Cameron made a noise that sounded strangely as though he were choking and turned aside, coughing into his kerchief.
“Are you all right?” Elizabeth asked, turning to him, putting the woman in front of her out of her mind.
“Yes, ma’am,” he managed to whisper hoarsely. “Just got a gnat in my throat.”
“Humph.” Dora expressed her displeasure with a snort and turned away. A few feet from Cameron, she turned back. “You’d do well to make an honest woman of Elizabeth, you know. Folks will talk. In fact, they’re already talking.”
“I’m sure you’re helping them find something to talk about,” Cameron said sharply. “Miss Elizabeth and I are two adults, thrown together by circumstance, and trying the best we can to muddle through.”
Elizabeth looked over his shoulder to where Joe squatted by the fire, his own shoulders shaking with laughter. “I’ll just wipe out the skillet, Cameron,” she said, hoping her change of subject would result in Dora’s retreat. “Would you hand me the slab of bacon, so I can wipe it down?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’d be most happy to,” he said, turning his attention from the woman who was stalking stiffly back to her own wagon.
“I suppose it was rude of me not to accept her help,” Elizabeth said. “But she seemed possessed of the idea that we were over here living in…” Her eyes widened and her mouth pinched shut as she halted her words.
“Sin?” Cameron asked. And then he offered an opinion that was designed to placate her worry. “It’s my opinion that sin is making accusations with no foundation of truth to back them up, sweetheart. The lady is looking for trouble where there is none.”
He lifted the half slab of bacon and held it before him as Elizabeth wiped it with her towel. “If you’ll cut some slices with that knife of yours, I’ll comb my hair on the other side of the wagon so I don’t tempt any of these fine, upstanding gentlemen,” she said, her voice sharp and sassy.
“Fire’s about ready, Cam.” Joe stood and sought out Cam’s cooking stone from the back of the wagon, placing it on the coals to heat.
His knife was as sharp as his honing stone could make it, and Cameron had no problem with slicing off a dozen thick pieces of bacon for their meal. He placed them in the skillet Elizabeth had cleaned and placed it on the stone.
“Won’t take long before it’s sizzlin’ up a storm,” Joe said. “You got any bread?”
“Yeah, part of a loaf. One of the ladies baked bread the other night in her campfire and brought me some.” Cameron dug into the barrel that held foodstuffs and brought forth a half loaf of sourdough. “Here we go,” he said. “No butter, but I still have a bit of jam.”
“Jam?” Elizabeth laughed aloud. “You brought jam along?”
He glanced at her, his look one of chagrin. “I’ve got a sweet tooth. Packed three jars of jam when we left St. Louis.”
The skillet was sizzling, the bacon beginning to curl on the edges, and Elizabeth grabbed for a fork from the barrel. “Here, you get to watch the bacon while I tie my hair back. After all this fuss, I’ll wait and braid it later.”
Cam took the utensil and grinned at her. “Leave it hang loose, will you?”
“Too messy,” she said, pulling the length behind her head and fishing in her pocket for a bit of ribbon she’d found there the first day. With swift movements of her slender hands, she tied a credible knot and bow, and then tossed the comb inside the wagon.
“That does it,” she announced, taking the fork back and settling near the fire. Joe had brought a block of wood for her to sit on and she smiled her thanks at him as she lowered herself to its surface. The bacon cooked nicely, and she kept it turned and evenly browned, inhaling the welcome scent as she tended it.
“Here’s some newspaper to drain it on,” Cam said, sorting through a stack of things in the wagon. He turned the sheets to the center, where they were at least fresher and cleaner than the outer pages, and placed them on a tray he’d dug from his barrel.
In ten minutes’ time, the three of them sat near the fire and ate from tin plates. The jam was still good, and Cam was pleased that it hadn’t begun to mold in the heat. They each ate an egg, Joe demanding that Elizabeth have her share of their bounty.
“How I could possibly settle in so quickly, I don’t know, but this feels like home,” she said, wiping up the last of her egg yolk with the crust of bread she held. She popped it into her mouth, relishing the flavor, and then picked up a second piece of bacon.
“For now, this is your home,” Cameron said. “You’ve got Joe and me to take care of you, and a wagon to ride in and food to eat.”
“I can’t thank you enough for rescuing me the other day,” Elizabeth said, looking down at her lap. “I’d be dead by now if you hadn’t found me.”
“Just doin’ our job, ma’am,” Joe said, grinning at Cameron over her head.
“Best morning’s work we’ve done since we left St. Louis,” Cameron agreed. “Didn’t know we’d find a prize like you when we rode out that morning.”
“Not a prize,” she countered. “A woman with no memory and nothing of her own to bring along on this journey. I’m a liability to both of you.”
“Not me, ma’am,” Joe said quickly. “I kinda like havin’ you around. I’ve enjoyed watchin’ you cooking our breakfast this morning. Maybe you’ll feel like puttin’ together some supper tonight. I heard that one of the men got a deer early on, before dawn. Bet he’d share a bit with the scouts. What do you think, Cam?”
“Almost guaranteed,” Cameron agreed. “We’ll see if he’s got it all cut up yet.”
“Will he mind sharing?” Elizabeth asked.
“Naw,” Joe drawled. “He’ll dole it out to anyone who wants fresh meat for supper. It won’t keep long in this heat anyway. Probably be all used up by tomorrow. Lots of folks here to eat it.”
“What will he do with the skin?” Elizabeth asked.
“If you want it, I’ll ask him,” Cameron said. “If you’re planning on making something from it, it’ll have to be readied first. You know, the Indian women chew the hide to make it soft. Think you’re up to it?”
She almost gagged at his words. “Hardly. But I’ll bet I could make something out of it, if he wouldn’t mind selling it to you for my use. And then I’ll pay you back, Cameron.”
“And how will you do that, young lady?” he asked with a wide grin.
“I’ll make you a shirt out of it, if you like.”
The bachelor who’d shot the deer brought them a piece of roast for their supper, and Joe showed Elizabeth how to prepare it for cooking. A large kettle hung beneath the wagon and she washed it, then filled it halfway with water, hanging it over the fire after breakfast. “I’ll give it a head start,” she explained to Cameron. “It’ll take a while to cook, but at noon, I’ll give it another dose of heat and by suppertime, it should be about halfway done.”
“I’ve got a couple of onions hanging inside,” Cameron said. “They’re still good, and one would taste mighty fine in the pot with the meat.”
“I’ll pour the bacon grease in it, too,” Elizabeth said. “Seems like I heard somewhere that bacon cuts the wild flavor of the meat.” She frowned and shook her head. “Wish I could remember where that came from.”
The call to clear the camp came sooner than she’d hoped, but Elizabeth did her share to ready the wagon for the day’s travel. A pot of hot water on the side of the fire warmed nicely by the time she had the plates and forks ready to wash, and the final chore was to wipe out the skillet. No soap was allowed to touch the iron surface, and she couldn’t remember why, only knew it to be true.
The mountains seemed to creep closer by the day, and midmorning they presented a sight for sore eyes, Elizabeth thought, looking up from her stitching to gaze upon the sight of towering peaks in the west.
The deer skin would not be hers until tomorrow, Cameron said, the young man still working on it, making it pliable and ready to cut and form it into whatever she pleased.
That was easy enough to decide upon, because what she’d already decided would give her the most satisfaction was to turn it into a shirt for Cameron. He’d seemed pleased at her plan, and she had found one of his shirts in the trunk where he kept his clothing, using it as a pattern.
So it was that the next day found her awake early, awaiting the arrival of the prized deer hide. She held it before her, profusely thanking the hunter for allowing Cameron to purchase it for her, then folded it and placed it in the wagon.
She spent an hour inside the wagon, working the leather, rubbing the surface with a stone and cleaning off the bits and pieces he had missed, as if it were a skill she’d once learned, a talent not forgotten. Holding it up before her Elizabeth examined it carefully. When she considered it ready, she spread the hide on the floor, then cut it into the required pieces for Cameron’s shirt.
“When we stop for noon, I’ll measure this against you and see how it will fit,” Elizabeth told him, leaning on the seat at the front of the wagon, catching a breath of fresh air.
He walked beside her, his occasional comments and words making the time go swiftly. He spoke of his plans for a ranch in Colorado, of the piece of land where a river ran through the back of the property he’d claimed as his own.
Now he looked up at her, his smile pleased as he watched her stitching the deer hide. She was in her glory, Cameron thought. Give a woman something to do, some project to work on, and she was happy. The end result being a shirt for him was enough to give him a big head, he thought. He’d figured she would make herself something from the leather, but unless he missed his guess, there wouldn’t be enough left to make more than a small pair of moccasins. Maybe that was her plan. With a glance down to where her dress pooled at her ankles, he decided it wouldn’t take an awful lot of leather to cover the feet that were now shod in shabby shoes.
She’d been barefoot when he brought her to his wagon, and one of the older girls had contributed an old pair of nondescript shoes for Elizabeth’s benefit. She’d accepted them gratefully, but he suspected the worn leather pinched her toes. Frequently, she slipped them from her feet and, without a word of complaint, rubbed those pink toes absently as she sat atop the wagon seat.
If the deer hide provided enough leftover leather to make her a pair of moccasins, he’d be more than delighted. But it seemed her own comfort rated second to his, for the project she’d begun with was a shirt she’d mentioned, one she sewed with precise stitches, and obviously designed as a token of her appreciation to him. She’d made the offer and he’d decided, no matter how it turned out, he would look forward to wearing it.
As promised, the unfinished work was measured against his back and shoulders, after their simple noontime meal was prepared and consumed. She hung the cooking pot with the venison in it over the last of the glowing coals, and then she readied the unfinished shirt for fitting.
The front pieces lay against his chest as she stood back and surveyed her work. “I think just a narrow seam will work,” she said musingly, adjusting the soft leather to his body. “You’re a little broader in the chest than I’d thought.”
Cameron suppressed a shiver. If the girl had any idea what her gentle touch was doing to his state of mind, let alone the condition of his body, she’d no doubt climb into the wagon and hide for the rest of the day. Innocence was enticing, he decided, holding his arms out as she held the front and back of his new garment together, her head tilted to one side as she gauged the fit.
He looked down to where her bare toes almost touched his own boots and could not refrain from the words that jumped from his tongue. “You should be making yourself some moccasins before you worry about my shirt,” he said gruffly, only to cringe as she shot him a look of confusion.
“I wanted to do something for you,” she said softly, her hands falling to her sides as though she had only just now realized that she’d been using them to measure the breadth of his chest. “I’m used to going barefoot,” she continued, “and I’m riding most of the time, anyway. My feet hardly get dirty, let alone bruised up from walking.”
Cameron found himself wishing for different circumstances. If only he’d met her at a dance or party back East, or maybe noticed her first as a member of this wagon train. As it was now, he was responsible for her safety, and that obligation weighed heavily on him, well aware that most of the possibility of danger she was in at the present could be laid at his own feet.
He’d thought himself immune to women for years, only allowing his body’s needs to be satisfied on rare occasions, when it seemed that he’d been alone for too long a time to be borne. Now he found himself watching this female almost constantly, the days being measured by the hours and minutes he spent in her company.
When the sun set and the pot of venison roast was but a tasty memory, Cameron crawled beneath the wagon, punched his flat pillow into a reasonable lump and thought longingly of the feather tick and down pillow he’d donated for Elizabeth’s use in the wagon overhead. Not that he would take them back, for he cherished his honor, and once a gift was given, it was out of his hands forever, so far as he was concerned.
He’d only like to share the bedding with her. And at that thought he grinned widely, his attention arrested by the sound of Elizabeth turning over, then sitting up and muttering unintelligible words just out of his hearing. She wasn’t sleeping soundly tonight, he realized, and not for the first time, she’d been dreaming.
He settled down again, thinking of the woman he desired with every fiber of his being, wondering if he dared rush her into a commitment that would include marriage when they reached Denver. Granted, as Dallas said, he’d only known her a short while, but some things happen rapidly in this world, especially in situations such as this. Life was fraught with danger, always had been, always would be. But if he could gain the role of protector of the woman he’d rescued, on a permanent basis, it would make his life complete.
Marriage had not been nearly so much a priority in several years. He’d been bitten by the bug once, and had thought himself immune to the females who flitted in and out of his life. Elizabeth was not flitting, he thought with a grin. She was in his wagon, sleeping on his bedding and using the only decent pillow he owned. That should give him a head start when it came to expecting her response to his proposal.
He considered that theory for a few minutes, the edge of his concentration nudged by the feminine sounds of distress from over his head. Quiet sobs reached to where he lay, and without a second thought, he rolled from beneath the wagon and stood at the tailgate, peering within to where Elizabeth was rolled up at the far end of his feather tick.
“Elizabeth. Honey, are you all right?” His whisper was low, but he knew it carried the few feet to where she curled beneath the sheet. Not awaiting an answer, he climbed lithely over the tailgate and crouched just inside the wagon. “Elizabeth?” His calling of her name seemed to gain her attention, and she sat bolt upright, her eyes wide and staring, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Don’t let them kill me,” she whispered, her face twisting in an agony of despair.
With less grace than haste, Cameron made his way to her side, untangling her from the sheet and lowering himself to sit beside her. His strong arms swept beneath her and he lifted her to his lap.
“I could get used to this in a hurry, sweetheart,” he murmured as he rocked her in his embrace and buried his face in her hair. Fragrant with the flowers she’d soaked in the rinse water before she washed it earlier, the silken strands flowed beneath his hands and tempted his nose with the aroma of fresh meadow daisies and tiny purple flowers that seemed to thrive on the prairie.
“Cameron?” She roused from whatever dream she’d been immersed in, her arms reaching for his neck, her face buried in the hollow above his collarbone. “Hold me tight, please,” she begged. “I need to feel safe.”
“You were dreaming, sweetheart,” he murmured against her ear. “I heard you from down below.”
“Thank you for
coming to me,” she said, her voice faint as if she hesitated to speak the words. “I needed to know I was safe, needed to know you were here to take care of me.”
“I’m planning on doing a lot of that in the future. Taking care of you will be my number one priority from now on. Once I get you to Denver and find us a preacher, I’ll have the right to be with you all the time, and I’ll be able to give up that bedroll under the wagon.”
She wiggled a bit, sitting upright, as if leaning against his strength was somehow forbidden. “I must have been dreaming, or maybe remembering. At any rate, I saw Ben running from the wagon and my father went after him. They went to the river and then disappeared beneath the water. I fear that my father drowned there.”
“Ben?” The single word was harsh, Cameron’s voice almost choking on the single syllable. “Who is Ben?”
“He was with us. A friend of my father’s, a man who wanted to marry me, I think. He went along on the trip to help Daddy with the animals and keep an eye on me.” Her face assumed a look of distaste. “I didn’t like him much, Cameron. He was always touching me, not in a nasty way, but as if he had the right to be familiar with me.”
“He and your father left the wagon train when it was attacked?”
“Ben left. My father chased after him, called him a coward and knocked him into the water. I was still on the wagon, and when the attackers saw me, they pulled me down to the ground.” She shuddered, closing her eyes against the memory.
“Did you ever see your father again? Or Ben?” Cameron felt futile rage clamp its talons within his chest as he visualized the woman who had been abandoned and left to the savages.
“No, I was knocked down by a man’s fist, I think. I saw it coming and then I remember I hit the ground. Someone tore at my throat, probably after my necklace, and then he slapped me and punched me.” Her eyes seemed to see a vision he could only imagine. “I thought they would kill me or take me along with them. I don’t know why they didn’t, only that one man was left with me and he carried me farther from the flames, and then seemed to change his mind.”
Wed Under Western Skies Page 6