by Tina Susedik
Tommy giggled. “I’m not Mister Nickelson. I’m Tommy.”
“Well then, Tommy. You need to be careful not to hurt your mommy.”
Sarah’s heart broke when her son’s chin wobbled. He wiggled from her arms and stood before Mister Billabard, his small hands at his waist.
“I wouldn’t ever hurt my mommy like my daddy did.” He jabbed a finger into Jack’s stomach. “I love my mommy.”
Heat rose to her face. She dared not look at the man.
Mister Billabard rested his large hand on Tommy’s narrow shoulder. “I glad to hear you love your mommy and wouldn’t want to hurt her. No man should ever hurt a woman.”
“Well, my daddy hit my mommy.” Tommy stuck out his bottom lip.
Sarah scooted Tommy toward the front of the wagon. “Okay, young man. That’s enough. Get the bucket so we can milk George. Mister Billabard doesn’t need to hear our problems.” Gathering her courage, she finally looked up at him.
“Did your husband really hit you?”
Tears pooled in her eyes. Dammit. She thought she was done crying over Peter’s treatment. While Peter’s mother had sobbed and wailed at the burial, she couldn’t summon one tear when his body was finally lowered into the ground. She fiddled with a rope hanging from the side of the wagon. “I don’t air my dirty laundry, Mister Billabard.”
“I meant what I said. Men shouldn’t hit women or children. Now let me inspect the inside of your wagon, so I can move on.”
A few minutes later he re-emerged. “Everything looks fine, ma’am. You have enough food and don’t have to take anything out.” He tipped his hat. “Nice job.”
Without another word, he walked to the next wagon, his long-legged stride taking him away from her in a matter of seconds. Blast it, why had she been so prickly with him? He seemed sincere in his comments. She shook her head. She had a feeling Jack Billabard was going to play an important role on this adventure.
Chapter 5
Jack rode among the wagons, making sure everyone was set to go. After three weeks on the trail, things were running fairly smoothly, although every morning he encountered a few who thought the rules didn’t apply to them.
He couldn’t figure out how anyone could sleep through the warning blare of the wake-up trumpet. Some thought sleeping late or having an extra cup of coffee more important than heading out on time. Those were the same people who then figured the wagons should move all hell bent for leather, instead of going at a steady pace, thereby saving the animals from wear and tear.
After the first ten days, those folks refusing to keep on schedule were moved to the end. And while there hadn’t been any sign of Indians, putting the fear of them attacking from the rear was enough to get the slow ones going.
In the early morning dusk, trails of smoke from doused campfires spiraled toward the sky. Anxious to get moving, horses, oxen, and donkeys stomped. The jangle of chains, and parents calling to their children, mixed with barking dogs and mooing cattle at the end of the train. Jack wove his horse through campsites, acknowledging morning greetings and letting people know they had twenty minutes before leaving. The after-scent of frying bacon made the lousy hardtack biscuits he’d had for breakfast pale in comparison.
It wasn’t until he reached the middle of the wagons that he dismounted. No one else hired on as guides had wanted the job of rousting out and getting everyone moving. He’d volunteered, not because he enjoyed being sworn and grumbled at, but because of one particular wagon. While he vowed he’d never be interested in another woman, there was something about Miz Nickelson that intrigued him.
It was a chance to see her and Tommy under the guise of making sure she was ready or needed help. The woman haunted his dreams, and Horace was still making noises about the comely widow. After a talk with Samuel, Horace was sent to the end of the train each morning to work toward him. Jack simply had to make sure he made it to Sarah’s wagon before the smelly bastard did.
“Dammit, Rose, move over.” Even though Sarah’s voice barely rose above the campground noise, he heard it anyway. She’d managed to slide up the hoop on the yoke, attach it to the wagon tongue, and put the lead string through the nose ring of one of the oxen, but the second one was proving more difficult. Dare he step in and lend a hand? Except for helping her get her wagon on the ferry to cross the Missouri River, his offers of help had gone unnoticed. If anything, Sarah Nickelson was stubborn.
Jack buried a chuckle. So, the demure Miz Nickelson cusses. Over the past weeks, she’d surprised him. Not one word of complaint. Drove her team like she’d been doing it all her life, alternating between driving them from the high front seat of her wagon, to walking alongside them. Oxen weren’t the brightest of mammals. They pretty much followed whoever was in front of them.
As far as he knew she geared them up in the morning and took care of them at night. He had a sneaking suspicion she was getting help from the Olson family. Not that it mattered.
She hadn’t tied on her bonnet yet. Strands of loose hair tumbled from her bun. In the dim light, the color wasn’t distinct. In the sunlight, it glimmered like gold. Not that he watched her. Not at all.
During an attempt to attach the team to her wagon, her shawl slipped from her shoulders, revealing the short-sleeved flowery blouse she wore tucked into her blue skirt.
“Mornin’, ma’am,” he said. She jumped, hitting her head on the yoke. “Need any help?”
She stood and slapped a hand to her chest, then rubbed the top of her head. “Mister Billabard. Don’t sneak up on a person like that.”
“Sorry, ma’am.” He wasn’t sorry at all. Could he be faulted for following the movement of her hand and getting a view of her chest? A man had to take advantage of every opportunity he could, didn’t he? “What seems to be the problem this morning?”
Rose was pushing her against Tulip, making it impossible for her to get the other ox into the yoke.
“Rose is being ornery and won’t let me get Tulip ready.”
“Where’s Tommy?”
“He’s with the Olson boys.” Sarah pushed at Rose’s head.
“Here, let me help.”
“I don’t need your help, sir.”
He couldn’t hold back a sigh. “Miz Nickelson, it’s all right to ask for help. Hell . . .” She glared. “Heck, I’ve helped the burliest of men hitch up their teams. Sometimes these animals can be damn . . . darn cantankerous.” Maybe appealing to her friendship with the Olsons would help. “You wouldn’t want to hold up the next wagons, would you?”
Using the back of her hand, she swept hair from her forehead and closed her eyes. “I suppose not, Mister Billabard.”
“Wise decision. I’ll hold Rose still, you put the yoke on Tulip.” Saying flowery names for two large, male oxen nearly hurt his tongue. He took hold of Rose’s head between his hands. The ox quit moving. “Okay, now’s your chance.”
With a few efficient steps, Sarah had Tulip in the yoke and hitched to the wagon. “Thank you for your help,” she said, walking beside Tulip.
The instant he released Rose’s head, the ox sidestepped into his partner, knocking into Sarah, tumbling her to the ground. Tulip raised his foreleg, aiming for Sarah’s head. Jack’s heart lurched in his chest. He grabbed her arm and yanked her away. Missing her leg by mere inches, the ox stepped on Sarah’s skirt, tearing it as she was pulled away.
“You all right?” Jack didn’t miss her flinch, or the alarm in her eyes when he reached out to help her stand. Her husband must have been a real bastard. Despite the warmth running up his arm from her touch, anger and fear zinged through him. “You could have been killed!”
“But I wasn’t, thanks to you.” Sarah brushed the back of her skirt, then noticed the rip. “Darn it all, anyway. I don’t know what is up with those two today. They’ve never behaved like this befor
e.”
Now that the danger had passed and his heart left his throat, he admired the tantalizing view of Sarah’s bare calves below her bloomers.
Sarah tugged on her fallen stockings. “Mister Billabard, a gentleman would avert his eyes.”
Jack didn’t dare admit he wasn’t much of a gentleman. He picked up his hat and slapped it against his pant leg. “Sorry, ma’am.”
“Hmph.” With the dignity of a queen holding court, head held high, nose in the air, and ignoring his proffered hand, Sarah climbed into the wagon, not realizing she’d given him another view of her shapely calves.
Miz Nickelson was becoming more intriguing by the day. If he was looking for another woman to share his life, she might fit the bill. Since he wasn’t, it was silly of him to want to seek her out. Without another glance, he grabbed Papaya’s reins and headed to the next wagon. He did not need, nor want another woman.
~ ~ ~
Bone weary, Sarah’s backside hurt from falling this morning and then bouncing on the wooden seat of the wagon for hours. She still hadn’t come to grips with the jarring of the wagon, fording rivers, taking care of the oxen twice a day, and handling a six-year-old who had more energy than anyone deserved.
Adventure? Hah! It was torture. All the practicing she’d done before leaving didn’t come close to preparing her for this.
The oxen pulled to the left, jerking her shoulder. Damn. She’d been fighting them since this morning. She wrapped her hands tighter around the reins. Good thing she’d packed a lot of extra gloves, since this pair was nearly worn out.
At least her cooking had improved—a little, anyway. If it weren’t for Greta Olson in the wagon behind her, she and Tommy would probably have starved. She cringed at the ingredients she’d wasted trying to cook over the blasted fire. Even Daisy wouldn’t eat any of her messes. Too bad she couldn’t use her cooking failures for fuel instead of buffalo chips.
Thank heavens Greta and her brood had befriended her. Before leaving her home, it hadn’t crossed her mind that the other married women on the trip would take offense to a young widow traveling alone, as if she had a disease or something. Or act like she was a painted woman out to lie with every man on the trip. Heck, other than Mister Billabard and Greta’s husband, she hadn’t so much as looked at another man.
That disgusting Horace Manny didn’t count. Every time he came around, her skin crawled. At least with his stench, she had fair warning of his arrival and could brace herself for his innuendos. If the man ever touched her, she’d probably throw up all over him. Not that a regurgitated meal on his clothes would be noticeable.
He was the reason she and Tommy slept in the wagon at night, instead of beneath it like most people did. The first night they’d bedded down outside, Horace had shown up asking if she needed help. Daisy had taken offense to the man, growled, and snapped at his legs until the skunk finally ran off.
Since then Daisy slept at the back of the wagon, while Sarah and Tommy slept at the front, her small gun beside her.
“Hey, Sarah. Come down and walk with me.”
Joy filled her heart when Greta called to her. One of the things she was accomplished at was navigating her way from the wagon and dropping to the ground without stopping the oxen. The first time she’d tried it, the wheels had nearly run her over. After wrapping the reins around the pole, she hiked her skirt in one hand, rested her feet on the step and jumped backward. Landing on her feet was the tricky part. She lost track of the number of times she’d fallen on her rump learning the trick.
“I don’t know how you do that without breaking a leg.” Greta hooked her arm through Sarah’s. “My heart stops whenever one of the boys try it. Since the Jacobson’s toddler was killed jumping from their moving wagon, I won’t let mine do it anymore.”
The women were silent as they contemplated the young boy who’d recently been run over by his family’s wagon. Sarah wiped away tears. How did parents handle the pain of losing a child? She couldn’t imagine how she’d go on if something happened to Tommy.
“I saw that handsome Mister Billabard at your wagon again this morning.” Greta squeezed Sarah’s arm.
Sarah shrugged. “He’s simply doing his job. He was at yours, too.”
“Well, he didn’t linger at ours.”
“He didn’t linger, only helped me with those lousy oxen of mine. I swear I don’t know what was up with those two. They were giving me so much grief this morning, I was ready to shoot them.”
Greta picked an orange flower blooming along the trail and twirled it between her fingers. “I saw him pull you out of the way of their hooves.”
Sarah gazed at the miles of flat land ahead of them. What was her friend getting at? She surely couldn’t know how Mister Billabard filled her dreams at night as she tossed and turned inside the stuffy wagon. Damn that lousy Horace for making her feel unsafe. “Anyone would have done that.”
“Including Horace Manny?”
Sarah shuddered. “That man is repulsive. If he comes creeping into my campsite again, I just may shoot him.”
Greta laughed. “Not before Mister Billabard does. The man is smitten with you.”
“Horace?”
“Unfortunately, yes, but I meant Jack Billabard. I see the way he looks at you.”
It wasn’t possible. They barely spoke when he came to her wagon each morning. Yet, she couldn’t deny the admiration she saw in his eyes when he’d helped her from the ground. Nor could she deny the tingles spreading through her whenever she thought of him.
“Maybe you should invite him to have supper with you.”
Sarah laughed. “Are you crazy? I can’t figure out why cooking over a fire is so difficult for me. I never had that problem at home with the stove.” Besides, would the man even accept her offer? “He’d take one bite of my burned offering and never come to my wagon again.”
Tommy ran up to her, his hands filled with orange and yellow flowers. “Here, Mommy, I picked these for you.”
Sarah’s heart swelled with love. She swept him into her arms and kissed his cheek.
“Aw, Mommy.” He wiggled from her embrace and glanced around him. “Don’t kiss me in front of the others.” He took off running with Greta’s children.
Her little boy was growing up. For just a moment, she wished she and Peter had had more children. Though Peter would probably have found a way to put them to work for money, too.
Beside her, Greta sighed. “They grow up so fast. I find it hard to believe my eldest is eyeing the young men traveling with us. It won’t be long and she’ll be setting up a home of her own.” She swiped at a tear. “Now, back to you and Mister Billabard.”
“There is no me and Mister Billabard.”
“Oh, but there could be. You’re too young to be alone.”
“I like being alone.” And enjoyed being in charge. A man would only take away her independence—even if that independence involved a lot of hard work.
“Jed has spent some time talking with him and says Jack Billabard is an honorable, hard-working, and lonely man. Did you know his wife died in childbirth?”
Sarah’s heart ached. “How awful. How long ago did it happen?”
“I don’t know. Men don’t get into details. All I know is Jed likes him, and that’s saying a lot.”
The wagons in front of them slowed. What was going on? Usually they were told when they were going to ford a river or stop early. Since it wasn’t even lunchtime, stopping now was unusual. Before she could grab them, Rose and Tulip stood still.
“I wonder what’s happening,” Greta said.
Sarah shaded her eyes. In the distance a tall figure wove his horse through people walking alongside their wagons, stopping briefly at each one. As he did, parents called to their children. Her heart flipped. Indians? Where was Tommy?
<
br /> In a matter of minutes, Mister Billabard halted beside them and tipped his hat. “Miz Olson. Miz Nickelson.”
“What’s wrong?” Sarah tried to keep the panic from her voice as she reached for her rifle.
“There’s a large herd of buffalo up ahead. Those critters can be dangerous. We’re asking everyone to get their children into the wagons. We don’t want anyone trampled if they should decide to stampede.”
He tipped his hat at them once more before heading down the line. Sarah frowned. Had he winked at her? Greta called to the children.
“Mommy. Mommy.” Tommy ran to her, his cheeks rosy and eyes full of excitement. “Buffalo. Can I go see ‘em?”
Sarah brought herself back from the idea that Mister Billabard had winked at her. “No, sweetie. We have to get into our wagons in case the buffalo start running. Now be a good boy and do what I say.”
With a pout, Tommy climbed onto the seat and disappeared inside the wagon.
“I’ll come back and ride with you when I get my brood settled,” Greta said.
“You don’t have to do that.”
Greta chuckled. “I want to. We’re not done talking about the man who just winked at you.”
The wagon dipped as Sarah pulled herself onto the seat. Large, dark forms milled in the distance. Excitement rushed through her, and not because of the wink. This was their first encounter with buffalo.
A few minutes later, Greta’s head popped up on the other side of the wagon. She grunted as she dropped beside Sarah. “Everyone is safe and settled.”
Behind them, Tommy talked to Daisy. The dog had been listless lately, and they were worried about her.
The wagon before them inched ahead. Sarah slapped the reins. “C’mon Rose, Tulip.”
“So, back to Mister Billabard.”
“There’s nothing to get back to, Greta.”
“Humph. I saw the way he winked at you. The man is interested.”