Frontier Engagement

by Regina Scott

  “Throw it out,” his partner ordered. “Now, if you two will just get down, we’ll be on our way.”

  Get down? But that would mean he intended to make off with the wagon.

  And the horses.

  James went still. “You can’t take the wagon. My family needs it.”

  “And we needs it more,” Davy said, joining Nash at the front of the wagon. “I reckon those horses will fetch a pretty penny.”

  James felt as if they’d reached in and plucked out his heart. Still, he smiled at them. “You might get a good price for them, if one wasn’t lame and the other blind.”

  Rina frowned at him, but Davy leaned around his partner to stare at the horses. Lance raised his head, nostrils flaring, and Percy grumbled to himself.

  “They don’t look sick to me,” Davy said, straightening.

  “That’s what I said,” James agreed. “Right before their previous owner took my money and ran. You’ll be doing me a favor by taking them off my hands.”

  “James,” Rina said, shock vibrating through the word. “How can you say such things about Lance and Percy?”

  “Lance and Percy!” Nash guffawed, belly quivering. “Figure on a woman to give her horses such prissy names.”

  His friend started laughing too.

  James couldn’t stand it. “For your information,” he grit out, “I named my horses.”

  “Then they ought to be glad to go with fellows having more sense,” Davy gibed. “Now get down.”

  James climbed down and came around for Rina, all the while trying to reason out something else he could do, something he could say to stop the thieves. Once he would have been rash enough to throw a punch or two, make a grab for a gun. But now all he could think about was the possibility of Rina getting hurt in the process.

  And that was even more unthinkable than losing his horses.

  In the end, he could only stand at the side of the road, Rina’s trunk tumbled nearby, while Nash and Davy made off with the rifle, the wagon and Lance and Percy.

  “Forgive me,” she said.

  James made himself shrug. “It’s not your fault they happened upon us. I was the one who wanted to take the shortcut.”

  “You wouldn’t have been anywhere near here but for me,” she protested.

  He strode over to her trunk. “Oh, you never know. I might have taken a hankering to wander.” He bent and hefted one handle.

  Rina darted forward as if to take it from him. “You can’t mean to carry that!”

  He gave it a tug to test the strength of the leather strap. “Just because I lost everything doesn’t mean you have to.” He dragged it a few feet, feeling it catch on every rock, each root. He lowered the trunk and eyed her.

  “How would you feel about leaving the books?”

  She closed the distance between them, face intent as her gaze met his. “I would rather leave the clothes. They at least are replaceable.”

  “Not out here,” James warned.

  As if to deny it, she bent and opened the lid. James leaned over, gazing down into the depths. Bright fabrics gleamed in the light.

  “That’s silk,” he marveled, reaching down to finger a gown and then a shawl patterned with autumn leaves. “And the softest wool I ever felt.”

  “Cashmere,” she said. “I will not miss it.”

  He jerked back. “Are you mad? We’re lucky the robbers had no idea of the value or we’d probably be standing out here in our flannels!”

  She straightened, chin coming up once more. “Nonsense. Our lives are far more important than mere cloth.”

  James crouched beside the trunk. “No argument there. But, Rina, I can’t let you give this up.”

  She moved away from the trunk as if distancing herself from everything it represented. “That, sir, is not your decision to make.”

  Perhaps. But as he lifted one of her lovely gowns, something slid out into his hand. The miniature was a typical family portrait—father, mother, daughter—except the parents wore robes trimmed in ermine and heavy crowns encrusted with jewels on their heads. In the image Rina gazed out with sober eyes, as if well aware that she would one day rule a nation.

  Who had pictures painted of themselves in costume? Was she really some sort of princess? It would certainly explain those airs of hers and why she’d bristled when he’d called her “your majesty.” But a princess on the Mercer expedition, going to teach school on the White River? Impossible!

  “Well, Mr. Wallin?” she asked, gaze on the path back. “Are you coming?”

  James tucked the miniature into his waistcoat. “When we’ve dressed properly.”

  Rina’s gaze swung back to him. “I was unaware formal attire was required to be stranded in the wilderness.”

  “And you claim to be a schoolteacher,” he teased. He scooped up an armful of clothing and held it out to her.

  Rina eyed it as if he’d offered her his brother’s snake. “I will not change clothes in front of you.”

  James rose. “I wouldn’t ask that of you. I want you to put on as much of this as you can over the clothing you’re already wearing. You have no idea how cold it can get at night when you’re wet and tired. We have a long way to walk before we find help, and I have no interest in either of us freezing along the way.”

  * * *

  Rina couldn’t believe how attached he was to her clothing. James would not listen to her arguments, draping dresses, shawls and jackets about her person as he talked. What was left he tied around himself or stuffed in his pockets. She could not imagine what the Fosgraves would have thought had they seen the pair of them.

  “The lace is very becoming,” she said as they started off the way they had come. They had agreed that their best course was to try to make it back to McKenzie’s Corner by nightfall. Already the sun was dipping below the branches, the air cooling with a breeze from the west.

  He flipped the flat black velvet hood back from his face, the white satin bow hugging his chin. “Why, thank you, ma’am. I predict it will set a new style for loggers around the world.”

  That forced a smile from her. “You are more determined to set a positive tone to our situation than a style,” she marveled, lifting her heavy skirts to circle a stump. “I appreciate that.”

  “Does no good to complain,” he replied, detouring around the next stump. “The trees can’t hear you, and the animals don’t care.”

  The mention of animals sobered her. “Are we likely to meet many creatures?”

  He cast her a glance, serious even under a cloud of lace. “I won’t lie to you. We have maybe an hour left to walk before we have to find shelter for the night.”

  “Shelter.” Rina seized on the word. “Then there are farmsteads out this way.”

  “Not many,” he confessed. “And none along this stretch of road as far as I know. Our best bet if we can’t find a cave is to shinny up a tree.”

  Rina nearly choked as she spread her skirts. “In these?”

  “I’ll help you,” he promised. “We just have to get off the ground.”

  Somehow, the thought of climbing a tree made walking all the more difficult.

  But walk she did, loaded down with clothing, until the path reached the road once more. At least, it reached where the road had been.

  The river had been busy in their absence. Wide swaths of ground were gone, trees tilting precariously toward the rushing waters. She could not see the beginning of the road other than the wide spot where debris pooled, bobbing in circles before it was swept downstream again.

  James pulled her away from it. “We’ll have to go through the woods, meet the road farther back.”

  Rina glanced into the forest. There was no path to follow, no sense of any order. Thick firs rose into the sky, while their fallen brothers a
nd sisters obscured the ground, sporting carpets of moss. Any kind of opening was filled with the sweeping fronds of ferns, lacy canopies dotted with tiny red berries and snaking prickly vines covered in white flowers.

  “I cannot navigate that,” she said.

  “I can.” James took her hand and led her forward. “Step up on this log now. See? Just like promenading along the boardwalk.”

  No boardwalk she’d ever visited had limbs poking out at odd angles and mushrooms popping up below. James, however, was as sure-footed as a mule, guiding her along fallen logs, ducking under tilting branches, taking her ever deeper into the wilderness.

  With her hand in his, she found she could not fear. Birds called overhead. Fir scented the air. Sunlight filtered down, anointing branches with gold. She’d always thought she’d visit a grand cathedral on her coronation, not wander through one in which the columns were made of wood and the branches seemed to support the roof of the sky.

  Yet even as she glanced around in wonder, she noticed that James was not nearly so amused. He seemed to be seeking something, for every once in a while he’d stop, look up as if in consideration, then shake his head and lead her on. Finally, he pulled up short in an area with a group of narrow-leafed trees, brighter green against the backdrop of fir. Several grew close together, branches intermingling overhead.

  “Give me those shawls,” he said.

  Rina unwound them from around her waist. “Why? What are you planning?”

  He took them from her and draped them around his neck. “A blasphemy on this fine clothing, but a necessity, I fear. Stay close and see if you can gather some dry wood for a fire.” He leaped up, caught a branch and pulled himself into the tree.

  She knew she should do as he’d suggested and gather wood, but she couldn’t seem to take her gaze away from him. He moved through the tree as if he were doing nothing more than climbing the stairs to bed. She’d seen acrobats perform at a circus once, with her family in the front box as befitted their station. Those men had soared about the ring like swallows darting over a river. James was no less graceful and sure of himself, and he had no net to catch him if he fell.

  He must have brushed aside a branch, for sunlight speared her gaze, reminding her of their purpose. She looked down and cast about for fallen limbs they could use, all the while listening for any movements around her. By the time James jumped down beside her, she’d managed to scrape together a small pile of downed timber.

  “That ought to last an hour or two,” he said.

  “An hour!” Rina dumped the last few twigs onto the others. “Is that all?”

  “Well, you know how quickly a good fire burns,” he said. When she didn’t answer right away, he peered closer. “You do know how to start a fire, don’t you?”

  She refused to lie. “Not in the slightest. I was able to keep yours burning in the schoolroom, but I never learned to light one.” She felt as if her confidence was fading with the sun. “Is it terribly difficult?”

  His face turned serious, but she could see the twinkle in his eyes. “Extremely difficult,” he said. “I’m amazed mankind survives. I don’t suppose you brought any parlor matches.”

  Rina frowned. “I refuse to carry the things. They are entirely too easy to catch fire.”

  “And aren’t we all thankful for that.” James bent over the ground and began sweeping the dried needles together in a pile. “Good thing I still have my flint. I’ll start the fire, then you tend it while I see if I can find some food.”

  Rina stiffened. “You’re leaving?”

  “Not far and not for long,” he promised, glancing up with a smile. “Now, watch so you’ll know what to do next time.”

  She certainly hoped she wouldn’t be stranded in the wilderness more than once. But she knew the ability to start a fire would come in handy on the White River. She’d seen footmen lay a coal fire, and a girl-of-all-work had usually kept the fires going in the boardinghouse. But she’d never realized there was such an art to it.

  James laid the sticks she had gathered around his pile of needles as if constructing a log cabin. Fascinated, she watched as he struck his flint over the pile, then crouched and blew into the embers, lips pursed as if he meant to kiss the rising flames. At the thought, heat flushed up her, and she knew it had little to do with the warmth spreading from the fire.

  “Now, a few pieces a little bigger,” he said, straightening. He pointed. “That branch there and any that size will do.”

  She hurried to drag the branch over to him. He propped it against his glowing house and stood back. “That ought to do it. If it starts to go out, take a stick and poke it up.”

  She nodded. “I can do that.”

  James eyed her. “And don’t get too close. We don’t want to ruin any more of your clothes than we have to.”

  Again with the clothes. For a moment, back where they’d lost his precious horses, she’d thought she’d actually seen a tear in his eye at the idea of leaving her things behind. She’d been more concerned about sapping his strength than at the loss of her meager belongings. They only served to remind her of a time she’d sooner forget.

  A person who never had been.

  The person she was now guarded the fire as he disappeared into the darkening woods. He seemed to find her skills interesting, but she struggled to see their utility out here. She’d never have to calculate the political ramifications of introducing a grand duke to a cabinet member who was a mere mister. She had no fine house to decorate, no linen-draped table to set. As Mrs. Wallin had said, Rina might speak Italian, but the person who could answer her was rare.

  A cool breeze darted through the clearing, setting the trees to whispering. Tiny things croaked and chirped, content with their lots. Rina cuddled her cloak closer.

  Oh, Lord, I cannot help James now. Only You can see us through this.

  Her fire popped, embers scattered and smoke billowed up. Was it going out? Batting away the gray cloud with one hand, she laid another log against the glow. The mound settled, crackling and hissing. The flames sputtered.

  “No, no, no,” she told the fire, panic starting to build. She nudged the log closer with her toe. “Come on! You must be hungry! Eat that!”

  The smoke thickened, singeing her lungs and stinging her eyes. Blinking back tears, she ventured lower, pushing at the wood. “Come on!” she begged.

  With another pop, an ember flew out to land on her skirts. The silk flamed immediately, and she fell back from it with a cry.

  “Roll!”

  James was on her in an instant, driving her back from the fire, twisting her so her skirt was smothered against the ground. Heat pushed through her petticoats, then evaporated. She managed to catch her breath as she sat.

  James knelt beside her, eyes wide. “Are you hurt?”

  “I...I don’t think so.” Rina spread her skirts. In the center was a hole, blackened around the edges, to show the gray smoke stain on her petticoat. Her best day dress—utterly ruined!

  James rocked back on his heels. “Thank the Lord! When I saw that spark flare, I thought you were going up in smoke instead of the fire!”

  What if she had? If he hadn’t returned just then, she might easily have been burned. The very thought set her hands to shaking, but she forced them against the ground to climb to her feet.

  “Thank you for returning so soon.” She glanced back at the traitorous fire, which was now no more than a smoldering ruin. “It nearly went out.”

  “Forget it,” he said, and he gathered her close and held her a moment.

  Oh, but that was what she needed, this strength, this belief in herself and the future. She wanted to wrap him around her like her shawl and hold him tight. No one had ever made her feel so safe.

  But with night closing in, she was very much afraid this feeling of safety was only an illu
sion.

  Chapter Thirteen

  James held Rina close, his heart thundering painfully against his ribs. He’d managed to locate some food in the forest. It wasn’t much, but it would see them through until morning. When he’d come out of the woods to see her skirts ablaze, he’d never known such fear.

  Thank You, Lord, for sparing her!

  She was the one to pull back. In the twilight, he could see her lips trembling a moment before she spoke. “What do we do now?”

  Best to keep things light. He was sincerely concerned about their safety, but she didn’t need to know that. With the main road out, miles lay between them and help, and he wasn’t sure where to find shelter or water. Then there were the animals she’d asked about—cougars, wolves and bears. He’d have had a difficult time of it alone. Protecting Rina complicated matters threefold.

  But he was not about to let her down.

  “Now, we feast,” he said. Glancing around, he spotted a downed tree not too far from where they’d laid the fire. He unwrapped the wool gown from his shoulders and draped it over the moss. “Won’t you be seated, milady?”

  She went to sit, arranging her skirts to hide the burn. The frown on her face didn’t ease. “I dislike special treatment.”

  She might dislike it, but she required it. Any of his brothers would have known how to help. Ma and Beth would have had some idea of how to pitch in. The schoolteacher had a lot to learn.

  “Humor me,” he said before turning to the fire. He could still feel heat from it, so it hadn’t gone out completely. Nudging the larger log with one foot, he saw the glow of coals inside.

  “It simply would not cooperate,” she said, exasperation lacing her polished tone. “Why did it go out?”

  “Fire requires three things—fuel, heat and air. Deprive it of any, and it dies. Looks like it might have gotten just a bit too cozy.” He crouched to fix the situation.

  “Is that why you built the little house the way you did?” she asked. “To allow air to flow between the sticks?”

  He nodded, intent on his work. “Pa taught us that. He said a fire had to be tended like your first love. Give it attention and care, and it will last.”