re… not mad?” Clara didn’t want to push it, but she couldn’t quite believe what she’d just heard. Relief flooded through her when she realized he wouldn’t be paddling her after all. Still, she was shocked that he seemed to approve of her actions.

  “I still don’t like you fighting. But what she said was uncalled for. I can’t talk about this any longer. We’ll discuss this later.” He narrowed his eyes at the women as he spoke. “I need to find that spoiled brat before the Indians find her. You all run back to camp. Now!”

  He rode off toward the trading post to find Minnie, and Clara felt a twinge of guilt. If the woman — spiteful or not — got hurt because of this, she would never forgive herself.

  The three women held their skirts off the ground, wrapping their aprons around the gathered buffalo chips, and ran to the safety of the wagons and the other pioneers.

  Sam stood waiting for them, corralling them into the wagon with the children. “Where in tarnation is Minnie?”

  Clara threw her arms around the girls. “Angus went to find her. She stormed off toward the wagons. Other than that we don’t know where she is.”

  “Jesus. It ain’t even been twenty-four hours since we told you not to leave alone.” He shook his head, closing the gate to the wagon. “Someone’s gettin’ paddled today, for sure.” All the women exchanged looks. Clara felt bad for Minnie — and felt a bit responsible for her going missing too.

  “Mama, you’re not getting paddled, are you?” Nelly chewed on her bottom lip.

  “No, sweetie. Mama’s fine.”

  Rose spoke up. “Sounds like Mister Angus is using that really big paddle on Miss Minnie, Nelly.”

  “Shhh! Both of you. It isn’t none of your business. Mind what you’re doing — or not doing.”

  Silence descended over the wagon then. Between the threat of attack from the natives and the threat of an angry Angus, the women were lost in their own thoughts. Clara knew she should be more frightened of the Indian attack, but her concern about Angus and the threat of that paddle smacking against delicate flesh crowded away all other thoughts.

  Angus truly was like a bear — large, formidable, growly, and just by walking into a room made his presence known. But when push came to shove, he loved rolling in the grass, playing and enjoying the comforts of friends, family and the great outdoors.

  Poking that large bear definitely had been a grave error on Minnie’s part. She’d be on the receiving end of that growly bear’s anger before the night was over.

  * * *

  Damn women!

  Days like this made him question his sanity. Who else would travel three thousand miles with eight women in a fucking covered wagon across prairies, plains, deserts, floods, raging rivers --- all with the ever-present threat of Indian attack.

  He leapt off his horse, walking behind the row of wooden buildings at the trading post. “Minnie Johnson, you better get your skinny tail out here! Now!” He stomped past the buildings, looking down the alleyways as he passed each one. Seeing something move, he backed up and walked down one of them, between the Saloon and the Blacksmith’s building.

  Found you!

  He snatched her up from behind some crates on the side of the building. “Didn’t you hear me callin’ ya?” He shook her lightly.

  “Yes. But I was afraid.”

  “You have every right to be afraid. But not answering, just added five more swats of my paddle.”

  Her eyes widened, her face going pale, throat working. “I... are you... I’m getting paddled?”

  “Hell yes! I just told you women to stay close to each other not more than eight hours ago — and you just walked off. The Shoshone were spotted in the distance, and I couldn’t find you because you disobeyed.” He began walking back the way he’d come, dragging her along behind him. “You won’t do it again, neither. Trust me.”

  “But—” Minnie started to whine.

  “Nope. Not hearin’ it. There’s no need for discussion. There isn’t anything you can say that’ll stay my hand.” He didn’t even look at her as he said it. She’d receive no comfort from him until he tanned her ass good. She had put everyone at risk, him included. It wasn’t fair to the others. A lesson needed to taught — and he would be the one teaching it.

  When they were close enough to the wagon for other pioneers to hear and see his next actions, he swatted her backside a couple times, sending her bounding toward the wagon. “Now get in that wagon and think about the paddling coming to you when I get back.” She ran to the wagon, clambering up and over the gate to join the other women.

  The men stationed themselves around their wagons, guns drawn, scanning the horizon for any movement or sign of Shoshone. It always amazed Angus how noisy a circle of wagons could be. Between the children playing, women talking and laughing, cooking utensils clattering, it could be very chaotic and loud. But in situations like this, the quiet was almost deafening. Not one sound, not even from the oxen and horses. The occasional hawk or eagle would soar above, but everything stood still except the constant breeze.

  After they stood like that for a while, waiting, a couple scouts were sent out to check the distance again. They finally whistled an all clear and people scrambled out of their wagons, picking right up with what they were doing before the scare.

  That is except for the Widow Wagon.

  The women there were apparently scared enough — either of him or the Shoshone — that they sat huddled together like naughty children awaiting the
ir fate. He pulled the gate down on the back of the wagon, the chains rattling.

  He slapped his hand on the thick gate, startling the women. “Minnie! Front and center! And Clara, you come too.”

  Chapter Six

  He watched the women hop out, directing them to stand to his right. Then he yelled to the rest. “I want the rest of you out here too.”

  The women came out one-by-one, each looking as unsure as the woman before her. They filed into a line, side-by-side without further direction. Nelly and Rose came to the edge of the wagon last. Rose had tears tracking down her cheeks, quietly crying. She was such a sweet little pumpkin. While Nelly had her lip between her teeth — just like her mother did when she felt concerned or wary.

  “Well, c’mon,” he said, reaching up to help them down. Nelly just stared at him, not moving. Rose shook her head, her lip trembling. “I don’t want to. Are we getting paddled?”

  “What?”

  Oh, Lord.

  Angus felt awful. Why would they even think that? He’d never said anything about punishing them when he put them in the wagon. “What makes you think you’d be paddled, sweetheart?”

  “You’re so angry, and you’re not ‘Mister Angus.’” Rose closed her eyes then, and sobs started to wrack her little chest.

  “Oh, darlin’. I’m always Mister Angus.” His voice softened and he motioned for her to come forward. She ran toward him, jumping into his arms. “You are not getting paddled. One of the women over here will be getting her tail tanned today. Now, you dry those little tears, and Mister Sam will bring you over to the Anderson wagon so you can play with the other kids.” He used the pads of his thumbs to wipe the tear tracks from her pudgy cheeks.

  He’d been told many times that he was too soft when it came to women or children crying. He couldn’t help it. It just tore him up. The urge to fix whatever was wrong and put a smile back on their faces tugged at him so hard it felt like he couldn’t breathe right until things has been put to rights. The need to comfort, console and protect those weaker than himself proved much stronger than his need to keep order and discipline. Although he refused to tolerate defiance either, he struggled internally with meting out the consequences when they were needed.