When they reached her tent, there were no lights on inside. Belle had evidently gone to sleep.
He said, “I’ll see you in the morning. Thanks for helping with the maps.”
Smiling, she shook her head. “And thank you for the lesson.”
“Anytime.”
Neither of them wanted to part. The moments they’d shared in the supply tent were not easily dismissed. Neither would be able to deny their desire, nor could they go back to the people they’d been before. Tonight had changed things between them.
Grace wanted him to take her back into his arms, but she had to settle for saying, “Goodnight, Jackson.”
“Goodnight, Grace. I’ll see you in the morning.”
As Jackson walked back to his tent on the far side of the glade, he realized that as usual, he hadn’t gotten nearly enough of Grace Atwood. His manhood was hard as granite. In the past he’d never been one to be bowled over by a woman, any woman, but after holding Grace in his arms and tasting her passionate kisses, he was beginning to feel that way. Before meeting her, he’d been a solitary, brooding individual consumed with and by a past that had dogged his steps everyday for the last ten years. Now, after being knocked in the head by one Grace Atwood, his life seemed to be taking a different turn. He actually felt alive again. Admittedly, he’d always been a serious man, but he’d found even less joy in the world since fleeing Texas. The few pleasures he did find were ofttimes taken in temporary havens offered by women like the ones Sunshine employed, women who didn’t mind his leaving before sunrise as long as he placed some coins on their nightstands before de-
parting. Truth be told, because his life had become so joyless, he honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed aloud before his hellion Grace entered his life, swinging that damned handbag and proposing he lead an all-woman wagon train to Kansas. Surviving on odd jobs and staying one step ahead of the Texas warrant had been all he’d known or cared about since his father’s murder. Now he wanted to know Grace Atwood, even if there was no future in it.
Over the next few days, the valley became a beehive of activity as the encampment blossomed to life. The duty roster was implemented, the laundry lines were strung, meals were planned, and the brides’ personalities and temperaments began to surface. As Grace and the Mitchell sisters learned, most of the thirty-five women were leaders, not followers.
The episode began with a suggestion from Zora that a constable be elected—“Someone we can all trust to keep the peace and settle disputes fairly,” was how she explained it.
Grace thought it an excellent idea, so that night after supper she opened the floor for nominations.
Trudy raised her hand. “I nominate Loreli.”
A surprised Loreli looked around, but before she could say anything, Molly Mitchell snapped, “That’s like having a fox guard the chickens. I nominate my sister, Sarah.”
Sarah smiled benevolently, “Why, thank you, sister, and if elected, I will stand for morality and reason.”
There were a few loud snorts.
“Any other nominations?” Grace asked, trying not to roll her eyes at the Mitchells’ airs.
Silence.
“Then I guess we have two candidates. Loreli, do you accept the nomination?”
The gambler looked over at the sneering Mitchell sisters and drawled, “Damn right, and I’ll stand for fun and good times.”
Trudy clapped vigorously.
Grace tried to hide her grin. “When do you want to have the vote?”
Before anyone could reply, Sarah stated self-importantly, “Some of us hardly know one another. I say we have the election next week.”
A voice in the back cracked, “That’s too long. You’re not running for President.”
Giggles greeted that sage reminder and earned stern glares from both Mitchell sisters.
Fanny spoke up, “Then let’s compromise. How about we hold the election during dinner the day after tomorrow. That should be more than enough time for folks to make up their minds.”
“And a secret ballot,” Zora added. Her suggestion met with unanimous agreement.
So the vote was held. Jackson was drafted to count the ballots, and when he returned, announced, “Loreli Winters, twenty-five. Sarah Mitchell, five.”
Bonnets were tossed in the air, congratulations were given, and the Mitchell sisters stuck their noses in the air and left the gathering along with their supporters.
That had been three days ago, and now, as Grace prepared for bed, she wished she’d trusted her intuition and found replacements for them when she’d had the chance. Now she seemed stuck with their judgmental, pompous personages, but she supposed it could be worse; there could be six or seven harridans in the group instead of just two.
Grace blew out her lamp and burrowed beneath the
quilts and blankets atop her bedroll. She still had not become accustomed to sleeping on the hard, unyielding ground, and as always, tossed and turned for a few moments, trying to find a spot that would not leave her body bruised for life and not wake up Belle while she searched. The bedroll offered a bit of cushioning, but only a bit.
Trying to take her mind off of her rigid accommodations, Grace turned her thoughts to Jackson. Since the night in the supply tent, they’d had no opportunities to slip away. She saw him and he saw her, but both were too busy to do anything more than share a glance or a few words. He’d worked them hard that next morning and the next day and the day after that, until every woman in camp was so weighed down by aches and pains of learning to drive they were ready to say to hell with Kansas City and go home. Loreli came to their rescue, though. She went to her tent and returned with a salesman’s sample case. It was filled with little tins of a clear, violet-scented salve that she gave to everyone who wanted one, although the Mitchells declined. The case had originally belonged to a salesman Loreli had met over a poker table in Cincinnati. After Loreli won all of his money, he’d had nothing left to bet but the case, and he eventually wound up losing that too.
Loreli swore the salve worked like a charm and she was right. Once rubbed into the skin, it soothed the fire in their overworked muscles and joints. The next morning the women had risen ready to take on the world.
That had been two days ago; the same day a messenger from town brought Jackson a wire from Chicago sent to him by a marshal friend, Dixon Wildhorse. It seemed the marshal needed Jackson’s assistance. When Jackson told Grace he’d asked the marshal to join the wagon train as a scout, Grace agreed that it was a good idea.
After pledging to send back word to the camp if the marshal’s business took more than a day or two, Jackson, astride his chestnut stallion, had ridden out.
Grace would never admit it aloud to any of the brides, but she missed him. Although he’d been driving them like an overseer, she missed his smile and the way he sometimes looked at her as if she were once again half dressed in his arms. She’d grown accustomed to having him nearby, even if he did spend most of his time striding around barking orders as if they were army recruits. Truth be told, she and the brides had learned a great deal under his tutelage; they were stronger, fitter, and more confident. Admittedly, many of the women had yet to master the intricacies of driving a team, but that would come in time. Grace had miscalculated how long it would take for them to get ready, but now she had every reason to believe that by the first week of June, less than a week away, the brides would be ready to embark on their journey. It would all be because of Jackson Blake.
At breakfast a few mornings after the vote, the women listened as Loreli read off the names on the day’s duty roster. Grace and the roster committee had broken the women down into groups and each group was assigned a particular job for three days. At the end of those three days the groups rotated. The main jobs were laundry, meals, and caring for the animals. The first two were a joy compared with the last. No one enjoyed being on pie detail or mucking out the pen, but it had to be done.
Grace had spent the past three days with the animals and was happy to be rotating to laundry. So what if the lye and the hot water stung her eyes and left her hands cracked and red? It was much better than shoveling manure.
Late that afternoon, as Grace and her group, which
included Fanny, Trudy, and Tess labored over the tin washboards, Trudy asked, “What are we going to do about our unwanted visitors?”
“I really don’t know,” Grace replied tersely. Trudy was referring to the townspeople who’d been gathering on the rise for the past three days to watch the camp’s activities. The numbers seemed to be increasing daily and the women were beginning to feel like attractions at a fair. A good twenty-five people were up there now. Grace’s Uncle Marty had warned Grace that the brides and their camp would probably generate the most excitement the little township had seen in a while, and evidently he’d been right. Whole families arrived at midday, set themselves up—complete with box lunches—and departed at dusk. So far, they seemed content to do nothing more than watch and occasionally heckle the women’s bad driving, but Grace wanted them gone. She didn’t like being gawked at.
She was just about to ask if anyone had suggestions about how to get rid of their unwanted visitors when the tall Tess straightened up over her laundry tub and said, “Well, look who’s back.”
It was Jackson. The sight of him slowly riding down the rise evoked a chorus of mock groans from women from all over the camp, but they appeared happy to see him. Grace noted that his dark-skinned good looks hadn’t diminished during his absence. If anything, he looked even more handsome astride the stallion. When he rode over to the makeshift laundry, their eyes met and he touched his hat in greeting. She nodded in reply while trying to hide her true feelings.
“Afternoon, ladies,” Jackson said to the women as he dismounted, but he had eyes only for his hellion. “Grace.”
The front of her blouse and skirt were soaked from
the wash water and her hair was a mess, but she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
“Afternoon, Jackson. Welcome back.”
As usual, he was dressed in all black. “Thanks. How’ve things been going?”
“Fairly well,” she replied. “How’s the marshal?”
“Not bad. He and his wife are in town. They’ll be along later.”
Grace hid her happiness over seeing him again beneath her composed manner. “I didn’t know he had a wife.”
“They were married yesterday,” he explained. “Her name’s Katherine. They’ll need a tent.”
Grace nodded. In reality she wanted to greet him with a lot more intimacy than this public gathering would allow.
Jackson wanted to drag her away to some private place and show her how much he’d missed her, but instead, he called out, “Ladies, we’ve got driving practice in one hour.”
Real groans greeted that announcement. He pointed out, “If you can’t drive, we can’t leave.”
That said, he took the horse by the reins and headed to his tent.
On the heels of his departure, Tess sighed. “When I meet my man in Kansas City, do you think he’ll look at me the way Jackson looks at Grace?”
Grace turned to her and chuckled. “Whatever do you mean?”
Trudy said, “Don’t play dumb with us, Grace Atwood. He looked like he wanted to drag you off to his tent, and you know it.”
Embarrassment heated Grace’s cheeks, but she went back to her washboard without comment.
Grace and the brides had practiced driving during
Jackson’s absence, hoping he’d be impressed with the progress they’d made, but he wasn’t, mainly because there were more than a few near collisions and they couldn’t form a circle or a straight line to save their lives. A few of the women hadn’t secured their teams to the wagon properly and when they slapped down the reins the animals took off back to the corral, trailing the harnesses and leaving the wagon behind. Some of the male spectators up on the rise were laughing so hard at the chaos, Grace wanted them shot.
About an hour into the practice, a tall man and woman entered the camp. Grace assumed them to be the marshal Wildhorse and his new wife, Katherine, but Jackson’s barking did not make Grace feel neighborly enough to get down from her seat on the wagon to meet them. She did want Jackson’s head, however. He was standing in the middle of the clearing yelling at the top of his lungs, “A line, ladies! Can’t you make a simple line?”
They’d been at this for almost two hours now and a few women had angry tears in their eyes after having been singled out for their ineptness. Belle was one of them. Grace looked over at the young woman’s defeated face and decided she’d had it. Pulling back on her reins to bring her team to a halt, she hopped down and ignoring the onlooking marshal and his wife, lit into Jackson for all she was worth. “If you don’t stop yelling, I’m going to punch you right in the nose, Jackson Blake!”
“Not if you have to drive over here to do it!”
Grace’s eyes bulged. “How dare you!”
“You’re driving like a bunch of women!”
“We are women, you stubborn, cowbrained jackass!”
Grace could see the Wildhorses staring as she and Jackson argued. She was certain she was making a ter
rible impression, but did she care? Grace told him hotly, “In ten minutes this practice is over.”
“You’re done when I say you’re done,” he replied.
“Ten minutes!” she snapped, then stormed back to her wagon.
Jackson threw his black hat to the ground.
True to her word, Grace called a halt to the madness ten minutes later and sent everyone back to their tents to rest up before dinner, then she and a few of the brides set out to erect a tent for the newly married Wildhorses.
The tent was erected with swift efficiency; after being around Blake, the women could erect a tent blindfolded and asleep. They moved in some empty crates for the newlyweds to use as makeshift furniture and bedrolls and blankets from the storage tents. Grace looked over the sparse interior and noted that it wasn’t much of a honeymoon home but it would have to do.
As she stepped back outside, she found Jackson standing nearby talking to the Wildhorses. He introduced Grace to the tall, graceful Katherine and her handsome lawman husband Dixon.