Cinnia pushed herself away from Nic’s side. “I’m coming, too.”
Ten minutes later, all four stood in the wagon’s middle aisle, and no one could move more than a few inches. Nola and Cinnia requested two minutes behind the sleeping area curtain to put on nightgowns.
Shaking her head, Nola held up her hands. “We’ve managed this before. What is the problem?”
Cinnia pointed. “They take up more space than the three of us did.” She eased along the aisle to pull open a cupboard door, moving behind Nic.
For a fleeting moment, Nicolai felt her body skim his as she passed. He sucked in a breath.
“Whatever clothes you men are removing need to go into a cupboard. One of the secrets of living in a wagon is tidiness.”
A groan sounded. Torin clapped his good hand over his heart. “We’re doomed, my dear, because I am a slob.”
“I’m not worried.” Nola scooted the dowels for the hammock to the edge. Then she flashed a smile over her shoulder. “I’m a great organizer.”
Because Nicolai had been the last one inside, he seemed to be right in Cinnia’s way. Again, she squeezed past, her thighs brushing against his before she plopped onto the settee. The scent of her soap mixed with the smoke from the campfire filled his nostrils.
“Nic, grab the ends here. Nola says the dowels fit in grooves along the cupboards. This is your hammock.” Torin climbed up onto the bed and pulled the curtains closed. A minute later, his jeans and shirt dropped to the floor with a thump.
Cinnia tossed a blanket onto his hammock then pulled a quilt over her body. “Good night, Nic.”
This is not how I thought tonight would end. After toeing off his boots, he loosened his belt, shucked his trousers, folded, and then set them in the cupboard. The tie and shirt made the next layer. Then he blew out the lantern and climbed onto the canvas sling. A couple of adjustments were made before he found a comfortable position. Folding an arm under his head, he listened to every sigh and rustle Cinnia made. She was obviously not finding the settee a good fit.
The silence lasted for five minutes. Nicolai was just drifting off when he heard a quick indrawn breath. “Cinnia, join me. You’re too tall for that padded cushion.” The moonlight shining through the window fell across the floor, highlighting her feet but barely outlining her upper body. He had to imagine where her head was and aimed his beckoning wave into her line of vision.
Cinnia stood, the light quilt wrapped around her body, and climbed into the hammock.
He adjusted his hips to allow more room, guided her head to his shoulder, and settled his hand on her hip.
She nestled her head on his chest and sighed. “Night, Nic.”
In less than a minute, he felt her body go limp. “Night, lisichka.” My little fox. Although tiredness dragged at his muscles, he fought to stay awake to let her softness meld against his body. To let her scent imprint onto his soul, because he knew, without a doubt, she’d already crawled inside his heart.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Nicolai stood at Ziven’s head, giving Cinnia and Nola a bit of privacy. From six feet away, he could still hear their conversation as the sisters bade one another a tearful goodbye.
“Don’t forget, the address where to write is the Four Clovers Ranch in Meadowlark.” Blinking fast, Nola rested her hands on Cinnia’s shoulders. “Or, I suppose just the Quaid ranch would still get it there.”
“We’ve never been apart, Nola.” Cinnia’s shoulders shook as she let out a long shuddering breath.
“I know, sis, but I still want to see the world.” She shrugged and twisted her lips. “Or at least more of Montana Territory.”
“Promise me you’ll write, even if you only fill a page.” Cinnia wrapped her arms about Nola and clung tight.
Nicolai glanced at a frowning Torin who shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Dawn had caught them all still sleeping and, with reluctance, Nicolai had released Cinnia so she could crawl from his embrace. Since that moment, the group had rushed to make up time.
The first time he saw his gift on Captain’s back, he couldn’t deny a spark of pride at the display of his craftsmanship. The rich brown leather contrasted well with the gelding’s black coat. An extravagant gift, perhaps, but when he’d seen the worn condition of Torin’s saddle and the meager possessions owned by the sisters, Nicolai wanted to extend a hand. If Torin’s stay had been longer, then Nicolai could have given the cowboy’s saddle a restorative treatment of oil.
Bracing himself to accept censure, Nicolai stepped forward and ran a hand over Cinnia’s shaking back. “Cinnia, time for Nola and Torin to leave. Their trip will be long and hard.”
“I know.” Her words were muffled, but she released her hold and stepped back, wiping a handkerchief at her eyes.
Nola dashed a hand over her cheeks and glanced at Nicolai. “Keep her safe, Nic.”
“I aim to.” He forced a grin toward the red-nosed woman who stood with a stiff posture. “You keep that cowboy in line.”
After a curt nod and one last glance at Cinnia’s bowed head, Nola stalked to her horse and mounted.
The hoof beats of the moving mustangs sounded before Torin called out, “Get up there, Aengus, Banan.”
Without looking at the prairie, Cinnia turned and dove for his arms.
He gathered her close, feeling her body shake as the sobs overtook her. Helpless to knowing what the right words were, he just held her, stroking a hand over her shaking back. Minutes passed, and she didn’t move. Nicolai watched the wagon and horses take away their friends. His chest pinched, but he knew goodbyes were a part of life.
When he saw Nola approaching a rise, Nicolai loosened his embrace. “You’ll want to look now, Cinnia. To hold the image in your memory.”
Nodding, she turned to face the prairie.
He reached an arm around her body and clasped her shoulder, edging her back to lean against his chest.
Sighing, she rested her chin between her hands as she gripped his forearm.
At the crest of the hill, Nola stood tall in the stirrups to give a big over-the-head wave.
“Bye, Nola! Take care!” Cinnia jumped up and down, returning the arcing wave until the horse and rider disappeared from sight.
Moments later, the lavender wagon disappeared, too.
He stood for a minute more, seeing only the brown grass under a beautiful clear-blue sky, before easing away his arm and stepping back. “We need to head into town so I can check with the stationmaster about a delivery.”
Cinnia took a deep breath and turned. She forced a smile. “Right now?”
A glance at his pocket watch told him the freight office might not yet be open. “In thirty minutes or so.”
“I need to be by myself. Is that all right?” Her fingers twisted the limp handkerchief.
“Stay in sight of the team is all I ask.”
Watching her stooped shoulders and meandering steps proved too painful. Instead, he checked and re-checked every strap, buckle, and chain on the team’s harness. He’d known the parting would be tough, but he’d never seen Cinnia truly sad like this. No other experience in his life had prepared him for how to comfort her.
When the thirty minutes elapsed, he climbed up into the driver’s seat, hoping she’d glance his way and notice his readiness. Another ten minutes passed. Nicolai clucked his tongue and urged the team into a turn to go collect his wife.
Cinnia accepted his help into the wagon but remained silent for the short ride into Sweetwater Springs.
“I know you’re hurting, but tasks need to be completed before we start back to Morgan’s Crossing.” Maybe something he related would perk her interest and she’d move from this hunched posture. “I’m expecting deliveries of pelts from one of my brothers. I don’t believe I’ve mentioned much about my family. This brother, Val, traps up near Kamloops. Did the troupe ever travel to British Columbia? Beautiful country, a lot like here—prairie grass and scrub trees. Coast Mountains lie to the west, and
the city is situated where two rivers come together.”
He pulled back on the reins and set the brake in front of the train station. “I’ll be only a few minutes. Do you want to come inside?” He figured he had to make the offer. Seeing her shake her head, Nicolai hopped down and jogged up the steps. “Mr. Waite, are you here?”
“Yeah, who’s asking?” A bushy-haired man walked through the doorway from the back room and stood at the counter.
“Nic Andrews, checking if a bundle arrived for me on yesterday’s train.”
“Two, in fact.” The short, round man scratched his chin and looked under the counter. “Now, where did I put those? They’re big, but not heavy.” He looked up, eyes shining. Then he pointed. “Here, all the way from Ca-na-da.” He pulled a bundle onto the counter.
Nicolai grabbed the cording binding the package. “I’ll be right back for the other.” By the time he returned, the second bundle, a smaller one, waited on the counter.
The stationmaster kept his hand on the top. “Thought you might like to know a couple of fellas were through here a day or so ago. Didn’t think much about their questions, because they were looking for a Nicolai Andrusha.”
Nicolai froze. He’d been so careful about hiding his tracks. How had they followed him this close to his location?
“This morning, Taylor mentioned they’d stopped at the livery, too. As I look at the address on this bundle and remember the name they asked about, I gotta admit the two have a similar ring.” He patted the bundle and narrowed his gaze. “They surely do.”
“Wouldn’t know about that.” He faked a nonchalant shrug. “Hey, I need to send a telegram.”
Waite moved to the small desk and grabbed a slip of paper. “You know how to fill it out.”
Panic threatened to override his thoughts, and he drew in a deep breath. Nicolai nodded and poised the lead pencil over the paper, collecting his thoughts before printing: VISITORS NEAR STOP CAN’T RELOCATE STOP CONFIRMATION NEEDED STOP RESPOND M.C. MINE OFFICE END. He dug out two silver dollars from his denim pockets and slapped them on the counter.
Waite picked up the paper and squinted at the wording. “Waiting for a confirmation?”
“No time. Thanks.” Nicolai snagged the bundle, left the office, and tossed the package in the back of the wagon. He grabbed the wooden sides and ducked his head, taking deep breaths to set his thoughts straight. Cinnia hadn’t moved. “Cinnia.” Then he placed a hand on her knee.
Eyes wide, she jumped and then looked down. “Sorry. What, Nic?”
“Church should be letting out soon, and the mercantile will open.” Until he learned more about the strangers, he could keep her safer by putting distance between them. For now. “Why don’t you walk over there and see if the mercantile has anything you need for the shop? My wedding present to you.” He flashed a smile and squeezed her leg. “I have to speak with the livery owner, and then I’ll come find you.”
****
As if from the midst of a fog, Cinnia responded to the calm tone of Nic’s words, and his logical way of taking care of multiple tasks with the most efficiency. She glanced at his upturned face, the handsome face of her groom. He’s right. I have to think of something besides Nola’s departure. With a slow motion, she held out her hand and accepted his help to climb down.
Trying to find the positives about the day, she glanced around, remembering how much she’d liked the look of this town when the troupe performed here. Was that only a week ago? Dust scuffed with each step, and she breathed in the fall air—crisp and clean. Three days from now, she would move full-steam ahead on getting out the word that her dressmaker shop was open for business. Nic’s table was a wonderful addition and would really help.
The door was locked at the Cobbs’ Mercantile, so she peered in the window, noticing in the reflection that a faint smile etched her lips. On the back shelves stood bolts of fabric and hanks of yarn—items she yearned for. Sewing had proved difficult on a wagon ride, but she guessed knitting could be accomplished—and definitely completed without pricking her fingers. Dorrie had mentioned wanting to learn so the extra set of wooden needles wouldn’t be too much of an extravagance.
“Good morning.” A somber brunette woman stepped in front of the door and unlocked it.
“Morning.” Cinnia didn’t respond to the curiosity she saw in the woman’s brown-eyed gaze. She wanted to inspect the wonderful fabrics and hurried across the floor. As she fingered the batistes, silks, and crêpe de chines, she imagined the lovely gowns that could be created. Then she remembered how most of the women she’d seen in Morgan’s Crossing—those other than Mrs. Morgan—had been dressed and moved to the more serviceable twills, gabardines, and calicos.
She’d just reached to test the softness of the yarns when rapid boot steps approached.
“We need to leave, Cinnia.”
The terseness in Nic’s tone made her turn. His face was drawn into a taut expression. “But, you said I—”
“You want these?” He reached across her and cleared the shelf, filling his arms with yarn. “Don’t you need fabric?”
“I do, but—”
“Make your choice. Take it to the counter. Now, Cinnia.”
What has gotten into him? She grabbed a bolt each of the practical choices, wishing she could have a moment or two to decide between black or brown, and lifted a pair of knitting needles from a small basket. As she set down the bolts, she pondered if she should buy enough for two dresses each.
“What length am I cutting?” The storekeeper glanced between the two people standing opposite her, scissors ready.
“No cutting. We’ll take the full bolts.”
Cinnia gasped then pressed her lips tight and registered the surprise in the woman’s gaze.
“Of course, Mr. Andrews. Anything else?”
“Canned milk, two. And could you wrap that brown paper around the fabric so it doesn’t get dusty on our drive?” He pulled out his wallet and extracted several bills.
Those are five-dollar bills. Cinnia gripped the edge of the counter, hoping her expression didn’t show her shock over what she had seen. He’s rich? Her job was to support the man standing at her side, even if he was acting in ways she’d never seen him do. She barely had time to say a proper thank you before his firm grip on her elbow propelled her out the door and into the wagon.
He flicked the reins to set the horses into action, and the wagon rumbled forward. As soon as the team had cleared the livery corral, Nic again snapped the reins to get the horses into a canter.
A yip came from deep in the wagon bed.
Cinnia turned but the domed bundles he’d picked up and her wrapped package blocked her view. “What was that?”
“What?” He cast a dark look her way then faced forward.
Did I do something that upset him? “That little sound.”
“A puppy. The livery owner had several in the stable, and I picked one.”
How sweet. He knows this will help me adjust to Nola’s absence. She grabbed his nearest arm, which went rigid as a board under her touch. “Stop, so I can see it.”
“Not yet. We’re behind schedule.” He clamped a hand onto his hat and smashed it tighter onto his head. “Besides, I’m training it as a guard dog, so no molly-coddling.”
The wagon bumped over a rut.
Stomach churning, Cinnia was forced to turn forward and grab the seat edge for stability. Something is horribly wrong. But what happened in that short time they were apart? A single hour of silence rolled into the next. Cinnia waited for the return of the caring husband who had held her in the early morning hours, who’d been so understanding about her grief over saying goodbye to her beloved sister.
At one point, the puppy howled for several minutes before quieting again.
Nic never once started a conversation.
As the wagon bumped along, Cinnia reviewed every discussion, every interaction, she’d had with him, looking for an explanation. Fighting to understand the change i
n circumstances, she angled her body away from him and stared blankly at the desolate prairie. The bleak view matched how she felt inside. Grumblings in her stomach hinted they’d ridden past the midday meal, but she remained mute.
Nic was the one who’d torn apart their budding relationship. He was the one who owed her an explanation.
The rhythm of the wagon’s movement lulled her to doze. Memories floated through her thoughts of the church, the vows, his serious but caring expression, viewing the stars, being held in his arms in the narrow hammock. The life she thought she was agreeing to.
At some later time, the wagon slowed, and Cinnia jerked awake. A wayfarer shelter was in view, low-slanting rays of the setting sun barely visible over its roof. Not wanting to be beholden to Nic for anything right now, she climbed down, hoisting her skirts high to avoid tripping, and stalked off into the brush to take care of her needs. At this point, she was so mad she probably would have stomped on any snake that dared raise its head in her direction.
Molly-coddling or not, she would claim that poor puppy. If only for the reason that she needed just as much solace as the little animal did. At the back of the wagon was a crate lined with a gray blanket. Inside was the fluffiest black-and-white puppy who looked at her with drooped ears and a tilted head.
“Oh, you precious thing.” Her words rasped out, because she hadn’t spoken in hours. She turned a wooden peg to the side and lifted the lid.
The puppy lapped at her hand, its tail flicking, and tried to scramble out of the crate.
“I already told you—”
“I don’t care.” She picked up the puppy, holding it at arm’s length until she set it down in the prairie grass before jamming her hands on her hips. “This is a young animal and can’t wait all day”—she pointed toward the disappearing sun—“to relieve itself.”
The waistband on her dress tightened with short tugs.
She looked over her shoulder to see the little dog with her hem gripped in its teeth, its rear in the air, twisting its head right and left. “Oh, you little scamp.” Cinnia dropped to a crouch and eased the fabric from its sharp teeth. “That’s what I’ll name you.”
Montana Sky_Laced By Love Page 17