Wild Western Women Ride Again: Western Historical Romance Boxed Set

by Kirsten Osbourne

  “Nonsense,” Greg went on, wiping his wet hair off of his face. “Muddy boots and skirts are fashionable in these parts.”

  “Only out of necessity, I suppose,” she giggled her answer.

  It didn’t matter that the rain refused to let up. With Darcy there to laugh and chat, the sun was probably refusing to shine out of jealousy.

  “They say that rain is exactly what’s needed to make the crops grow,” Greg told her, checking on his oxen when they stumbled over hidden rocks in the mud.

  “Not this much rain,” Darcy countered. “Too much will ruin an entire harvest, or so I’m told.”

  “True.” Greg nodded. “But if the land is irrigated correctly, rain can be directed around crops without washing them away.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  He smiled at her, full of confidence. “I am. I’ve worked on farms before, but when I buy my land in Oregon, I’ll prove it. They say it rains quite a bit in that part of the country.”

  “Then you’ll be used to it by the time you get there,” Darcy said. “It will feel like home.”

  “I’m sure it will,” he chuckled, turning his face up to the sky. “I want to buy a stretch of land on a hill, maybe even one that looks out over the Pacific Ocean. I want it to have trees too, lots of them. Maybe I’ll plant an orchard along with wheat and barley.”

  “So you’ve definitely decided to farm, then?” she asked. She stumbled over one of the hidden rocks the same way the oxen had.

  Greg reached out to help her balance. She nodded her thanks, then pushed on.

  “I’m not completely decided,” he confessed. “I may still use the money I have to buy ranch land. I’ve been told cattle ranching could be highly profitable with so much land around.”

  “But in Oregon? Near the ocean? I thought cattle preferred wide, flat stretches, like this.” She gestured to the sodden land around them.

  “If you ask me, it feels like we are at the ocean right now,” Greg joked.

  Darcy laughed and slicked her wet hair back. She’d given up wearing her wide-brimmed bonnet when the brim became so soaked it blinded her. There was something fresh and free about her walking without her head covered, as if she would just let the rain come and take whatever it gave her.

  “Why are you two so giddy?” one of their fellow travelers, a middle-aged farmer named Ichabod, commented as he strode past, on his way to the front of the wagon train.

  “But it’s a lovely day,” Darcy replied, still giggling, her eyes full of light.

  “Weather like this makes a man feel as though he could grow another foot,” Greg added, unable to keep his smile inside.

  Ichabod snorted and shook his head. “You’re both off your nuts, if you ask me. We didn’t have none of these problems until she joined the wagon train.” He jerked a thumb at Darcy and walked on.

  “What do you mean by that?” Greg demanded, his high spirits suddenly itching for a fight.

  Ichabod turned and walked backwards as he answered. “The rain, the McTavish family being sick… all that started when she showed up. Gets folks to wondering, you know. Like maybe she’s bad luck.”

  “Darcy is not bad luck,” Greg growled. “She’s very good luck.”

  Ichabod snorted. “Is that why Conrad wants nothing to do with her?”

  “Conrad Huber is a—”

  There was no point in going on. Ichabod waved him off and continued his soggy trek to the front of the wagon train.

  “I can’t believe anyone would even hint at you being bad luck,” Greg grumbled.

  To his surprise, Darcy laughed. “I’ve been accused of being good luck before, so why not bad luck now? I believe that luck is what we make of it.”

  Something in Greg’s chest turned over at her comment and at the smile that accompanied it. He rubbed the spot—right over his heart—as if he could blot it out. Whatever it was, it was bound to be inconvenient. He had a clear course in front of him, and after her explanation the other day, Greg understood her reasons for wanting Conrad to agree once more to marry her. Life wasn’t necessarily fair, but it did make sense.

  “So while you’re up in Oregon, planting your farm or starting your ranch,” Darcy went on, “I’ll likely be down in California, panning for gold along with Mr. Huber. Whether I’m good luck or bad luck, I bet I’ll find a big, fat nugget right in the middle of everything.”

  Her smile was all the gold Greg would ever want to find, but the thought wasn’t comforting.

  “We could probably pan for gold in the streams that have been caused by all this rain,” he went on, trying to joke, but his heart wasn’t in it anymore.

  “You know, I bet we could,” Darcy giggled. “We should get out one of the big bowls and try it next time we stop.”

  Her words were underscored by a loud crack. The two of them stopped together and turned toward the wagon. The whole thing tipped slightly to the side as the back wheel on the side facing them popped half off, several of the spokes broken. The oxen lowed and shuffled, feeling that something was wrong, but they continued moving.

  “That’s not good at all,” Greg said, dropping back to take a look at the damaged wheel. “The wagon must have hit one of the rocks in the mud.”

  “Or maybe it’s my bad luck?” Darcy suggested, eyebrow raised, lips twitching to a grin.

  That feeling in Greg’s chest came back full-force. Did nothing dent her spirits? Was she always this happy, even in the face of disaster?

  “Whoa! Whoa, hold up there,” Pete Evans’s cry came from the front of the wagon train. Greg stepped back from his broken wagon to glance up the line of the train. Pete was mounted and was moving down the line, telling everyone to stop. “We’re gonna stop here until the rain lets up a bit,” he was shouting so everyone could hear. “Pull up and rest for a bit.”

  Darcy rushed to the front of the wagon to coax the oxen to stop. “There,” she said. “I’m good luck after all. The whole train is stopping, so we won’t have to fall behind while we fix the wheel.”

  Greg nodded. He couldn’t help but smile in the face of that much optimism. “Lucky Darcy.”

  She giggled and came back to help him figure out the wheel situation.

  All around them, wagons were stopping and finding whatever patch of ground looked even a little bit drier. The neat line of wagons disintegrated into a hodge-podge. People pulled up alongside where Greg’s wagon was stranded, but no one offered to help. Whether it was because of the pounding rain that drove most folks into the shelter of their wagon’s covering or whether it was because of some silly rumor of bad luck, Greg didn’t have time to care.

  As he fetched the spare wagon wheel he’d been lucky enough to buy a couple of forts ago from the back of his wagon, he noticed that Conrad had pulled his wagon up beside them, a few yards away. The sudden flash of an idea struck him.

  “Darcy,” he whispered, bringing the wagon wheel up to the side of the wagon where she crouched, examining the broken one. “You’re going to replace the wheel yourself.”

  “I’m what?” She blinked and stood.

  “Look,” he nodded across the rainy distance to Conrad’s wagon. “Your would-be husband is sitting right there. His complaint is that you’re too small and weak to be a good wife. You’re going to replace this wagon wheel and show him he’s wrong.”

  “What a wonderful idea,” she said, eyes bright with excitement. “Except that I don’t know anything about replacing a wagon wheel.”

  “I’ll talk you through it,” he said.

  “Then I’ll do it.”

  Greg moved the new wheel to where it would be in easy reach when Darcy needed it, then he circled around the back of his wagon to take out a set of tools. He had his doubts about whether Darcy would be able to work the pin loose from the center of the wheel or whether she was strong enough to tug the broken wheel off of the shaft, but she surprised him. She followed every direction he gave her with focus and determination.

  What was be
tter, as she yanked the old, broken wheel off and tossed it aside for the new one, Greg spotted Conrad watching her.

  “Excellent,” he said in a hush. “He’s watching. Now all you have to do is take the new wheel and slide it into place.”

  “Right.” She nodded, panting with exertion, and lifted the new wheel.

  Conrad continued to watch. He’d even delayed seeking shelter in the back of his wagon so that he could scrutinize every move Darcy made. Darcy, for her part, hardly took notice. She pushed the new wheel onto the shaft and turned it until the holes for the pin lined up. Then she retrieved the pin from Greg and fit it into place, pounding it with a mallet. She managed to do the whole thing with only instructions from Greg, rain pounding down, the ground and everything she worked with slippery with rain. She did it.

  “Well done,” Greg said with a beaming smile once she stood straight and brushed her hands on her wet skirt. “Don’t you think so, Conrad?”

  Realizing he’d been caught spying, Conrad jerked straighter. “What are you talking about?”

  “Darcy replaced the wagon wheel entirely on her own. I’m sure it has never worked better. She’s a fine woman, don’t you think so?”

  Darcy smiled at the compliment. Conrad screwed up his face as though he’d bitten something sour. He lurched away from his wagon and came to squint at the wagon wheel.

  “It was easy,” Darcy said, a little out of breath still. “I’m sure I could do another one. In fact, I’m ready to learn how to make wagon repairs and everything now.”

  Conrad leaned in closer to inspect the wheel. He grabbed hold of the top and shook it, evidently thinking it would come right off. It didn’t. Greg exchanged a promising look with Darcy over Conrad’s back. Conrad stood straighter and kicked the wheel. Nothing happened.

  “Well I’ll be,” he muttered at last. “She fixed a wheel.”

  “And is willing to fix other things too,” Greg added.

  “I can already mend clothes and darn socks,” Darcy said with a wink. “That counts as fixing things, doesn’t it?”

  “It sure does.” Greg smiled, but his triumph at a plan well-executed was already fading. He didn’t like the sharp look in Conrad’s eyes as he stared at the wheel. He liked it even less when that look was turned on Darcy.

  Conrad stepped over to her, looking her up and down with a new assessment in his eyes. He crossed his arm and rubbed his stubbly chin.

  “Those were some good biscuits you made the other day,” he said, almost as if talking to himself.

  “I learned cooking at my mother’s knee,” Darcy went on, all smiles. “There’s only so much I can do out here on the trail, but just you wait until I’m in a real kitchen with fresh supplies.”

  “Hmm.” Conrad rubbed his chin harder. “And you don’t seem the type to nag after all.”

  A sick feeling began to spread in Greg’s stomach. Conrad was seriously reconsidering. This was what they had wanted. He should happy. Darcy’s future would be secure, she would have the legitimacy of being someone’s wife, and he wouldn’t have to worry about her anymore.

  “All right, I’ll take you,” Conrad said, then sniffed and spit. “I got plenty of work that needs doing, and it looks like you’re the girl after all.”

  “Oh, thank you Mr. Huber,” Darcy said, far, far more happy than Greg thought she should be. She spared a short, excited look of victory for him, then rushed to the back of his wagon. “I won’t let you down, Mr. Huber. I’ll be the perfect wife for you, you’ll see. You’ll never have any reason to complain.”

  Conrad huffed. “We’ll see about that.”

  “Perhaps we should stop to consider this for a second,” Greg said slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “Why?” Conrad frowned at him, hitching up his rain-soaked pants as they sagged.

  Greg fumbled for an excuse. “It… it might be too much of a strain for Miss Howsam to shuffle all of her things around in the rain.”

  “Oh no,” Darcy said, coming around from behind the wagon with her bag in her hands. “It’s no trouble. This is all I have.” She smiled and turned to Conrad. “Should I climb up into your wagon from the back, or would you like me to sit in the front?”

  “Sitting? Who said anything about sitting?” Conrad snapped. “I’ve got work for you, girl.”

  “Oh.” Darcy paused on her way across the space that separated Conrad’s wagon from Greg’s. “All right. Let me just put this in the wagon, out of the wet.”

  She strode on to the back of Conrad’s wagon. Conrad followed, while all Greg could do was stand there and watch. He opened his mouth to say something, to protest, but there was nothing he could say. This was exactly what he had intended to have happen. It was exactly what Darcy had wanted, what he had wanted too. Wasn’t it?

  “What would you like me to do, Mr. Huber?” Darcy asked as soon as she’d put her bag in Conrad’s wagon.

  Conrad sniffed. “Something’s keeping my wagon from moving right,” he said. “There must be a stick or some rocks or something up under the axel. I need you to take a look under there and clean the whole thing out.”

  Darcy stared at Conrad’s wagon. She glanced up at the sky—rain beating down harder—then across to Greg for half a second before looking at Conrad again and saying, “Now?”

  “We’re stopped, aren’t we?” Conrad barked. “You said you wanted to be a good wife, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” Darcy answered hesitantly.

  “Then get under the wagon and see if you can’t figure out what’s wrong with it.”

  “I don’t actually know much about wagons, Mr. Huber. Greg helped me to—”

  “Go,” Conrad shouted. “Now!”

  “All right,” Darcy yelped.

  Greg was helpless to do anything but stand there and watch as Darcy dropped to her hands and knees and crawled through the wet grass and mud to look at the underside of Conrad’s wagon. As soon as she was crouched on her side, peering at each of the wagon wheels and axels from the inside, Conrad climbed up into the back of his wagon and out of the rain. Darcy gasped as his weight combined with the mud that the wagon sat on sank it a tiny bit deeper on top of her.

  “Are you all right?” Greg called to her, taking a step closer.

  “I’m fine,” she answered. “I was just a bit startled is all.”

  “You shouldn’t have to do that in the rain,” Greg went on.

  “No, no, it’s fine,” Darcy told him. “I think I can see what the problem—oh, no, that’s just a piece of the axel. I’m sure I’ll figure out what’s wrong with the wagon. You’ll see.”

  “But the mud,” Greg protested. “You’ll ruin your dress.”

  “It’s already ruined,” she said, and if Greg wasn’t mistaken, laughed. “Besides,” she went on. “I’m out of the rain at last.”

  Those words broke his heart. Was it really better to be out of the rain if it meant you were stuck in the mud? He couldn’t help but feel responsible for the predicament he’d landed Darcy in. Even so, he felt utterly helpless to get her out of it. He had no claim on her. He had his own future to think about. Conrad was the one who Darcy owed money to. His mind searched for every rational argument it could to justify letting her go, but his heart rebelled against all of them. His heart told him he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life.

  Chapter Five

  Another week passed on the trail. The rain refused to let up, and neither did Greg’s misgivings. In fact, the more time that passed, the more he felt as though he had done something truly terrible. It wasn’t just the loneliness of walking by himself every day now that Darcy was with Conrad, it was the fact that Darcy’s unsinkable smile hadn’t been seen for days.

  “I tell you, I have never seen anything like this in all my years,” Pete Evans said as he walked beside Greg.

  “Neither have I,” Greg muttered, wracked with guilt.

  Conrad had positioned himself several wagons ahead of Greg’s. From the looks of things, he
was making Darcy darn his socks and walk at the same time. Darcy held a sock in one hand and a darning needle in the other with a spool of darning thread tucked into her sleeve. She wore her bonnet again with the brim drooping low over her eyes. When she stumbled, dropping the sock in an effort to catch herself, not only did Conrad not reach out to help her, he shouted at her for getting his old sock muddy.

  “I don’t suppose it would do any good to appeal to a higher power to make it stop,” Pete went on, glancing up to the sky.

  “What higher power is there?” Greg grumbled. “You’re the ultimate authority as far as I can tell.”

  Pete’s eyes went wide and he gaped at Greg. A second later, he burst into laughter. Greg frowned, but Pete thumped him on the back.

  “Son, I’ve been called many things in my day, but no one’s ever compared me to the Almighty quite like that,” he said.

  Greg sent him a sideways look, wondering what he was talking about. “The way that man treats Darcy,” he began.

  “I was talking about the rain,” Pete interrupted.

  Greg paused, then looked up. Sure enough, a light rain was spitting down on them. Again. He’d been so wrapped up in his own concerns that he hadn’t even noticed. “Oh,” he said.

  “I’ve seen rain before, but nothing remotely like this,” Pete went on. “Particularly along this stretch of the trail. It’s starting to concern me.”

  “Is it?” As far as Greg was concerned, rain was an inconvenience. The way Conrad pushed Darcy around was something to be concerned about. Even now, he couldn’t help but notice the way Darcy started to limp, as if she had something in her shoe. She appealed to Conrad as he sat on the seat of his wagon, driving his oxen. Greg was too far back to hear her exact words, but whatever she said, she was denied.

  “If we don’t start moving faster,” Pete said, “we’ll have trouble getting through the mountains before the snow starts.”

  Darcy paused, bending down to unlace her shoe. Conrad’s wagon rambled ahead of her, but before she could take her shoe off, Conrad leaned around the side and shouted, “Keep up!”

  Darcy struggled to catch up to the level of Conrad’s oxen, one shoe now untied. She walked a few steps, bent over to fiddle with her shoe, straightened and walked some more, bent over, and eventually got her shoe off. She shook it, but whether a stone came out or not, Conrad didn’t give her time to put it back on.