Brides of Prairie Gold (18 page)

"How can I repay you for all you've done?"

Perrin patted her hand. "The best way to repay all of us is to recover your strength and get well."

"I will," Winnie stated fervently. Her damp bright eyes underscored the promise. "There's a new life waiting for me in Oregon. I don't ever want to return to Chastity."

Lucy Hastings arrived then, bringing fresh bread and a large tin cup of Sarah's nourishing soup. After giving herself the satisfaction of watching Winnie eagerly accept the soup, Perrin climbed down from the wagon. Her boots sank in loose sand and she turned her face out of the scouring wind.

What she wanted most was to bask in the knowledge of Winnie's gradual recovery, and she wanted to walk the stiffness out of her legs and lower back. But a hard wind and blowing sand argued against a stroll.

Perhaps now was as good a time as any to confront Augusta and get it over with. For two days Perrin had waited for Augusta to come forth with an apology. She should have known it wouldn't happen. Augusta Boyd never apologized.

If they were to reach an accommodation, Perrin would have to be the person who made the approach, and if concessions were to be made, she would have to make them. With great reluctance, she had decided she would do whatever was necessary for one reason: so Cody Snow would not evict her from his train.

Grim-faced and dragging her feet, she turned her steps into the blowing sand and trudged forward in search of Augusta's wagon. With each step, her resentment mounted.

Sand blew into the bacon grease, mixed into the biscuits. It reddened eyes, invaded layers of clothing. There was sand in Augusta's hair, beneath her fingernails, in her tea, and in her blankets. The wretched sand rubbed raw spots on her skin and made her itch all over.

She had believed she could hate nothing more than she hated asking the other women to hold out their skirts and form a shield around her while she answered a call of nature. But she hated the ubiquitous blowing sand even more. And when she spotted Perrin coming toward her with head bowed against the wind, she remembered that she detested Perrin Waverly more than she could possibly hate sand or discomfort or any other thing.

Spinning in furious realization, she yanked down the scarf that protected her nose and mouth from the swirling sand and hissed at Cora. "You talked to her again, didn't you!"

Cora glanced up from the frying pan and the flames that darted and danced in the wind. Defiance hardened her eyes. "You still owe me four dollars! It ain't been paid yet."

Panic gripped Augusta's chest. At once she understood that if she did not pay Cora immediately, Perrin might deduce that Augusta lacked the funds. The horror of being exposed as a pauper glazed her eyes. Perrin would feel superior to her; Perrin would laugh and tell the others how far the mighty had fallen, Augusta Boyd was no better than anyone else.

She could not bear the scene her imagination sketched. A thousand times no. Never would she ever allow a base creature like Perrin Waverly to feel superior to a Boyd. It was unthinkable, unendurable.

The only way to hold her pride intact was to pay Cora the four dollars. But how could she do it? Then she would have only thirty dollars to see her through the next three-quarters of the journey. What if another ox died? Or her cow? And she would want fresh eggs or vegetables along the way. There was a rip in the tent that could eventually worsen to the extent that she would have to purchase another.

"Oh, God. Oh, God." She couldn't catch her breath.

Wringing her hands, fighting to suppress the hysteria that clogged her throat, Augusta paced against the maddening wind, chewing her lips and trying not to inhale flying sand. What to do? Pay Cora or invent an excuse that no one would believe? Which evil to choose, which? She had to decide right now.

In the end, the decision was instinctive. She watched Perrin walking toward her, then pride reared and vanquished prudence.

Whirling into the blowing sand, she ran to the back of the wagon. In less than two minutes she had climbed inside and opened her beaded purse with shaking hands. "Oh, dear God." Panting with fear and dizzying bitterness, she withdrew four precious dollars. Wrapping her fist around the coins, she clutched them to her breast for a moment and desperately told herself she would not cry. She would not .

"Don't think about it," she whispered, blinking rapidly. "Somehow everything will work out. You are a Boyd."

She would snag her hem and rip it as she dropped out of the wagon. And the sandy wind blasted her full in the eyes. Despair bled the color from her lips. But at least the harlot would see with her own eyes that Cora had received her blood money. And it was indeed blood money. Parting with each coin was like tearing off one of her limbs.

"Cora? Here! Take these and get out of my sight!" She flung the gold pieces into the wind as Perrin approached the fire pit. "Don't come back until it's time to get under way!" Right now she didn't trust herself to remain in Cora's presence.

Sputtering with anger, Cora glared, then she crawled around the fire pit, digging the coins out of the sand with her fingers. When she had found them all, she twisted the gold pieces in her handkerchief, then pushed to her feet and stormed away, heading into the wind toward Sarah's and Lucy's wagon. Augusta threw up her hands when she noticed that Cora had abandoned the bacon to burn in the skillet. Rage pounded the base of her skull.

"We need to talk," Perrin said, raising her voice against the blowing sand. Her skirt whipped around her body and she snatched at her shawl before it skittered away.

"You have nothing to say that I want to hear," Augusta said coldly. The stripes healing on Perrin's cheek provided a surge of pleasure. She hoped the scratches stung as painfully as the crack in her lower lip. "Cora received her money," she snapped, starting to turn her back to the creature. "You're dismissed."

"I didn't come about Cora. I came to tell you that what happened between us three days ago cannot, must not happen again!"

God in heaven. Augusta sagged against the back wheel, fighting a scald of vomit that surged in her throat. The money wasn't why the harlot had come.

She stared unseeing at the sandy air. She needn't have paid Cora. She could have kept her four precious dollars.

"I don't know why you decided to travel to Oregon and marry a stranger, but I know why I did," Perrin stated in a level tone. "I have no choice. Therefore, I can't afford to be evicted from this train. You and I will have to tolerate each other, Augusta. We'll have to find a way to coexist for another four months."

A bitter taste flooded Augusta's mouth and coated her tongue. She might have convinced Cora to wait for payment until they reached Oregon. Dear God.

"I'll stay out of your way, and you stay out of mine. When we must converse, surely we can do so in a civilized manner without resorting to physical violence." Perrin stared through the flying grit. "We'll behave like ladies." Her voice sharpened with suppressed anger. "If you think you can do that."

"You insufferable piece of baggage!" Crimson heated her cheeks. It mortified her that a low remark questioning her breeding was even possible. "You provoked what happened. It was your fault! Moreover, you are not a lady and you never will be!"

"Perhaps not. But I can behave like one. I don't slap people or throw chairs at them!" The words were accompanied by a shudder of revulsion.

Oh, how she burned to fly at the creature and claw that contemptuous expression off of her face. The ferocity of her emotions shocked Augusta to the tips of her stockings.

Where in the name of heaven did these sick yearnings for violence spring from, and when had they begun? She stared at the scratches on Perrin's cheek and found they did not satisfy her. She longed to leap forward and draw fresh blood.

Shaking, Augusta willed herself to step backward, opening a space between herself and a nearly overwhelming temptation to attack. She pressed her fingertips to her temples. When had her weapons altered from icy disdain and her own innate superiority to fingernails and teeth? How had such deterioration occurred?

She must be losing her mind. That was the only reasonable explanation. Fear and constant anxiety were destroying her.

"Are we agreed, then?" Perrin demanded, her tone as sharp as a blade. "We will not embarrass ourselves or the others again? We will set aside our dislike for the remainder of the journey and conduct ourselves in a civilized manner?"

"I detest you!"

They glared at each other across the flames leaping in the fire pit. Dark smoke curled from the skillet Cora had abandoned, and the smell of burning bacon invaded their nostrils.

"As you pointed out," Perrin said angrily, "I was not your father's confidante. And I didn't drive him to ruin. He also paid for the mansion you lived in and the servants who staffed it. He paid for gowns ordered from Paris and baubles designed in Brussels. He paid for your carriage and the set of matched bays to draw it. He paid for soirees and entertainments. Joseph could have provided for four mistresses for the same money as it cost to maintain one daughter. So if he hanged himself because he faced financial disaster, his difficulties cannot be laid entirely at my door!"

Pride steadied Augusta's cold gaze. Her chin snapped up. "What on earth gave you the impression that my father was suffering financial difficulties?" she demanded furiously.

Perrin stiffened. "You accused me of ruining your father and driving him to suicide."

"I referred to his mental state, not his purse," she said haughtily. "How amusing that you thought yourself powerful enough or clever enough to ruin a man like my father. Ona and Bootie will laugh when I tell them." She forced wooden lips to smile. "You're really quite entertaining. Did you actually imagine that your shabby little rented cottage and your cheap clothing had bankrupted the former mayor of Chastity? You make me laugh."

Perrin stared at her. "You accused me of ruining your father and being the cause of his death. You said that."

Her teeth bared. "He'd be alive today if it wasn't for you! The shame of consorting with a whore, the scandal of it, that's what killed him!"

"You're wrong." Perrin clenched her fists at her sides. "Your father wanted to marry me."

"Liar!"

"The only reason I was Joseph's mistress instead of his wife is you and your selfishness. Joseph didn't want you to be uncomfortable in your own home. And he didn't want me to feel unwelcome in what would have been my home too. You never thought that Joseph might be lonely. All you thought about was yourself."

"Get out of my sight! I can't stand to look at you!"

Perrin's dark eyes narrowed, and scarlet patches burned on her cheeks. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Clamping her teeth together, she whirled and walked into Cody Snow, who strode toward them out of the swirling clouds of sand.

"Back in your wagons, ladies. We'll try for another four miles before we stop for the night."

"Get out of my way!" Perrin snapped. His eyebrows lifted as he stepped aside. She tossed her head and twitched her skirts in a furious motion, then stormed past him.

Cody pulled a bandanna up over his nose and mouth to block the sand that blotted the sun and thickened the air. His voice was muffled when he swung toward Augusta.

"Did you two get things settled?"

You're a Boyd, Augusta reminded herself. Boyds didn't discuss personal matters with inferiors. She raised her head and let her eyes look through him.

"Find Cora, if you please, and tell her to return to the wagon."

Cody's eyes narrowed into slits above his bandanna. "If you want your maid, Miss Boyd, then you fetch her." He strode past the burning bacon and in a minute his tall form had been swallowed by the sandstorm.

Cora. The instant Augusta spoke the wretch's name, the full horror of her situation returned in force. She felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach.

What was she going to do ? Walking around behind the wagon, she bent at the waist and vomited into the flying sand and grit.

"It's a fine day! Finally!" Throwing back her head, and almost losing the man's hat she had borrowed from Heck Kelsey, Mem Grant grinned at two hawks wheeling overhead. Sunlight and a sky that gleamed like an inverted china bowl made her feel better than she'd felt in two weeks. Thank heavens there was no headache today. No headache would dare intrude on this morning's treat.

Webb Coate turned his head and smiled. "Don't celebrate yet. We'll have rain before supper."

"I don't care, it's wonderful now. Just look! Everything is turning green, and" She stopped and laughed at herself. The "everything" she referred to was tufts of hard buffalo grass fighting to survive on barren sandy hillsides. Here and there a few hardy wildflowers glowed yellow or blue against the earth, but it wasn't difficult to see why emigrants referred to this stretch as the Great American Desert.

She glanced at Webb, admiring the way he sat his horse, as if the two were one body, one mind. His eyes were shaded by his hat brim, but the sunshine fell full upon his lips and lower jaw. Seeing how straight he rode in his saddle, Mem unconsciously straightened her own spine.

Webb spotted the motion, lifted an eyebrow, and waited.

"I may have exaggerated my riding experience just a little," she confessed sheepishly. Daylight showed between the saddle and her behind, which was taking a pounding.

"A little," he repeated, glancing at her gloved hands. She gripped the pommel, hanging on for dear life. "How much riding experience have you actually had?"

She pursed her lips and pretended to consider. "Well, counting today, I've been on a horse four times." She grinned as Webb rolled his black eyes and made a sound deep in his throat. "If I'd told you, you wouldn't have allowed me to come."

"That's right." He shifted the carbine that rested across his thighs and glanced at the train over his shoulder as if thinking about returning her to the wagons.

"This is my first time riding astride, and it's much easier and not nearly as unnerving," Mem said quickly, hoping to divert his intentions. "I'm glad no one had a lady's saddle." By now Bootie would have noticed that she was riding like a man and Mem would hear about it for days. She'd deal with Bootie later. After all she had undergone to arrange this outing, she wasn't going to spoil it by anticipating trouble.