A Family Arrangement

by Gabrielle Meyer

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  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Historical title.

  You find illumination in days gone by. Love Inspired Historical stories lift the spirit as heroines tackle the challenges of life in another era with hope, faith and a focus on family.

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  Wed on the Wagon Train

  by Tracy Blalock

  Chapter One

  Independence, Missouri

  Early May, 1845

  You’re supposed to be a man, so stop acting like a girl, Matilda Prescott silently warned herself.

  She couldn’t afford to be distracted by a handsome cowboy. But there was something vastly appealing about a man so different from the dandies she’d known back in Saint Louis. Her eyes tracked him as he sat straight and tall in the saddle, moving as one with his mount, the sun glinting off his red-gold hair.

  With no small effort, she dragged her gaze away from the rider. Hitching up her too-large pants, she concentrated on taking long, manly strides with no eyebrow-raising, feminine hip-swaying, as she headed toward the nearest covered wagon and the man loading provisions.

  “Do you know where I can find the wagon master?” she questioned, pitching her voice low and deep.

  The man scratched his whiskered jaw. “Miles Carpenter’s the gray-bearded gent in the red shirt over yonder.”

  “Thank you.” She touched her hat brim, then headed toward the older man.

  He was sitting on an overturned barrel, examining a broken leather harness.

  “Mr. Carpenter? I’m Matt Prescott.” She extended her hand. “My younger sister and I would like to join your wagon train.”

  He gave her an assessing look before setting his work aside and returning her handshake. “You’ll need a wagon and team and enough provisions to last through four or five months.”

  “We have all that, sir. Everything’s at the livery stable, ready to go.”

  “I heard a wagon had been left behind by the previous group. Was that you?”

  “Yes, sir.” She gulped nervously, fearing what else he might’ve heard. Was her plan about to unravel at the seams?

  “Why were you left behind?”

  The question eased her mind considerably, proving he didn’t know the full story of how another wagon master had refused to take along two unescorted females after their father’s death. She couldn’t let the same thing happen a second time. Which was why she wasn’t giving this man the chance to turn down Matilda Prescott.

  “Our father took ill after we reached Independence and when he wasn’t able to travel, the wagon train left without us.” She stayed as close to the truth as possible to minimize the possibility of tripping herself up later.

  And prayed God forgave her for this deception.

  “Where’s your pa now?” Mr. Carpenter asked.

  Mattie blinked several times, determined she wouldn’t allow any tears to fall. Her father’s recent passing was a raw, unhealed wound, but she couldn’t show any weaknesses. Men didn’t cry. She dug her nails into her palms and closed her eyes, focusing on the physical pain to keep her grounded in the present.

  When she had her emotions under control, she lifted her lashes and met the older man’s gaze. “Our heavenly Father called him home.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, son.” He rested his hand on Mattie’s shoulder for a moment, giving it a comforting squeeze. But she knew better than to hope his sympathy would extend to accepting the Prescott siblings without question. “How old are you?”

  “Nineteen.”

  He eyed her askance. Should she have shaved a few years off her real age? She lacked the whiskers of a mature man, but the wagon master would surely deny her request if he thought her only a boy.

  She waited for his judgment and breathed a sigh of relief when he let the matter of her age drop.

  “It’s a long, difficult journey, and every family needs to pull their own weight. Can you handle the hardships we’ll encounter?”

  “Yes, sir. I can take care of my sister and myself.” She hoped.

  Please, Lord, help me keep Adela safe.

  The younger girl was the only family she had left on this side of the Missouri River. But an aunt and uncle waited for them in Oregon Country, if only Mattie and Adela could reach them.

  Several tense moments passed without a response from the wagon master, and Mattie’s heart pounded in her chest.

  Finally, he nodded. “We leave tomorrow.”

  “We’ll be ready.” She turned to hurry away before he changed his mind.

  She missed a step when her gaze landed on the handsome cowboy she’d spotted a short time ago.

  He was walking in her direction and offered her a cordial nod as he passed. “Howdy.”

  She returned the gesture, but not the greeting, his intense blue gaze rendering her mute. Her eyes followed him as he continued toward Miles Carpenter.

  Dressed in a blue chambray shirt, which contrasted with the red highlights in his hair, the younger man was a strapping figure next to the more portly frame of the wagon master. His angular jaw sported a dusting of cinnamon-colored bristles, and he was handsome enough to turn any woman’s head.

  Realizing she was staring at him like a brainless ninny, she shook herself out of her stupor, then quickly ducked her head and continued on her way. Before anyone took note of her—pretending to be a him—making eyes at the cowboy.

  “What can I do for you, Josiah?” she heard Miles Carpenter ask.

  She didn’t listen to the answer. Instead, she turned her thoughts to the numerous tasks awaiting completion before tomorrow.

  A sudden gust of wind caught the brim of her hat, sending it sailing across the ground. The current of air blew the hat into the legs of a horse, and the animal spooked, bucking and unseating its rider.

  Mattie rushed forward and snatched up the dangling reins to control the horse, keeping it from trampling the rider beneath its hooves. “Easy,” she soothed the frightened animal.

  Scrambling out of danger, the man climbed to his feet and yelled an obscenity at his mount. He drew back his arm to strike its hindquarters with a short leather crop. The horse’s eyes rolled and it danced to the side, a sure sign that the crop had been used on him before.

  “Stop!” She had no respect for anyone who would mistreat a defenseless animal. Inflicting pain on the horse was the mark of a weak man. In her outrage, she forgot to speak in a deep voice, and she hastily lowered her pitch. “It’s not the horse’s fault.” She stroked the animal’s velvet-soft nose to calm it.

  The man turned angry eyes toward her. “You are correct,” he bit out in a clear-cut British accent. “The fault lies with you.”

  She trembled inside, but stood her ground. He angled away from the horse, raising his crop toward her, instead.

  She had only a moment to regret her impulsive intervention. Ducking her head, she raised her arm in defense and waited for the blow to fall.

  * * *

  Josiah Dawson caught the crop in midair before it
could make contact with the slight young man he’d seen talking to the wagon master a short time ago. The kid’s shaggy brown hair was cut in uneven hunks, and his baggy clothes appeared two sizes too big for his frame, as if he hadn’t quite grown into them, yet.

  Josiah could understand why Miles had expressed reservations about allowing this boy to join the group. Only a few minutes had passed since that conversation and already the kid was mired in a sticky situation, taking on a man almost twice his size.

  Josiah was reminded of the Bible story about David and Goliath. Only this boy didn’t have even a slingshot for protection.

  Deliver the poor and needy; rid them out of the hand of the wicked.

  The verse running through Josiah’s mind, he faced off against the aggressor. “Not a good idea, Hardwick.”

  The other man puffed up like a riled rooster. “You will address me as Lord Hardwick, as is proper.” He paused, allowing time for Josiah to correct the error. But when he realized no bootlicking was forthcoming, his lips pressed together in a thin line. “My father is the Earl of Fenton, and I will not be taken to task by one so far beneath me. I intend to teach this boy to show the proper respect for his betters, and you would be wise to stay out of matters which do not concern you, Dawson.”

  Josiah didn’t back down. “Miles Carpenter has a rule against violence between members of his group. If he hears about this incident he might rethink whether you’re the type of person he wants to spend the next several months with.”

  “I do not answer to him,” the other man countered.

  If this pretentious Brit didn’t know the wagon master’s rules were law on the trail, he would soon learn that lesson. “Well, see now, that’s where you’re wrong. The same rules apply to you as everybody else. You’re not in England anymore. Your daddy’s name has no sway here—we judge people on their actions, not their family trees. And Miles Carpenter will do what’s in the best interest of the group. Now, do you want him to decide that’s you finding another way to get to Oregon Country? Or are you going to leave the boy alone?”

  Hardwick glared in silence for a moment before jerking the crop out of Josiah’s grip. Though they were fairly evenly matched in size, Josiah hoped to avoid a physical altercation. He tensed, waiting for Hardwick’s next move. But the Brit didn’t raise his crop to strike again. Instead, he snatched his horse’s reins from the young man’s loose hold, yanking cruelly on the animal’s tender mouth. He stalked away without another word to either Josiah or the kid.

  Josiah bent down and retrieved the errant hat, knocking it against his thigh to remove some of the dust, then extended it toward the boy.

  Miles had confided that he suspected the newest member of their group had exaggerated his age in order to join the wagon train. Josiah was inclined to agree. The boy’s beardless chin certainly belied the claim that he was nineteen.

  Accepting the hat, he placed it on his head and pulled the brim low to shade his face. “Thank you for that,” he offered in a gruff voice.

  Josiah understood he meant more than the return of his headwear. “Steer clear of Hardwick from now on.”

  “I will.”

  He hoped the kid took his words to heart. Still, Josiah was impressed with a scrappy fighter who waded in against injustice despite the odds. It reminded him of his former self. He’d been orphaned when he was just a few years younger than he guessed this boy to be.

  Almost a dozen years had passed since then, but he well remembered getting in over his head and needing someone to step in to help. In his case, his older half brother, Elias, had come to his aid. And though he was now a grown man, Josiah appreciated his brother’s continued support. Which was why he’d agreed to join Elias and his wife, Rebecca, on this journey.

  Only a few short months ago, Josiah had completely different plans. But things had changed, and those dreams were gone. He’d lost the woman who held his heart and his best friend in the same day—but not to death. There was a wall between them. And though it was of Josiah’s own making, he couldn’t scale it. It was better that he left.

  With nothing for him back in Tennessee, he welcomed the new life that waited out west. And the next few months would be much easier with others to share the load.

  But this young kid had no one he could depend on to watch his back. Plus, he had a younger sister to look out for.

  “I’m Matt Prescott.” The boy stuck out his hand.

  He accepted the handshake. “Josiah Dawson.”

  Matt dug the toe of his boot into the dirt, keeping his head down and his face hidden from view. “So, we’ll be traveling together, I guess.”

  “Looks that way.” If the kid could keep himself out of trouble and avoid getting kicked out of their wagon train.

  “Don’t worry that you’ll have to bail me out of any more scrapes. I’ll be more careful from now on.”

  “That’s good to hear. Just see that you remember to stop and think before going off half-cocked. Your sister’s depending on you.”

  Matt’s head came up and a look of surprise flashed across his face.

  “Miles mentioned it’s just you and your sister,” Josiah explained.

  “Oh.” He seemed discomfited to find he’d been a topic of conversation. “Well, I better get going now. Thank you again.”

  Josiah’s eyes narrowed as Matt hurried away. With his focus initially on Hardwick, he’d only gotten a brief glimpse of the kid’s face before it disappeared beneath his hat brim. And afterward Matt had appeared reluctant to meet his gaze. Maybe the boy was simply shy. But Josiah didn’t quite believe that explanation. Not after Matt had confronted the haughty Brit deliberately.

  But if the kid had lied about his age, would that account for his evasiveness?

  Or was he hiding something more?

  * * *

  Mattie glanced back and found Josiah watching her, a speculative expression on his face. Had his blue eyes seen too much? After getting a good look at her face, had he guessed her true gender?

  Was that the reason he’d stepped in unasked to defend her? Not because she was smaller than the high-and-mighty earl’s son, but because he had realized she was a woman? Though her heart sank at the thought, she tried to remain calm. If he’d worked out the truth about her, surely he would have reported her to the wagon master.

  Wouldn’t he?

  She pushed away the worrying question. She could only assume that her secret was safe. At least for the time being.

  But one thing had been made clear to her—she needed to do a better job of taking care of herself. This time, she’d been fortunate not to end up with a nasty welt—or worse. She couldn’t expect someone to ride to her rescue every time she ran into trouble. She had to learn to deal with problems on her own. She couldn’t risk allowing anyone to get close enough to discover the truth.

  With that in mind, she kept her head down to discourage any friendly greetings as she made her way through the town’s congested streets, thronged with people preparing for the trail.

  It was already nearing noon, and time was in short supply for her to get everything ready for their imminent departure.

  Their father had outfitted them well for the journey, but when he’d taken ill their covered wagon and oxen had been left at the livery stable, while the Prescott family took rooms in a nearby boardinghouse.

  The livery was her first stop.

  Stepping into the dim interior, she searched out the stable master. He accepted without comment her explanation that she was a young man running an errand for the Prescott sisters, and he promised to have the oxen hitched to the wagon and delivered to the boardinghouse first thing the following morning.

  Their supplies had remained loaded in the covered wagon, and all that was left for them to do tomorrow was add the trunks of personal items, which still needed to be packed
back at the boardinghouse.

  She’d left Adela there alone without explanation and had been gone longer than she’d anticipated. The younger girl must be frantic by now. Mattie felt terrible for causing her sister additional fear and worry, after the last ten days of uncertainty they’d already gone through since their father’s passing.

  As she neared the boardinghouse, her steps slowed. The livery had been easy, but this next part might prove more challenging. While a strange male roused little suspicion in a stable, his presence wouldn’t go unquestioned in a genteel rooming establishment.

  But she’d come too far to lose her nerve now.

  Straightening her shoulders, she turned the knob on the front door. The hinges squealed as the heavy oak door swung open. She winced and swept a furtive look around. Seeing neither the landlady nor any of the other boarders, she quickly headed toward the stairs. All the way up to her room, she expected to hear a voice behind her demanding to know why she was skulking through the house. But she didn’t encounter anyone.

  She opened the door to her room and stepped inside, a sigh of relief gusting out of her tight chest.

  Adela was bent over an open trunk, a silver-backed hairbrush in her hand. She glanced up as the door clicked shut. Her eyes widening in fright, she let out a high-pitched shriek.

  “Shh, Adela.” The last thing they needed was someone bursting into their room to investigate.

  She took a step toward her sister.

  But the other girl backed away. “Don’t you come any closer, or I’ll scream again,” she warned, brandishing the hairbrush as if it was a sword.

  “Adela, it’s me.” Removing her hat, she set it on the marble-topped bureau.

  “Mattie? You scared me to death!” The hairbrush slipped from her fingers, and she placed her hand over her heart. Then her mouth dropped open as she took notice of Mattie’s altered appearance. “What happened to your hair?!”

  Mattie fingered a short lock. She didn’t have to look in the mirror to know what she’d see—ragged chunks cut close to her head, instead of the long brown curls that had reached almost to her hips.