“You’ll get used to it.” The smile in Davonna’s eyes seemed genuine. “Some of it. That blowing dust, you just can’t get away from it. We haven’t had a real bad thunderstorm yet.” She shivered. “I sure hope we don’t.” The older woman seemed more like a vulnerable and frightened child than a pioneer.
“I encountered one last summer in Arizona Territory.”
Davonna sighed. “Well, now you have a good husband to take care of you.”
A man who hadn’t said ten words to her since the ceremony.
“Ne … What was your name, again, dear?”
“Neelie.”
“I can’t seem to remember that. But you look real pretty in that dress.”
“Thank you.”
“I could tell my son liked it, too. I was watching him.”
Neelie had seen Ian’s reaction, too. She doubted he thought her pretty though. Probably just struck him how different she looked. But it didn’t matter whether he liked it or not. Tomorrow she’d go back to her old way of dressing. Ian had made his expectations clear, and she couldn’t afford to have affection for someone who didn’t care for her in that way.
Chapter 9
Shortly after sunup, Neelie pulled the wooden paddle spatula from the worktable and returned to the cooking fire between the wagons. The air smelled of coffee and griddle cakes. Ever since Mr. Isaiah, one of the trail hands, sounded the horn, the camp had buzzed with activity. Davonna was dressed and out of the wagon. So were the children. Blair set out tin cups for coffee for the adults and tea for the children, while Lyall went off with Ian to fetch the oxen. The other three had completed their respective chores and seemed bent on grating on one another’s nerves. An activity she and Caleb had delighted in as children. As far as she was concerned, things were going better than expected.
Neelie couldn’t say she’d adjusted to sleeping atop a trunk in a covered wagon, but in just five days, she felt pretty good about the adjustment she’d made to cooking for a big family and helping set up camp with wagons, oxen, and travel furniture. That didn’t mean she wasn’t overdue for some peace and quiet. Thankfully, Saturdays meant they’d settle into a spot early and camp for two nights. Tomorrow she’d see about using one of Ian’s horses for a Sunday ride.
“Give it to me!” She’d heard eagles with a quieter screech than Duff’s.
Neelie spun around in time to see Angus getting away with Duff’s rope. She squared her shoulders. “Angus Kamden, stop where you are.”
He did. Just as Davonna rose from her stool, apparently unaware of the commotion surrounding her. Angus froze in place, not one foot away from her. She jerked and tripped over the stool, tumbling with it to the ground.
“Mither!” Ian dropped the leads on the oxen near the yoke and dashed toward his mother.
Neelie let the spatula fall to the ground. “Is she all right?”
Ian glanced over his shoulder. “How could you let this happen?”
Neelie went to Davonna, muttering under her breath. “Let this happen?”
“Rhoda never would’ve allowed all that horseplay at the camp.”
Neelie’s shoulders tensed. “She isn’t here.”
Ian clamped his jaw shut, his right eyelid twitching.
Davonna groaned. “Just listen to you two.” She rolled off the legs of the stool. “Son, you don’t know what Rhoda allowed and didn’t allow. You were always off tending the animals or working on somebody’s wheels.”
Neelie struggled to rein in her myriad emotions. Not only did Davonna have spunk, the woman had come to her defense.
“I’m sorry, Nana,” Angus said, his face stricken. “I—”
Davonna waved her hand. “I’m fine, Angus Boy. I lost my balance, that’s all.”
“I think we should have the doctor look at you,” Ian said. “Make sure nothing broke.”
“If I’d broken something, you’d know it.”
When Davonna reached for Neelie’s hand, Neelie carefully helped her up. “Are you sure, Mrs. Kamden?”
“That’s you, dear.” A quiver layered the old woman’s voice.
Neelie sighed and made the mistake of looking at Ian. Judging by the set of his jaw and the frustration clouding his eyes, she wouldn’t be Mrs. Kamden for long.
She wasn’t Rhoda. Never would be.
That evening, Neelie sat on the board floor of the wagon with Anna’s writing desk on her lap. Candlelight cast a shadowy glow on the paper beneath her hand.
The Kamden’s camp was quiet, free of horseplay, accusations, and awkward glances. Ian had taken Davonna and all five children to the central campfire. Neelie had declined Maisie’s invitation to join them. As unsettling emotions hammered her, she could only shake her head. Neither she nor Ian knew what to say to each other. How to act around the other.
Neelie pulled the quill and ink from the box. Ever since she’d reunited with Caleb and begun traveling with the caravan, she’d been wondering what to tell Buckskin Joe at the Wild West Show. According to his reply to her telegram, he was expecting her to arrive in San Francisco the first of July.
Today, she had no doubts about her answer. She couldn’t let the children or Davonna become any more attached to her than they had. Not when Ian would clearly never accept her.
She dipped the quill into the ink, tapped it on the rim, and began writing.
Chapter 10
Neelie dragged a soapy cloth over the table, her nerves as twitchy as a trigger finger in a showdown. Walking the trail today, she’d shared some of her frustrations with Anna, who said all she and Ian needed was more time alone. They’d no sooner set up camp, before Caleb and Anna took Davonna and the children to practice for the upcoming Independence Day relay races.
“If the table’s not clean by now, it never will be.”
Heat rushing into her face, Neelie glanced at the three-legged stool where Ian sat, whittling on a piece of wood. “I already washed it?”
He nodded, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. “And all the dishes and pots.”
He’d been watching her. It shouldn’t matter whether he kept track of what she did. It didn’t matter, really. But it felt good to know he at least cared enough to notice her.
“Without the children and your mother here, I don’t know what to do with myself.”
Ian pointed to an empty stool. “Come sit down and relax. Rhoda would quilt or do mend—” He stopped mid-word, a frown deepening the lines framing his mouth. “I shouldn’t have mentioned her.”
Neelie laid the cloth out to dry on the table. “I confess, comparisons to her do upset me. I always come up short.”
Ian set his knife and carving on the ground and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I was wrong to blame you for my children’s behavior the other day, and my mother’s fall was an accident.”
Neelie glanced at the cloth, wanting to scrub something. “We’re not ourselves when we’re grieving.”
“Rhoda isn’t coming back. I know that. I buried her.” He walked to the other end of the table. “And I am glad you’re here.”
She felt her mouth drop open and quickly closed it.
“Despite my thoughtless accusations, you’re good with the children. And Mither really likes you.”
Of course he was glad she was here. As a nanny to his children and a companion to his mother.
“I’ve not seen you stitch or quilt. What do you do, just for yourself?” He glanced at the guns holstered on her hips. “You shoot things?”
“Yes. But you’ve made it clear that I shouldn’t.”
“I don’t like you to shoot when it causes a stampede. I’m not comfortable in trees.”
“Fair enough.” Was he saying she could take time away from the family for some shooting practice?
Ian glanced at the sky. “There’s plenty of daylight left and no sign of buffalo. What do you say we knock over a few targets?”
“You and me?”
“According to your brother, the preacher, we are
married. I’m sure that would fall well within our rights.” A warm smile curved his full lips.
At a loss for words, she simply nodded.
Ian didn’t stand a chance against her. She liked those odds and couldn’t help but smile.
Pulling the horse around, Ian guided his palomino toward the riverbank for some target shooting. They’d let the captain know they’d be shooting and from which direction. Ian carried his Colt revolving rifle in a scabbard strapped to the saddle. He couldn’t say when he’d been this excited about an outing.
Neelie rode the chestnut mare, Rhoda’s favorite. A sack of bottles hung, clinking, from the saddle horn, and the brim of her sombrero bounced with each clomp of the horse’s hooves. The cross-draw revolvers rode high and ready at her slender waist. He’d never actually seen Neelie shoot, but she had nailed a running rabbit with one shot and done it again with a charging cougar. Chances were better than good that she was about to show him up. He’d never pitted his skill against a marksman.
Or a marks woman.
After seeing Neelie wearing that green dress during their wedding ceremony, without holsters, there was no denying she was a woman. A handsome one, at that. A twinge of guilt knotted his stomach. He had no business thinking on such things. She seemed to need his help, and he certainly needed hers—that was why he’d married her. While he had yet to figure out why she’d agreed, he knew it wasn’t because she was expecting … that kind of marriage. Or any modicum of romance, for that matter. She’d confirmed it the very next day when she stepped out of the farm wagon wearing the men’s trousers and shirt.
“Ian?”
Startled out of his thoughts, he drew in a deep breath and looked at her. “Did I miss something?”
“I asked if you’re sure you want to do this.”
“See you shoot? Yes. I’m sure.” It was competition that had him nervous, and being alone with her wasn’t helping matters.
His heart might still belong to Rhoda, but Neelie was his wife now. And she’d already done a lot to help him with the children and Mither, all while he was still mourning. Providing her with a little recreation was the least he could do.
“Well, then, I think we’ve found the perfect place.” Neelie pointed to the embankment about fifty yards away. “We can set the bottles along the ledge about halfway up.”
“Looks good to me.”
When Neelie dismounted, Ian swung down from his horse and looped the reins over a low branch, grabbed his rifle and scabbard, and followed her. She stopped just before reaching the bank wall and turned around. He’d been following closer than he’d realized and had trouble stopping in time to avoid a collision. As he looked down at her, she moistened her lips. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one whose mouth had gone dry.
Neelie reached inside the sack and pulled out a couple of medicine bottles.
“I’ll set some up on the other end.” Ian reached into the sack. When he brushed her thumb, she looked up at him, her face flushing. He turned away.
In awkward silence, they set up a neat row of bottles on the berm and then walked out about thirty yards.
While he pulled his rifle from its scabbard, Neelie shattered the air and the smallest bottle with one shot. A smile lit her face and reached her brown eyes, now sparkling with golden flecks.
“I hope to get in at least one good shot. I do have some manly pride, you know.” Ian lifted the rifle and carefully sighted on the largest of the bottles. Releasing a cloud of smoke, the .44 exploded the bottle.
Neelie’s eyebrows arched as she pulled both revolvers from their holsters and shattered the two targets on the end.
He let out a low whistle. “I am on your good side now, right?”
She tipped her head and grinned. “You’re getting there.”
This outing was one of his better ideas. She was having fun, and so was he. He liked seeing her playful side. And her competitive side.
“No wonder shooting has been your livelihood. You’re really quite good.” He slid the rifle back into the scabbard. “I figure my job is to keep food on the table, and if that big bottle were a stag, I’d be dressing him out by now.”
“I’m sure you would.” Neelie holstered one of her revolvers. “But you never know when you may want to impress your wee ones.” She spun the other revolver then offered him the grip. “Ever shoot a gun like this?”
Ian shook his head. “Never shot a revolver before. I’m a rifle man.”
“Well, if you don’t mind taking tips from a woman, I could give you a couple.”
There was no comparison; Neelie was nothing like Rhoda. He swallowed hard and took the pistol from her. “Teaching this dog new tricks might be more difficult than you think.”
“I’ll take my chances.” After a quick smile, Neelie pressed her hand to his elbow and turned him toward the embankment. Then she set one hand on his forearm and braced his hand with the other.
Suddenly feeling a little light-headed, Ian shifted his weight to his other leg.
Neelie looked up at him. “Relax. Let yourself feel the pistol as an extension of your finger pointing at the target.” A curl the color of honey bounced in front of her ear, not far from her mouth.
She suddenly let go of his arm, and despite the sweat beading on his neck, he felt a chill shimmy up his spine.
He’d been staring, and she didn’t like it.
“We best get back to camp.” Neelie reached for her pistol and seemed almost afraid to touch him.
“Good tips.”
“Thank you.” She holstered her gun and retrieved the two bottles they hadn’t shattered.
As they walked back to their horses in silence, Ian’s light-headedness returned, along with some of Rhoda’s last words. “You will need a wife and the children will need a mother. Let yourself find someone.”
He had.
But Neelie had agreed to a marriage of convenience, and nothing more. Would that be enough?
It would have to be.
Chapter 11
Just as I am, though tossed about
with many a conflict, many a doubt,
fightings and fears within, without,
O Lamb of God, I come! I come!”
A hymn hadn’t occupied Neelie’s mind for many years. But on this Sunday, after hearing it sung in Ian’s baritone, the tune and words to the third verse of “Just As I Am” lingered in her mind. Conflicts. Doubts. Fightings. Fears. She had them all. God couldn’t want her, just as she was.
As Neelie nudged the languid chestnut into a slightly more energetic amble, she doubted her qualifications to care for Ian’s children. They needed someone more focused on homemaking and such things.
And fears … She feared what she’d felt Wednesday, riding side by side with Ian and the enjoyment of showing off for him. His recognition of her skill. The warmth of his arm and the tingle she’d felt in her fingers. She wasn’t about to admit it to anyone, but she had a wagon full of fears.
Fightings. Even now, she fought the temptation to run from it all. She had her six-shooters and a horse. She could hunt and find enough water to make it to the next fort, where there was sure to be folks who would wager to see a woman shootist in action.
Neelie allowed her mount to return to a more sluggish pace and patted her mane. It wouldn’t be easy to train her to be a show partner, but she’d be able to trade the horse for one that could be trained.
But Neelie didn’t want to leave the caravan. Anna and Caleb. The children and Davonna. Or Ian.
She’d seen conflict on Ian’s face when she’d asked to use a horse.
“Alone?” His eyes had widened. Ian didn’t want to trust her with the horse for fear she’d leave. He’d seen her do it before.
But he did trust her.
He’d cared enough to spend time with her without the children … to take her out to practice with targets when he had to know she would outshoot him. That meant something.
She wasn’t Rhoda, but neither was Ian, Archie.
A shade tree had just caught Neelie’s attention when she heard hoofbeats not all that far behind her. She pulled back on the reins and listened. One rider, on the other side of the rise.
Had someone followed her from camp? Or worse. Her shoulders tensed. Had someone who knew of her past caught up to her? She slid from the saddle and pulled a six-shooter from its holster. No point in trying to make it to the tree. Instead, she stood her ground, facing the direction of the rider.
When the rider rose into view, Neelie recognized the Tennessee pacer and the man beneath the derby.
Her brother raised his hands. “I come in peace.”
She holstered her gun. “Did Ian ask you to follow me?”
“He doesn’t know I’m here.” He lifted his hat and wiped beads of sweat from his brow. “Could we talk in the shade?”
Nodding, she climbed back into her saddle and followed Caleb to the lone tree. Within minutes, the horses grazed and Neelie sat with her back against the trunk of the cottonwood.
Caleb sat facing her, legs crossed. “I see myself in you, Neelie, and I’m not just talking about physical resemblances.”
“Oh?”
“Before I left home, I met some fellows who hung out at the Wildhorse Saloon. I started drinking with them. Often.”
She nodded. “I knew you came home drunk a time or two.”
“It was all I wanted to do during the war.”
“You’re a preacher now. Married. You put all of that behind you.”
“I told you I was the only one who survived from my regiment. I didn’t tell you why.” Caleb set his derby on the grass beside him, and she did the same with her sombrero. “After the war, I saw an advertisement for trail hands and went to Saint Charles to join the caravan. I wanted nothing more than to run from my past. Run from what happened that day during the war when I drew watch and drank anyway. The day I passed out. The day my regiment was ambushed and everyone perished but me.”
The Convenient Bride Collection: 9 Romances Grow from Marriage Partnerships Formed Out of Necessity Page 18