by Vivi Holt
“Well, in that case, I’ll stay behind,” she quipped. “I can’t have you misbehaving, not on my account.”
He laughed. She was flirting with him, and it made his heart quicken and his skin tingle where her body was pressed against his in the saddle.
The herd had stopped now, and Thomas rode up beside the chuck wagon. Sarah’s wagon was parked close beside it, and Cookie was trying to coax Patches from the front seat of the wagon. He had a potato in one hand and was holding it out to the calf, pulling on her lead with the other hand. “C’mon, cow, get down from there! Yer a calf, not a person! I knew this was a bad idea … boss, you’ve started somethin’ now. She thinks she’s a lady of leisure and it’s all yer fault.”
Thomas snorted and crossed his arms to watch Cookie’s antics. “She’s got you figured, Cookie. She’s holding out for something better than a potato.”
Genevieve turned around awkwardly in the saddle, preparing to drop to the ground. She whacked Thomas in the head with her elbow and kicked him in the leg with her booted foot. “Oh dear, I’m sorry.”
“Ouch – what are you doing? Careful … can I help you?” Thomas pushed against her boot and held her still with both hands on her shoulders. “Wait, let me help before you hurt someone,” he chuckled. “You should have the hang of this by now.”
She giggled, and her smile sent a bolt of electricity right through him. She had the most beautiful smile. He sighed and gently lowered her to the ground beside the horse’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she said.
He watched her leave and drew a deep breath into his lungs. He missed the feel of her against him already. With another sigh, he spun the horse around and rode off to join the other cowboys who were already making their way south after settling the herd to rest and graze. It was time to find them some supper.
Suddenly he was looking forward to pushing himself and his horse to the limit in the hunt. He slapped the reins against the animal’s hindquarters and clicked his tongue. ‘G’up!’ he cried, sending the horse into a gallop after the rest of the cowboys who were whooping and hollering across the prairie ahead of him. He grinned and leaned forward and low over the horse’s neck. It seemed they were all ready to let loose.
***
“Have you ever prepared hare before?” asked Sarah as she stood beside the table at the back of the chuck wagon, knife raised over a long strip of meat. The men had returned with the butchered hares an hour earlier and headed back out to tend the tired, thirsty herd. They were taking small groups several miles to a nearby creek for a drink and back again to retrieve the next group.
Genevieve shook her head. “I’ve eaten it before, a couple of times, but I’ve never cooked it.”
“It’s not much different to preparing beef. We’ll just slice it like so, then sprinkle a little salt here. It’s pretty tasty in stew – I thought we could use the last of the carrots and parsnips, and there are still plenty of potatoes. Does that sound good?”
Genevieve nodded, “Sounds great to me. Where’s Cookie?”
Sarah’s eyebrows arched. “He’s disappeared into the back of the chuck wagon again. I think we’ll have to figure out supper on our own tonight.”
“Well, hare stew it is, then. I’ll mix up some biscuits to go with it.” Genevieve fetched onions and potatoes from a box in the back of the chuck wagon and began peeling the potatoes with a short, sharp knife.
Sarah nodded and set about slicing the meat into thick chunks. “I saw you and Tom riding together today. Looks like you were pretty cozy. Did you tell him the truth about Quincey?”
“No, not yet.”
“What are you waiting for? He deserves to know the truth. That man is falling for you, and I don’t blame him one little bit. But he should know the truth about why you can’t be together. You owe him that, at least.”
“Falling for me? No, he’s not. He’s …”
“He’s smitten.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Well, if he’s not, he’s dangerously close to it. How do you feel about him?”
“Tom? He’s amazing – I’ve never met a man like him before. He seems to really care – not just about me, but about everyone and everything. He’s kind to the cattle. He always takes care of his horses, especially Alto, who he seems to really love. He even watches out for Patches – I saw him feeding her a bowl of cream yesterday when he thought no one was looking. And he checks on me too, makes sure that I’m safe and taken care of.”
“He’s a good man.” Sarah smiled and tossed the cubed meat into a pile on the table.
“But he’ll never be right for me.” Genevieve’s face was glum as she sliced the potatoes into thick pieces.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m married and I’m nothing special. Not like him – he’s successful and handsome and everybody likes him. I’ve never been good at anything, or popular. Fred always told me that I’m nothing and no one. I’ve never really believed it, but when I’m around Tom it just seems so obvious to me that I’ll never measure up to him and what he needs. Maybe he’ll flirt with me a little, but I’ll never be the type of woman he’d consider spending his life with. He suits someone beautiful, smart and confident … that’s just not me.”
Sarah stopped working and watched Genevieve with a look of concern on her pretty face. “You don’t really believe all that, do you?”
Genevieve didn’t answer. She stared at the table, her mouth turned down at the corners. She felt as though she was about to cry, emotion welling up into her throat and blocked her voice. She was afraid that if she tried to speak, she’d burst into tears.
Sarah wiped her hands and placed one on Genevieve’s arm. “Genny dear, there is no truth to anything you just said and I hope you know that. It was horrible of Fred to say things like that to you. You’re someone – someone very special. You’re beautiful and kind and considerate. You always do your best and work hard. You’re smart, funny and … well, so many other good things. It’s time to leave behind the lies that you’ve heard from people like Fred who’ve never cared about anyone but themselves. You are just the right type of woman for Tom. Yes, you’re married, so it seems impossible for you to be together. But if you were single, you’d be his type exactly. Trust me on that.”
Genevieve looked up at Sarah with a half-smile. “Thanks, Sarah. You’re so kind to me.”
“Well, I know how hard it can be trying to make it on your own and feeling as though you have no one to lean on, no one to love you. I’ve been there, and Bill rescued me from that. He loved me when I didn’t think that would be possible. He accepted me and everything about me, no questions asked. I couldn’t believe that he’d do it, but he did. And I think Tom’s the kind of man to accept a person and everything about them as well. You just wait and see.”
Genevieve threw her arms around Sarah and hugged her tight. “Thank you, Sarah.”
“Now let’s get this stew on the fire.” Sarah fetched a heavy pot from the back of the chuck wagon and carried it with both hands onto the table. The two women scraped the meat and onions into the pot with a spoonful of butter. Sarah threw in pieces of bone as well and some herbs that Genevieve didn’t recognize. Between them, they carried the pot to the fire and set it on a stand to hang above the flames that had grown since they lit it and were now flickering in brilliant oranges and reds against the darkening sky around them.
Soon the campsite was filled with the succulent aroma of frying meat, and it wasn’t long before cowboys began to wander into camp and position themselves around the fire. Dusty pulled out his harmonica and began to play a mournful, lilting tune that echoed across the prairies to the south and into the valley north of them.
The landscape had changed as they traveled that day, and they could see the foothills and valleys of southern Montana in the distance. The trail had narrowed as well, and tomorrow they’d be surrounded by rolling hills that before long would turn into sharp mountains and craggy peaks. The air was getting
cooler, and Genevieve shivered as she pushed the potatoes, carrots and parsnips into the pot with a long-bladed knife.
“I found this pan of beans soaking in the chuck wagon,” said Sarah, hurrying toward the fire. “Do you think Cookie would mind if we added them to the stew?”
“Let’s add them. I’m sure he intended to use them for supper.” They tipped the beans into the pot as well and listened as the sizzle of fresh ingredients filled the camp. Sarah fetched water from the canteen to add to the mix, and the two women stood back to survey their handiwork. “Well, we didn’t have much to work with, but I think it should be tasty enough. I’ll get started on the biscuits,” said Genevieve, returning to the chuck wagon.
As she was arranging the sourdough biscuits in a pan, Thomas joined her. He smiled and leaned against the wagon, his arms crossed over his chest. Genevieve fed the sourdough starter with more flour and set it back in the wagon. She dusted her hands against her apron and pushed a strand of hair from her face with the back of her wrist.
Thomas lifted his nose and drew in a deep breath, savoring the fragrance of the foods that wafted through the cooling air. “Those biscuits look good and the stew smells great as well. I have to say – I was hesitant to have you on the drive –”
“Hesitant? You were determined not to let me come.” She laughed and cleared the rest of the food scraps from the table, wiping it clean and folding it away into the back of the wagon.
“Like I said, I was hesitant … but I’m glad you came along. It turns out Cookie isn’t quite as reliable as I’d hoped he’d be, and we’d be stuck foraging for beef jerky and corn fritters every day if it weren’t for you and Sarah. So I guess what I’m saying is, thank you.”
Genevieve felt her cheeks turn pink. She wasn’t used to receiving praise, certainly not from a man. Criticism was generally all she’d ever heard. She tipped her head to smile at him. “You’re most welcome, Thomas O’Reilly.”
He stepped toward her and reached for her hands. He took them in his own large hands and turned them over, staring at her fingers and tracing the length of them with his fingertips. His touch sent tingles through her body and she shivered.
“Don’t,” she whispered and pulled her hands away.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his eyebrows drawn into a frown. His cheek twitched where the muscle in his square jaw clenched.
She could tell he was aggravated, but she had to get away from him. Being this close to him without being able to fall into his arms was driving her mad. “You know we can’t. If you touch me like that again, I’ll do something we’ll both regret. I can’t …”
His lips turned up on one side and a half-smile lit up his face. He pulled his Stetson from his head and set it on the table. Curls settled around his face and his blue eyes sparkled against his tanned skin. “Whatever you’d do, I don’t think I’d regret it. But I agree, we shouldn’t … it’s just that when I’m with you …” He groaned and ran his hands over his face. “I can’t help it – I have to touch you. All I want is to hold you in my arms, kiss you and tell you that everything is going to be okay because whatever comes we’ll face it together – forever. But I can’t. It’s so danged frustrating. You have to talk to me, Genny. Please, finally, tell me the truth. Why are you running from your husband? Because, Heaven help me, I don’t know how long I can continue to be a gentleman, I really don’t.”
“I’m not running … I just …”
His hands clenched and unclenched and he strode back and forth in front of her, his eyes wild. “Where are you going, then? At least tell me that. Are you still planning on traveling to San Francisco? Who are you meeting there? Hang it, Genevieve, you have to tell me something – I’m going crazy over this! I can’t focus on the drive and the herd, which is what I should be doing. Instead, all I can think about is you, the taste of your lips, the feel of your skin beneath my hands that night in the river.”
He stopped and faced her, his eyes filled with torment, and her heart broke for him and the pain that she was causing him. “You have to tell me something. Please, Genevieve, I’m begging you.”
Her eyes filled with tears and she felt a lump fill her throat, constricting her breathing. “I’m sorry Tom. I truly am. I want to tell you everything, I do. It’s just that I don’t know where to start and I’m scared of how you’ll feel about me once you know …”
He lifted his hands to her shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. “Nothing you tell me could change the way I feel about you. Only end my torment and tell me the truth about why we can’t be together. Perhaps it won’t change anything, but if I only knew why you were running from your husband or who you are going to meet, maybe I could let you go. Maybe I could get some relief from this torture.”
Tears flowed from Genevieve’s blue eyes and rushed down her cheeks. She didn’t drop her gaze, she didn’t stifle her sobs. She let the emotion come pouring out of her – real and raw. She embraced the pain that filled her heart and pushed it to the surface, finally letting it break free.
“My husband is a horrible man. He and Fred, they were in it together. They forced me down the aisle. I didn’t want to marry Quincey – I can’t stand him. He treats everyone as though they’re worth nothing, less than nothing. He’s always wanted me, and so Fred finally agreed to give me to him – as if I was his to give.
“We’re married, it’s true. But after the ceremony, the two of them skedaddled to a saloon, leaving me alone outside. So I ran away. I followed Dusty to your wagon and climbed inside. Then when I saw all that food, I was so hungry, I couldn’t help myself – I ate and ate. I fell asleep with a full stomach for the first time in as long as I can remember.
“Then you found me. You were so kind to me, and I’m so grateful for the chance to know you. But the fact remains, I’m married. I may not have wanted to get married, I may despise the man I’m married to, and the minister who married us was deaf and almost blind. He didn’t seem to understand that I didn’t want to marry Quincey. I didn’t think it could be legal without my agreeing to it, but then Quincey signed the certificate of marriage for me and I suddenly realized that he was going to get his way and there was nothing I could do about it. I’m sorry … I didn’t mean to cause you any pain. That’s the last thing in the world I’d want to do.”
She stopped speaking and reached for his face, cupping his bearded cheeks between her hands and stroking them gently. Her own cheeks were wet with tears and she sobbed softly in the silence that followed.
He shook his head, his face clouding over. “And the person you’re meeting in San Francisco?”
The look in his eyes frightened her and she pulled her hands back from his face, holding them cupped beneath her chin. “There’s no one in San Francisco. I was lying about that. I don’t know where I’m headed to. I have no one and nothing in this whole wide world, nowhere to go and no one to turn to. I’m all alone. I’m sorry for lying, I’m sorry for everything. I hope you can forgive me someday.”
His face was blank and he had balled his hands into fists.
Genevieve let out a loud cry – the sound was full of grief and the pain of a broken heart. She spun on her heel, carrying the tray of biscuits with her. As she rushed past the fire, she shoved the biscuits into the Dutch oven. The smell of mesquite coals from around the oven had already floated around the campsite and mingled with the aroma of the stew, but she didn’t notice. She ran from the campsite and into the darkness of the prairies beyond, stumbling and weeping as she ran through the tall grasses, her heart full of sorrow and longing.
Chapter Twenty One
The Bighorn mountain range loomed ahead of the herd, overshadowing the Dakota valley through which the grassy Bozeman Trail twisted and turned. The trail was flanked on both sides by fields that might have been filled with lavender or perhaps red wildflowers in the vivid blush of summer, but were now dead and gray. Fall had tiptoed in more softly than usual this year, with the ground still free of snow. Leaves had changed from
green to orange and red, and the formerly vibrant grasses had taken on a yellowish-brown hue.
Thomas led the herd, giving Dan a rest. He wanted to get as far away from the chuck wagon and Genevieve as he could. After their conversation the previous day, he couldn’t stop thinking about her and what she’d told him. Anger flooded through his body and his head filled with the pounding of his heart as he considered her words again. It made his blood boil.
He’d been going over and over the conversation in his head. He’d lain by the campfire the previous night, staring at the brilliant star-flecked sky above him, his thoughts clouded with frustration. His complete state of exhaustion meant that sleep had come quickly, but even then Genevieve hadn’t left his thoughts. He dreamed fitfully of her being dragged down the aisle of a shadowy church in a soiled dress. Her screams reverberated in his mind still. She’d said that Quincey had forced her to marry him. Could it be true? Surely it wasn’t possible.
He flicked the reins across Alto’s neck and checked the line of cattle over his shoulder. The herd plodded obediently along the trail behind him, stretched out for miles, traveling one or two at a time. Pointed horns swayed in time to their lumbering stride. Tails swished and the occasional bellow echoed along the valley, followed by the shout or whistle of a cowboy or the crack of a whip.
Their run-in with the cattle thieves had set them back and thinned their herd, and Thomas was determined to make the time up. They didn’t have long to reach the heart of Montana Territory. He wanted to beat the winter freeze, and it could come at any time. It was already November, which gave them only about five weeks until winter’s official arrival, but Montana winters could begin anytime from the beginning of November and Thomas didn’t want to tempt fate. He knew it would be a race against time to get settled in Montana before the first snowfall, and he prayed daily that they’d make it.