Prisoners of Love Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Hutton , Callie

  “Ouch!”

  Trying hard not to laugh, Mace strode over and reached out both hands to her. “Can I help?”

  “Damn.” She smacked her hands in the mud then, closing her eyes at such an unwise move, she sucked her hands out of the mess one at a time. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “That wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”

  “Nope. Not at all.” He finally allowed himself to grin and, taking her muddy hands in his, hauled her up.

  “Ugh.” She let go of his hands and looked down at herself. “I’m a mess.”

  “Oh, Becky, look at you!” Miss Nellie rounded the wagon, her hand covering her mouth. “You’re a mess.”

  “I think if you go up to the fort they might have bathing facilities there you can use. They keep such things separate for use by travelers since so many pass by this way.” Mace smiled, amused.

  Trying her best to hide her smile, Miss Nellie eyed Miss Becky. “I will get clean clothes for you from the wagon.”

  Mace grabbed the mule that had been giving Miss Becky such trouble and moved him forward. Then he took the reins from Miss Miranda and led both animals to the penned-in area. He returned to the ladies’ wagon to see Miss Nellie and Miss Becky heading toward the fort entrance.

  “Is there anything I can do to help you, Miss Miranda?”

  “No, thank you, Sheriff. I’m just pulling out things to make supper. I feel as though we owe you so much already, and we haven’t even left yet.”

  He waved his hand. “No. You don’t owe me anything. I’m here to help.”

  “Well, at least let me offer you supper. It should be ready in about an hour.”

  He tipped his hat. “Thank you. I will be honored to join you.” He continued on his way, checking the other wagons. Most of the travelers were driving wagons to Santa Fe with supplies for the various businesses there. There were a few families, but for the most part, people headed to Santa Fe elected to ride the train. Only those moving household goods still joined the wagon trains.

  After an hour of greeting the travelers and helping where he could, he made his way back to Miss Nellie’s wagon.

  Miss Becky was once gain neat and tidy. Her face flushed as she leaned over the pot sitting in the fire. “Is the stew supposed to look like this, Miranda?”

  The other two women joined her, and they all three stared into the pot. He ambled up behind them and leaned over their shoulders to take a look. Whatever it was supposed to be, it didn’t look like any stew he’d ever seen. The sorry-looking mess in the pot was thick, lumpy, and burnt.

  “I don’t think it turned out quite as it should have.” Miss Miranda looked up at Miss Nellie.

  “I thought you said you could cook?” Miss Nellie looked from the glop in the pot to Miss Miranda.

  She frowned. “After my ma died, I cooked for my stepfather and stepbrother, but when they ate at home, it was always the same thing. Beans and bread. They mostly drank.”

  It appeared he wasn’t getting any supper from these ladies tonight.

  * * *

  Heat rose in Becky’s face when Sheriff Jensen joined them. The last time she’d seen him, she was covered in mud and looking ridiculous, sitting on her backside. When she’d returned from her bath, Miranda told her the sheriff was coming for supper.

  Supper did not look promising.

  “Sheriff, I’m so embarrassed. It looks like there won’t be supper for any of us, tonight.” Miss Nellie looked in the pot once more and shook her head.

  “Tell you what, ladies. Do y’all have eggs?”

  Miss Nellie nodded.

  “Bread?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any sort of meat? Ham, bacon?”

  “Yes,” Miss Nellie said, a grin on her face. “We have all of that.”

  “Then move out of the way, ladies. I will make you my favorite supper. Ham and eggs.” He snapped his fingers as they all stared at him. “Potatoes?”

  Miranda grinned. “Yes, we have those, too.”

  Sheriff Jensen began shouting orders to them. He set Miss Nellie to slicing bread and toasting it over the fire. He had Becky peeling potatoes, cutting them, and putting them into the now clean pot with water to boil. Miranda was assigned to slicing ham and frying it over the fire in an iron skillet.

  “See how easy a meal comes together?” Sheriff Jensen cracked eggs and scrambled them, his large hands whipping them into a froth. “Now once the potatoes are a little soft, Miss Becky, drain the water, and put a bit of butter into the pot with them. They should fry up just fine.”

  “Where did you learn so much about cooking?” Miss Nellie smiled at the sheriff as she pulled a piece of toasted bread off the stick she held and place it on a tin plate.

  “Miss Nellie, I’ve been on my own since I was sixteen years old. If I didn’t learn how to cook, I would have starved.” He placed the bowl of egg on the ground and sat on a log in front of the fire. “What I want to know is how three women can’t cook.”

  Miss Nellie flushed and waved her hand. “When I owned my business, I ate at the café. Before that, I took my meals wherever I worked.”

  Becky studied their chaperone and realized Miss Nellie seemed more embarrassed at not being able to cook than her profession. Or maybe not. Could it be she was uncomfortable discussing her livelihood with the sheriff? Did she have her eye on him?

  Miranda flipped a piece of ham. “My ma did the cooking cause my stepfather wouldn’t allow me near the stove.” She lowered her voice and added, “He was difficult to get along with.”

  Becky studied the young woman, thinking Miranda had never told any of them who she had killed. The fact that the marshal let her leave town made Becky wonder just what Miranda’s story was.

  The four of them chatted easily as they put together the meal. As she’d discovered on her ride with the sheriff earlier, he was quite friendly and easy to talk to. She tried hard not to stare at his handsome face and muscular body as he worked. What she found disconcerting was his eyes on her every time she looked at him.

  “Coffee. Did anyone remember coffee?” The sheriff actually looked more upset than when he found the supper inedible.

  “I sure did.” Miss Nellie held up a coffee pot, a bright smile on her face. “I might not be very helpful in the kitchen, but I know men like their coffee.”

  Finally, as the sun began to set behind them, they sat and ate the supper they’d all fixed together. It made Becky feel like she had a family, again. Years in the orphanage, then the loneliness of drifting from town to town with Dr. Snodgrass, never making any friends or doing any of the things girls like to do, became a vague memory as she enjoyed the company around the fire.

  It was full dark when the sheriff stood and stretched, the seams of his shirt straining in the light from the fire. “Well, ladies, we have an early start in the morning, according to our wagon master. I suggest you all retire shortly. I know I will.”

  His words seemed to bring everyone to life after the peaceful silence that had stolen over the group. The women climbed to their feet, shaking out their skirts and looking weary. The sheriff doused the fire then tipped his hat. “Good night.”

  “I think the sheriff is sweet on you.” Miranda smirked as they made their way to the wagon.

  “No, I don’t think so. He’s just being nice. He’s that type of person.”

  Miss Nellie grinned also. “I don’t know about that, Becky. It seemed to me he spent a lot of time looking in your direction tonight. Couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off you.”

  “Well, I was sitting right across from him. He had no choice but to look at me.” Why did she feel the need to dismiss their words? Of course, someone as well put together and smart and brave as Sheriff Jensen would never have an interest in her. She was nobody.

  Miss Nellie wrapped her arm around Becky’s shoulders. “Remember, you’re looking for a husband. Don’t be too quick to reject any man who takes an interest in you.” She stood back, placing her hands
on her shoulders and eyed her. “Unless you have a problem with his skin color? We’re all the same underneath, you know.”

  Becky shook her head. “No. That never occurred to me. I’m sure some people would object, but I learned a long time ago to judge a man by what he does, not what he looks like.”

  “Very true,” Miss Nellie said, turning them so they walked to the back of the wagon. “And that sheriff is looking mighty fine to me.” She squeezed Becky’s shoulders and winked.

  “Sounds like you have your eye on him, yourself.” She wasn’t sure why, but it bothered her to think Miss Nellie, with all her experience with men, might be interested in the sheriff.

  “Lordy, no, child. No man as fine as Sheriff Jensen would take a serious interest in a dried up old whore like me.”

  Becky drew in a sharp breath. “Don’t say that. You are a lovely woman. Kind and thoughtful. Any man would be proud to have you.”

  Miss Nellie’s arm fell from Becky’s shoulders, and she offered her a soft, sad smile. “Thank you, Becky. You’re pretty special, yourself.”

  * * *

  The blast of a bugle woke Mace from a sound sleep. He groaned and rolled over on the blanket he’d thrown on the ground where he had stretched out under the prisoners’ wagon for his night’s sleep. He rubbed his eyes, wishing he’d had more sleep, but instead, he’s spent too much time last night lying awake, staring at the worn boards of the wagon floor overhead, thinking about Miss Becky, and telling himself he had no right to think about her.

  He crawled out from under the wagon and splashed water on his face from the barrel attached to the side. Once he’d readied himself for the day, he wandered over to the stockade. The prisoners were all awake and waiting for him.

  “Well, lookee here, it’s the big black sheriff come to take us back to Santa Fe.” The oldest of the outlaws grinned and then spit at Mace’s foot.

  Since he missed his boots, Mace ignored him and unlocked the jail cell door. “Let’s go.” He gave a shove to the first man.

  “Watch out, Sheriff. Maybe you’ll be the one hanging from a tree. Was you playing slap and tickle with the cute little white girl who rode your horse with you yesterday?” He winked. “I’ll bet she gave you one fine ride.”

  Not one to pummel a man in handcuffs, Mace stuck his foot out as the man reached the top of the stairs. With his hands tied and leg-shackled, he tumbled down, smacking his face on the bottom step. A definite crunch had the men wincing.

  “You broke my nose, you no-good ni—”

  The other men turned to Mace, who, despite his anger, kept his body loose and his face blank. He’d heard worse over the years, and while not immune to it, the word no longer held sway over him. He was not what people called him but what he had accomplished.

  He gestured to the other two men. “Keep moving.” When he reached the bottom step, he hauled the prisoner up by his arms. “Sorry about your nose.” He grinned. “But you look a lot better.”

  The man’s nose had obviously been broken, and blood seeped from the injury over his mustache and dripped off his chin. Mace shoved him forward and placed his hand on his gun. “I don’t want any accidents here. Say, if one of you got shot because I was distracted. That would be a sorry mess. I’d have to fill out reports. Takes a lot of time.”

  No one said anything else as they made their way across the fort’s field where soldiers starting their day. The line of wagons was about one-quarter mile from the fort wall. Mace had secured the spot right behind the ladies, so he would be able to keep an eye on them.

  Once they reached their wagon, Mace opened the iron-bar door on the back of the wagon. “Get in.”

  The three prisoners climbed in the best they could with their hands tied. Once they settled in, Mace locked the door. He leaned against the wagon. “I want no trouble from any of you on this trip. I ain’t never killed a prisoner in my custody.” He looked at the man with the broken nose. “Yet.”

  He found Miss Becky and her travel companions at the animal pen, looking frustrated. “Need help, Miss Nellie?”

  She brushed the loose hair from her forehead. “Yes. we can’t get these goldarned mules to budge again.” She hitched her hands on her hips. “How do you do it?”

  “Easy, Miss Nellie. Very easy.” He grabbed the animals’ halters and tugged. Far more gently than they had been doing it. “You see, ladies,” he continued to talk as he walked the animals over to their wagon. “Everything in life would be easier if we all just stop tugging at each other.”

  The women followed him as meekly as the donkeys. “Miss Becky, hitch this one up while I do the other one.”

  The girl grabbed the halter and started to pull.

  “No. Easy, Miss Becky. Easy.” She flushed and loosened her hold, and the animal moved forward. She smiled at him, turning his stomach to mush. She had the sweetest smile he had ever seen. He wanted more than anything to wrap his arms around her and make sure she was safe.

  After what she’d told him she’d been through in her short life, she needed someone to do just that. But then again, wasn’t that the very reason she was headed to Santa Fe? To find a husband.

  Once the animals had been hitched and the wagon prepared for the day’s travel, he blessed Miss Nellie when she offered him a cup of coffee. That, plus leftover ham from the night before, was just what he needed to get him started for the day.

  He ambled back to the prisoners’ wagon. “Hey, Sheriff, we gonna get breakfast?”

  “Nope.” Mace kept walking. “I’ll let each one of you out one at a time when we stop at noon. You’ll get to cook something for yourself then.”

  “You mean we have to cook with our hands tied up?” The youngest of the prisoners had the nerve to look shocked.

  “Yep. Unless you want to starve.”

  After he had rounded the gang up outside of Dodge City, he considered the various ways of returning them. Horseback, the train, or the wagon train. By far, the least dangerous way to travel had been with the wagon train.

  After gulping the strong, black brew, he climbed up on the wagon seat and grabbed the reins. Slowly, the wagons began to move forward. The vehicle rocked as the wheels rolled over the muddy ground. What troubled him this morning was the weather. April was not the best month of the year to be traveling in this section of the country.

  Hopefully, they would have a run of good luck and not have to face a storm.

  4

  The travelers were only about a week away from Santa Fe, most of the trip having been everything from uneventful to downright boring. The sheriff stopped by their wagon each evening and spent time with them, drinking coffee and telling tales of his adventures. Many times Becky guessed he made up some of the stories just to keep the ladies entertained.

  She’d spent most of her time just staring at him. He was easy to look at, and his deep voice always soothed her. During the long, hot days when she would worry and fret about having to marry up with a stranger once they arrived in Santa Fe, she would remember Sheriff Jensen and the comfort of his presence.

  It was too bad he couldn’t be her husband. Truth be known, she didn’t know why not. Although he seemed to look at her more than the other ladies, she always got the feeling he was holding himself back from her. That, in some way, she frightened him, which was silly since he was such a strong man and she was but a mere slip of a woman.

  This morning, she cast a nervous glance at the sky as the sun emerged past the horizon. The clouds kept the entire area swamped in twilight darkness. Strong gusts of wind whipped canvas covers and ladies’ dresses.

  Earlier, Mr. Drover had spoken with the group. “I think this will be a rough day for us travelers. I don’t much like the look of the sky, and for those of you who don’t know, this section of the country is known for tornadoes. So, keep close together and your eye on the sky.”

  Becky chose to walk alongside the wagon with Miranda on the other side and Miss Nellie driving. So far on the trip, they had rotated positio
ns so the same person wasn’t left with sore arms at the end of every day from pulling on the reins.

  They’d seen quite a bit of Sheriff Jensen since his wagon was behind theirs. He’d been very helpful, and she had often wondered over the past days how they would have gotten along without his help. He even cooked better than they did. She shook her head. It seemed there was nothing the man couldn’t do.

  No sooner had they commenced the afternoon drive when a storm started; small hail soon grew to the size of crabapples. Word had come down the line to halt the wagons and tighten the canvas covers in preparation for the storm. The three of them climbed into the wagon, their dresses soaked, bonnets drooping with water.

  They pulled on the cords to make sure the canvas was tight, as lightning and thunder crashed around them. They huddled on the floor in the middle of the wagon, clinging to each other.

  “Oh, no.” Miss Nellie looked at the bit of sky that showed out the back of the wagon.

  “What?” Becky grabbed Miranda’s hand.

  Before she could answer, Sheriff Jensen stuck his head into the opening, water running down his face. “Get out. Now.”

  “Why?” Becky’s teeth chattered as she climbed to her feet.

  “Tornado. Move it, ladies.”

  They scrambled to the back of the wagon, and his strong arms lifted each one down. “Head to that ditch over there.” He gestured with his head to where a number of people raced away. With the wind blowing so hard, they could barely walk. Sheriff Jensen had his arms wrapped around her and Miranda, with Miss Nellie in front of them.

  “Get down, and cover your heads. I’ll be right back.” He turned and headed back toward the prisoners’ wagon as Becky and the other two women hunkered down in the ditch.

  Miss Nellie gripped their hands. “Hold on, girls. This might be quite a ride.”