Pity saddened Bootie's eyes. "Oh, Mem. How very like you to put a brave face on it. You poor, poor courageous dear. We'll just try to rise above your horrible experience."
Mem dropped her forehead against crossed arms and made a sound of frustration that blew a puff of dirt and dust into her face. "If the attackers don't shoot us first, I'm going to strangle you. Who are those men, anyway?"
Bootie shouted to be heard over the gunshots and pounding hooves that flashed past them in the dust. "Jane thinks it's the Quinton gang. They rode up with no warning at all." A single tear cut a muddy track down her cheek. "It's my fault."
"That's ridiculous!" But nothing Mem had said or could say would convince Bootie that she was not to blame for Quinton's pursuit. Silently, Mem again cursed Augusta Boyd for putting the idea in Bootie's head, then she stretched out an arm and drew her sister close in a protective gesture. They huddled together beneath the wagon, choking on dust, picking cactus spines out of their flesh, wishing they knew what was happening.
And floating above it all, like a soft cloud above an icy peak, was Webb's kiss still lingering on her lips.
Cody held fire and leaped out of the way when Webb's mustang loomed in the billowing dust. The mustang jumped the tongue of the arms wagon. Seconds later, Webb appeared beside him, guns blazing at the men who rode whooping around the train.
One figure flew off his horse, then another. A lull opened in the dust and noise. "They're leaving," Cody yelled. Spinning in tandem, he and Webb pushed aside the wagon tongue, opening it far enough to get their horses out. "Close it behind us," he shouted when he saw Perrin's ointment-smeared face peering at him through spirals of settling dust.
Miles Dawson galloped through the opening first, then Heck Kelsey. Webb was next, with Cody a heartbeat behind him. Before they raced off in pursuit, he saw Perrin rushing toward the wagon tongue, Hilda, Ona, and Thea behind her.
Damn Jake Quinton to hell. Cody burned with the urge to leave Heck Kelsey in charge of the train, take Webb, and track Quinton to the ends of the earth.
Quinton and his men faded into the rocky ravines like gray shadows. If night hadn't been hard upon them, Webb could have tracked the outlaws until they split up, but Cody's duty was to defend the train. Reluctantly, he ordered his men back to camp.
They arrived in time to see the women mounding dry dirt over two shallow graves. Grim-faced, Cody halted the buckskin beside Perrin and inspected her swollen face. She had received a worse dose of the poison oak than he had. "Who?" he demanded sharply.
"None of us," she answered quickly, understanding his deepest concern. "Two of the attackers. No identification."
He nodded shortly, relief spreading through his chest like thick hot liquid. Then his eyes found Mem Grant, leaning on the handle of a shovel. He rode up beside her and let her see the anger frosting his gaze. "Don't ever leave camp alone again. If you plan to go farther than a hundred yards, you tell someone. Understand? You get one serious mistake, and you just had it."
"I'm sorry." She nodded up at him. "I should have told Perrin where I was going. I apologize for the concern I caused."
Not sorry that she had gone, but sorry she hadn't told anyone. Cody suppressed a sigh. But he also glimpsed why Webb admired this unusual woman. He was beginning to understand that each of the brides was remarkable in her own way. But Mem Grant was the only one of them who would have marched off alone to inspect an Indian village. Just as Perrin Waverly was the only one who would help Augusta.
"While you're all present," he shouted, calling for silence. "The attackers were Jake Quinton and his men. I saw Quinton."
"He wants the arms wagon," Perrin stated flatly.
"The carbines and ammunition are your future and mine." His steely gaze matched hers, unyielding. "That wagon goes with us to Oregon; we've settled that question. Without it, your bridegrooms will lose the homes they are undoubtedly building for you now."
"Will Jake Quinton keep attacking us?" The question came from little Thea Reeves, who still shook from head to foot.
"Very likely," Cody snapped. He glanced at Webb above the women's heads, then again to the sea of eyes. "How many of you know how to use a pistol or a carbine?"
Sarah Jennings stepped forward, and Jane Munger, which surprised him.
"From now on we're going to have shooting lessons every day at the noon rest and again after supper. I'll teach half of you at midday; Webb will take the other half in the evening. We'll continue that schedule until everyone can handle a carbine. I want each of you able to defend yourselves."
For an instant he thought of asking which of them had slashed his bedroll for the second time, then thought better of it. The slashing hadn't begun until after the new teamsters joined up at Fort Laramie. In his gut, he didn't believe slashing a bedroll was something a man would do. But he wasn't certain enough to make accusations.
His eyes met Perrin's. "I'd like to speak to you after supper, Mrs. Waverly. I'll expect a report of any damage done to the wagons, any injuries, however minor."
Before she could invent an excuse to refuse, he wheeled the buckskin and rode out to capture the livestock that had escaped during the fracas.
He hadn't spoken to Perrin alone since the night before they came through the gap, the night he had taken her. He hated his reaction, but his thighs tensed in anticipation.
He wanted her again. Worse, he suspected this was a woman whom no amount of sex would get out of his system. They had forged a bond that went deeper than physical need. Exactly what that bond was, he didn't know. But he was beginning to recognize it existed and had taken root inside him.
What disturbed him most was the question she had posed. At first he had considered it ridiculous, but upon reflection, perhaps the question was fair. What would he have done, what would he be thinking now, if she hadn't been an experienced woman?
Was she thinking that he had only used her to ease his body? That she was merely a convenience during a long journey?
The answers danced away from his grasp because he didn't want to analyze, didn't want to admit how he felt about her.
* * *
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
They completed the day's business swiftly. All the women had puncture wounds from cactus, Thea had sprained her left wrist, none of the wagons had escaped without a few bullet holes. Heck Kelsey worked by lantern light to repair a couple of shot-up water barrels. Miles Dawson patched one of Smokey Joe's mules after discovering its ear had been injured in the fracas.
"We understand that our futures depend on profits from the arms and ammunition and we have to take the wagon to Oregon," Perrin conceded, watching the first bright stars poke holes in the night. "But we're all frightened of Quinton and his gang."
She and Cody stood near a thick spread of rabbit brush. The smell of powder and smoke still drifted in the air from the earlier shooting lessons, which had begun immediately. Perrin inhaled the faint sulfur odor, the smoke from buffalo chip fires, the scents of bacon and beans, and the warm dusty night.
Cody lifted a coffee mug to his lips, his eyes scanning the squared wagons. "How do you think the women would react if I left Heck in charge and took Webb after Quinton and his men?"
Perrin examined the knots rising and falling along his clenched jaw. "Heck Kelsey is a good man," she said after a lengthy silence. "But he's not a trained wagonmaster. I doubt Heck could have stopped Miles Dawson from riding hellbent for slaughter into that Indian village to rescue Mem."
Perrin had spoken sharply to Mem about going off on her own, but she wasn't sure if Mem had heard a word she'd said. Mem had smiled and nodded with a vagueness that reminded Perrin of Winnie. Mem's mind was elsewhere.
Cody tossed the remainder of his coffee onto the ground, threw the cup toward Smokey Joe's wagon. "I was afraid that's what you'd say." He hooked his thumbs in his back pockets and spoke without looking at her. "I've missed you."
Perrin stiffened and her chest tightened. "If we've covered everythi
ng, I need to set up our tent." She told herself that she didn't want to hear anything he might have to say. And yet knowing she would see him tonight, she had used some of their precious water to scrub the white ointment off her face.
He stepped in front of her, blocking her escape. "Do you want me to say I'm sorry for what happened between us? I'm not sorry. Do you want me to swear it won't happen again? I hope it does. I can't get you out of my mind."
"Please, Cody, let me pass." Warm color flooded her throat and cheeks. Her body remembered another hot night, remembered hard callused hands caressing her skin. She remembered every detail and the memories tormented her.
Lifting a hand, he smoothed a tendril of hair off her cheek. "What do you want from me, Perrin?"
Surprised by the question, she hesitated, gazing into eyes shadowed by stormy color. The lines carving his cheeks had deepened. Everything sensible told her to step away from his touch, but his fingertips on her cheek rooted her to the earth and she couldn't move, could hardly breathe. "I don't want anything from you," she whispered.
His fingertips slid to the corner of her lips. "I know what I want. I thinkI hopeyou want the same thing." His gaze lit the darkness, smoldering down at her. "Perrin, for God's sake. You and I are circling each other like wildcats. Nothing has changed except half the time we're spitting at each other, and the rest of the time"
"Cody, please. Don't do this." Her eyes closed and a small moan issued from her throat.
Although darkness deepened around them, someone might have noticed two shadows merging into one. The thought frightened her and Perrin forced herself to step away from him. Lifting a shaking hand, she pressed it to the corner of her lips. When she felt Cody move up behind her, she stiffened her backbone and her resolve.
"We made a mistake," she said in a low voice, looking down at the ground. "Now we put it behind us and go on."
Warm hands closed around her waist and she inhaled sharply. Then he kissed the nape of her neck and the hot touch of his lips made her sway and shudder with pleasure.
"Can you forget?" he asked hoarsely, his breath on her skin.
She would never forget.
"I want I want" Her heart pounded with anger and frustration and wanting him. Suddenly she felt an urge to whirl and strike him with her fists. She wanted to beat on his chest and weep until no more tears flowed. She wanted him to hold her and comfort her and tell her they would always be together. Fury erupted inside when she realized that could never happen.
Her trembling body didn't recognize the difference between anger and passion. The same rushing blood sped through her veins, the same heated flush stained her cheeks. Her pulse thudded in her throat and her breath quickened. Turning to face him, she saw Cody through her anger and felt a helpless melting flood her limbs. Day and night she thought about his rough hands coaxing her body to heights never before experienced, remembered his deep voice whispering her name in passion. She remembered every joyful, exciting minute.
Clenching her fists at her sides, she stared at him with flashing determination that flew in the face of everything she felt in her heart. "I won't be your mistress, Cody. I won't be your plaything for the duration of this endless journey." The refusal hurt because she wanted him so much. "If I can't believe that I'm better than an itch for some man to scratch, then I'm lost. I'll never win anyone's respect if I can't respect myself."
He stared at her, his arousal so strong that she could feel his need across the space that separated them. "You won't start respecting yourself until you start holding your head up. Do you know that you walk with your eyes on the ground, your head lowered?" His stare darkened to a scowl. "And, damn it, Perrin, you weren't just an itch that needed to be scratched!"
"Then what am I to you?" Her husky whisper vibrated with a need to hear an answeran answer he couldn't give.
"I don't know, all right? I don't the hell know!" He pushed a hand through the hair falling forward on his forehead.
"What are you looking for, Cody? What do you want?"
"It's time to settle down," he answered finally, clenching and releasing his jaw. "I want some land, a place that's permanent. Some cattle. Horses."
"Are there people in your dream?" she asked, trying to see his face in the darkness. "Who lives in your house with you?"
"Just me," he stated firmly.
Not a woman who had been another man's mistress.
Perrin's hand slid away from her face and she gazed up at him with a helpless expression. "We're both frauds, Cody Snow," she said quietly. "Neither of us has the courage to trust or love. We're both cowards."
She felt his eyes burning against her back as she returned to her wagon. With all her heart, she wished she were running toward him, not walking away. But she refused to let another man ruin the reputation she was fighting so hard to rebuild.
They painted their names in tar on Independence Rock, paid three dollars a wagon to cross the high, swift Sweetwater River, entered a stretch of deep sand and constant dust. When the women had enough energy to talk, they joked weakly that the mosquitoes were the size of hummingbirds.
Slowly, the barren, overgrazed road climbed the eight-thousand-foot summit of the Rocky Mountains toward South Pass.
To the north, Augusta saw the stunning Wind River Peaks arising above wide gray swales. To the south rose the flat top of Table Mountain.
She flapped the reins across the backs of her oxen, the motion automatic now. The ugly buckskin gloves she had borrowed from one of the teamsters concealed hands that had toughened over the last weeks. Her blisters had hardened into calluses.
That wasn't the only amazing change she had undergone. When she pulled her collar away from her throat and peered into the mirror, she could see a line of darkly tanned skin above the milky skin below. Only her nose continued to burn and peel.
Now she could set up her own tent, and she had learned to start a fire unless the wind was especially strong. The coffee she drank in the mornings had been made with her own hands. She cooked her own breakfast and supper. The menu never varied. She ate bacon and beans for breakfast, soggy biscuits and fried ham for the noon meal and supper. Having mastered these itemsand no one could be more surprised by her success than she wasit occurred to her that she might ask Sarah how to fry an antelope steak. It was stupid to continue refusing the game the men occasionally brought into camp because she didn't know how to cook it. She desperately craved variety in her limited diet.
But, amazingly, she was taking care of herself. Even more astonishing, for the first time in her life she had accomplishments beyond her illustrious name and ancestors.
Every day she grew stronger in knowledge and experience. But weaker with growing fatigue. It was beginning to worry her that it got harder and harder to pull herself out of her bedroll and face another grueling day.
Every time one of the brides jumped off a wagon to walk behind and rest shoulders stiffened from hunching over the reins, Augusta wished she had a wagon partner. It would be easier if there were someone with whom to divide the work, with whom to share the small things that happened each day.
It would have been nice to have someone notice the enormous changes she had made and perhaps offer a word of praise.
Biting her lip, Augusta twitched her oxen into line, following the wagon ahead of her, passing it, then turning her animals inward before she hauled up on the reins.
She remained on the hard wooden seat until one of the teamsters appeared to unyoke the oxen. Tonight they would let the beasts graze on the open range. It meant more work collecting them in the morning, but grass was sparse here, grazed out by the trains that had preceded them.
Climbing down, she flexed her legs and arms, working the cramps out before she dug a trench for a fire. She needed to cook her supper, fetch some water, wash out a few things, clean up the supper pot and dishes, set up her tent, roll out her bedroll, prepare the utensils for a quick breakfast, mend the stockings she was wearing, beg a little lamp oil from
someone. Fatigue pinched her features at the thought of all that she needed to do.
But there was also a swell of pride at the knowledge that she would do what she had to. She knew how.
She had coaxed the chips into thin flames and ground some coffee beans before she felt someone watching. Startled, she jerked up her head.
"Cora!" For an instant she was absurdly glad for someone to talk to, even if the someone was only Cora. Then she noticed Cora's tight smug smile.
"It's hard, isn't it? Driving with no relief. Do your hands and shoulders shake at night when you crawl into your tent? Mine used to shake after I'd slaved for you all day."
The light went out of Augusta's eyes, and she stood up from the fire, wearily shaking coffee flakes from her dusty skirt. "What do you want?"
"Want? As a matter of fact, I came to offer help."
Suspicion thinned Augusta's lips. "What kind of help?"
"When we reach South Pass tomorrow, I plan to sell Thea's sketches while we're waiting for our turn to go through." A knowing smirk curved her mouth. "I wondered if you'd like me to ask my customers if they know anything about the Eagglestons."
Augusta's heart lurched and for an instant she thought her knees would collapse. Her breath stopped and she couldn't speak.
"You remember the Eagglestons, don't you?" Cora asked in a hard voice. "You should. You've been spending their money since you stole it off their dead bodies!"
Augusta gasped and threw out a hand to steady herself against the wagon wheel. "That is a lie!"
"Is it? I been thinking about this for a long time. You squeezed a penny till it shined before we buried the two teamsters. After that, you spent money on foolish trinkets and suddenly didn't mind buying fresh eggs and vegetables when they were available. I think you stole the Eagglestons' money."
"You're only guessing!"
"Not anymore, I'm not," Cora said smugly, studying the guilty crimson burning Augusta's face.
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