Trail of Hope (Hot on the Trail Book 2)

by Merry Farmer

  “Is this yours, Reverend?”

  Reverend Joseph searched through the grass a few yards away, his face pinched and pale. When he saw the book in Callie’s hand, he flushed red.

  “Thank God!” he exclaimed, dashing across the soggy grass toward her.

  “I hope it’s not ruined.”

  She adjusted the basket on her arm so that she could leaf through the pages, but the reverend reached her and snatched it out of her hands before she could assess more than that the pages were stuck together. Callie blinked in surprise at the force of his grasp.

  He clutched the book to his chest with a relieved sigh. “Did you open it?”

  “No, the pages are stuck. Probably from the rain. It might be ruined. I’m sorry.”

  His mouth closed in a tight line. His hands flexed on the Bible. He treated it like it was gold and Callie had been trying to steal it.

  “Thank you,” he nodded, adding, “um, my child,” before turning and marching off.

  Callie blinked at his retreating back, then went on with her mission of picking things up.

  All of the odds and ends of found goods were brought to the center of the newly formed circle of wagons to be claimed. There was something eerie and sad about people picking through a pile of personal belongings, looking for their memories. Callie was glad she hadn’t lost much. At least not this time. She helped people look all the same. They all helped each other.

  “I believe this belongs to you.”

  She straightened from helping a young girl look for her special doll to find Elton standing beside her, Greg’s hat in his hands.

  “Where did you find that?” She jumped up and took the hat from him, joy spreading through her.

  “It’d blown halfway back to Independence,” he joked, blue eyes twinkling.

  Callie was so happy to have her brother’s hat back that she ignored his over-friendly smile. “Thank you.”

  She smoothed her dirty, matted hair and plunked the hat on her head. It was as soggy as everything else, but at least it kept the sun out of her eyes.

  “You’re welcome,” Elton winked. He glanced around. “Where’s your husband, Mrs. Rye?”

  Sharp caution choked whatever joy Callie felt. If he thought now was an opportune time to take a jab at John, Elton had another thing coming.

  “He’s helping,” she glanced around until she found him, “helping Mr. Tyler put his wagon back together.”

  Elton followed her gaze, his smug grin dropping. “So he is.” His smile was back when he turned to face her. “Is there anything I can help you find? What are you looking for?”

  Callie hesitated. “Bessie lost her special doll, what was her name again, dear?”

  “Dolly,” the little girl answered.

  “Dolly,” Callie repeated for Elton.

  “Is that so?” Elton crouched so that his face was at the girl’s level. “Well we’ll just have to find her then, won’t we?”

  For Bessie’s sake, Callie kept her smile when Elton winked at her. He was trying to be helpful, she reminded herself, if in the most flirtatious way possible. She couldn’t very well be suspicious of a man who was trying to be helpful.

  All the same, she tried to distance herself from him and Bessie as they searched. There were other people who were trying to find things as well. She shifted her attention to helping a man named Jimmy find a quilt his wife, who had died only a week ago of trail fever, had made. It was there, but it was in pieces and it was heartbreaking to untangle those pieces from other debris and hand them to him as he cried.

  “Don’t worry, Daddy,” his oldest daughter kept telling him, “I’ll fix it. I’ll fix it.”

  Then there were happy moments, like when a man named Calvin found his wife’s favorite bonnet more or less intact. He hollered proudly and presented it to her with much fanfare. She accepted it as if being given the keys to the city. In the midst of crisis they managed to make each other laugh. Callie laughed along with him.

  “It’s good to see you smile.” Elton was at her side again.

  “I’m happy for them.” She tried to be polite. She glanced around, looking for John. He was holding the side of a wagon with one other man while its owner hammered away.

  “Now.” Elton crossed his arms and pretended seriousness. “What have you lost that I can find for you?”

  “Nothing.” Callie shrugged, happy that she could say it. “I haven’t lost anything.”

  “Nothing?” He raised an eyebrow dubiously. “How about that pretty silver teapot you have?”

  Callie frowned. “No, I haven’t lost it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Her frown deepened, and with it the sense that something was off. “It’s back in my wagon with the rest of my things.”

  “Is it? Well… all right then.” Elton’s smile seemed forced. “Glad to hear it.”

  “Thank you.” Callie patted Greg’s hat. “For helping.” She walked past Elton and back toward her and John’s wagons, relieved to get away.

  A communal dinner was organized that evening. John was sore, his hands blistered and his back aching, but he had never felt more content after a day of helping his fellow travelers. With the camp in such chaos, he was surprised that anyone was able to find enough food ready to cook. But life had to go on, no matter how big the tornado.

  Life had to go on. It was a lesson he would never forget.

  He stood in the shadow of his and Callie’s wagons with his shirt off, taking a quick bath from a bucket of water that had been hauled up from the river. No one seemed to mind his state of partial undress, as if he’d earned it. He smiled as he cleaned up and glanced across the bustle of the train to watch Callie help serve dinner to their weary, battered neighbors. She had a kindness about her that impressed him. Her thick hair swung in an informal braid down her back, and she smiled at everyone she served. She was beautiful in her own sweet, unassuming way. How had he been so lucky as to marry a woman like her? Shannon would have been happy for him, just as Greg would be happy for Callie finding someone.

  When everyone had a plate and the circle of wagons settled into the hush of dozens of people eating, she brought a plate for herself and one for him to their wagons. Still damp, with a towel over one shoulder, John reached for his plate with a grateful smile.

  Callie gasped and pulled back. “What did you do to your hand?” she asked when she saw the worn white cloth wrapped around it.

  “I got a very big splinter while fixing Clive Jenkins’ wagon,” John answered cheerfully. He was cheerful. Over a splinter.

  She set their dinners down on the tailgate of his wagon then turned to stand in front of him. “Did you clean it properly?” She unwound the bandage to take a look.

  “I did the best I could under the circumstances.”

  There was a deep, diagonal piercing wound on his palm. It hurt a bit, but even the pain was welcome. Only men who were alive felt pain. Still, Callie clucked over the bandage.

  “Where did you get this?” She shook her head as she retied it.

  “Mrs. Jenkins.”

  She arched one eyebrow, lips pressed together in a line. The expression sent a jolt of heat through him like he hadn’t felt in ages. “After dinner I’ll check to see if we have something cleaner,” she said.

  “That might be a good idea.” It might be a good idea for him to wake up and realize what he had so close at hand.

  The ground had dried considerably since the storm, so they didn’t bother searching for boxes to sit on to eat. Callie’s dress was still damp, but if it bothered her, she didn’t let on. She found her jug of tea and poured two glasses, leaving John’s on the back of the wagon with his plate as she sat down to eat.

  “How did your friends fare in the storm?” he asked as he finished toweling himself dry.

  There was a long pause before Callie answered, “Lynne is unhurt, but upset. I’m glad she has Mr. Lawson with her to help her through.”

  Another long pause followed
. John finished with the towel and set it aside, looking for his shirt. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Callie staring. Her look of assessment as she took in his bare torso brought a grin to his lips. The trail had changed him. Even in the last few weeks since they swam in the stream at Ft. Kearny. He was developing muscles where he’d never had much. His arms were tan from the middle of his bicep down now too and around his neck, although his chest was still pale with a light dusting of hair. He knew female appreciation when he saw it.

  “And your friend Emma?” he asked, slipping his shirt over his head, finding his hat to keep the setting sun out of his eyes, and turning to her.

  Callie’s face turned beet red when he caught her staring. She snapped her eyes back to her dinner. He was charmed from head to toe, and one important area in between.

  “She hurt her ankle when her family’s wagon fell over. Dr. Meyers is seeing to it.”

  John joined her, taking his plate and sitting in the grass by her side. She was hesitant to meet his eyes, her cheeks still rosy with embarrassment. If only she knew how flattering her frank appraisal of him was.

  “Did you get many of the wagons fixed?” she asked.

  “Some,” he shrugged, “but not all. We’ll need at least one more day before we’re ready to move on.”

  “It’s probably a good thing,” she reasoned. “People are shocked. I think we all need a day to settle.”

  “It’s a shame,” he went on after taking a bite. “We’re not that far from the river crossing, all things considered. Once we make that crossing, we’ll be that much closer to our destination.” Closer to home. Closer to a new life. He took another bite. “I, for one, am ready for this journey to end.”

  “Me too.” Callie sighed. She’d started eating sooner than him and was almost done. “What’s the name of the man who owns the store you’re set to work at?”

  “Koenig,” he said, then took a drink of tea. “Miroslav Koenig.”

  “What a fantastic name!”

  “Apparently he’s a fantastic man. He went out to Denver City right at the beginning and staked a claim during the first rush. Then he discovered that he could make more money supplying the miners than joining them. He’s been expanding his store for the last several years. As I understand it, it’s the largest general store in Denver City.”

  “And that’s why he needs help?”

  “That’s what they tell me.”

  Callie made a considering face, nodding slowly. “And where are we going to live?”

  He cringed for half a second. His plans for Denver City had involved ending his life, not adjusting into a new one. There would be details to work out that he hadn’t given any thought to. “I was supposed to live in a room above the shop. Koenig has a whole apartment on the second floor and a wife and two children. But now I think I’ll build us a house as soon as I’m able.”

  “You don’t think they’ll mind that you’ll be showing up with a wife instead of just yourself?”

  “If they do,” he shrugged, “then I suppose we could start our own business. Everyone needs competition and from what I understand the market for business is there.”

  She shifted, a bright light of thought shining in her eyes. He liked the fact that she was a thinker. “What would you rather do?” she asked. “Work for Koenig or start your own store?”

  He finished the last bite on his plate, downed the last of his tea, and thought about his answer. There was no question, really.

  “Honestly,” he said, “I think I would like to work for Koenig for a while, a couple of years maybe. I have a lot to learn.”

  “But you grew up the son of a shopkeeper, worked as a shopkeeper all your life. What could you possibly have to learn?”

  “The area for one,” he told her, half instruction, half thinking aloud. A whole new world of possibility as wide as the prairie opened up before him. Life was full of possibility. “I know how to run a store in my sleep. What I don’t know is the needs and personality of the people of Denver City. Once I have a handle on the market, then I’d want to start something on my own.”

  Just the thought of it sent his pulse racing. He had loved Shannon. Losing her had changed him irrevocably. But the world was waiting for him to wake up and begin again. He set his plate and cup down, stretching his back and rubbing his sore shoulder as he let the newness wash over him.

  “Are you okay?” Callie asked

  “Just a little sore. I’m not used to the kind of physical activity I took up today.”

  “Well here.” Callie set her own plate down and crawled around to his back. “Greg used to make me rub his back all the time after he’d been out working. I’m an expert.”

  A thrill of expectation zipped through John as she planted herself behind him. She braced her knees on either side of his hips. The warmth of her body so close and the pressure of her hands sent his heart rate soaring as she smoothed them over his shoulders and began kneading. He was tight with tension, and not all of it from work. He’d forgotten what a woman’s hands felt like.

  She found knots he didn’t know were there and used her thumbs and the pads of her hands to work them out. There was strength in her touch as well as tenderness. It sparked old memories of being with a woman and drove his senses wild. Life pulsed through him as she worked her hands up and down his spine, and then across his arms.

  When she got to his neck, she took his hat off and set it on the grass beside him. She kneaded the corded muscles in his neck with a softer touch, rubbing it gently. It felt so good that he closed his eyes and let himself drift in sensuality. His entire body responded to her, heating and relaxing. She moved his head to rest in her hands, first to one side, then the other, briefly massaging his scalp.

  Before he could check himself, he let out an audible breath, an unmistakable groan of pleasure. Callie giggled behind him. He couldn’t tell from the sound if she understood just what his slip meant. She went back to rubbing his shoulders, leaning closer. The scent of her skin, the whisper of her breath were too much. He was hard as iron and aching for her in no time. After all this time, it was strange to be aroused—delicious and unfamiliar at the same time—but he wasn’t ready to tell her to stop. He reached for his hat and set it discreetly in his lap, grinning like a fool over the fact that he could still feel desire. He was absolutely alive.

  She stopped kneading and smoothed her hands along the plains of his back and over his shoulders and down his arms, raking her fingers up his neck and across his scalp. The strength had gone out of her touch, replaced by something soft and tempting. If he didn’t know better, he would say it was a lover’s touch. With his eyes closed, he imagined her bending closer to kiss the back of his neck, imagined her fingertips sliding under the collar of his shirt and across his chest, reaching toward the part of him that reveled at being alive.

  “All right, that’s enough now.” He rocked forward out of her reach as his body shot far too close to the precipice of release for his liking. One more feather-light touch and he was sure to unman himself right there. The thought made him giddy. “I need to use the facilities. Would you mind cleaning up dinner?” he said in a rush, standing with his hat held in front of him to hide just how alive he was.

  “Sure.” Her brow furrowed as she stared at him, perplexed.

  Her expression sent him into a fit of giggles, which only deepened the confusion in her eyes. Life was absurd and wonderful.

  “I’ll be back in just a bit.” He started off around the wagon, putting his hat on when he was sure neither Callie nor anyone from the train could see how much he’d enjoyed his backrub.

  “Shouldn’t you take someone with you?” Callie called after him. “Safety in numbers, after all.”

  “Not this time.” He waved over his shoulder, laughing even harder.

  It was only about fifteen minutes later when John came wandering back, substantially relieved. He’d worry about the wickedness of what he’d done to find that relief later. All he cared
about in that moment was the beauty of the world around him. The sun was all but down and Callie had already cleaned up dinner, packed away their things, and spread out their bedrolls in the emptied wagon.

  “There you are.” She smiled at him as she fitted the edges of the canvas covering the wagon more tightly. “I was beginning to worry. Do you feel better?”

  “Much better.” He tried to keep a straight face. Tried and failed. Like the fool that he was, he burst into silent laughter that shook his shoulders.

  “What is it?” Callie blinked. Her eyes sparkled with questions and her mouth twitched as though she was on the verge of laughter as well.

  “Nothing, nothing.” He waved her question away and swallowed his laughter with a cough. “Have the oxen been fed yet?”

  He didn’t wait for her to answer. He strode off to the common corral inside of the circle of wagons to make sure their animals had everything they needed. Callie stared after him, shaking her head. Last night they had fought, this afternoon they had nearly died, and now he was trying not to laugh over things he hoped she didn’t understand. The trail was making him loony.

  When he was satisfied that the oxen were fed and secured and they finally retired to their wagon for bed, it was getting dark in earnest. Callie climbed into the empty wagon and took off her damp dress, laying it out over the wagon seat to dry along with her petticoat. John peeked at her through the opening at the back of the wagon as she climbed under the blanket in just the chemise and drawers. His body warmed as if contemplating a repeat of its reaction to her back rub. He wouldn’t let things get out of hand this time.

  “Where’s my blanket?” he teased when he joined her in the wagon. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d teased anyone.

  Callie flipped to her back, peeking up at him in the dark. “Um, I hope you don’t mind. I threw them all down together. I thought… I thought that after everything that’s happened today….”

  He kicked off his shoes and set aside his glasses and climbed into the blankets with her. “After everything that’s happened today, I understand.”