Oregon Trail Boxed Set

by Hutton, Callie

  Nate pushed her hands down and stepped around her. “Lucy, I am a married man. A happily married man, I may add. This conversation is inappropriate.”

  He softened when her eyes filled with tears. “You’re a very pretty young lady. One day a man will come along who is right for you. But you must understand I’m not that man.”

  Tears slid down her cheeks, as she grabbed his arms once more. “You’re wrong. I could do a lot for you. Papa would give you a business to run, we could have a bigger, better house, private schools for the boys, and anything you want.”

  Nate lowered his head, and shook it, his hands on his hips. “I already have everything I want, and will ever want.” He looked back up at her. “If you can’t understand that, then there’s no reason to continue this discussion.”

  Anger flared in her eyes. “Your stupid wife will be sorry.” She swiped at the tears on her cheek. “You made a serious mistake, Nathan Hale, and when the time comes, you’ll know what I mean.”

  Hurrying past him, she stalked into the house, and left him standing there, wishing like hell he could collect his wife and leave.

  “Nate?” Angel called softly as she came out the French doors. “Lucy just stormed past me into the house. Is everything all right?”

  He pulled her to his side, and kissed her on the temple. “Yes, everything is fine now. Are you having a good time?”

  “Yes, it’s delightful, but what I really want to do is find our buggy and go home.”

  “Darlin’,” Nate said grinning, as he turned her toward the buggies, “you read my mind.” They had only gone a few steps when he added. “Maybe we can find your missing drawers.”

  “They were never missing.” She smirked.

  He turned to her, wide-eyed. “Then, why . . .”

  “To keep your attention all night.”

  He rested his hand on her lower back as he hurried her to the buggy. “A good plan. It worked.”

  * * *

  The last guest had thanked the Bensons and hurried to their buggy. Servants moved tiredly around the house, cleaning up from the party. Eli wished Lucy a good night and withdrew to his library to drink a brandy before he retired for the night.

  An hour later, Lucy lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling and remembering the scene with Nate.

  She wasn’t going to give up; she’d done too much already. That little slut he’d married while her back was turned would not win. No one from a decent background would travel across the country for a husband. There must be something Angel hid, and Lucy had the resources to discover exactly what that something was.

  Punching her pillow, she tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable. Finally, she threw the covers off and padded across the thick carpet. Opening the bottom drawer of her chest, she rummaged around and pulled out the bottle of whiskey she kept there.

  One of the sophisticated men whose company she’d enjoyed in Paris had taught her many fascinating things, one of them was that a drink or two before bed would help her sleep. Her papa did the same thing, and no one thought much of it, so why shouldn’t she?

  Lucy poured the liquor into the glass sitting on her dresser and gulped it. Closing her eyes, she relished the liquid fire sliding down her throat. She opened her eyes and poured more, walking slowly to her bed and sipping. Her nostrils flared at the strong aroma as she waved the glass under her nose. The smell and taste of the whiskey brought back wonderful memories of Paris.

  Eternally grateful for her papa agreeing to the lady’s companion Lucy had suggested to him before her trip, she’d had many experiences for which her papa would surely have dragged her home, had he known. Sixty-year-old Miss Hermione Witherspoon took to her room early each night, and slept like the dead.

  Once the woman had settled in, night cap on, covers pulled past her shoulders, Lucy would dress in her newest fashions, sneak past the unconscious woman, order a hackney, and meet one gentleman or another for an evening of fun. She danced, drank, and indulged in encounters with the gentlemen no properly brought-up young lady would. But she was far from home, would never see them again, and wanted some excitement before she settled down with Nate.

  She finished her drink with a scowl. Nate. She would have him. It would simply take time and planning.

  * * *

  Angel shut the window over the sink in the kitchen, to block the cool, early October air. She ran her palms up and down her arms and considered whether she should light a fire in the fireplace.

  The twins having reached the magic age of six, all four boys were in school now, so Angel and Julia-Rose were alone during the day. And today Julia-Rose decided to entertain herself by getting into everything.

  Earlier, a loud crash greeted Angel as she came in the back door, struggling with the two baskets of eggs the twins had forgotten to collect before school.

  “Mama.” Julia-Rose held up her arms. She sat on the floor, with molasses dripping down her face. Alongside her lay pieces of broken dishes that had once held the family’s breakfast.

  “Are you all right?” Angel picked the baby up, and held her at arm’s length.

  Julia-Rose turned in her arms and pointed to the dishes scattered in pieces all over the floor. “Broke.”

  “Yes, sweetie, they’re broken, all right.” Angel sighed as she wiped the little girl off as best she could without a bath and placed her in the play area so she could clean the mess.

  She no sooner finished cleaning when Julia-Rose let out a wail.

  “Hurt.” The little face screwed up, tears spilling from her eyes. She raised one chubby finger, red and swollen. Julia-Rose had gotten her finger caught in the cat’s mouth, who sat in the corner, licking herself.

  “Honey, I’m not going to get anything done today if you don’t stay out of trouble.” She scooped the toddler up and took her to the sink where she dangled her by her middle and pumped cold water over her finger.

  As the day wore on, Julia-Rose ate mouthfuls of flour, and then spent a half hour crying and vomiting into the chamber pot. She crawled up the stairs, and tumbled halfway down, banging her head on the floor. Angel laid a wet cloth on the bruise, but a considerable lump remained. During lunch, the baby managed to shove a small pea up her nose from the vegetable soup Angel gave her, resulting in tears and screaming as Angel extracted it with the tines of a fork. Exhausted, she put the baby in for an early nap.

  The boys came home from school as Julia-Rose woke up. “Mama.” A black and blue lump on her head, molasses still stuck in her hair, she greeted Angel with a huge smile.

  Angel grinned at her stepdaughter, and lifted from the bed with a kiss to her warm cheek.

  Full of energy after sitting in school all day, the boys stomped through the back door, shoving each other, and racing around the kitchen. The noise was deafening as they banged into chairs and hurled insults back and forth.

  “Stop!” Angel shouted. They finally quieted, and took their places at the table.

  “I want you all to finish your snack and get your chores done.” She set out glasses of milk and cold biscuits. “And you two,” she said giving the twins a quelling look, “forgot to collect the eggs this morning. I’ve already done it,” she added.

  Julia-Rose climbed on a chair, and grabbed the jar of jam from the center of the table. It slipped from her chubby hands, and shattered as it hit the floor.

  “Broke,” she said, looking down.

  The boys all fell into hysterical laughter just as the doorbell rang. Company was truly the last thing she needed. She grabbed the baby, shushed the boys, and headed for the door.

  On the way, she banged her leg against a chair. “Ouch.” Jiggling the baby with one arm, she rubbed the injury with her other hand.

  Frustrated, she limped to the door with the baby on her hip. Flinging it open, she stared at the woman on her porch.

  “Angelina!” Sylvia cried. “I’m so glad I found you at home.” Her stepmother turned to wave at the driver of the buggy parked in front of the hou
se. “You may bring my trunks in, now. My daughter is home.”

  14

  Sylvia sailed past, waving a lavender-scented handkerchief in the air. “The trip here was a terrible ordeal. I hope there is a well-shaded room where I can lie down. I have an impossible headache.”

  Finally able to move, Angel shook her head as if to clear her brain. “Sylvia, what are you doing here?”

  The driver dragged in a large trunk, and tipped his hat to Sylvia. “I’ll get the rest of them, ma’am.”

  The boys gathered around Angel, wide-eyed at the glamorous, perfumed woman who directed the placing of the trunks, all the while keeping up a running dialogue of complaints about her trip.

  Five trunks, two hatboxes, and several satchels finally sat in the middle of the parlor when the driver took off his hat and swiped his forehead. Nodding at Sylvia, he said, “That’s all of it.”

  “Ma’am.” He turned to a slack-jawed Angel. “The lady said you would pay me for the trip out here from town.” He settled his hat back on his head, and extended his hand. All of a sudden, Sylvia seemed especially interested in the room, examining the fireplace, studying knick-knacks. With the baby still hugging her hip, Angel limped to the counter above the sink and retrieved her cup of coins.

  “How much?” She counted out the money, and dropped it in his outstretched hand. Tipping his hat, he turned and left, closing the door softly.

  Angel turned to face her stepmother. “Sylvia?”

  “Yes, dear?” Sylvia pulled off her gloves, and looked around.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Angelina, I really need a cup of tea. Could we please sit down? Then I will tell you everything.”

  “Who’s she?” Luke held tightly to his brother’s hand.

  “She’s my stepmother.” Turning to the group huddled together, still staring at their guest, she said, “Boys, go on out and get your chores done.”

  Angel jiggled Julia-Rose as she started to fuss. “I have to change the baby’s diaper. I’ll get us some tea when I come back.”

  “Please hurry, dear.” Sylvia laid a delicate hand to her head. “I feel quite faint.”

  Grumbling, Angel proceeded upstairs to the bedroom they’d fixed up for Julia-Rose, and changed her. She was still numb from the shock of seeing Sylvia on her front porch.

  Heck, not the front porch, she’s right now in my parlor, surrounded by trunks. And wanting tea, for heaven’s sake.

  After returning downstairs, Angel set the baby in her play area, and wiping her hands on her apron, joined Sylvia in the kitchen. She cleaned off the table from the boys’ snack, and set out tea things. Then she put water on to boil, and, not anxious to face her stepmother yet, kept busy washing the snack plates and cups. Then she stirred the pot of stewed chicken for supper.

  Once the tea was ready, Angel sat and watched Sylvia take a sip of the warming liquid and close her eyes with pleasure. Shaking her head in confusion, she said again, “What are you doing here?”

  Sylvia took another delicate sip, and set her cup down. She looked Angel in the eye and took a deep breath. “I’ve come to live with you, Angelina.”

  * * *

  Nate returned the last of his tools to the shelves, wiped his workbench, and hung the “closed” sign on the front door of his shop. He whistled as he worked, his eyes twinkling at the thought of his chaotic family waiting for him at home. With the boys back in school, Angel seemed to get more done, and she was proud of that. He was proud of her no matter how much she did. Her adjustment from her old life to her new one continued to astound him.

  He closed and locked the door and headed for home. He hadn’t gone more than a few steps when he heard his name called.

  “Nate.” Lucy hurried to him.

  “Good evening.” He continued to walk.

  She took two steps for his every one to stay with him. In no time she was flushed and panting.

  “Slow down, Nate,” Lucy gasped. “I want to talk to you for a minute.”

  He stopped, and crossed his arms across his chest. It annoyed him that she continued to pursue him, and he was anxious to get home. He looked forward to seeing only one woman right now, and it wasn’t this one.

  “You don’t have to look so stern.” She laughed, and ran her tongue around her mouth. “I’m not going to bite you.” She gave him a bright smile. He didn’t smile back.

  “I’m late for supper, what do you want?” He dropped his arms and walked on, but slower.

  “It’s been so long since I saw you. It seems every time I come to your shop, you’re busy with a customer. I’d like to know what you thought of my party,” she whined.

  “It was very nice. Angel and I enjoyed it. I’m sure she sent you a note.”

  Lucy scowled, but quickly recovered. “I’m glad to hear that. It’s too bad she didn’t have a fashionable dress to wear. But then, none of the women had anything to compare to my dress, which I had designed in Paris. It is the absolute latest in fashion.”

  Nate threw his head back and roared with laughter.

  Two red spots appeared on her cheeks. “If there’s a joke there, I’m afraid I fail to see it.”

  Shaking his head, Nate regarded her. “Lucy, let it go.” With that, he turned, and still chuckling, dodged a horse and carriage to cross the street, then strode toward home.

  * * *

  Let it go, indeed.

  Not with all she’d done so far. Nathan Hale had become her obsession. Never had Lucy been denied anything she wanted, and she wanted him.

  She entered the small building next to the barber shop, and climbed the wooden stairs to the second floor. The small piece of paper in her hand had been folded and unfolded many times. As she wandered the hallway, she compared the writing on the paper to the various names printed on each door.

  Finally spotting the door that said, “Moses McNeil, Investigations,” she turned the doorknob and walked in.

  The office had probably been painted at one time, but age had dimmed it to an unrecognizable color. A scarred wooden desk sat in the middle of the room, with two unstable wooden chairs in front. Stacks of papers, scattered all over the desk, added to its ugliness. She took barely two steps before her eyes watered from the thin line of gray smoke rising from a smoldering cigar in a small china dish.

  A beady-eyed man stared at her as she entered. Definitely someone Lucy would never consider even speaking with if her future wasn’t at stake. His bushy eyebrows rose, no doubt surprised to see a lady of quality in his office. Lucy winced at the evil looking scar running from his left eye to the corner of his mouth. Brown teeth showed through his plastered smile.

  “What can I do for ya?” he said in a raspy voice.

  “I need assistance in researching someone’s background.”

  “Have a seat.” He pointed to one of the rickety chairs.

  Lucy sat at the edge of the chair, holding her skirts close so as not to touch anything in the room.

  The man leaned back in his chair, and hooked his thumbs in his dirty suspenders. Reaching for his cigar, he clamped it between his teeth. Lucy looked away with disgust.

  “Maybe you better tell me what you want, lady.”

  Lucy took a deep breath. “There is a woman in town I want investigated.”

  When he didn’t answer, or change expression, she wiped her hands on her dress, and continued. “She hasn’t been here long, but I have reason to believe she has something in her background that may be criminal.”

  “Criminal, huh? You mean like she might be wanted by the law?”

  Hmm. A genius. “Maybe, I’m not sure. I want to know everything you can find out about her.”

  Mr. McNeil took out a piece of paper and pencil and made scrawling marks at the top of the page.

  “Give me the information.”

  Lucy leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Her name is Angel Hale, but her maiden name, I understand, is Hardwick.”

  She smiled with satisfaction at the pencil mov
ing over the paper, as the investigator took down all her information.

  * * *

  Matt and Mark raced up the street toward Nate as he turned the corner.

  “Papa, guess what? Angel’s mama is here,” Mark gasped.

  Nate frowned. “Her mama?” Her mother was dead, and he was pretty sure the stepmother had gone to Virginia. Sylvia planned to enjoy the hospitality of her sister, who’d had no room for Angel.

  Thank God or he wouldn’t have her for a wife.

  “She has a headache.” Mark pushed his brother aside, not to be outdone as the purveyor of information.

  Nate frowned as he opened the gate. “Who has a headache? Angel?”

  “No, Angel’s mama. She came ‘cause she has a headache.”

  “And needed a cup of tea,” Matt finished.

  What the devil had happened in his absence? He opened the front door and headed toward the kitchen where Angel worked. As he passed the parlor, he stopped abruptly and stared at the room. Trunks were piled everywhere. One of them lay open, and frothy feminine things spilled out. He frowned, and continued on to the kitchen.

  Angel wiped her hands on her apron, and gave him a tentative smile.

  “What’s going on, honey?”

  Her cheeks were flushed and she chewed her lower lip. “Um, why don’t you sit down, and I’ll get you a cup of coffee.” She busied herself at the stove.

  “I don’t want coffee, just information.” He kissed the back of her neck and turned her so she faced him. She stood, wringing her hands, her face pale, as she stared at him.

  “Come here.” He took by her hand, and led her to a chair. Nate sat, and tugged her onto his lap.

  “What’s wrong? You’re a nervous wreck, and your hands are cold.” He tucked a strand of hair that had escaped from her bun behind her ear. “The boys said something about your mama.”

  Angel took a deep breath, and lowered her head. “My stepmother Sylvia is here. She’s had a bad time since she left me, and she plans to stay here with us.” She mumbled the last part of the sentence, so Nate placed his finger under her chin, and raised her head to look her in the eyes.