The Trail to Love (The Soul Mate Tree Book 4)

by Tina Susedik

“There a problem, pretty lady?”

  Sarah closed her eyes and groaned. “Nothing Jed and I can’t handle, Mister Manny. You best be getting back to work.”

  “Don’t you worry, little lady,” Horace dismounted. “I can fix your wheel in a jiffy.”

  If there was one thing she hated being called was ‘little lady’ as if she wasn’t capable of taking care of herself. At least Jed gave her some benefit for handling most everything on this trip. Fixing a wheel might just prove beyond her abilities. Damn, why couldn’t women be as strong as men?

  “That’s all right. Jed and I can take care of it.”

  Horace hitched up his pants and puffed out his chest. “Now, little lady. You need someone with muscles to wrangle that wheel into place.”

  Sarah slapped her hands on her hips. “First of all, I’m not your little lady. Second of all, we’ve told you twice we didn’t need your help. And third, how did you know there was a problem with my wheel? I never said why I stopped, did I?”

  Horace tipped back his hat and ran his hand over his face. “Well, now, little lady, I knowed what the problem was, ‘cause I saw someone by the wheel early this morning.” He scratched at his scruffy beard. “Looked an awful lot like that Billabard feller. Not sure what he was doin’, but couldn’t be nothin’ good.”

  She glanced at Jed tightening the wheel. Why did she get the feeling Horace wasn’t telling the truth? How did he know the exact time to come help? And why would either man loosen the wheel?

  Jed’s knees cracked when he stood. “All taken care of, Sarah.”

  “Why that’s a right purty first name, Sarah,” Horace said, eyeing her from head to foot.

  The man had nerve, she’d give him that. Maybe if she was rude to him, he’d quit pestering her. “I never gave you permission to use my first name. Thank you for your offer of help, but we’re ready to move on again.” Without another word, she turned her back on him.

  “Then I’ll be seein’ you around. I hear there’ll be a dance tomorrow night.” Horace tipped his hat. “Be sure to save me a polka.”

  She shuddered and ignored the creak of his saddle as he mounted. “He simply doesn’t understand I’m not interested in him. I’m blamed tired of his persistence.”

  “He’s a bad egg, that one. I’d watch out for him.” Jed followed Sarah to her oxen. “Greta, the boys, and I will keep a watch out, too. And I wouldn’t worry about his saying Jack was sniffing around your wagon.”

  “I did see him kneeling by the wheel this morning.”

  Jed frowned. “There had to be a good reason for his being there.”

  “And maybe I need to be careful of both men,” Sarah said, slapping Tulip’s rump. Especially with how her body reacted to Jack’s presence—the complete opposite of Horace’s.

  Sarah got the oxen moving. They’d lost too much time and were now nearly the last in line, a place she definitely didn’t want to be. And getting the two oxen to move at more than a plodding pace was near to impossible. At least the Olsons would be nearby.

  ~ ~ ~

  After a brief stop for lunch and to rest the animals, Sarah forced Tommy to nap inside the wagon. The further west they traveled, the hotter it became. The boy’s face was as red as the apples beginning to shrivel in the wagon. As much as she hated Missouri winters, she’d give anything for some snow to cool things off a bit. How was she going to make it until they stopped at the river tomorrow?

  A cloud of dust, larger than the constant wisps from the caravan, came closer. Damn, if it was Horace again, she’d have to really lay down the law. As the rider approached, she recognized the wide-brimmed hat and the man wearing it. Her breath caught, and her palms grew damp inside her gloves. He stopped alongside her and set his horse to a walk, keeping pace with the oxen.

  “Howdy, Sarah.” Jack’s dimples deepened with his smile. “I heard you had some trouble with a wheel this morning.”

  They were nearly eye level. His brown eyes seemed to show concern. If he’d had a hand in loosening the wheel, why would he bring the subject up? “Yes. Jed fixed it for me.”

  Jack swung from his horse and took the seat beside her. The fluid movement set her heart racing. She’d never seen a man more graceful, yet masculine. Peter was lucky he could sit on a horse without nearly toppling off. Most of the time he’d been drunk, so that may have accounted for his poor horsemanship.

  Jack eased the reins from her and slapped them against the oxen’s rumps. “Take your gloves off for a while and let them cool off. I can’t stand wearing mine, but if I don’t, I end up with rope burns.”

  “How far is it to the river?”

  Jack chuckled. “Anxious for a swim?”

  “Oh, my, yes.” Sarah giggled. “I’m not sure how we can accomplish that with all the people wanting to cool off and clean up.” Would the women be able to take real baths in the river? Wash their dusty hair?

  “This particular river is surrounded by trees and bushes on both sides. We’ll set some of the married men on either side as guards. Anyone comes near and they’ll be arrested.”

  “Will we be able to take actual baths with soap and everything?” Her head tingled at the thought of washing out layers of dirt and grime.

  “Yes. We’ll be stopping early enough in the afternoon so you womenfolk can do laundry and have it dry in time before the dance.”

  Dare she wear her best cream dress she’d folded so lovingly and placed in her trunk for her wedding? The blue ruffles circling the bottom, matching the long sleeves, bodice, and high neck of the top probably made the dress not the best choice for a dance on the prairie. The matching hat set the dress off to perfection. In lieu of a bouquet for the ceremony, she’d chosen a frilly parasol in a matching cream.

  With a sigh, she pushed the idea of wearing the dress to the back of her mind. It was for a wedding, not a wilderness dance. She would wear one of her everyday skirts and blouses, and, not that anyone would know, her frilly pink bloomers—if she could find them. Somehow, they had disappeared and there was no way she could go around the camp asking if anyone had seen her under-drawers.

  “Would you save me a dance or two?”

  Shock and a shiver of excitement raced through her. Peter hadn’t been one for dancing, so it had been a long time since she high-stepped her slippers across a dance floor. “You want to dance with me?”

  “Of course I do.” He nudged her elbow with his. “I imagine all of the single bucks, and probably a few married ones will want to dance with a beautiful woman like you.”

  Heat rose to her face. How embarrassing for a woman her age to be blushing. No one had ever called her pretty, let alone beautiful. “You shouldn’t say such things like that.”

  “Why not? If I see something beautiful, I comment on it.”

  “What if someone is ugly?”

  Jack chuckled. “Well, now. As I see it, everyone is beautiful in his or her own way. It’s all in the eye of the beholder.” He maneuvered the oxen around a slower wagon. “Look at Miz Fitzgibbons. I bet she could scare away the fiercest ogre with her looks. But Mister Fitzgibbons? Why, his love for her could reach to the moon and back.” He stretched his arm to the sky. “So, he must have seen her beautiful heart and soul. If a couple is meant to be together, it doesn’t matter what they look like.”

  Sarah nodded. “You probably shouldn’t say that to me anyway. I’m going to Oregon to be married.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything? Is this fellow going to shoot me for saying you’re beautiful? Has he ever said that to you?”

  “You forget I’m a mail-order bride.”

  He angled his body toward her. “I still can’t believe you’re traveling all that way to marry someone you’ve never met.”

  “I felt I didn’t have a choice. Widows with children don’t have a l
ot of options. They aren’t allowed to teach. There were no jobs for cooks or store clerks in Independence. Most of the eligible men were heading west. My last option was to become a . . .” She couldn’t even contemplate becoming a soiled dove.

  Jack frowned. “I never thought of it that way before.”

  “So, I’m heading to Oregon City to marry Mister Sampson.”

  “What if you don’t come to love him?”

  Was he that naïve? “Not all marriages are based on love.” Hers certainly wasn’t.

  “Mine was.”

  “Can you tell me about her?”

  Grim lines appeared around his mouth. He placed the reins in her lap and jumped to the ground. Grabbing the saddle horn, he swung onto his horse’s back. “Maybe some other time.”

  With a nod in her direction, Jack galloped off. He must still be madly in love with his wife, to warrant such a reaction. He probably won’t even want to dance with me.

  How could someone compete with a dead wife? And why should she worry about that? She was in no way heading to the altar with Jack Billabard, no matter how much he stirred her insides.

  Chapter 8

  Jack sank to the bottom of the river, letting the cool, refreshing water revive his weary body. Since his talk with Sarah yesterday, he couldn’t get his wife or Sarah from his mind. Under the starry sky, he’d tossed and turned in his bedroll, sleep eluding him like a jackrabbit from a hungry fox.

  Lily’s image was getting harder and harder to see. Her laughter a wisp in the wind, her soft skin and silky hair a mere memory. More and more, Sarah’s features popped into his head. More and more she filled his dreams, and instead of his deceased wife, Sarah was the first person he thought of in the early morning light. So much so, he could barely contain himself from high-tailing it to her campsite first thing.

  He came to the surface and scrubbed the water from his face and hair. The confusion inside his heart ate at him. He’d loved his wife. Still did. Lately that love was becoming like a butterfly. Here one moment, then flitting off the next, while he tried to catch it and hold it to his heart.

  “Hey, Billabard,” the wagon master called.

  “Yeah, Sam?” Jack swam to the shore and grabbed a grainy bar of soap.

  “You’re going to shrivel up like an old granny if you stay in there much longer.”

  “I don’t care. This water feels so damn good, I may just sleep here tonight.”

  “I guess then you won’t mind if’n I eat your share of the vittles the ladies are putting out.”

  While running the soap over his body, Jack’s stomach rumbled at the thought of the array of food being supplied by the women for the dance tonight. He chuckled. What would Sarah bring that anyone could actually eat? Certainly not her rolls.

  There he went again—thinking of Sarah. Lily had been a wonderful cook. The meals that woman could make from the slimmest of ingredients would have made the world’s best chefs drool. Would she have been able to do the same over a campfire? According to Sarah, she didn’t have any trouble cooking on a real stove. It was only campfires that gave her problems.

  “Besides, I saw Miz Nickelson all dolled up in her best bib and tucker.”

  “So? What does that have to do with me?” He hoped his interest in the woman wasn’t obvious to everyone. Sam’s next words dashed that hope.

  Sam pulled on his socks. “It’s as plain as the freckles on my face that you’ve been sniffin’ around her.”

  Shit, he didn’t want people to start talking about her again. As the weeks went on, some of the women had finally warmed up to her after they came to their senses and realized she wasn’t after their men. Some had even given her a few cooking tips—not that it helped any.

  He stood and tossed the soap near Sam’s feet. “I’m not sniffing after her. Just being friendly, that’s all.” He let the air dry his skin before pulling on clean pants. “What are people saying about Horace? He’s shown an interest in her.” And if he showed any more interest, Jack’d give the bastard a punch in the face, one that could only improve his looks.

  “Hell, no one takes him seriously.” Sam pulled his dry shirt from a nearby bush.

  “He takes himself seriously enough for all of us when it comes to Sarah. You know her rear wheel was loose yesterday morning?”

  “Yeah. Heard about that. It happens.”

  Jack slipped on a clean chambray shirt, the one he saved for special occasions. “What I think happened was that Horace had a hand in loosening it.”

  “Why do you say that?” Sam asked, while tugging on his boots.

  “I saw someone at her wagon before the sun came up. All I was able to see were legs, so I can’t be sure it was him. I thought I recognized his boots.” Jack shrugged as he buttoned his shirt and tucked it into his jeans. “It’s more a feeling than anything.”

  “I’m not sure how we can keep an eye on him, but it wouldn’t be a bad idea.” Sam tossed his dirty clothes over his shoulder and climbed the riverbank. “Just don’t do something you’ll regret.”

  After rinsing his dusty clothes in the river, Jack followed Sam’s path. He’d drape them over the wheels of Sam’s supply wagon. He’d keep an eye out for Horace, there was no doubt about that.

  Whether he’d do something to the man he’d regret, was another matter.

  ~ ~ ~

  Men, women, and children were lined up at the long tables laden down with food when Jack finally made it to the festivities. Everyone was decked out in their best, clothes that must have been buried in trunks for just such an occasion. The men wore trousers and white shirts. Foregoing their hats for the evening, most had pale lines around their heads where the brims protected their faces from the sun. Polished boots would be as dusty as ever by the end of the evening.

  Most of the women had left off their white aprons, revealing colorful skirts with ruffles around the bottoms. Some wore short-sleeved, frilly blouses tucked into their skirts. Others donned off-the-shoulder white tops, showing a bit of bosom. Jack imagined their husbands would be keeping a close eye on them.

  Since tomorrow was Sunday and a day of rest and repair, tonight’s festivities should be upbeat, if not wild. Anyone who imbibed too much would have a day to recuperate. While he had no problems having a drink or two, he had no intention of getting drunk. Someone had to keep an eye on the animals, two-legged and four.

  During the week, even when there was music at night, drinking was frowned upon. Traveling rugged, hot, and dusty terrain while hung over didn’t work well. Tonight would be an exception. Already a few of the men held mugs of what probably contained whisky or whatever liquor they’d kept hidden.

  Sarah stood with Tommy at the end of the food line, giving him an opportunity to observe them. With tin plate and utensils in hand, he stopped behind her, taking in the lavender scent of her skin.

  Her simple, gathered blue skirt was set off by a blouse with sleeves reaching her elbows. The shoulder-to-shoulder, crisscrossing style showed off her smooth chest and slim neck. From his height, he could imagine the edges of her breasts, not possible since they were covered. But then again, he had a good imagination. His cock twinged. Too good.

  “Evening, Sarah.” He reached to tip his hat, his hand waving in the air where the brim should be. He must have looked like a fool. She glanced over her shoulder, her smile sending more twinges to his groin.

  “Evening, Jack.” She pressed her plate to her chest and inched forward in the line. “Isn’t it a glorious evening for a party? It’s been so long since I’ve danced.”

  The blue sky couldn’t compare to the blue of her sparkling eyes. “Why?”

  “Peter didn’t take much with parties and dancing, and a lady didn’t attend festivities by herself.” She nudged Tommy to the edge of the first table of food. “I’m not sure I even r
emember how.”

  The more Jack heard about her husband, the more he wanted to knock the man on his ass, if he were still alive. Why would anyone not want to take this beautiful woman to a party? He’d be proud to have Sarah on his arm, showing her off to his friends. A pang of guilt hit him. The way he’d been proud to squire Lily to gatherings—such as they were at Fort Laramie and the wilderness.

  In quiet tones, Sarah urged her son to try some of the food arrayed before them. For the sake of his own stomach, Jack needed to ask. “What delicious dish did you make?”

  Sarah’s laugh sent spirals of desire through him. “Oh, my. I surely didn’t make anything. Everyone agreed I’d provide the tablecloths. Pretty difficult to mess that up.”

  Jack fingered the corner of the red and white gingham fabric edged with swirling blue stitching. “You made these?”

  Scooping up beans and plopping them on her plate, she nodded. “Sewing is the one thing I’m good at. Greta and I have come to an agreement. Tommy and I will join her family for meals, and I’ll repair clothes for her gang.”

  “Seems like she’s getting the better part of the deal,” he said, picturing Sarah hovering over a candle at night, a mound of clothing beside her. “She’s adding only two people to her meals, while you’re fixing clothes for how many?”

  “Eleven. Believe me, it’s worth it for my son’s health and wellbeing.” She looked down at her plate. “Oh, my. I’m not sure how I’m going to be able to eat all of this.”

  Sarah’s plate was piled as high as his, with roasted buffalo and chicken, potatoes, boiled eggs, beef jerky, biscuits, pie, cookies, and cake. The women had obviously been busy since stopping shortly after lunch today. She guided Tommy to a quilt spread out in the shade of a wagon. Jack glanced at his plate then the quilt. With a shrug, he followed them.

  “Can I join you?”

  “I was hoping you would.” Her smile could have melted the frosting from the cake.