by Regina Scott
“And who would pass that up?” James teased. When the farmer frowned at him, he tipped his hat. “Thank you for warning us. We’ll be watchful.”
“Do we travel through that area?” Rina couldn’t help asking as he encouraged the horses on.
“Right through the center,” James said cheerfully.
Did he want to get eaten? “Are we in danger?” she pressed.
“Most likely,” James replied. “That’s the way it is around here. The farther out you go, the more chances to make the acquaintance of wildlife. I reckon they must see a bear or two a day on the White River.”
“There you go again,” she complained. “Trying to make me change my mind by focusing on the negative.”
James stuck out his lower lip. “Now, whether finding a bunch of bears is a good thing or a bad thing depends on your point of view. The more animals nearby, the better your chances at hunting. You can do a lot with a bear—smoke the meat, use the pelt for a rug, make the claws and teeth into a necklace.” He grinned at her. “I’m surprised Beth’s magazine hasn’t printed a picture yet.”
Rina shook her head. “I doubt even Godey’s could make bear claws popular. And I have no interest in even seeing a bear, much less making use of its bodily parts.”
“I don’t know,” James mused. “I hear bear grease puts a powerful shine in your hair. Not that you have any need for that.”
“And stop resorting to compliments, too,” Rina scolded him. “I am utterly immune.”
James cast her a sidelong glance. “So if I said a fellow could melt right into your eyes, that wouldn’t move you.”
Rina adjusted her skirts in the foot well. “Certainly not.”
“Or that your voice is sweeter than a chickadee’s.”
Rina made a face. “I do not recall chickadees having a particularly sweet singing voice.”
James shook his head. “You’re a mighty hard lady to please. But we have a ways to go yet. I’ll think of something. After all, once you leave my company, it may be a long while before you find someone willing to take you back to Seattle through a territory full of bears.”
He simply refused to give up. “And I imagine it rains on the White River every day, year round, as well,” she said, eyeing him.
“Snows,” he corrected her. “Drifts as big as a house. And don’t forget the alligators.”
Rina choked. “Alligators?”
“Alligators,” he insisted. “Great scaly beasts the size of a man. They mostly eat the giant toads, if the toads don’t pick you off first. And don’t get me started on the killer pigeons.”
Rina was having a hard time not giggling. “Killer pigeons? Really?”
James shivered as if just the thought chilled him. “Fearsome creatures, ma’am. Like to coo you to death.”
Rina gave it up and laughed.
He continued on that vein for the next distance. Most of his claims were so far-fetched she had to smile, but she couldn’t help remembering the farmer’s warning. Was there really an abundance of dangerous animals along the White River? How would she protect herself, much less her students?
“What would you do,” she asked James as the horses carried the wagon along a bubbling creek, “if you looked out the schoolroom window and saw a cougar outside?”
“You’re assuming the White River school has glass in its windows,” he replied. “I’m guessing it was too far to carry such breakable material. You might have openings in the walls, but you’d probably be safest to keep them shuttered. No, the soonest you’d know about a cougar nearby is opening the door and finding it on the other side.”
Terrifying picture. “So, what would you do?”
“Shut the door.”
Rina threw up her hands. “Well, of course I’d shut the door! I meant how would you make it go away. How would you protect the students?”
“If a cougar was intent on making you or one of your pupils its dinner, there’s only one thing to do. Shoot it.”
Rina felt ill. “I don’t know whether I could.”
“You need to learn to shoot,” he said.
Rina shook her head. “I have no need for lessons.”
“Course you do.” James was so emphatic, he urged the horses to the side of the track and reined in. “I’ll teach you.” He hopped down and came around for her.
He didn’t understand. “No, truly. Being able to shoot does not concern me.”
“Good,” he said, raising his arms to take her down from the bench. “I’m glad to hear you’re not afraid of guns. But let’s practice now. That way, you’ll be ready to protect yourself by the time we reach the Crossing.” He grinned up at her. “Though mind you, it will take a while to be as good a shot as I am.”
“Oh, will it?” She could not allow that statement to stand. “In that case, Mr. Wallin,” she said with a smile, “we better start immediately.”
* * *
James helped Rina down, trying not to revel in the feel of her in his arms. He had to focus on his goal. The longer it took to reach the White River, the more chances he had to convince her not to go.
Her concern about the wild animals was a good excuse to stop and rest the horses. Besides, she had reason to fear. Seattle hadn’t been settled for all that long. Stories were still told of the king cougar, seven foot from nose to tail, David Denny had shot five years ago. James had seen the massive head of a bear Sheriff Boren had brought in last summer. If Rina was to live anywhere in Washington Territory, she ought to learn how to handle a gun.
He secured the horses where they had edibles to graze on and drew her a little ways into the woods where the noise would be less likely to frighten his team. He found a small clearing, massive firs walling in the sides and sunlight piercing through the green, then motioned her closer.
“This is a rifle,” he told her, holding out his gun level on both palms.
“Indeed,” she said, glancing at it. “A Spencer, isn’t it?”
James frowned. “Yes. How did you know?”
She pointed to the silver around the trigger. “It’s engraved right there.”
James looked to the spot. “Huh. So it is. Well, this model is a lever-action.” He pulled on the silver rod to show her. “And the cartridges go in the butt.”
“Cartridges,” she said. “Not powder and lead?”
“No indeed.” He went on to explain the workings of the piece. It was a newer model, paid for by his logging. A man needed suitable tools to ply his trade and to protect himself and his family. And if he could look good in the process, so much the better. This model had a fine hickory stock with all the silver engraved with fanciful vines.
“Now, to shoot it,” he said, coming around behind her and slipping the gun over her head and into her arms, “you start by positioning it like this.” He brought the stock back against her shoulder and aimed the barrel out. Her hands came up to cradle the weapon.
“Very good,” he told her. “Now, pick a target.”
“That stump,” she said, swiveling slowly and sighting down the barrel. Before he could advise her further, she pulled the trigger.
A piece of bark flew from the stump.
“It pulls to the left,” she said.
James shook his head in admiration. “Yes, it does. To compensate...”
“I aim to the right,” she finished. She spread her stance, cranked the lever to remove the spent cartridge and sighted again. The gun roared.
James waved a hand to dissipate the smoke and squinted at the stump. Sure enough, he could spot the bullet lodged in the wood.
“Pretty good,” he admitted.
“Fairly tame, actually,” she said, lowering the gun. “A Spencer repeater has a range of five hundred yards.”
How did she know that? James had boug
ht the gun, like his horses, because it appeared to be something stylish that would be useful to him. He’d shot it to make sure it worked, confirmed that the mercantile carried the cartridges it required. But he hadn’t studied its capabilities. Had she?
“You didn’t need lessons from me,” he realized. “Who taught you to shoot?”
She snapped the lever to eject the cartridge. “I had a lady tutor once who was an avid sportswoman. She and my father failed to agree on the nature of my instruction. But after I won a few shooting matches, he changed his mind.”
James smiled. “He must have been proud of you.”
She held out the rifle to him as if tired of it. “I think rather he saw a benefit to my abilities. He wagered on the outcome, you see. Like you, a number of gentlemen found it difficult to believe a lady knew how to shoot that well.”
James accepted the gun. “Well, you showed them. What else did the lady tutor teach you?”
She lifted her skirts to head back toward the wagon, and he followed. “I received lessons in archery and badminton,” she said.
“Not sure what the second is,” James admitted, “but I’m guessing you’re good at it, too.”
She ducked her head. “A bit. I fear I have a rather competitive spirit. I try not to encourage it.”
“Why not?” he asked, shouldering the gun. “Whether you use a gun or a bow, hunting is an important skill out here.”
She sighed as if she wished that were the case. “Not for a schoolteacher.”
“For anyone,” he insisted. “And I’d like to see you badminton some time. I might learn something.”
She giggled. Oh, how he loved that sound. “It’s not a particularly helpful sport,” she told him, as he stowed the rifle then went to put Lance and Percy back in harness. “And forgive me for wasting your time to practice. I do hope you will listen in the future before assuming.” She cocked her head as if waiting for him to agree.
“Oh, I won’t promise that,” James said, fastening the buckles. “It’s too much fun jumping to conclusions.”
She shook her head as he finished. Indeed, he could see the pensive mood slipping over her again and not because of her concerns for the future. No, Rina seemed more concerned about her past. But learning to shoot and fire a bow didn’t sound like such bad things to him.
As he came to her side, he tried for a smile. “What can I do to get back in your good graces?” he asked, peering up under her brows.
She refused to meet his gaze as he lifted her into the wagon. “No need.”
Not good enough. The urge to see her smile was like an itch he had to scratch. He could almost hear Catherine gloating that he must be following in love, but he knew the truth. That need to please wasn’t love. He’d been making people smile or laugh since before Pa had died. Their laughter made him feel useful, worthwhile.
“I could recite you a poem,” he offered as he took his place on the bench.
She shook her head again. “No, thank you.”
“Spin you a yarn?” James suggested.
“I’ve had my fill of fanciful stories.”
He puffed out a sigh. “What, then?”
She glanced to the front of the wagon, then laid a hand on his arm, smile hopeful. “You could let me drive.”
Chapter Ten
Rina waited for James’s reply. He was inordinately proud of those horses, and for good reason. She certainly would have balked if a near-stranger had asked to drive her team. She had struggled to sell them to a stranger as it was.
James cocked his head, blue eyes fixed on her. “Do you drive half as good as you shoot?”
“Better,” Rina promised.
He grinned and waved a hand toward the team. “Then be my guest, ma’am.”
A tingle shot through her. It seemed like forever since she’d sat in the driver’s seat. And to drive a pair of steeldusts! She knew she must be trembling as he offered her the reins.
The supple leather warmed against her skin as she accepted them. Always before she’d worn gloves, either kid driving gloves or proper ladies’ gloves. Now she fancied she could feel the horses’ eagerness, matching her own, all the way along the strands.
The light in James’s eyes told her he shared her excitement. “Give them their heads, Miss Fosgrave,” he said.
Rina threaded the reins through her fingers from long experience, pooling the excess leather in the foot well. Bracing her feet against the fender, she touched the reins to the horse’s rears. “Gee-up!”
The team obligingly set off at a trot.
Time fell away. She felt buoyant, confident, the queen of all she surveyed. No, no, not the queen. She’d never be queen. But when she was driving, she ruled the road.
Muscles she hadn’t used in months tensed, but she wiggled on the bench to shake them out.
“They’re not difficult,” James said, leaning against the backboard. “You just have to tell them to go, and they go.”
He was right. His horses were well trained, though not, she thought, by him. Someone had taken great pains to teach them how to behave in harness. She could see differences in their personalities, though. Lancelot was the determined one, relentlessly pulling forward as if he couldn’t wait to reach his destination. She had to rein him in a bit to keep him level with his teammate. Percival, on the other hand, was more playful, as wont to vie away as to stay the course. Only the confines of the harness and stocks kept him in tandem.
James put his feet up on the fender. “Nicely done. I’d like to see you take them on a smoother road. I imagine they could fly.”
Rina smiled. “A shame the closest smooth road is likely in California.”
“Kentucky,” he corrected her. “But I think we could chance going a little faster if you’d like.” He cast her a glance out of the corners of his eyes as if to gauge her reaction.
“Watch me,” Rina said and called to the team.
Immediately they stepped up, drawing the wagon down the narrow road. Responsiveness and strength shouted with every movement. The trees whipped past, a curtain of green enclosing her, James and the horses. She wanted to laugh, to shout into the wind.
James didn’t fight the feeling. “Yee-haw!” he hollered, slapping his hands down on his trousers.
Rina laughed and urged them faster.
With a bump, the wagon veered over a rut, skittering on the muddy track. The bench tilted, and she slid down next to James, who braced himself to keep both of them from falling. She pulled on the reins to slow the team.
“Forgive me,” she said, edging farther away from his warmth.
He grinned at her. “Not a problem, ma’am. You can go that fast any time you like.”
No, she really shouldn’t. It wasn’t fair to the horses to try to navigate this terrain at such a pace. She brought them back to a sedate walk with a sigh.
“You’re as good as your word, Rina,” James told her as if trying to encourage her. “You’re an even finer driver than a marksman. Any other skills you care to share?”
“Nothing half so useful, I fear,” Rina said.
James eyed her. “You might be surprised what I find useful.”
She might at that. Something inside urged her to tell him more about her past, to share all her disappointments and fears. But she couldn’t bear to see that grin fade from his handsome face.
“Very well,” she said. “Since you asked, allow me to list all my useless skills. I can tell you how to seat important people at a dinner party so no one is offended.”
He nodded, sticking out his lower lip as if impressed. “That’s not useless. It ought to come in handy at Christmas.”
She knew he was teasing her. “And I know the proper way to address the Queen of England and her children.”
“Good,”
he said, settling on the seat. “We’ll invite them over, too.”
He was all too skilled at making her laugh. “I am also fluent in the language of flowers and can arrange a bouquet to send the appropriate message.”
He tilted back to eye her. “Flowers have a language? I never heard a daisy shout.”
“Certainly not,” Rina said, struggling to keep her face and voice firm. “Daisies do their best to appear more refined than that, sir.”
He raised a brow. “So, what do they say?”
“It depends on the daisy.” Rina urged Percival back in line. “A wild daisy like the ones growing along there mean ‘I will think of it.’ A Michaelmas daisy means ‘farewell,’ and a colored daisy means ‘beauty.’”
James shook his head. “Who knew? And you put these flowers together to send a message?”
“Exactly. I told you it was a ridiculous skill.”
He scratched his chin as if he wasn’t so sure of that. “I could see a use for it. What if I wanted to tell a lady how much I admire her?”
“She would have to know the language, too,” Rina pointed out.
He grinned. “Oh, I have it on good authority she knows it well.”
Her? Her hands tightened on the reins, and the horses slowed further. “You might try amethyst flower entwined with morning glory,” she murmured. “The first speaks of admiration, the second of affection.”
He leaned closer. “And if I wanted to tell her never to leave my side?”
Her mouth was suddenly dry. “You might gather jonquils, which mean ‘I desire a return of my affections,’ and forget-me-nots.”
“I’m fresh out of jonquils,” he said softly. “But I hope you won’t forget me, Rina.”
Forget him? Never. Believe his flattery? Not for a moment. She couldn’t afford to rely on someone like that again. The results had hurt too much.
“Very likely my work will keep me too busy to think of much else,” she said with a flick of the reins to set the team moving faster again.
He straightened with a sigh. “Very likely. Either that, or one of those fellows out White River way will win your affections with some talkative daisies.”
