She shrugged before she echoed, “Oregon or bust!”
A little voice called from the other room, “Ogon bus.”
Loki barked.
Caroline, Lars, and Sven laughed until tears ran down their cheeks, and they held their sides in breathless glee. It seemed they had reached agreement.
Oregon or bust!
Epilogue
Caroline sat in the open window of the San Francisco hotel. Cool ocean breezes swept into the room bathing her in light mist. She closed her eyes and inhaled the salty air. After days on a hot train, the relief was welcomed and sweet.
Standing, she crept to the bed and pulled a light blanket over a sleeping Micah. She threw a shawl around her own shoulders and returned to her vigil. Cool was turning to cold as the afternoon wore on.
Lars and Sven left early that morning to purchase a wagon, horses and supplies for the journey north. She’d expected them back long ago. Sven had ordered her to stay in the room. A town full of sailors many months at sea was not safe.
Caroline patted her pregnant belly. She didn’t think any man, no matter how many months at sea, would bother with a woman nearly eight months gone. The baby gave her a good kick. She leaned back, stretching as tall as she could to give the internal traveler more room.
Her back ached; her head hurt, and she was worried. Caroline closed her eyes. They’d intended to leave San Miguel in March, April at the latest. Then Granny Wilkins fell ill again, and she begged Sven to see her through her final days to her glory. In her heart, she knew Sven made the right choice. But Granny Wilkins and her feisty spirit fought death to the end. Just when the doctor thought she’d breathed her last, she’d sputter and gasp and that skinny chest would rise and fall, rise and fall. Sven had prayed at her grave the second week in July, and then they’d left both friend and foe behind in San Miguel.
It was the first week of August. The baby was due mid-September, and she didn’t want to give birth in a wagon. She clenched her teeth until her jaw ached.
An indignant yell brought Caroline to the window. She leaned over the casement and craned her head right and left.
What in the world? Lars held a tight grip on a young boy’s arm and every few steps he’d land a spank hard enough to lift the lad off his feet. Their voices drifted through the window.
“Stop your caterwauling,” Lars growled.
“Let go of me, mister. You got no right!” The boy twisted and writhed, but Lars held firm.
“No right, huh? Like you had no right to my money?” he demanded.
Boots pounded up the stairs, and a key turned in the lock. Her husband entered with Loki at his heels. Lars followed with the scamp in tow.
“What do you think the sheriff would do if we turned you in? You ought to be thanking us instead of shrieking up a goddamned storm like a little girl. We could still do it. We could still let the law take care of a robber like you.” Lars motioned at Sven. “You’re lucky my brother is too kind-hearted for his own good. If it were up to me, you’d be cooling your heels in a cell.”
That settled the kid some. He looked down at his feet and then peered up at the two large men. “Well, I guess you got the right of it. I don’t want to go to jail, but that’s because the Prescott’s own that old marshal. He ain’t worth a plug nickel, and he’d give me to Simon Prescott before the sun went down.” He struggled for his freedom once more. “Turn me loose. I’ll be on my way.”
“Who are the Prescotts, and why would he turn you over to them?” Lars asked.
“Ain’t none of your business.” The rascal pulled his foot back and kicked Lars, hard, on his right shin. When Lars loosened his grip the kid squared up and kicked again. This blow was aimed between Lars’ legs, and it would have met with success if Lars hadn’t seen it coming and knocked the thief away.
“Why you little brat,” Lars dragged the kid to the chair by the window where Caroline had rested. He pulled the boy over his lap and lit into his backside. “I’ll teach you to fight dirty.” He rained punishment onto that rascal’s bottom until the kid quit his yelling and slumped over Lars’ knee in defeat.
Caroline, Sven and Micah retreated across the room and watched in uncomfortable silence.
“Uncie Lar spank,” Micah spluttered around his damp thumb.
“He did,” Caroline agreed.
Lars stood the kid on his feet. “What’s your plan? If we turn you loose, are you going to steal again?”
“You bastard,” the boy said through gritted teeth, “you don’t know nothing about who I am or what I got to do.”
“Don’t swear in front of my wife and son,” Sven growled.
“You want another spanking?” Lars asked. “I got plenty more where that came from.” He put large hands on the youngster’s shoulders and shook.
“Lars, stop,” Caroline shouted. “Look.”
The kid’s hat had been pulled down tight to his ears, but between the spanking and the shaking, it had fallen off. A long braid the color of flame swung free to the kid’s waist. Escaped curls framed a pixie’s face with bright green eyes and a generous sprinkling of freckles.
Lars stared.
Sven choked.
Caroline said, “He’s a girl.”
“Why are you dressed like a boy?” Lars asked.
“It was my disguise, and it was working. I need to get out of town before Simon Prescott finds me. Please. Let me go,” she whimpered.
Lars looked at Sven and some agreement came to be in that glance.
“We can’t let a woman loose on her own. It’s not safe. We leave San Francisco in the morning. You can hide in our wagon until we’re clear of the city. But,” he stabbed a finger in her direction, “you are going to explain what this is about in the morning. When it’s safe, you can be on your way. Is that understood?”
She gave a surly nod.
“Sorry, Sven, but I think the little gal will have to sleep with Caroline and Micah. We’ll bunk in the other room. We’ll leave Loki with the women. He’ll guard them,” Lars said. “If that’s agreeable with Caroline,” he added.
“It is,” Caroline said.
“If you run away in the night, I’ll find you,” Lars warned. “That little spanking you just had will seem like a Sunday picnic, so don’t try it.”
“Well, now that’s settled,” Caroline said before smiling at the young woman. “We haven’t been introduced. I’m Caroline Nielson. This is my husband, Sven. You’ve met his brother, Lars.” She rolled her eyes in the big man’s direction. “This young man,” she patted her son’s back, “is Micah and sitting by him is our dog, Loki. We’re traveling to Oregon. What’s your name?”
“Eleanor Montgomery but I go by Ellie,” she said. She cast a plaintive look at Caroline. “I know you’re trying to help me, but you’ll be sorry. The deck’s stacked for the Prescotts, and they don’t never lose. You need to do yourself a favor and let me go.” She scowled. “You seem like nice people, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“You didn’t think stealing our money would hurt? We need that cash to get us up north and settled.” Lars turned at the door. His eyes glowed like they were lit from the inside. “Stay put, Ellie. We can’t turn our backs on a woman in trouble. We’ll talk tomorrow. You women lock this door.”
The door closed with a decisive click.
“Stay put, Ellie Montgomery,” Lars warned through the weathered wood. “Stay put, or else.”
The women listened to his boots stamp down the hall.
“Lars and Sven are a mite protective,” Caroline explained with a shrug of her shoulders, “but they are good men and mean well.”
Ellie rubbed at her bottom. “He better not try that again if he knows what’s good for him,” she growled. “I ain’t no little kid.”
Caroline opened her chest and withdrew a nightgown. “Here,” she extended the garment to her guest, “you can sleep in this. It doesn’t fit me right now, anyway.”
Ellie pulled the boy’s shirt ove
r her head and unwound the strip of material restraining her breasts. Undressed and unbound, with her hair brushed into a river of red flowing to her waist, she’d gone from a scrubby boy to a breathtaking beauty.
Caroline smiled.
Lars would not want to let loose of this fetching troublemaker. Ellie would call to every masculine need to protect, defend and claim in the man’s body. After all the worry he’d caused, it would serve him right to tangle with this misbehaving miss. She rested her hand on the swell of her belly and laughed out loud.
The Lord had a way of delivering justice.
He surely did.
The End
Victoria Phelps
Victoria Phelps lives in northern California with her two best friends: her handsome husband and her Goldendoodle, Max. She has two daughters, two sons-in-law, four granddogs and one grandcat. That’s a lot of fur!
Victoria, who has always loved the written word, taught literature and writing. Now that she has the opportunity to write full time, she is in wordsmith heaven. She enjoys playing tennis, quilting, and reading, reading, reading.
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www.victoriaphelpsromance.com
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