Brides of Prairie Gold

by Maggie Osborne

  Augusta pressed a hand to her bosom and caught a breath. "Insolent creature! How dare he look at me like that!"

  Webb Coate was dark and handsome and exotic. A hideously shameful image flashed in her mind: a strong brown hand, the fingers opened against pale milky skin.

  A gasp broke from her throat and she gave her head a violent shake. The brute was an Indian, for heaven's sake. Uneducated, lazy, a savage. He hadn't looked drunk, but he probably was. Indians were notorious liquor-hounds. The women on this train would be lucky if Coate didn't rape and murder them all.

  Sighing heavily, Cora set the wagon brake, then gathered her skirts to climb down and fetch the bucket tied to the side. She glared up at Augusta.

  "I ain't going to dress your hair or lace your corset anymore, so don't even ask. I just don't have time. Besides, everyone else stopped wearing corsets on the second day."

  "Well!" Augusta stared. "Someone is forgetting her place!"

  Things had come to a pretty pass when her own maid threatened her. The idea! Demanding payment, refusing her duties truly it was an insult of the highest water. Tears of frustration moistened Augusta's blue eyes. As her corset laced up the back, she couldn't possibly maintain her standards without Cora's assistance. If Cora meant what she threatened, then another humiliating indignity loomed on the horizon.

  And all of this misfortune was her father's fault.

  If her father hadn't squandered his fortune, and part of the bank's, if he hadn't committed suicide, Augusta would not have had to sell her home to pay debts, would not have had to travel to some barbaric territory to marry a stranger. It was her father's fault that she was sitting in a covered wagon being threatened by her own maid. His fault that she was shockingly, unbelievably destitute.

  The lesson was clear. Without money, a person had no choices at all. Her father had killed himself rather than live without money. Now his daughter was vulnerable to white trash like Cora Thorp, the daughter of a gravedigger, for heaven's sake. And Mrs. Thorp took in other people's laundry.

  If she hadn't been wearing gloves, Augusta's fingernails would have cut deeply into her smooth palms.

  Red-hot resentment burned through her body, shocking her to the toes of her fashionable boots. It didn't seem possible that she could resent or blame her adored father, but when she thought about his liaison with that creature Perrin Waverly, which had led to him leaving his daughter penniless amid the scandal of his suicide, anger swelled into a scalding flash.

  All of her life she had been taught that Boyds were special, several cuts above ordinary common folk. Boyds had sailed on the Mayflower; Boyds had distinguished themselves in the Revolutionary War. Boyds enjoyed wealth and privilege. The Boyd men were giants in business and politics; Boyd women graced society at its pinnacle and married men like their fathers.

  Except Augusta. There had been no man in Chastity good enough to marry Augusta Boyd. That had been her father's judgment, and an opinion Augusta shared. It was far better to remain a Boyd spinster and devote her life to her father than to marry beneath herself.

  That future was no longer possible, because her father had forgotten who he was. He had forgotten that Boyds didn't lose their fortunes, didn't alter the books of their own bank. Boyds did not place a noose around their necks and step off of a chair.

  Now, because of her father's mistakes, Augusta was penniless and driven to marry a common stranger to survive. It still did not seem possible or real.

  The scandal of his suicide was even worse than the scandal he'd caused with Perrin Waverly. Augusta would have killed herself if she had believed for a minute that anyone knew the humiliating truth about her father's financial devastation. It would be unendurable if people knew she was penniless, reduced to the same common level as as Cora Thorp. Good Lord.

  Miles Dawson waved and shouted. "Move your wagon up, miss."

  With a start, Augusta emerged from her misery and dashed at the tears hanging on her lashes. She gripped the wooden seat and called for Cora.

  "I'm here." Sullenly, Cora climbed up on the seat and released the brake. She slapped the reins across the oxen's back and they crossed the stream without trouble.

  Eventually all the wagons reformed in a line and returned to the ruts winding across the prairie. Here and there green shoots sprouted out of winter-brown. But Augusta didn't notice the greening earth. Nor did she hear the rattle of harness or the sound of women's voices calling to one another.

  Each revolution of the wheels whispered: No money; no choices. No money; no choices.

  Whenever she thought of the future and the stranger waiting for her in Oregon, when she thought of Cora demanding her pay, or wondered if her provisions would last until she reached Clampet Falls, desperation glazed her eyes and she felt physically ill.

  Cody lifted a stick out of Smokey Joe's fire, lit a cigar, then leaned against the back wheel of the cook wagon, studying the camp. At night the wagons formed a square, four wagons to a side, with the animals corraled in the center. Unless there was reason to expect danger, the women cooked and slept outside the square. It wasn't ideal, as he couldn't see all of the women at once, but it was the safest arrangement for the animals.

  Before he let his mind release the day's small problems, he listened to his men exchanging tall tales around Smokey's fire. Heck Kelsey amused them by spinning yarns in different accents. Heck was solid and dependable, as honest as a collection plate. He'd already proven his worth by repairing an axle that broke on the second day.

  The four teamsters laughed and joked, filled with high spirits and young enough to believe there was no obstacle they couldn't conquer. Overconfidence could be a problem, and it concerned Cody. But as long as their showing off didn't get out of hand, he didn't mind the competition among them or that they flirted with the younger brides.

  A sound caught his attention and he stiffened and peered into the darkness, not relaxing until he recognized Webb's owl call. Minutes later Webb loomed out of the night near one of the molasses wagons. Cody waited while Webb unsaddled his mustang, watered and fed it, then turned it in to the enclosed square.

  After washing at the water barrel, Webb accepted a platter of venison from Smokey Joe, then glanced at Cody. Cody nodded, and they walked into the darkness away from the others.

  Webb speared a chunk of venison on the tip of his knife, chewed, and they both scanned the dark ridge of a low hill.

  "We'll camp near Addison's farm the night after tomorrow," Webb said after a minute. "There's good water."

  Cody smoked his cigar and waited.

  "Jake Quinton is there."

  Cody flipped his cigar into the darkness. "Is there another campsite other than Addison's place?"

  "I'm avoiding the usual sites. We're seeing too many graves; there's too much risk of cholera, typhoid, or measles."

  "Jake Quinton." Cody swore and ground his teeth.

  "I spoke to Ed Addison. He says Quinton's been hanging around his farm for several days. Quintan's heard about the brides. He's curious what other freight we're carrying."

  Cody jammed his hands in his back pockets and tilted his head to look at the inky sky. Clouds blotted the stars. A cold wind blew steadily from the north. Turning, he gazed toward the ring of cook fires circling the wagons. Here and there a woman's form passed in front of wind-tossed flames.

  His history with Quinton tracked back five years. Jake Quinton had deserted during a summer campaign in the Dakota Territory. When the patrol returned him to the post, it had fallen to Captain Cody Snow to decide if Quinton would hang or be confined to the stockade at hard labor for six months.

  "He's sworn to kill you. You know that."

  Cody watched as the women began to extinguish their fires and drift toward the sleeping tents.

  He should have hanged Jake Quinton.

  * * *

  CHAPTER THREE

  A fast stream, swollen by spring melt, tumbled across Ed Addison's farmland. The water was clean and sweet, the
ground level, and Addison earned a tidy profit by allowing trains to camp on his acreage. Addison sold grain for weary animals, his wife and daughters peddled eggs and handicrafts, and one of his sons hawked cider out of a wooden stand near a weathered silo.

  "We'll rest here for a day," Cody informed Perrin. Shading his eyes against the morning glare, he looked toward Addison's farmhouse about three-quarters of a mile in the distance. "Tell the women they can bathe in the stream and do laundry, get some baking done ahead. I don't know when our next rest day will be."

  Immediately Perrin's spirits soared. Although plates of ice rushed along the surface of the stream, the weather had improved in the last few days and the air had warmed. The luxury of a bath and a hair wash would cheer everyone. Smiling, she raised her face to the sun, glorying in the bright morning.

  "Are we permitted to walk up to the house?"

  Cody's silence became so lengthy that she opened her eyes and studied him as he continued to contemplate the farm buildings on the distant rise. He had an interesting face, Perrin decided, weathered and strongly angled. Vertical lines split his cheeks, the creases deepening when he smiled or frowned. A stubborn jaw framed an uncompromising mouth and lips that were full and wide.

  The lines fanning from the corners of his eyes confirmed a life lived out of doors, but more interestingly, they suggested strength of character. Although Perrin hadn't actually seen Cody laugh, she had heard the sound. Like his voice, his laughter was deep, genuine, and resonated with feeling.

  "If you go up to the house," he said finally, "go in a group. Not alone."

  She nodded, trying to decide if his eyes were blue like the trim on her skirt or like the delphiniums that had bloomed in the garden behind her rented house in Chastity.

  A startled blush heated her cheeks as Perrin realized that she hadn't speculated about a man's eyes in years. Suddenly she was very aware of how close they stood, aware of the flannel and leather scent of his shirt and vest.

  "I'll inform the others," she said abruptly. Lifting her skirts, she started back toward the wagons.

  "Mrs. Waverly?"

  After hesitating a moment, Perrin uneasily returned to where he stood, not far from the smithy's wagon. The ring of Heck Kelsey's hammer sang in the clear air. An aroma of sizzling bacon curled from the cook fires, and the smell of strong coffee. It was better to appreciate the perfect spring morning than to marvel at the color of Cody Snow's eyes or to notice that standing near him tightened her nerves.

  "We're having a problem. You and me."

  Abruptly, Perrin's heart plummeted to her toes. When she stared into Cody's steady gaze, she was certain she read condemnation there. Lowering her head, she blinked rapidly, shocked to discover how much she had hoped that Cody Snow wouldn't hear the gossip about her.

  "In the past week," he said, watching her as he lifted a hand and started to tick down his fingers, "Sarah Jennings has come to me with a suggestion that the brides share provisions and a communal cooking fire. Ona Norris has come to me to inquire how many miles we've traveled. Augusta Boyd has come to me to demand bathing facilities. And Thea Reeves has come to me to inquire if I'll pose for one of her sketches." He shook his head and made a sound reminiscent of stones grinding together. "Do you see the problem, Mrs. Waverly?"

  A rush of pink tinted her face. She scuffed a boot over the sun-soft ground and frowned. "I don't know how to make them come to me instead of you."

  Cody removed his hat, raked his fingers through a tumble of dark, sweat-damp hair, then he resettled the hat on his head. "You need to figure it out, Mrs. Waverly or we'll have to make other arrangements."

  Which meant choosing a new women's representative. The sudden cramp in her stomach told Perrin that she didn't want that to happen. Being the women's representative had become important to her.

  Because of the title, the others couldn't shun her outright. When she stopped by their fires in the evening to inquire if there were any problems, they didn't offer her coffee as they did with each other, and they didn't invite her to stay for a chat. But at least they were politely cordial. They didn't snub her or look through her, as they had done before she drew the slip of paper with the X on it.

  Moreover, the title and position restored a tiny kernel of something that almost felt like pride, something she hadn't experienced in longer than she could remember.

  A sudden choking sensation closed her throat as she tried to imagine the five- or six-month journey with no one to talk to, with no social interchange. No illusion of friendship.

  She could not allow that to happen; she couldn't survive it. Being the representative required contact with the others, and it was her fervent secret hope that frequent contact could prove to them that she wasn't a bad person. She had made mistakes, yes, but her mistakes were not the sum total of her character.

  Finally, she realized with a jolt of fresh shock, if she weren't the representative, she would have no reason to see or speak to Cody every day.

  Right now, she told herself, losing contact with Cody did not loom as a great loss. Right now, Cody Snow was the enemy. Like all men, he threatened to take something away from her, something she valued, something she needed. Her chin rose and her dark eyes snapped and flashed.

  "How did you respond to the interruptions that annoy you so much?" she asked in an unsteady voice. If she hadn't been so frightened of losing the representative position, she doubted she would have found the courage to confront him. He was an intimidating man, and confidence was not her strong suit. "Did you answer their inquiries?"

  An impatient movement of one large square hand dismissed her question. "Of course."

  "Then you didn't help much, did you?" The words emerged with a sharp edge, propelled by a burst of self-preservation.

  It amazed her to discover she possessed the backbone to speak so plainly. But if she had learned nothing else in the last dismal years, she had learned that a man would trample her if she gave him the chance. After Joseph, she had decided it wouldn't happen again. Plus, she needed this position. Her shattered self-esteem desperately required something to build on.

  Or maybe she lashed out at Cody because she disliked how flustered it made her feel to be alone with him. She didn't want to feel drawn toward him or any man. She didn't want male scents stirring that hollow space inside her, filling it with strange restless yearnings. Cody made her feel tense and aware of herself as a woman and aware of him as a man, and she didn't like it, didn't want those feelings ever again.

  Cody contemplated her squared shoulders and the angry glances that flashed from the sides of her lowered bonnet. He threw back his head and laughed. The sound was as deep and full-bodied as it was surprising. Astonished and offended, Perrin stepped backward from his amusement.

  "I'm not laughing at you," he said finally, sensing her offense. "I'm laughing because I made a stupid mistake. You're right. I've undermined you, and I apologize."

  Perrin couldn't believe what she heard. Flustered and suspicious, she threw out her hands. "You shouldn't answer their questions. You should direct them to me."

  "You're absolutely correct. In the future, if someone approaches me directly, I'll send them right back to you. I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was contributing to the problem."

  Perrin stared. Never in a lifetime had she expected to hear a man acknowledge a fault or apologize so readily. Biting her lip, she frowned and examined him with frank distrust.

  "If you'll do that," she said slowly, "it would help me enormously."

  "I should have spotted the problem myself." He smiled down at her, sunlight slanting across his eyes, making them shine like deep blue crystal. Lightly touching her elbow, he started to lead her toward Smokey Joe's wagon and away from the noise Heck Kelsey made pounding out a length of metal.

  But his step faltered and almost instantly he pulled his hand away as if the touch of her scalded him. "Will you accept a cup of cider as a peace offering?"

  A warm tingle shot to her wrist a
nd traveled up her shoulder, continuing to radiate from the spot he had touched. Perrin bit her lip and dropped her head. So he was aware of her too. The realization sent a dizzying sensation through her body and she touched her fingertips to her forehead. The last thing she needed was for anyone to observe his sudden awkwardness coupled with the bright bloom on her cheeks, and speculate what it might mean. Fresh rumors would fly, and she could abandon all hope for acceptance.

  "Mornin', Miz Waverly." Smokey Joe tipped his hat, then returned to slapping lumps of floured bread dough across the wagon's sideboard. Sunlight cascaded down his long braid in a shine of silver. His drying hair suggested that Smokey Joe had already sampled the stream.

  Cody opened the bung on a cider barrel and filled two tin cups. Perrin was careful not to touch his fingers when he extended one to her. "If we can maintain this pace, we should reach Fort Kearney early next week." They moved away from Smokey Joe's fire, and Cody faced toward Addison's farmhouse, his gaze narrowing.

  Not wanting to mimic his every move, Perrin shifted in the other direction to inspect the ruts tracking across the land. Far in the distance, she could see the swaying canvas tops of the train ahead of them. Suddenly she experienced a glorious, blinding impression of curving blue sky, green-brown earth, and the small slow-moving white dots of canvas. The beauty and vibrancy of sky and earth, of blue and green and white raised a lump to her throat. With all her heart she wished she possessed Thea Reeves's talent for art and sketching.

  When she turned away, the scene too achingly beautiful to bear, she discovered Cody watching her. "It's just"

  "I know," he said softly.

  For one strange moment they held each other's eyes and Perrin's chest tightened at the unexpected intimacy of sharing an instant of perfect unspoken accord. He knew exactly what she was thinking and feeling; she knew that he shared the same sensations. She didn't recall such a stunning certainty ever happening to her before.