She gave Perrin a cold stare. "I know what you're trying to do with Cora," she said sharply. "You want to keep her with the train as an annoyance to me."
Perrin leaned away from the bread dough she kneaded at the sideboard. With the back of one floury hand, she pushed at a strand of loose hair.
"I want to keep Cora on the train so she won't ruin herself in order to eat, find shelter, or buy her passage home," she said bluntly. "Cora will remain with you until Fort Laramie, then she'll move to Sarah's wagon. Since you can't care for yourself, I expect it will be you who leaves us once we reach the fort."
"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Augusta growled, baring her teeth.
"It wouldn't break my heart," Perrin snapped.
"Well, it isn't going to happen. I intend to engage a new maid at the fort!"
Perrin forced her jaw to relax, made her fists open. "Somehow I doubt you'll find many maids in a military post."
"You forget I'm a Boyd!" Holding her skirts close as if being near Perrin might contaminate her, Augusta swept away, red circles flaming high on her cheeks.
Perrin watched her go, then returned to the bread dough, cuffing it across the sideboard as if she were slapping the superior expression off of Augusta Boyd's smug face.
Throughout the day, she continued to catch glimpses of Cody and expected him to request a meeting. But he didn't.
On the morning of the third day, Cody walked toward the sunrise, then swore and flung his hat to the ground. Tilting his head back, he sucked in a long breath of cool morning air.
"Did you put out the word that every day lost on this foolishness is going to hurt us at the end of the journey?"
Heck Kelsey, Miles Dawson, and John Voss nodded solemnly. Webb stood to one side, hands in his back pockets, watching the sun push over the horizon.
"We told them about the snow and how we're trying to beat it," Heck murmured. He shook his head. The others did the same.
"Hellfire and damnation!" Fury and frustration exploded inside Cody's chest. Two trains had passed ahead of them while they were stuck here. With every minute, they fell further and further behind schedule.
"We're going to experience sanitary problems if we remain at this site another day," Webb commented, his gaze on the sunrise. "The animals have eaten every blade of grass. The water barrels are low. There isn't a buffalo chip within two miles; there won't be any fires tomorrow."
Cody stared at the crosses marking the graves of Bill Macy and Jeb Holden. The women had covered the mounds with stones and wildflowers. Heck had carved the teamsters' names on pieces of scrap lumber. The graves were a constant rebuke, reminding Cody that he should have done something differently. He should have hanged Jake Quinton when he'd had the opportunity.
"Them women got you beat, Capt'n," Smokey Joe said, flipping his long gray braid over his shoulder. His lips twitched.
"Half beat," Cody snarled. He started toward Perrin's wagon. "Prepare to move out!" He would do what he had to. It was time to end this stand-off.
She spotted him coming and walked out onto the prairie to meet him, stopping when they were ten feet apart. "Well?" she demanded suspiciously, lifting one silky eyebrow.
"Here it is, take it or leave it," he snapped. "I'll sell the whiskey in Fort Laramie. But the arms go with us to Oregon. If we sell the arms in Fort Laramie, your bridegrooms aren't going to realize enough profit to buy you ladies your houses. Is that what you want? To live in tents?"
"That isn't the whole story, now, is it? I believe you hold a financial interest in these transactions too, Mr. Snow!"
"That's correct. We've lost the profit from the stolen wagon, and I'm willing to take a reduced profit on the remaining whiskey. But I'm sure as hell not willing to part with the arms and ammunition at give-away prices! That wagon represents the bulk of our anticipated profits. So if you aren't willing to compromise, I'll"
"You'll what, Mr. Snow?" Her damned chin thrust forward and sparks flashed in her eyes. He'd never met a woman he'd wanted to turn over his knee more than this one. She irritated him in the best of circumstances, enraged him in other situations.
Right now, he couldn't believe that he had ever questioned her leadership abilities. She was a born fighter.
"We'll take the arms and whiskey wagons and we'll leave your butts right here. That's what. We'll go on without you."
"Is that so?"
"You're damned straight! You've heard my offer and that's it. No negotiation. The boys and I are leaving in thirty minutes. So make up your mind if you're coming with us."
"Wait. We aren't finished."
He turned, expecting instant capitulation, but there was no sign of surrender in her expression.
"What about Cora? Does she get to be a bride?"
"Is that a condition?" He couldn't believe this.
"It could be."
She was pressing an advantage. She had to know he was in a frenzy to settle this problem and get moving again. Anger exploded behind his chest, and pride told him to dig in and show her who was running this outfit and who made the decisions.
Experience and common sense prevailed. If getting this expedition under way depended on Cora Thorp being designated a bride, then to hell with it. Mr. White just got himself a bride.
"Congratulate Miss Thorp. I'm sure she'll make a fine farmer's wife," he snarled between clenched teeth.
"Thank you, Cody," she said, her voice suddenly soft.
He glared, fuming. "The minute Cora can't pay her way, I'll put her off the train. And one more thing. I don't appreciate being blackmailed. I won't forget this. Now talk to the others and make your decision." He left her to go saddle his horse.
Twenty minutes later all the brides appeared, led by Perrin wearing that stubborn look he had learned to despise. The others scowled as if they would gladly have drawn and quartered him.
"What is it now?" he demanded, his voice harsh.
"We think you are the worst wagonmaster we have ever heard of and we rue the day you were assigned to take us across the continent!" That was her beginning. "You have shown and continue to show a reckless disregard for our lives and well-being."
Several of the brides murmured, "Hear, hear!"
Cody drew a deep breath and tried to control the burst of temper choking him. "Are you coming, damn it? Or are you going to stay here and sulk?"
Perrin glared at him. They all glared at him.
"We accept your terms," she snapped. "Since we don't appear to have a choice. But we want your guarantee that you'll sell the whiskey in Fort Laramie and that Cora joins us as a bride."
"Agreed. Now all of you get your behinds in those wagons. I mean right now!" They tossed their heads as if flinging invisible daggers at him. After fifteen minutes he cantered to the front of his train and shouted, "Waaaagons, hoooo."
To his relief, the oxen began turning out of the square.
God, he hated to deal with women. Most especially, he hated dealing with one small dark-haired, flashing-eyed beauty who was causing him more trouble than he had experienced on his last three journeys put together.
He wanted to fling her on a bed and show her who was the boss.
His scowl faded and he laughed out loud when he realized he wasn't sure who would win that particular struggle.
By the time they finished unloading the wagons and building barges to float the beds and wheels across the swollen, sparkling Laramie River, then reassembled and reloaded on the other side, dusk muted the sky and everyone reeled with exhaustion. The lights of Fort Laramie proved no enticement to people too fatigued to move aching muscles. Everyone tossed down a cold supper, set up tents, and fell into damp bedrolls.
As bone-weary as she was, Mem couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned, stared at the roof of the tent, tossed some more, listened to Bootie whimpering in her slumber, rolled this way, tried that way, then finally sighed and gave it up.
Although she suspected she could have fired a gun through Bootie's pillow without
waking her, Mem crept from the tent as quietly as she could and stepped into the cool night air. The rise in altitude and a late afternoon hailstorm had left a chill that felt more like early winter than late June.
It surprised her how much of a hardship the weather continued to be. Hot sun blazed in their faces most of the day, but the temperature plummeted at night. The climate never felt just right, it was always too hot or too cold. Sudden storms had become the norm, billowing up out of the north to drench them or batter their bonnets with hail. And for several weeks, they'd been watching tornadoes rip across the prairie. Thus far, prayers had held the tornadoes at bay, but they'd suffered from hot winds and swirling dust.
Pulling her shawl close around her shoulders, Mem tossed back her long auburn braid and peered toward the glowing coals of the fire Smokey Joe had earlier coaxed into flames by standing over it with a borrowed parasol to shield his efforts from the hail and light rain. To Mem's relief, the night sky was clear and Smokey Joe's cook pit was deserted.
She seated herself on a damp log beside the embers, sighed, and gazed up in time to see a shooting star streak across the sky. It struck her as amusing that earlier today, suffering from the heat, she had wished for rain. But when the temperature sank, and marble-sized hail began to pelt them, she had wished for the return of the sun. Smiling, she touched her sunburned nose and forehead, feeling peeling skin. In the last day or so, all of the women had suffered sunburns.
It was daunting to realize that half of the journey still lay ahead. Mem's smile faded and her shoulders slumped. The joy had gone out of the trip.
The pleasure, the zest, the sense of adventure she had left them behind in a dark copse of whispering cottonwoods.
Several minutes elapsed before she became aware that someone had joined her at the far end of the log. She jumped and clutched her shawl before she recognized his profile.
"Forgive me if I startled you," Webb quietly apologized. When Mem silently started to rise, he quickly inquired, "Are you having another of your headaches?"
She hesitated. She ought to go. If she possessed a grain of sense, she wouldn't do this to herself, wouldn't torture herself by remaining here with him. She commanded her legs to rise and walk away. Do it right now. Leave.
"I'm worried about Bootie," she heard herself say. She settled on the log and gazed into the embers. "She thinks she killed those two teamsters." She related Bootie's encounter with Jake Quinton at the Addison farm.
"I learned about the incident when it happened," Webb interrupted. "Miss Boyd told us."
They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence at the mention of Augusta's name.
Mem lowered her head and released a slow quiet sigh. They were clever about their desire for each other. She had observed them intently. Had she not witnessed their passion beneath the cottonwoods, she could actually have believed that Webb and Augusta disliked each other. Augusta couldn't keep her eyes off of Webb Coate, that was true; but she glared as if the very sight of him offended her. When Webb was forced to look at Augusta, his eyes flattened and went cold. Only one who had seen them wrapped in each other's arms as Mem had would guess the truth.
She touched the braid falling over her shoulder and remembered Webb pulling Augusta's braid through his hands. With all her aching heart, she wished she had never wandered into the cottonwoods that night.
"The teamsters' deaths had nothing to do with your sister. Tell her she isn't to blame."
"I've told her again and again. Telling her does no good."
"Cody and Jake Quinton have a history that goes way back." Speaking quietly, his mingled accents soft on her ear, Webb told her about Cody sentencing Quinton to six months of hard labor and Quinton's vow for revenge. "He'll dog us all the way to Oregon. It won't end until Quinton is dead."
Mem nodded. "I'll tell Bootie." She hesitated. "May I tell Perrin also?"
"If you like."
Suddenly Mem's spirits soared. Webb had confided in her. He trusted her judgment. Sliding a look from the corner of her eye, she studied his strong face, shadowed by the dim light.
He sat forward, elbows on knees, his head tilted back to gaze at something on the dark prairie. Black hair fell to his shoulders, tapered hands rested lightly at the top of his shins.
Mem's heart rolled in her chest. She loved the quiet powerful look of him. The strength and stillness that radiated from a spirit that could never be conquered. She loved the blend of cultures that reflected in his features, his fluid movements.
Helplessly, hopelessly, she conceded that she loved everything about him. The melodic sound of his voice, and the way he listened. The way his black eyes sparkled when he was amused, and the stories he told. She loved the gracefulness of his walk, as if he were one with the earth and sky, as if he inhabited a world invisible to others.
Mem's heart glistened in her eyes. With all her plain unvarnished soul, she wished she had been born Augusta Boyd.
But she was not Augusta. She would never be a beauty or turn men's heads. She would never stir Webb Coate's passion. He would never look at her as he had looked at Augusta in the moonlight.
Yet, she told herself, there was something between them, a companionship that was intimate and comfortable. They had shared confidences with each other as only good friends did.
A sigh stirred her bosom. If friendship was all that Webb could offer, then she would accept his friendship, and gladly. Twenty-eight-year-old spinsters were accustomed to settling for crumbs; she didn't even mind anymore. Her blunder lay in forgetting for a while who she was, a tall ungainly creature who was too plain and too outspoken to arouse men's passions.
Rising, she studied the fringe on his jacket rather than meet his steady black gaze. "I believe I'll return to our tent and try to get some rest. My headache's gone." Surprisingly, it was true. It occurred to her that Webb Coate's company was more effective than any headache nostrum she had ever swallowed.
He nodded, then shifted toward the darkness. "You've been keeping your headache inside your tent. Perhaps you will come to Smokey Joe's fire again"
Her eyebrows lifted as swiftly as her heart. He had missed her company since she'd been avoiding him, was that what he was saying?
"Good night, Tanka Tunkan," she said softly, not trusting herself to say more.
She thought he smiled, but the shadows were too dense to be certain. "Good night Mem."
He had called her Mem! Absurdly pleased, feeling as if she had won a stupendous victory, she floated back to her tent.
What on earth had made her think the joy had fled from the journey? Other than her father and Bootie's dear husband, Robert, no man had called her Mem. Her name, a silly one, she'd always thought, sounded almost like a caress when spoken by a man.
Crawling inside the tent, she rolled next to Bootie and clasped her thin pillow in her arms. It was a long time before she fell asleep, a smile on her lips.
* * *
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Augusta rode in the whiskey wagon, seated beside Heck Kelsey at the reins. Ahead, low barren hills sloped away from the whitewashed adobe bricks that surrounded Fort Laramie. After struggling to cross deep ravines and rushing streams to reach this unpromising place, she had expected more reward for the effort. But there was nothing appealing about Fort Laramie. It had been plunked down in the midst of scrubby junipers and sagebrush, without a single tree to offer shade from the harsh sun.
She began to understand why the other brides had chosen not to visit the fort, deciding instead to send money and requests for fresh provisions with Cody or Heck. Biting her lip, Augusta almost wished she had remained in camp. Right now she could be enjoying an all-over bath in the clean waters of the Laramie River. She hadn't had a real bath in three weeks.
But, she thought grimly, unlike the others she had business to conduct. She didn't intend to leave the fort until she hired a maid to replace Cora. Doing so would prove Perrin Waverly wrong, an event she anticipated with smug pleasure.
Also, she hastily reminded herself, if opportunity presented, she would discreetly inquire if anyone had been asking after the Eagglestons. It eased her conscience to promise that she would seize the chance should it happen along.
In the meantime, she would borrow just a teeny-tiny bit more of the Eagglestons' money and treat herself to fresh eggs and vegetables, perhaps some marmalade if she could find any in the post's stores. Also, she wanted some rice powder to lower the color in her sunburned cheeks.
A small sigh passed her lips. It was so nice to hear the clink of gold coins rubbing together in her little wrist bag when the wagon tilted over a stone or a rise. It sounded safe.
"So, lassie, are ye 'aving a gud journey?" Heck Kelsey asked, sliding a look at her.
The various accents he affected amused the others, but Augusta found them irksome. She supposed Heck Kelsey was in love with her, but it wasn't especially flattering. He was merely a blacksmith.
She touched his sleeve with the tips of her gloves, a gesture intended to soften a blatant rejection. After all, she occasionally needed him to repair a wheel or a bit of harness.
"I have a headache, Mr. Kelsey. I'd rather not talk."
"I am zo zorry, Mademoiselle." As she hadn't toured the Continent, she didn't know if he genuinely sounded French.
Another sigh fluttered between her lips. She had to endure the company of a frustrated actor, and there was no place to look during the drive to the fort except at Webb Coate's back.
As the wheels bumped closer to the gates, Webb and Cody dropped back to ride alongside the wagon. Her heart lurched and the beat accelerated as she realized that Webb would be on her side. Pressing her lips together, she fixed her gaze forward. She wouldn't permit herself to glance at his profile.
But she was conscious of him as she was every moment of every waking day. Whenever he passed nearby, her senses opened and she found herself acutely aware of every small thing he did or said. Gripping her hands in her lap, she desperately tried not to remember his long fingers stroking her hair or the hard thrilling pressure of his lips crushing hers. A light sheen of perspiration appeared on her brow, and she clenched her teeth to suppress the moan that built in her throat.
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