The reverend inhaled deeply. “Rachel Parker is a good woman. This journey might test her like nothing before. She’s had a lot of responsibility in her life for such a young lady, and she deserves better. I just thought she could use some extra looking after.”
Jake ran his hand through his hair. He shook his head, and chuckled.
“And I’m the guy to see to that? Reverend, I assume you’re the one who spread those rumors about me, that I’m some notorious skirt chaser.” He paused. The unmistakable look of well, aren’t you? spread across the reverend’s face. Jake ignored it. “What makes you think I’m the sort of guy to keep a wholesome girl like her . . . well, wholesome?”
“I have a feeling you’ll do the right thing, Jake.” Johnson patted him on the knee, like an indulgent grandfather would. He rubbed his chin between his thumb and index finger. “Just consider her your extra credit assignment.”
As if a light bulb had gone off in his head, he asked, “Is she from the future, like me?”
“No.” The reverend shook his head. “Rachel is right where she belongs. Fate has dealt her a difficult hand.”
“Her husband is a drunk. I haven’t even met the man, and I don’t like him.” Jake didn’t hide the disgust in his voice. Running his hands through his hair, he bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees. A spider scurried across the well-worn wooden floorboards at his feet. Abruptly, he looked up and turned his head toward the reverend.
“By asking me to pretend to be this competent wagon train scout, you are condemning a bunch of people to die. Do you realize that?” Jake stood, anger building up inside him. How was he supposed to get a large group of people through the wilderness of the nineteenth century? If he really had time traveled, this would be an impossible undertaking. “I don’t have the first clue how to get from Iowa to Oregon in the 1800’s.”
The reverend patted his back. “I have a map here for you, Jake,” he said. He reached for one of the Bibles, opened it, and produced a folded-up piece of parchment. “This is the route you’ll be following. Study it well. This is a handy little map.”
Jake took the faded brown paper, and stared at it without unfolding it. “That’s it? A map is all you’re giving me?” He turned his head and gaped dumbfounded at the older man. “Are you going on this trip?” He straightened his back.
“No, Jake.” The reverend shook his head slowly. “You’re on your own. You will meet me again at the end of your journey.”
“And if I refuse to do this? Am I stuck here?”
“I suppose I can send you back to your jail cell in your time, and you will be convicted of first degree murder with special circumstances. I believe you understand what that means.”
Yeah. It meant life on death row. “You’re crazy, you know that?” Jake paced the floor in front of the reverend. He could rot in a jail cell for the rest of his life, or he could die here in the nineteenth century. “Some choice,” he mumbled. “I don’t even know why I’m agreeing to do this.” Rachel Parker’s blue eyes flashed in his mind.
The reverend’s knowing smile widened.
*****
“Mr. Owens?”
Rachel hesitantly opened the door to the barn, and tightened her grip on the basket in her hand. The hinges on the wooden door creaked loudly. Tommy and Billy whispered behind her, and David held on to her skirt. Tommy boldly stepped around her, and peered into the dark interior.
“Maybe he’s not here,” Billy suggested, pushing his brother aside to get a better look. Tommy elbowed him in the chest, and a scuffle ensued, each boy wanting the best vantage point.
“Stop fighting, you two,” Rachel whispered. She waited for the kids to come to an agreement, which more or less meant that Billy, being older and a bit larger, had the better view.
“Mr. Edwards told me this is where I’d find him.” She pulled the door open wider, and stepped inside. Her heart rate increased suddenly. When she’d inquired with Mr. Edwards about where to find Jake Owens, Mrs. Edwards’ eyes had shot up, and her lips pursed in disapproval. Apparently the woman doubted Rachel’s explanation that she simply wanted to bring him some food to thank him for his help with loading her wagon this afternoon.
The rumors would surely start flying in the morning. She rolled her eyes, and envisioned Mrs. Edwards, the old ninny, chomping at the bit to share her suspicions with some of the other ladies in camp. Well, if anyone wanted to talk behind her back, they could. She’d brought the boys along for appearances. Surely even Mrs. Edwards would see that Rachel couldn’t possibly be meeting a man in secret with a toddler and two rambunctious boys in tow. She simply wanted to reward one kind deed with another. Supper was the least she could do for the scout after he’d been so helpful.
Rachel adjusted the basket handle in her hand. She wondered again why Mr. Owens hadn’t shown up for supper at the wagon. She had been under the impression that he had accepted her invitation. She stepped into the barn, pushing Billy and Tommy inside the dim space ahead of her. David grabbed tightly to her skirt.
While Rachel allowed her eyes to adjust to the shadowy light in the barn, Tommy and Billy scurried amongst the stalls like a couple of field mice in search of a morsel of food.
“Here he is,” both boys shouted at once. Rachel stepped forward. She hadn’t seen anyone. She heard a string of curses that made heat rise in her face. Seconds later, the figure of a man emerged from an empty stall, and she quickly suppressed a gasp. Mr. Owens was bare above the waist. He raked his fingers through his hair, and stalks of straw fell to the ground. He’d obviously been asleep. Was he sleeping off alcohol, just like Thomas was doing at this very moment?
“Rachel?” He blinked, and rubbed at his eyes with fisted hands. His speech sounded raspy. He took a few steps out of the stall to stand before her.
Rachel tried to swallow the apprehension in her throat, but her mouth had gone painfully dry. She averted her eyes, and held the basket in front of her. The familiarity with which he spoke her name unnerved her. Tommy and Billy mumbled in hushed tones behind him, pointing at things she couldn’t see.
“I brought you some supper,” she said, and held the basket up higher for him to take.
Mr. Owens stared rather dumbfounded from the basket to her. He slapped his hand against his forehead. “Ah, hell. I must have fallen asleep. I’m sorry I missed supper.”
“I understand,” she said. To her relief, he didn’t sound drunk. She held the basket out to him, grateful that he finally took it from her. His fingers grazed hers during the exchange, and she quickly pulled her hand back. The brief contact sent a tingle through her fingers, and her heart rate increased again. Confused at her reaction, she averted her eyes.
“You didn’t have to bring me food,” Mr. Owens said.
“It’s the least I could do after all your help this afternoon.” She shrugged. David tugged on her skirts, and Rachel sighed in relief, glad for the diversion. She bent and swung the boy into her arms, resting him on her hip.
“Well, we’ll be going.” She turned to leave. “Enjoy your supper. And . . . we’re sorry for disturbing your sleep.”
“Wait.” Mr. Owens reached out and touched her arm. The heat from his hand seeped straight through the cotton material of her blouse, and into her skin. Rachel glanced up, and tried desperately to avoid looking at the wide expanse of the man’s shoulders, or the well-defined muscles in his arms. Jake Owens was obviously a man who’d worked hard all his life.
“You bring me food, and then expect me to eat it alone?” He grinned, and took another step closer.
“We’ve already eaten,” she said, taking a step back to maintain a safe distance. She raised her chin, just as David pulled on the pins in her hair, which fell loosely down her back and over her shoulders.
Mr. Owens’ smile faded. His eyes roamed over her, and lingered on her hair. His jaw muscles twitched in his cheeks.
“How’s the hand?” he asked, clearing his throat.
Rachel flexed her band
aged hand, staring at it to avoid looking at him. “On the mend.”
“Looks like you got a lot on your plate.” He grinned that wickedly handsome grin, and jutted his chin toward David, and then at Tommy and Billy. “What would make you want to pick up the life you know and travel cross country into the unknown, especially with three little kids?”
“Do you have a problem with wanting to find a better life somewhere, Mr. Owens?” Rachel raised her chin. Why would he ask such a question? Didn’t most people wish for better opportunities?
“Seems to be an extreme way to find a better life.” He shrugged.
“What about you?” she dared to ask. “What makes a man want to wander, rather than set down roots somewhere?”
Her question apparently struck a nerve, just as his reference to his brother had done earlier. His face hardened, and his jaw clenched. “Guess I ain’t found a good enough reason to settle down.”
“Did you really kill five men all at once?” Billy asked loudly.
“And a bunch of Indians, too?” Tommy chimed in.
“That’s enough, boys,” Rachel hissed. Where had they heard such rumors? Deep down, curiosity ate away at her. Were the rumors true?
“If I see an Injun while we’re on the way to Oreegun, I’m gonna shoot him dead.” Billy jumped forward, his arms outstretched, pretending it was a rifle. His brother joined him.
“Papa’ll be proud.”
“Well, partner, if the Indian is friendly, you probably shouldn’t go around shooting him,” Mr. Owens said to Billy. His boyish grin was back. “And I’m sure your papa would be more proud of you for keeping the peace.” He turned his head, and his eyes met Rachel’s. For a moment, the sensation of sinking into the depths of his penetrating gaze overwhelmed her.
“You’d best get back to your wagon, Rachel. Tomorrow’s gonna be a trying day, for all of us.” He sounded agitated, as if he’d rather be doing anything other than start this journey.
Rachel nodded. “Will it be dangerous? Crossing the river?”
“Yeah.”
Rachel blinked in surprise. He didn’t try and set her mind at ease, like most men would do, and tell her everything would be all right and not to worry. He’d given her a simple, no-nonsense answer to her concern.
“Thanks for supper,” he said. “I’ll bring your basket by your wagon in the morning. Just make sure your husband is alert and ready to do his job.”
Rachel nodded quietly. Whether Thomas would be alert or not remained to be seen. She hoped he’d sleep the rest of the night. She adjusted David on her hip, and nodded her head to Billy and Tommy, then moved to leave the barn.
“Good night, Rachel,” Mr. Owens called behind her. She stopped and turned her head. She nodded politely, then ushered the boys out the barn door, wondering why it didn’t bother her that he called her by her first name.
Chapter Five
“And I’m telling you, it’s a bad idea to put the livestock on the ferry.”
Rachel’s head turned at the angry shout of a man’s voice. It was a voice that had become familiar to her. Jake Owens was in a heated discussion with the wagon master, Mr. Wilson. The wagon master was in charge of the group. Why was Mr. Owens challenging his authority?
Standing beside her wagon, she checked one final time that the butter churn was secured tightly in place. She had just poured this morning’s milk from Mabel, her cow, into the churn. It would hopefully turn to soft butter by nightfall. At least churning butter was one chore she’d be able to forego while on the trail. The constant movement of the wagon would do the job for her.
Thomas sat high up on the wagon seat, his eyes bloodshot and watery. Although he had slept through the night, he was obviously feeling the after effects of his overindulgence with alcohol from yesterday. He sat stooped over, his elbows resting heavily on his knees, his head slung low almost between his legs. How was he going to manage driving their team of mules the entire day?
“Can we get down from the wagon?” Billy shouted, his head peering around the canvas from the back.
“No. You stay put,” Rachel said sternly.
“How much longer is it gonna be?” the boy whined.
“Once we cross the Missouri, you boys can walk a spell.”
Rachel understood the boy’s impatience. All the wagons in their group had been lined up along the banks of the wide Missouri River for nearly three hours already. They were all at the mercy of the man running the ferry. There was only one ferry, and it could hold no more than two wagons at a time. Many of the people in their group were starting to get restless.
Mary Holland waved to her from atop her wagon. She and her husband, Ben, were newlyweds, and planned to start their married life in a brand new place. During the almost two weeks since the group had been camped in Kannesville, Rachel and Mary had become friends. Rachel waved back, but remained standing near her own wagon. Mrs. Edwards and her daughter, Annabelle, held their heads together a few wagons over and whispered, pointing at the loud exchange between Mr. Wilson and Mr. Owens.
Mr. Owens swung his leg forward and over the saddle of his horse, and landed lightly on his feet in front of Mr. Wilson. Rachel’s wagon stood close enough to the two men, and their voices were loud enough to hear what they argued about. Earlier this morning, Mr. Owens had stood with the Reverend Johnson, after he came to say a prayer over the wagon train. Jake had looked angry then, too. What could the reverend possibly have said to him to make the scout so agitated?
“You gonna waste all this time, wanting to unyoke and unhitch all them teams,” Mr. Wilson shouted at the scout. “We’ve burned enough daylight already.”
Mr. Owens stood his ground. Not quite as tall as the wagon master, he refused to back away, and leaned forward.
“Is it worth losing wagons to save a few hours?” Mr. Owens argued. “These mules are cantankerous enough as it is, and asking them to stay quiet on a ferry is just plain stupid.”
Mr. Wilson spit tobacco juice on the ground. “We’ll let these folks decide for themselves what they want to do with their teams,” he said. “’Sides, who’s gonna herd the stock through the river? That’s a darn foolish undertaking.”
The scout shook his head in apparent disgust, a look of contempt on his face. He turned his head at that moment, and glanced Rachel’s way. Their eyes met and held. With a determined look on his face, he led his horse toward her. He glanced briefly at her wagon, and at Thomas sitting on the driver’s bench. Mr. Owens’ eyes narrowed slightly, before he returned his gaze to her.
“Thanks for supper last night,” he said. His voice still held an angry edge. “That damn wagon master is gonna drown you all. He’s in such a damn hurry.”
Rachel shrunk back at his heated words and foul language. “But how will the animals get across?”
“They can swim,” he said. “It’s safer for everyone. The rest of your livestock needs to get across, too. Or is that fool planning to have them ferried, too?”
“I ain’t unhitchin’ the mules,” Thomas said gruffly from atop the wagon. Mr. Owens looked up at the man sitting high above him, and his face hardened even more. His eyes glazed over in cold fury. “If you want to get your family safely across this river, you’ll do exactly that,” he said angrily.
Several other men gathered around Rachel’s wagon. Everyone seemed to be talking at once. Most men sided with Mr. Wilson. Some suggested, in a not-too friendly manner, for Jake to lay off the bottle.
“You all can do what you want,” the scout finally yelled, throwing his hands in the air. “When you change your minds, let me know. But I ain’t fishing any of you out of the river when your wagons go tumbling.”
Abruptly, he reached for Rachel’s arm, and pulled her out of the circle of men. Startled momentarily, she fought against his hold. His grip tightened, and she had no choice but to step forward, or risk causing a scene. She shot a hasty glance over her shoulder. Thomas hadn’t even noticed.
“Listen to me,” Mr. Owens said i
n a low voice. He leaned his head in close to her, and his warm hand sent that same familiar tingling sensation down her arm as it had done the evening before, when he touched her in the barn. “If your husband won’t unhitch your team, at least do yourself a favor and stay on this side of the river with your kids. You can take the ferry after all the wagons are across.”
Rachel peered up at him. He wore a serious look, but there was genuine concern in his eyes.
“Shouldn’t Mr. Wilson know what he’s doing? Hasn’t he led several wagon trains?” she asked. Why had Mr. Owens singled her out among all the other people to pull aside?
“He sure doesn’t act like he knows anything,” he scoffed. “It’s suicide to put these animals on the ferry. Your life and possessions are worth more than saving a few hours of traveling time.”
He spoke with such passion and conviction, Rachel couldn’t help but believe him.
“I’ll talk to Thomas,” she said. “If he won’t listen, I’ll do as you say. But, who will herd the animals through the water? Isn’t that dangerous as well?”
Jake Owens’ face lit up in a smile that made her heart flutter. She barely stopped herself from clutching her chest.
“Sweetheart, do you think this is the only river you’ll be crossing?” he drawled. “When we’re hundreds of miles from nowhere, there won’t be ferries waiting for you. I’ll get the animals across.” There was a note of confidence, but not arrogance, in his voice. Rachel took a step backward. Sweetheart! She stood much too close to this man, who made her feel things just by standing in his presence. He was a dangerous man, she realized suddenly, and remembered all the rumors about him. Dangerous to her, at any rate. She’d do well to keep her distance. She glanced around, hoping no one had heard him. To her dismay, she caught Harriet Edwards glaring straight at her.
“Let’s move out,” Mr. Wilson shouted at that moment. Apparently the ferry operator had finally arrived. He waved to the first two wagons, which rolled forward toward the ferry landing.
Come Home to Me (Second Chances Time Travel Romance Book 1) Page 4
