Rook lowered his thick brows at her. “Someone’s got ta be in charge here. I brought back the wagon. Wolf don’t want the supplies anywhere near them cattle tonight.” Anne reached out and took the sweetened tea from Rook so he wouldn’t get things wet by coming inside.
Jessie glanced up. “That bad? Maybe I should ride back out.”
Rook winced. “Can’t, lass. Yer husband took back yer horse ta keep ya put. And he gave me orders ta see that you stayed here.”
Coralie couldn’t help the snicker that escaped her lips at Jessie’s look of outrage. Fur would fly tomorrow. Luckily for them all, Jessie held her tongue, but her eyes flashed the promise of words to come.
Rook stared at the gowns Coralie and Jessie were sewing. “You lasses are doin’ a right nice thing.”
“Yeah, it’s a surprise, so don’t go telling her,” Jessie warned, her voice stiff with anger.
Eager to regain the light and friendly atmosphere, Coralie asked, “Rook, what do you think Eirica will have, a boy or girl? I say it’s going to be a girl.”
Rook fingered his white beard, sending drops of water flying. “Girl,” he said at length.
Jessie shook her head. “Nope. Boy.”
All looked to Anne. “What do you think, Anne?”
Anne shook her head and laughed. “My wish is for a healthy child, boy or girl.”
Rook chuckled. “Yer a wise woman, Mrs. Svensson, not ta get b’tween these two.” He backed out and saying good-night, he left Jessie and Coralie to their friendly bickering.
Rook made a mad dash for his wagon which was parked a short distance away. He was soaked to the skin and cold. He never bothered with a tent, preferring to sleep out in the open, unless it rained. Tonight, he’d sleep inside one of the supply wagons. Before he reached it, his feet slid out beneath him and he fell with a startled yelp.
He landed on his forearm. Pain shot through him. A dizzying array of stars floated before his eyes. Struggling to sit, he fell back. “Damnation,” he whispered, blinking against the steady fall of rain upon his face.
“What have you done to yourself, you old coot?”
Rook turned his head toward the sound of that hateful voice. Trust his luck to have her find him stretched out flat on his back. “Nothin’.” He struggled up, forcing himself to sit. He bit back the cry of pain when he tried to move his arm.
Sofia De Santis ran her hands down his injured arm, her fingers surprisingly gently as they probed his flesh. “It’s broken, you damn fool.”
“Well, thanks for the news, woman. Now, git away from me so’s I can git up.”
“And go where?” Sofia ignored his grumbling and called over her shoulder, “Dante, help me get him into my tent. We’ll have to set his arm. Fetch that sheet I’ve been using to make bandages.”
Rook blinked against the rain and the throbbing in his arm. “I ain’t goin’ ta go into yer tent. Wouldn’t be proper.”
Snorting, Sofia took her position in front of him while Dante went behind. Together, they lifted him. With Dante’s support, Rook managed to walk the few steps to her tent. “I’ll make a deal with you, Rook. If my reputation is tarnished, then I’ll let you marry me,” Sofia said.
They stopped just inside the tent. This time Rook snorted. “Not damned likely, ya old witch.” He bit back a moan as his arm throbbed painfully from wrist to elbow.
Sofia only lifted a brow. “I’ll fetch what I need. Dante, you get this stubborn old goat out of those wet things. Put him in my bed. I’ll take Catarina’s bedroll to your tent. The three of you will have to bed in there. Rook isn’t going anywhere tonight.”
Rook sputtered and protested but it didn’t do him any good. Sofia marched back out with an armful of bedding, leaving him with Dante who only shrugged.
“We’d best do what my nonna says. It makes life simpler to humor her.”
“That woman is a witch. She’s bossy and always interferin’, stickin’ her nose where it don’t belong.” He blinked against the pain. “Did I say bossy?” It was difficult to concentrate and when Dante started to help him undress, he didn’t have the strength to argue. In truth, he was starting to shake like a leaf, his teeth clacking together.
“Yep, you said bossy. Twice. But nonna knows how to set a broken arm. She’s had lots of practice, first on my dad, then me. So far, Marco hasn’t broken anything.”
Settled between the covers, Rook closed his eyes, immediately aware that this was Sofia’s bed. Her scent surrounded him, and though he found her personality objectionable—after all, she was bossy, always nosing in his territory, he relaxed. When she returned and started working on his arm, he didn’t protest or make any snide remarks. Not even when she finished and made him sit so she could slide a large nightshirt over his head.
He even accepted a shot of whiskey laced with laudanum. Drifting off to sleep, he didn’t see her release her long dark hair and take a seat beside him. She pulled her brush through the long strands, her gaze never wavering from his sleeping form.
Alone with her sleeping children, Eirica glanced out of the doorway of her tent. The storm had finally passed, leaving behind a cold nip in the air. She rubbed her arms and stared out into the crystal-clear darkness. Though tired, she felt too restless to sleep so she wandered around the camp, picking her way carefully across the wet and muddy ground. Passing Coralie’s tent, she stopped when she heard whispered giggles coming from within.
She recognized Jessie’s laugh. Over the last couple of weeks, she’d noticed how much time the two women spent together when their husbands were on duty. Though happy for her new friends, she couldn’t help the twinge of envy. No matter what happened, they had a large, supportive family.
Maybe she could join them? She bit her lip. No. That would be intruding. She didn’t belong. Feeling a bit depressed and sorry for herself, she returned to her tent, blaming her pregnant state for her sudden weepiness. “You’re tired. That’s all. You just need a good night’s sleep,” she comforted herself.
Climbing between the covers in the midst of her sleeping children, she rolled onto her side and closed her eyes. Somewhere close by, she heard a low howl, followed by a voice ordering Wahoska to shut up. A few seconds later, the sounds of the wolf’s padding footsteps passed her tent, making her feel safe and secure.
Just as she drifted off to sleep, a noise had her bolting upright. She strained to hear. Was it inside, one of her children, or had it come from outside? Had the thief come to their camp?
A whimper broke the stillness and Eirica realized Alison was having a bad dream. She moved Ian to one side and gathered her elder daughter close, whispering until the little girl calmed.
The full extent of what lay ahead kept Eirica from sleeping. So many decisions. So many choices. And the well-being of her babies depended upon her making the right choices. She felt so alone. Then she recalled James’s words that she didn’t have to be alone. He was there for her.
Take him. He wants you, he loves you. He’d be a good father, a good husband. Eirica reached into her pocket and pulled out the stone. In the dark, she remembered his advice to trust herself.
Trust yourself.
Two simple words but they were oh so complicated and so hard to do.
Thinking about James, about her feelings, she tried to analyze them. What did she feel for him? Gratitude? Yes. Friendship? Most definitely. Resentment? Yes, when he barged in and took over. But there was more. Did she trust him? Absolutely. But what about love? Did she love him?
And that was the crux of the matter. She’d thought herself in love with Birk but now knew she’d been in love with the idea of love. But what she felt for James was different, deeper. Harder to put a name to. She only knew she felt something for the man set to win her heart. He’d changed her. She no longer felt frozen, and there was an eagerness within her to live, to experience the joys of life that had once been denied her. Was it due to James or her freed state? Though she suspected both were responsible, she had to be sure.
This time, she had to be sure of her feelings. Holding the warm rock in her hand, Eirica closed her eyes. Her mind conjured up James’s image and her imagination ran wild as she dreamt of their next kiss. As sleep claimed her, she thought maybe this time, she’d really, truly fallen in love.
Chapter Ten
Birk Macauley kicked a discarded tin cup that had been smashed flat by a wagon wheel and ground into the trail by countless feet. The sharp toe of his boot loosened it, sending it skittering ahead of him. When he reached it, he gave it another kick, uncaring that it narrowly missed a group of women walking ahead of him. The third time, it struck a gray-haired woman in the back.
The trio turned to glare at him, but when he glared back at them, baring his teeth in a leering smirk at the two younger women, they hooked elbows and moved off the trail, their steps hurried, as if afraid of him. Their fear made him feel good, started an ache deep inside of him, one he was having trouble subduing. There was only one woman he wanted, only one who could slake his lust.
Trudging alone, he scanned the men and women plodding along ahead, heads bent, steps slowing as the long day took its toll. Before him, he noticed a wagon painted completely blue, including the canvas top. He recognized that wagon. Damn. He’d seen it many times and knew it was the same as on both sides of the painted cover. Large black letters proclaimed their family name and city they were from. With hope rising, he carefully studied the faces of his fellow travelers. Yep, by damn, there was another group he recognized—three large families traveling together. He figured there had to be nigh on thirty children between them, ranging from screaming infants to lanky youths.
He quickly passed the noisy group, hating the sound of whining and crying brats. But for the first time in weeks, he was seeing familiar faces and wagons, which meant he was gaining on Wolf’s party. Without a heavy wagon and slow oxen to contend with over crossings and the rough, rocky parts of the trail, he’d put in more miles on foot per day than most of the emigrants were able to average.
Excitement rose within. Soon, he’d catch up with his runaway wife. He curled his fingers into tight fists and sent a cloud of sandy dust into the air with the toes of boots two sizes too large. He ignored the angry shout that came from behind. As he walked, he scanned the distant scenery, searching for large herds of cattle.
“That bitch will be sorry she left me.” The fury in his voice caused several nearby giggling girls to move away. Birk ignored them, heading toward a group of men pushing handcarts. With so many men traveling in small groups during the day, it was fairly easy to blend in, to look as though he belonged.
He spat on the ground, then wiped his cracked and dry lips with the back of his sleeve. As the day wore on, his heart jumped each time he spotted a red-haired woman or small child. Each time it turned out to be a stranger, his fury grew. If Eirica thought she could just up and leave him, hide behind the skirts of her new friends, she had another think coming. He’d teach her who was boss, and this time, he’d make sure they were alone so no one could stop him. When he got through with her, she’d never dare leave him again.
By the time dark swallowed up the last of the light, he knew he had to stop for the night. Aside from the possibility of missing his family in the dark, it was too risky to travel alone at night. He smirked and ran a hand along the barrel of the shotgun he’d taken from that old man. Easing his makeshift pack of supplies from his back, he glanced around for a place to bed down.
“Hey, you, move on,” a threatening voice ordered.
Birk scowled at the man, noted the gun pointed at him and hefted his pack onto his back. Threading his way around wagons, cattle and tents, loud, raucous laughter from a group of men drew his attention. His ears perked. Damn, he knew that barking laugh. He moved closer, heard another voice, rough and gravelly, make some ribald comment. More jeers and laughter followed.
Birk rubbed his hands together. Ah, things were looking up. He’d caught up to his old drinking buddies from before. He smacked his lips, easing into the circle of flickering light from the small fire to eye the three men hunched close to its warmth and light.
“Hey, Zeb. Long time no see.” He’d spent many a night before his near-drowning drinking with this ragtag group of men headed for California’s gold mines.
“Who’s that?” Zeb squinted in the growing dark. When recognition dawned, his eyes widened. “Well, boys, if it ain’t ol’ Birk. Ya ain’t been around for a spell. Figured ya’d gotten way ahead of us when we had to stop on account of Matt gettin’ hisself sick.”
Birk glanced at Pete and Rat. “Where is Matt?”
Zeb shook his head. “Tha’ son of a bitch didn’t make it.”
“That’s too bad.” He didn’t care if Matt died or not, it just meant there was more booze for him. Birk eyed the flask in Zeb’s hands and the pan of beans sitting off to one side of the fire. “Can a man join ya? I ain’t eaten yet.”
“What, wife ain’t fed ya?”
Birk scowled. “We gots separated.”
Zeb lifted a bushy brow, but he didn’t ask any questions. Instead, he motioned for Birk to sit and help himself.
Birk dropped down before the fire, keeping his meager possessions close. He licked his lips and scooped up the cold, crusted-over beans with his fingers. When he’d scraped the last one from the burnt bottom of the pan, he noisily sucked his fingers clean. With the edge of his hunger eased, he turned his attention to the flask of amber liquid sitting between Pete and Zeb. Without a word, Zeb tossed it to him.
He took a long swallow, felt the warmth slide down his throat and warm his belly, then passed it back. Secure among friends, he settled more comfortably on the hard ground, stretching his feet out before him, his boots close to the outer edge of embers. This was more like it. He eyed the three men, his brain working overtime to find a way to turn this bout of good luck to his advantage.
Stroking his chin, he played with the idea of joining them. Not only would he have food, he wouldn’t be as conspicuous as he was traveling alone. “Might like ta consider joining ya.”
Zeb leaned back on one elbow. “What about yer wife and kids?”
Over the fire and between chugs of whiskey, Birk told Zeb how he’d nearly drowned. He blamed it on Eirica, telling the three men that she’d left him, forcing him to come after her to reclaim his children. “The bitch watched me from the other side, her and them friends. Wouldn’t help me git across. Jest watched me fall. It’s their fault I nearly drowned, but I gots news fer them. I’s alive and I’s gonna take back what belongs ta me.” With each long swallow of cheap whiskey, his words slurred even more.
“She left you?” Zeb shook his head. “Had myself a pretty filly once.” His voice trailed off.
Pete spat in the fire. “Yeah, found herself some young, rich, han’some man,” he slurred.
Birk stopped in mid-swallow and lowered the bottle. Eirica wouldn’t do that, would she? The thought of her with another man sent blood pounding in his ears. Not once had he ever really considered that. She was too meek, too afraid of him. He’d trained her right, as his ma had trained him. Memories of his ma flooded his drink-hazed mind. As a child, she’d demanded that he “kiss the rod” before she beat him with it. And he had. He’d always accepted her beatings, her punishments, meekly. And during those times when her anger overrode all else, he’d envision doing the same—not to her, she’d been too strong, too domineering—but to someone else, like Eirica, his nearest neighbor.
The pleasure that came from pretending to do what his ma did to him had made his beatings bearable. Even as a grown man, he’d been able to stop her, could have struck her and ended her dominance over him, but he hadn’t. By then, he’d come to see those beatings as a release. After his ma staggered away, drunk, he’d go off by himself and release the raging fury inside by thinking of his beautiful neighbor and how she might someday meekly accept whatever he doled out to her.
From the time he’d met her, he’d been drawn to her quiet nature. Final
ly, after his ma died, he’d married her and had taught her to fear him—just as he’d feared his ma. He’d be damned if he’d allow anyone to take her from him. Realizing that he was hardening just thinking of Eirica and the punishments she deserved, he drew up his knees.
But now, he had another worry. Had she found herself another man? In his mind, he thought of the single men in the wagon train. He had no problem dismissing them all—except two. The eldest Jones and that too-pretty Baker boy. His breathing grew fast and shallow. If she dared to look at another man—
Zeb broke into his red-crazed vision by moving closer to take the bottle lying beside him. “That what she done?” His expression held pity and tore Birk from his dark thoughts.
Birk opened his mouth to deny it. She wouldn’t be stupid enough to let another man touch her, would she? Only now did he wonder if she hadn’t left him for another. That Jones family had been against him from the beginning. Though he refused to believe it was the truth, Zeb had handed him an easy way to garner sympathy.
“Don’t matter, I’m gonna get her back. Law says she belongs to me.” Let the other men believe Eirica had left him for another. Though it galled him to let Zeb think he couldn’t hold on to his own wife, he fell silent, watching the man stroke the ugly raised scar covering one cheek from the corner of his mouth to just below his eye. “So, how ’bout it? Will ya let me join ya until I gits what’s mine back?”
“I dunno. Seems there ain’t nothin’ in it for us. Why should we give you food?”
Birk narrowed his eyes. “When I catch up to my wife, I can pay ya then. She gots it all: the food, money, everything in the wagon.” He didn’t know if what he said was true or not. When he’d fallen into the Platte, he’d lost everything. He had no idea if the wagon had survived being stuck in the middle of the river. Was it gone?
“Seems pretty risky to me. What if she don’t come back to ya or let you have any money to pay me? Then me and them boys is out of food.”
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