Frontier Courtship (5 page)

“You’ll ride him for a while,” Connell said, climbing down and holding out his hand for Faith to follow.

“There’s no need.”

He gritted his teeth. Why did she have to be so proud? “It’s not a favor, it’s common sense,” he argued. “You don’t weigh as much as a good-size calf, the horse is making the trip anyway, and your ribs will heal faster if you don’t go bouncing around all day on that hard wagon seat.” He started to make a token effort to get back into the wagon. “But, if you don’t want to…”

“I see your point,” she said begrudgingly. When he started to reach up to grasp her by the waist then stopped himself, she reassured him with, “I can manage. My side hurts less when I move without assistance.”

Standing by the side of the horse, Connell laced his fingers together to give her a boost up, wincing as he watched the signs of pain flash across her face. You could see from her eyes that she was hurting a lot more than she’d let on. To his surprise, she swung a leg over to ride astride. Her skirt hitched up to her boot tops, showing a bit of white stocking.

Seeing his quizzical expression, Faith adjusted the fabric of her dress and gave him a half smile as she took up the reins. “I was raised riding mules like old Ben without the benefit of a saddle. A body tended to wind up in the brambles if she didn’t sit her mount sensibly.”

Without comment, Connell climbed back aboard the wagon and called to the team to move out. Nothing Faith Beal did or said should surprise him, yet it kept happening. She was an enigma: a frail-looking beauty with the strength and stubbornness of a mule and more than a few useful skills many men didn’t possess.

Connell smiled to himself. Looking at her, he’d never have guessed just how capable she was; nor did he think it wise to tell her what he thought for the present. Something inside him kept suggesting that Faith was the key to finding Irene and he tended to trust his gut feelings. Besides, she made an interesting traveling companion.

He looked over at her astride his horse and sighed. It had taken him months to acclimate himself to life among the Arapaho but he’d eventually adjusted, thanks to the love of Little Rabbit Woman. A Pawnee raid had ended her short life. He hadn’t let himself care for a woman that way since. Nor had he wanted to.

Connell cast another sidelong glance at his new boss. No God-fearing Christian woman would submit herself the way Little Rabbit Woman had when they’d been married in the Indian tradition. That was as it should be. So why was he suddenly feeling let down?

Ab and another outrider were the first to notice Faith astride a horse while someone else managed her team. She saw Ab’s shocked, nervous expression as the two men wheeled their mounts and rode rapidly away.

Pulling abreast of Connell, she called out, “I think we’re about to have trouble.”

“I saw. Ab, I recognize. Who’s the other man?”

“Calls himself Indiana. That’s all I know.”

Connell nodded. “When Tucker gets here, let me do the talking.”

“In a pig’s eye. That’s my rig. You work for me, remember?”

With a grin, Connell cocked one eyebrow and pulled his hat lower over his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And you needn’t pretend to be subservient, either. We both know you don’t feel that way, so stop taunting me.”

His resultant laugh was deep and mellow. “You’re a hard one to please, Miss Beal. Do you want me to be your equal or your slave? Make up your mind.”

Faith had only a few moments in which to send Connell a warning glance before Ramsey Tucker reined his lathered horse up beside the wagon. It made no difference whether or not her new driver had permission to speak for her. As far as Tucker was concerned, she may as well have been invisible.

He glared at Connell. “Who the blazes are you?”

Deferring, Connell nodded toward Faith. “Miss Beal has engaged me as her driver. Seems all her usual assistance is unavailable.”

Tucker snorted and spit. “You talk pretty fancy for a drover. Where you from?”

“Around.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, you’re not welcome here. Get on your horse and scat.”

“Nope.”

“What’d you say?” Shouting, Tucker was reaching for the coiled bullwhip tied to his saddle by a leather thong.

Connell’s eyes met Faith’s, their message clear. While Tucker was distracted, she let the canelo fall back a bit, quietly slid the plainsman’s heavy Hawken rifle out of its scabbard and held it ready in both hands. At Connell’s nod, she tossed it to him.

His left hand closed around the barrel. He swung the long gun around in one fluid motion, laying it across his knees with the business end pointed toward Ramsey Tucker.

“No,” Connell repeated. “I’m staying.”

Faith saw terrible anger in Tucker’s face, vitriol in his eyes. She also sensed raw fear. He’d met his match in the rough-edged stranger and he knew it.

The captain’s nervous mount danced beneath him and he jerked hard on its bridle. “What’d you say your name was?”

“Folks call me Hawk,” Connell offered. “I rode night hawk for Fremont out in California. The moniker stuck.”

“We could use a good hand with the stock.” Tucker’s voice was filled with false bravado. “You take your turn as a wrangler with the other single men and you can stay.”

“Mighty neighborly of you.” Connell smiled over at him, his steady regard a warning he’d not be deterred. It wasn’t until Tucker had ridden off that the smile became truly genuine.

Faith was grinning broadly. “You’ll do.”

“I thank you, ma’am.”

“And quit with that false politeness, will you? If I’m going to call you Hawk, you’d just as well call me Faith.”

“The other respectable ladies would have my hide if I did that, and you know it. Think of all the loose talk that kind of familiarity would cause.”

“Let them talk. It’s gotten so I don’t give a fig what they say.” Faith was warming to her subject. “Every one of them has stood by while Ramsey Tucker abused my animals and ordered me around like some worthless chattel. The way I see it, you’ve earned the right to call me anything you like.” She giggled. “Did you see the look on his despicable face when I tossed you that rifle?”

“That, I did.” Connell sobered. “I should have thought to strap on my forty-four again once I left town. Did it hurt you to lift the Hawken?”

“Honestly? A bit. But it was worth every twinge to see Tucker running off like a mangy cur with his tail twixt his legs.”

“Do you have a pistol of your own?”

“Papa’s Colt Walker. Why?”

“Because I intend to drive, eat and sleep with my revolver. I want you to begin wearing yours, too, right out where everybody can see it.” With a grin he added, “I assume you have extra cap, ball and powder and know how to shoot.”

“Of course I do. What’s so funny? Did you figure I couldn’t handle a gun?”

“Not at all. I was just marveling at the fact I knew you’d say you could. I assume you’re a good shot, too.”

“You’d better believe it!”

She nudged her heels against the horse’s side to keep him in line with the front of the wagon. Whether Hawk McClain was teasing her or was dead serious, at least he’d quit assuming she was totally helpless. For a man like him, that was pretty good progress, considering they barely knew each other.

“I never shoot animals for sport,” she warned. “Only when we need food.”

There was genuine admiration in his tone when he said, “You’d make a good Indian. Little Rabbit Woman would have liked you a lot.”

“Who?”

“Little Rabbit Woman. She was my Arapaho wife,” Connell said quietly. “In another life. She died a long time ago.”

Empathy flooded Faith’s heart. “I’m so sorry.”

“I believe you actually mean that.”

“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because she was an Indian and I’m not. Lots of folks would hold that against me.”

“Do you think Irene will?”

Connell shook his head, a look of benevolence and calm on his face. “No. Not Irene. We haven’t seen each other in years, but I wrote and told her all about my past with the Arapaho before she made the final decision to travel to California to finally marry me.”

“I’m glad,” Faith said. “That speaks well of her.”

“Yes,” he said with a lopsided smile that made his eyes sparkle. “It speaks well of you, too, Faith Beal.”

T
he tight bindings around Faith’s midsection were chafing in the heat something fierce by the time the wagons stopped for nooning. Normally, she and Charity shared a cooking fire with the Ledbetters and the Johnsons, but this afternoon the reception she received from the others when she approached was decidedly unfriendly.

In pain and more than a little put out, she returned to the solitude of her wagon.

Connell had finished putting the mules with the other stock being herded out to graze and was about to remove his horse’s saddle. The dejected look on Faith’s face made him stop what he was doing and go to her.

Gently, he touched her shoulder, then quickly stepped away and apologized for the undue familiarity.

“No need to worry,” Faith said with a shrug. “Thanks to the captain’s lies, everybody thinks I’m a soiled dove already.”

“A sporting woman?” Connell laughed aloud. “You?”

“You think I’m not pretty enough? I don’t blame you.”

“Hey. Hold your horses. I never meant anything of the kind. It’s simply obvious to me that you’re one of the most honest, upright women I’ve ever met. I can’t imagine how anyone would believe such idiotic rumors.”

Faith held herself proud in spite of the lingering soreness around her middle. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now that we have that settled, what’s for dinner? I’m starved.”

She sighed and made a disgusted face. “We’ll have to kindle our own fire. I’m afraid I’m no longer welcome at the others’ camps.”

“Their loss,” Connell said. He glanced at the calf-hide “possum belly” strung under the wagon to make sure it contained enough kindling and dry buffalo chips for Faith to start a fire without having to go out gathering. “So, what do you fancy? Rabbit, antelope or sage grouse?”

Raising an eyebrow, she began to smile. “You’re going hunting? Now?”

“Unless you’ve figured out a way to get the critters to jump into the pot on their own.”

“Very funny. Just bring back whatever you see and I’ll cook it, no questions asked.”

“That could be dangerous.”

She laughed. “Not with you eating out of the same kettle. Now, skedaddle. I’m hungry, too.”

Watching him mount up and ride away, she sent a silent prayer of thanks heavenward, adding a postscript plea for his missing bride’s safety. If Tucker was truly involved in the woman’s disappearance, no telling what had become of her. Faith hoped, for Hawk’s sake, that he was wrong about that possibility. Perhaps Irene had simply found herself a husband among the emigrants on her train and gone off to wherever that man was bound.

But what if Tucker had been her choice? Faith thought the idea quite discomfiting. And what of Charity? If there was even the slightest chance that the captain was guilty of purposeful harm, how was she going to protect someone as innocent and gullible—and stubborn—as her sister?

Faith glanced at the communal fire where Charity was assisting in the preparation of the large noon meal. It was no great surprise to see Ramsey Tucker’s horse tied to a nearby wagon.

Angry that she’d been rendered powerless by circumstances beyond her control, Faith began to lay a separate cooking fire. Her mind was whirling and darting like the eddies in a fast-moving mountain stream. Too bad she couldn’t really tie Charity up till they reached their destination, the way Anna had jokingly suggested.

Other than doing exactly that, she had no idea how she was going to save her from herself. None at all.

While her new boon companion was away, Faith managed to bake corn bread in the Dutch oven and also boil a pot of beans using side-pork for flavoring. When Connell returned, they added a spit and roasted the hare he’d bagged. All in all, the meal was as tasty as any she’d eaten in a long time, due in part, she was sure, to the good company.

Hoisting the nearly full bean pot by its wire handle, Connell stored it in a box packed with straw in the rear of the Beal wagon. Thus secured, it would ride safely and continue to cook from its own internal heat for some time, making it easy to fix supper after the long day of travel still ahead of them.

When he saw Faith grimace as she bent to clean their dishes, he went to her and crouched down by her side. “Let me do that.”

Wide-eyed, she looked at him as if he’d handed her a poke full of gold nuggets. “You? Why?”

“Because it pains you.”

“It’s woman’s work,” she said.

“A man learns to do lots of things when he’s on his own in the wilderness. Let’s make a bargain. You go hunting next time and I’ll help with your chores now.”

“Don’t be silly.” She scrubbed harder, her hands flying over the gray surface of the tinware.

“I’m not. You claim you can shoot straight.”

“I can, but…”

“But, what?” Taking the dish from her hand, he looked it over carefully. “If you rub this any cleaner, it’s liable to end up so shiny it’ll start a prairie fire.”

Faith wasn’t about to admit how much his close presence had dithered her. “Cleanliness is next to godliness.”

He drew a hand slowly over his beard, bringing his fingers together at his chin. “While we’re speaking of such things, do you happen to have shears and a looking glass I can borrow?”

“In my trunk in the wagon,” she said. “I’ll get them for you presently.” Hawk had fallen into the rhythm of her work and was relieving her of each piece as she finished with it. Since there had been just the two of them for dinner, there wasn’t much left to clean up. “I can trim your hair for you, if you like,” she offered. “I used to cut Papa’s.”

He eyed her mischievously. “I trust he had hair to cut?”

“Of course, he did!” Straightening stiffly, she batted him with the corner of her apron, then used it to wipe her hands.

With one eyebrow raised, he warned, “Just a trim, mind you. It’s been ten years since I had a city haircut. The back of my neck is real used to the shade.” Seeing her heading for the wagon, he followed, reaching out to stop her. “Let me get the shears for you so you don’t strain.”

Faith halted and wheeled to face him, her hands planted firmly on her hips. “Look, mister. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but you’re being so solicitous you’re driving me crazy. I’ve been hurt before. I’ve healed. And I’ll do it again, with or without you.”

He tried to look chagrined when, in truth, her fortitude pleased him greatly. “Yes, ma’am.”

Catching the wry humor in his reply, she hoisted herself into the wagon and looked down at him with a smirk. “You’d best not tease me, sir. Not when you’re about to turn your barbering over to me.”

“Is that a threat, Miss Beal?”

“Take it as you like,” she offered, slipping the scissors, a wide-toothed comb and a small hand mirror into her apron pocket.

Once again, Connell tentatively held out his arms to her. Situated above him as she was, allowing his help in descending was the sensible thing to do. This time, Faith acquiesced.

“Okay. Easy,” she said, placing one hand on each of his shoulders and leaning forward.

His hands circled her slim waist, almost fully spanning it, and he lifted gently, slowly and with great care, bringing her closer, then lowering her till he felt her feet brush the toes of his boots.

Breathless at his nearness, Faith was loath to let go. She was remembering how marvelous it was to be cradled against this man’s broad chest, to be held the way a loving husband might hold his wife.

Only she and the plainsman weren’t husband and wife, nor would they ever be, she reminded herself. Not only was he betrothed to someone else, he was little more than a stranger to her!

Shocked by the wild thoughts racing through her head, Faith decided they must be sinful. She’d always been taught that no good Christian woman desired a man’s arms around her, so why did this moment seem so right, so meant to be, as if her whole life had been nothing but preparation for her extraordinary encounter with the plainsman?

Connell knew he should let go of her, yet kept granting himself one more breath of the natural fragrance of her hair, another second to plumb the wondrous depths of her dark, expressive eyes. If they had been alone, he knew he might very well have leaned down and kissed her. Then there’d be a fracas for sure, wouldn’t there?

“Did I hurt you?” he finally asked as he released her.

Faith cleared her throat. “Um, no. Not at all.”

“Good. Where do you want me?”

For some reason, her brain seemed as befuddled as it had been immediately following her accident at Fort Laramie. “Want you?”

“To sit. For my haircut.”

“Oh.” She took as deep a breath as her ribs would allow, then gestured toward one of the packing boxes they had used for chairs while they ate. “Over there. Take off your hat.”

Connell seated himself, hat in hand.

“You’d better take your shirt off, too,” she warned. “Papa always complained I got bits of hair down his neck.”

“I’ll be fine the way I am.”

Faith knew she should let him have his way, especially since his reply had sounded so gruff, yet a perverse part of her nature insisted otherwise. “You act as if I’ve never seen the top of a man’s union suit before,” she taunted. “I guess if you’re afraid to remove your shirt in my presence we’ll just have to make do as is. I won’t be responsible, though, if you itch something fierce afterwards.”

Casting her a sidelong glance that was more an irate glare than an expression of admiration for her boldness, he reached down, crossed his arms and drew the soft buckskin hunting shirt off over his head. There’d been times when he’d stripped to breechcloth and leggings while stalking buffalo or antelope, but when among those he considered the polite society of his upbringing, he’d always remained fully clothed. Till now.

“Okay. Remember this was your idea,” he said.

Hearing muffled gasps from somewhere behind her, Faith clenched her teeth. When Connell tried to swivel his torso to see who was making the fuss, she stopped him with a firm hand on his bare shoulder, a reflexive action that did not go unnoticed by anyone, she was sure.

She bent closer. “You could have mentioned that you weren’t wearing a union suit under your buckskins.”

“You didn’t ask,” he grumbled. “I suppose the fat’s in the fire now.”

“Let it be,” she said, rancor in her tone. “All my years I’ve tried to live a pure, untainted life, just like the Good Book teaches. Soon after Charity and I started this pilgrimage, I realized I’d have to make many concessions in order to survive. The more time that passes, the more certain I am that I’m right.”

Taking up the scissors, she handed him the small mirror so he could watch as she began to cut. Instead, he angled it so he could observe her reflection. He thought new maturity had come to Faith in the past few days—maturity and awareness. He saw her glancing openly at the muscles of his bare back and wondered what female notions might be going through her head.

There were certainly plenty of ideas passing through his. In lots of ways, she reminded him of his late Arapaho wife, while in others, her daring spirit far surpassed even his most unrestrained fancy. Knowing she was innocent of any wrong-doing, Faith was willing to stand up to everyone in the entire traveling party to affirm it. Women usually set great store by what their peers thought. Surely, Faith Beal was no exception. She, however, had the backbone to assert her innocence by both word and deed. Such courage was its own reward.

Connell closed his eyes to better enjoy the pleasant sensations of the comb passing through his hair, the slight tug of the shears, the whisper of Faith’s apron against his lower back. When she stopped, took up a corner of the apron and began to brush his shoulders off with it, he stood and stepped away, rather than let her see how much her tender ministrations had affected him.

“Thanks, I can do the rest,” he said, finishing the job with quick swipes of his hands.

“All right.”

She held out shears and comb to him, then watched while he propped the mirror on the side of the wagon and went to work on his beard. It was just as well he’d taken over, she mused. The way her hands had begun to shake, no telling how the rest of his haircut would have turned out if she’d continued.

Suddenly exhausted, she sank onto the packing box Hawk had vacated and tried to regain control of her heightened senses. What was wrong with her? Was it her own unseemly thoughts and actions that were at fault, or was an outside force trying to undermine the purity of her motives and thereby destroy all the good she was attempting to do?

And another thing,
her conscience was quick to interject,
look how you’re dressed.
Custom dictated that she and her sister should still be in mourning for Mama. Yet, truth to tell, she’d felt a surge of relief when Charity had returned from a trip to the river to do the wash and had reported that their black dresses had been swept away by the current. With so little extra money at their disposal, replacing the somber clothing was out of the question, especially while traveling.

Should she have dyed another of her frocks dingy black no matter what? Faith wondered. She didn’t think so. Surely, the Good Lord understood her present predicament. After all, hadn’t He sent her a guardian to watch over her?

A brief glance toward the wagon showed just how rough around the edges that so-called guardian was, in spite of his recent tonsorial efforts.

Faith smiled and turned away. Even with an imagination as creative as hers, there was no way she could convince herself the plainsman was actually an emissary from God.

Her smile faded. On the other hand, it wasn’t at all hard to envision Ramsey Tucker being a faithful minion of Lucifer, himself, was it?

The afternoon sun was high, the prairie affording no shade except what little could be found under the wagons. Prairie vastness that had once been lush and green was spoiled now. Swaths of bare land miles wide on each side of the emigrant track meant the travelers had to drive their livestock off to find fresh pasture, let them graze, then bring them back so the journey could continue.