Cassandra Austin

by Trusting Sarah

  “He’s off with River. I got me a hankerin’ for some flapjacks.” He winked at Sarah. “Got a little maple syrup hidden away.”

  When he went to the lead wagon to start their breakfast, Sarah tried to relax. She couldn’t shake the feeling he would look into the wagon and know what had happened there.

  And what of River? How would he treat her this morning? Would his behavior give them away? Would he even try to keep last night a secret?

  Oh, how could I let it happen? she asked herself. I deserve to be shunned by all the good people of this train. The coffee tasted bitter, and she set the cup on the ground. She was no better now than she had been all those years ago. She gave in to her lowest desires even when she knew they were wrong.

  She watched Eli stir the batter and knew she should offer to help. She needed to pretend nothing had happened, but she couldn’t hide the awful truth from herself.

  She shivered and leaned closer to the fire, wondering about River. What must he be thinking of her now? Was he laughing at how easily she had given in to him? Now that it had happened once, was he planning to take her again whenever he wanted? To her shame, the thought made her tingle with anticipation.

  “‘Mornin’, Miss Sarah.” Rice was all youthful energy as he trotted into camp. “How come breakfast ain’t ready?”

  “Now, ya don’t got no call to be complainin’,” Eli scolded, bringing his long-handled skillet to the fire. “I ain’t let ya starve yet, have I?”

  Rice hardly seemed to hear Eli. He sat down near Sarah. “Wasn’t that something when the horses got excited last night? I thought they was gonna run off in the storm, but River got ‘em settled down.”

  Sarah looked up to see River walking toward them. His slicker had been discarded, but his hat was still wet. The shoulders of his buckskin jacket were dark, indicating a last, unexpected shower. Sarah looked at the shoulders and remembered how the hard muscles had felt under her hands, how the strong arms had held her. She should look away before Rice and Eli read the thoughts her eyes must surely reveal. Instead, her eyes moved to River’s face as if she hoped to discover what he was feeling. When his eyes met hers they seemed to hold her, and it was too late to turn away.

  River watched the deep brown eyes telegraph uncertainty. She looked more beautiful than ever this morning, with her hair hastily pinned up and the campfire warming her cheeks. As he watched, the color in her cheeks deepened, bringing a slow smile to his lips.

  In the past Sarah would have come to meet him and wouldn’t have cared who was watching. He knew better than to expect that now. Now she was shy.

  Or pretended to be. The thought caught River by surprise, and he turned away to greet Rice and Eli. Did part of him still suspect her of putting on an act? Would he ever be sure of her again? And why did it suddenly seem desperately important?

  Sarah was glad to see River’s attention turn from her. She got up to set out the plates and cups, worrying Eli would wonder why she had waited so long. He was kneeling at the fire, flipping the first flapjack.

  “That one’s mine,” Rice said, taking a plate from Sarah and holding it toward Eli.

  “Now, how ya figure that?”

  Rice grinned. “I got my plate ready first.”

  Eli grumbled, and River laughed.

  Sarah found herself watching River again. Dark circles around his eyes and one deep crease between his brows suggested he had gotten very little sleep, if any at all.

  In a minute, Rice took his flapjack to the tailboard of the wagon to cover it with butter and syrup. Eli poured more batter into his hot skillet and asked, “We gonna be pullin’ out later or sit around here all day?”

  “Oh, we’ll pull out,” River answered, smiling up at Sarah as she handed him a cup of coffee. “I’m just not in any hurry.”

  Sarah turned away, praying Eli hadn’t seen the look in his eyes. Or hers.

  “It’ll be slow goin’ in this mud.”

  “I know.” River stretched tired muscles to their limit and relaxed with a sigh. It was a wonder he didn’t feel worse, after a night of hard work in a cold rain. He glanced at Sarah, who knelt beside Eli with another plate, and knew the reason he didn’t.

  She held the hot flapjack toward him, trying not to meet his eyes. He pointed toward the tailboard. “Fix it up for me, would you?”

  Sarah took the plate to the wagon, pausing with the knife over the butter crock. She had to swallow hard before she could speak. “How much butter and syrup do you like?”

  River smiled at her, shrugging. “I’m easy to please.”

  Sarah felt her face warming again.

  River had to admit he was enjoying Sarah’s discomfort. It proved she wasn’t taking last night lightly. Whatever she was thinking, he had to talk to her. It wasn’t going to be easy getting her alone again. He accepted the plate she handed to him and flashed her another bright smile. He would find a way.

  Later that day, as River rode ahead of the train, he thought more about Sarah than the area he was supposed to be scouting. The rain had come hard the night before, packing the ground rather than leaving it muddy the way a long, slow rain would have. There were places near the river, however, that had washed, and he was trying to find the best route around them. His sharp eyes could save a broken axle, but all he wanted to think about was Sarah.

  He had not really intended to seduce her when he had gone into the wagon last night. He had meant to get his blanket and go. One look at her sitting in her petticoats with the lantern light dancing in her hair and he had been lost. She had simply brought back too many memories.

  More and more when he was with Sarah, the good memories would come back with startling clarity. At first, the anger and the pain of betrayal had been all he could recall when he saw or thought of Sarah Tanton. Now, the turn of her head or the sound of her voice would bring back vivid images of dances or quiet walks or making love with Sarah Tanton.

  Six years ago he had managed to convince himself that he had never really loved her. How could he have loved someone so false? Everything his parents had warned him about her had turned out to be true, and he decided he must have known it all along.

  But he had been lying to himself. As more of the good times were reenacted in his mind, he was forced to admit that he had loved her. He wasn’t sure if he still did, or if he was simply responding to the memories. The only way to find out was to get better acquainted with Sarah Tanton. He grinned to himself. Last night had been a very pleasant step in the right direction.

  A movement at the edge of his vision made him pull the pinto to a sudden stop and curse himself for his inattention. Lapses like that out here could get a man killed. Ahead, nearly on the riverbank, was a wrecked wagon and two, no, three men. He sat and studied them. He counted three oxen and one horse. The men were wandering aimlessly around the wagon. Or hopelessly, he thought. Part of the wagon was bogged down in the mud, but even at this distance he could tell there was more wrong than that. He guessed something had broken while they were trying to pull it out.

  “Easy pickin’s for the Indians when they find ‘em,” he mused. The pinto pricked its ears toward the voice. River watched the camp for a moment more, then kneed the horse. “Let’s go introduce ourselves,” he said.

  He studied the three travelers as he rode toward them. One was shorter than the others with a heavy build. He moved around the camp, stopping at a corner of the wagon for a moment, in front of first one man and then the other, gesturing and yelling. River was close enough to hear the man’s voice before anyone in the camp saw him coming.

  One of the men pointed, and the short one hurried to the back of the wagon, sinking in mud to his boot tops. He cursed loud enough for River to hear as he pulled a pistol from the wagon.

  “Ho, the camp!” River yelled.

  The short man took up a combative stance in front of his companions and watched River ride in. River tried not to be put off by his behavior. The man was prepared to defend his property against
a stranger, and River shouldn’t fault him for that. Still, something about the man’s hard face kept River on guard.

  “Looks like you’ve had some trouble,” he said, dismounting a few yards away. He dropped the pinto’s reins on the ground and stepped forward.

  “What’s it to you?” came the response.

  “Nothing, I reckon. I just thought you might be needing some help.”

  One of the others spoke. “We’re waitin’ for another train. Ours went off and left us.”

  “Shut up, Herman,” snapped the one with the pistol. “Don’t need to tell everyone our business.”

  “There’s a train a couple hours behind me,” River offered. “You can pack what you can on the backs of your oxen and travel along with it.”

  “They got an extra wagon?”

  River studied the man for a moment. He was beginning to wish he had ridden on past. “No,” he answered. “You might get one at Fort Laramie, though.”

  “How far’s that?”

  “About a hundred miles. We’ll be there in a couple of weeks.”

  “Hell,” the man muttered. He turned to his companions, and Herman took an involuntary step backward. “That’s too damn far to be comin’ back for things.”

  “Whatever you leave behind won’t likely be here tomorrow,” River said.

  The man swore again. He paced around the camp, apparently undecided, and River studied his companions. One seemed to be only a little older than Rice and watched the stocky man warily. The other, the one called Herman, caught River watching him and grinned, nodding in greeting.

  Finally the leader came back to face River. “I guess we ain’t got much choice.”

  “Doesn’t look like it. My name’s River,” he said, offering his hand.

  “The hell, you say! That damned old Eli talked about a River. The train comin’ ain’t Milburn’s train, is it?”

  “The same,” River answered, trying to remember everything Eli had told him about the folks who had pulled out and their leader in particular.

  The man swore again, then laughed. “The old coot musta kicked off right away if the train’s that close behind. Bull Gaines’s my name. That there’s Herman Kirby, and that’s my nephew Nathan. I can’t believe we’re about to join that same damn train.”

  River hesitated a second before taking the hand. He added the reference to Milburn to everything else he disliked about the man. “We better start packing,” he said.

  Two hours later, when the train was visible in the distance, Bull and the others were nearly ready. They had argued some over what would be left behind, but Bull had won each time.

  “It’s going to be inconvenient as all hell unloading all these things every night,” Bull said. “Maybe someone’ll let us put some of it in their wagon.”

  “Might,” River said, noncommittally. “In exchange for your oxen helping to pull the load.”

  “I ain’t wearin’ out my stock pullin’ somebody else’s wagon!” Bull responded, puffing out his chest like a rooster ready to fight.

  “Suit yourself,” River said mildly. He whistled once, and the pinto trotted toward him. “I’ll ride back to the train and let Eli know you’re coming. You can fall in as the train goes by.”

  River gathered up the reins and swung into the saddle. In a moment he was galloping toward the train. It felt good to put some distance between himself and the Gaines party. He wished he had told Bull to sit tight and wait for an empty wagon to come along.

  He pulled up next to the lead wagon and wheeled the pinto around to walk beside it. “Remember a hard case named Bull Gaines?” he asked.

  Eli swore under his breath, started to speak and swore again.

  “That’s what I thought,” River said.

  “Is that who’s waitin’ yonder?”

  River nodded. “Their wagon broke down, and the rest of the train went off and left them.”

  Eli snorted. “No more ‘an what he woulda done. I suppose ya told ‘em to come right on back in with us.”

  River looked in the direction of the broken wagon. “Didn’t have much choice.” Eli grumbled his understanding, and River reined the pinto around and let the wagon pass.

  Sarah was on the next wagon beside Rice. He watched it come toward him and returned the boy’s hail. He tried to catch Sarah’s eye, but she ignored him. With a chuckle he wheeled his mount again, ready to walk it alongside the supply wagon. He would suggest Rice ride the horse, so he could give Sarah another lesson on handling the team.

  The wagon had nearly caught up with him when he heard his name called. He groaned. Ernest Ortman was hurrying toward him, waving his arms as he tried to get his attention.

  River took one more look at Sarah and caught her watching him. She turned away, but not before he could flash her his biggest grin. He urged the pinto toward Ortman with considerably more good humor than he would have imagined possible.

  Ernest was winded when he reached him, so River dismounted, intending to walk beside him. “What’s the problem?” River asked, trying to sound cheerful.

  “How long...we gonna...keep goin’...in this mud?” Ernest demanded, bracing his hands on his knees as he bent over trying to catch his breath.

  River pretended to think it over. “Oh, I’d say till about dark.”

  “Well, it’s such slow goin’...it ain’t hardly worth it, is it? I mean, shouldn’t we just...wait while it dries up?”

  “Are you stuck again, Ortman?”

  Ernest had finally caught his breath and shook his head indignantly. “No, I ain’t stuck again, but Prudence is awful upset at having to walk. Telling her she had to get out to lighten the load was downright mean of you. I let her back up in the wagon a while ago, but now she’s saying her shoes are ruined!”

  Ernest’s voice had risen with each word. River set his hat back farther on his head, and Ernest heard the dry clatter of the snake’s rattle. His voice turned humble. “I was just thinking maybe we could stop till the ground dries up a little.”

  River tried not to lose his temper. “How long do you suppose that would be, Ortman?”

  “Well, you should know that better’n me.”

  River looked away from Ernest as he tried to come up with an appropriate response, one that wouldn’t get him into trouble. His eyes fell on the wagon that was about to catch up with them. Prudence Carroll was in the seat, her large hands handling the reins as if she were a boxer waiting for her opponent. She glared defiantly at River.

  He glared back. “If I stopped this train every time your sister is unhappy,” he said slowly, “it’d take longer than you’ll live to get to California.” He turned and swung into the saddle, congratulating himself for biting back the curse he had wanted to include.

  As River cantered away, Prudence pulled the team to a stop beside her brother. Ernest stared after River for a moment, his knees shaking, then he climbed into the wagon. He took the reins from her and called to the team in a weak voice.

  Prudence looked at him and looked at the oxen standing placidly where she had stopped them. With an exasperated groan she took the reins back and bellowed at the team. As they started forward she elbowed her brother. “What is the matter with you? Did you tell him we wanted to stop?”

  Ernest stared at the spot ahead that was River and the pinto. “I told him, Prudence,” he said. “But I think he threatened me.”

  Chapter Ten

  River sat on the pinto’s back, watching the herd of oxen graze. It had been two days, and he hadn’t found a way to get Sarah alone. It wasn’t that she avoided him, it was just that his duties on the train had kept him busy. Between wagons bogged down and complaints from short-tempered travelers, it would have been a rough two days even without the addition of the Gaines party.

  He glanced toward the sunset and judged that the stock had been grazing for about an hour. He waved at Williams and Hess, who were on foot near the river, and the three of them began herding the stock toward the wagons. After nearly losin
g the horses in the storm, he had realized how undermanned the train was and had decided to corral the stock inside the circle at night. It saved on guards and was a good precaution under any circumstances.

  Ernest Ortman had complained, as River had expected. River had explained that the area was roamed by the unpredictable Sioux, and a train this small had to be careful. The animals, Ernest had replied, rubbed against his wagon at night, frightening poor Prudence. River had suggested that if their stock was lost his sister would be more than frightened, but he wondered now if it had come out the way he had intended. Ernest had taken offense. In fact, upon reflection, Ernest had seemed unusually nervous approaching him with his complaint in the first place and extremely upset when he left.

  River shrugged it off. Ernest wasn’t the only one who had been unhappy with the situation. Rice had been looking forward to a dance and was sure he couldn’t talk the folks into having one outside the circle. However, another train had overtaken them late in the afternoon and camped nearby. Even before the oxen were unhitched, plans were being made to pool their musicians and have a dance in the area between the two trains. As he dismounted to help Williams and Hess tie ropes between the two wagons to close the corral, River could see Rice heading for the other train, holding hands with both von Schiller girls.

  At the fire, Eli and Sarah had supper ready but he told them to go ahead, wanting to shave before he ate. He could see Sarah’s reflection in the mirror and caught her glance in his direction more than once. It amused him but he didn’t think she would like knowing it. Years ago they had been able to tease each other about everything. She would have teased him for going a week or more between shaves. He would have teased her about watching.

  As he finished, Eli was trying to urge Sarah to eat more of his rabbit stew. “I’ve known mice to eat more’n ya do.”

  River wiped the last of the soap from his face. “Knew these mice well, did you?” He gave Sarah a wink when she turned in his direction.

  “Well, I’ve had worse company, and that’s a fact. But it weren’t mice I was talkin’ about, it was Sarie here. Don’t you think she needs more meat on her bones?”