“Wagon master wants to know if you’re lookin’ for a place to bed down for the night,” Powell said as soon as he reached Jake.
Jake pointed behind him. “Papillion Creek, about an hour away.” He vaulted onto his mare’s back.
“Seen any sign of savages?” Powell asked, and leaned over his saddle to spit tobacco juice on the ground. He laughed. “Hell, I almost shot you. You look like a savage, ‘cept for that hair.”
Jake laughed. He had to admit there was some truth to that. Buckskin pants, no shirt, riding bareback through the hills. He might as well just stick some feathers in his hair.
“Ya got them ladies back at the wagons swoonin’, struttin’ around all bare-chested an’ all.”
“Yeah, I guess I should go get my shirt. I left it back with the Parker wagon.”
Marcus Powell leered, exposing a gap in his top front teeth. He leaned over his horse again and spit out more brown juice. “That Parker woman sure is something to look at, ain’t she?” he said, and raised his eyebrows.
Jake tensed. He gripped the reins tightly in his hand, and his mare pulled her neck and head forward in protest.
“She’s probably the most sightly woman on this here wagon train,” Powell continued. He was apparently under the impression that Jake was going to join him in this conversation.
“She’s also married,” Jake said, trying to keep his voice even.
Marcus scoffed. “Shore don’t seem like she sets her sights all that high. I seen that Parker fella drunk more than I seen him sober. Seems to like the bottle better’n his wife. Whadaya think, Owens? From what I heard tell, you’re good at gettin’ into a woman’s drawers. Prob’ly wouldn’t be too hard to get under her skirts.”
Jake didn’t stop to think. He merely reacted. His arm shot out and his hand fisted around Marcus’ shirt collar. He nearly pulled the startled man from his horse. “If I ever catch you within ten feet of Mrs. Parker, or hear you talk about her in a disrespectful manner again, I’ll kill you,” he growled. His face was inches from the wide-eyed man’s, their horses stopped beneath them. He released his hold, shoving Marcus Powell backwards. The man lost his balance, and toppled from his horse. Jake took up his reins, and tightened his legs around his mare’s girth. She bolted forward, and Jake guided her toward the wagon train, cursing his fate with every stride.
* * *
Jake shook the water from his hair, and pulled his shirt on over his head. The creek was just as muddy as the Missouri River. Hopefully some of the grit would wash out of his itchy scalp. Some fifty yards upstream, the wagons sat parked along the creek bank. The smell of smoke from fifteen or more campfires filled the air, mingled with the delicious odor of bacon cooking. Jake’s stomach growled loudly.
He strapped his belt around his waist, and picked up his rifle, then walked slowly toward the wagons. He passed cattle and mules that eagerly cropped at the grasses after their hard day of work. The loud chirping of crickets and other night-time bugs, mingled with the soft melodies of someone playing the harmonica, reminded him of cattle drives back home. Jake ignored the odd tightening in his chest.
After the train had come to a stop along this tributary of the Missouri River and everyone had their animals unhitched, Frank Wilson had told the group that each family was responsible for providing a man to watch over the livestock during the night. He rattled off names of those who would have first, second, and third watch this first night.
Jake was silently glad that Thomas Parker’s name hadn’t come up this time. He’d returned to the train to collect his clothes and gear after his altercation with that scum Marcus Powell, and seen Rachel’s husband sway precariously in the jockey box of their wagon. The man was obviously still hung over from his binge in the saloon. Jake hoped that, for Rachel’s sake, Thomas would sober up over the next couple of days. Rachel had shot him a brief tight-lipped look when he approached, and then quickly scurried to the opposite side of the wagon. One of her kids handed him his clothes and rifle over the tailgate while the wagon kept moving. He’d have to retrieve his saddle once the train stopped for the night.
Jake smiled. Rachel was obviously still mad at him for his rude remarks that morning. He should really remember that this was a different time, and people had different social values. His behavior might just get him shot. Now that he thought about it, one thing that Powell had said that struck him as true, was that Thomas Parker sure didn’t show much interest in his wife. Jake had pulled her aside, and stood way too close to be considered proper in any century, almost right under Thomas’ nose, and the man hadn’t so much as blinked. He couldn’t have been that hung over not to take notice of a stranger getting so cozy with his wife. His stomach growled again. Maybe he should have accepted Elijah Edwards’ invitation. He might not be welcome at the Parker’s wagon. He combed his fingers through his hair. There was only one way to find out.
Jake made his way through camp. Families settled in around their campfires. Ben Holland nodded to him. His wife smiled, her eyes full of thanks. Holland had already thanked him profusely after Jake pulled him from the river. Women ladled out food from Dutch ovens sitting in the coals, kids sat wide-eyed by the fire, and men talked in hushed tones. Several people waved to him and smiled, while others cast him suspicious looks. He passed the Edwards wagon. Mr. Edwards was talking to Jeb Miller. They held up their coffee mugs in greeting, and Jake nodded. Mrs. Edwards stood at the tailgate of her wagon, fiddling with a metal pot. Next to her stood a girl who could only be her daughter. She had he same brown hair tied up in a bun as Mrs. Edwards. The girl looked over at Jake, and smiled coyly, then lowered her chin and batted her lashes at him.
Jake’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. In the brief moment he walked past, he quickly assessed the girl. She was the same height as her mother, but not quite as round. She did have curves in all the right places, but she couldn’t be more than fourteen or fifteen years old. To be polite, he returned her smile and tipped his fingers against his temple. Her smile widened.
Jake groaned. Hopefully he hadn’t done the wrong thing and led this girl to believe he was interested. He lengthened his stride and hurried along through the encampment. Up ahead, Rachel’s boys, Billy and Tommy, ran around, their arms outstretched and fingers pointing pretend guns at each other. The little toddler, David, looked like the monkey in the middle, trying to keep up with his older brothers. Jake smiled. He played like that with Tom when they were young, chasing each other through the barns and fields at the family ranch. He clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to remember. Tom embraced the ranching, the old west lifestyle. Jake had wanted out. He scoffed. Tom should be the one here, leading this group of emigrants. Not him.
Rachel’s soft voice snapped him out of his thoughts. His eyes roamed the camp in front of him. A fire burned low some ten feet from the wagon, but she wasn’t there. Neither was Thomas. Jake approached slowly, the delicious smell of something he couldn’t identify cooking in the Dutch oven sitting in the coals. His mouth watered. Rachel spoke again, and this time he honed in to where her voice was coming from. He still couldn’t see her, but he was sure she stood on the other side of the wagon.
“When are you going to start living your life again, Thomas? Your sons need their father. You’ve barely acknowledged David since he’s been born. It’s been nearly two years.”
“How can I look at him . . . when . . .” Thomas’ gruff voice cut her off.
“You’re his father. He needs you. Billy and Tommy need you. I can’t continue to be both mother and father to them. They are growing up.” Rachel implored in a pleading tone.
Jake listened, guilt flooding him for eavesdropping. He wondered about the argument. What had happened two years ago? There was one thing she wasn’t saying. Jake waited for it, but the words he expected from a woman never came. She spoke of her kids needing their father. What she didn’t say was I need you.
“Mr. Owens, Mr. Owens, you came.” Tommy ran up to him at that moment. Jake turned and plastered a wide smi
le on his face. The boys surrounded him. The tot waddled up to him and grabbed hold of the fringes on his buckskins, babbling words that Jake didn’t understand.
“Tell us how you saved Mr. Holland,” Billy demanded. Jake knelt down until he was at eye level with the boys.
“First, I don’t go by Mr. Owens. Call me Jake,” he said. Billy and Tommy’s mouths dropped. The hero worship in their eyes grew exponentially.
“You’re right on time for supper, Mr. Owens.” Rachel’s frigid and formal voice from behind him surprised him for a fleeting second. Jake’s lips rose at the corners of his mouth before he stood and turned to face her. The vulnerability in her pleading words to her husband a minute ago was gone. Jake raised his eyes to meet her stare, and the smile faded from his face. The unshed tears that shimmered in those blue pools hit him like a sucker punch to the gut, and tugged mercilessly at his heart. The urge to pull her to him, wrap her in his arms and take away her pain pulled at him unlike anything ever had. Jake’s muscles tightened. What the hell was happening to him?
Chapter Seven
Rachel fumbled with the ribbons of her bonnet, trying to retie the knot that had come loose from under her chin. She ducked her head low to keep the dust from blowing into her face. A strong gust of wind caught her unawares, and her bonnet went flying out of her grasp. Her skirt flapped wildly around her legs. She lunged for her head covering, and nearly stumbled on a rock on the uneven ground. The strong wind picked up her bonnet like a kite, carrying it across the grassland. Her skirt snagged in the branches of a sagebrush, and she gritted her teeth, carefully extracting the fabric from the unyielding bush. She only owned three dresses, and couldn’t afford to have this one rip.
Tommy raced after the precious hat, yelling loudly, “I’ll get it. I’ll get it.” Rachel sighed, and her shoulders slumped. She envied the boy’s enthusiasm and endurance. She’d walked all day, and had no energy left to chase after her bonnet. If Tommy hadn’t dashed after it, she would have had to give chase herself.
Today marked the third day on the trail, and already all the days seemed to blend into one. Mr. Wilson usually called an end to travel an hour before sunset, and rang the morning bell before sunup. The wagon train followed a course heading north toward what she’d overheard was the Platte River Valley. From there, they would head west. The landscape hadn’t changed at all, and was a mixture of sandy soil, rolling hills and tall windswept bluffs. Gazing far into the endless distance brought dizziness to her head. They were truly in the wilderness. There was no sign of civilization anywhere. The only indication that other people had come before them was the wagon ruts they followed. Whenever they were near water, the danger of the wagons and animals sinking into quicksand was a constant concern.
Thomas was as sullen as ever. Rachel hadn’t realized he had brought along several flasks of corn liquor, which he kept hidden under the wagon seat, and he drank heavily each night after supper. The liquor couldn’t last forever, she kept telling herself. At some point, he would run out, and then he would have to come to his senses. She was sorely tempted to grab all the bottles and smash them to the ground.
Rarely did Thomas speak to anyone, and during the long days driving the team, he seemed to sink deep within his own mind. None of the other men spoke to him. Thomas’ demeanor didn’t make him an approachable man. As a result, the women didn’t pay much attention to Rachel. She’d caught more than one woman casting glances of pity her way. Although usually cordial, none of the women sought her out for company. Even Mary had been unusually evasive, and stopped talking to her. Rachel took the hint and kept her distance. How much more unbearable would the situation become in the weeks ahead? They all had to rely on each other, and cooperate as one unit, even if they were fourteen individual families.
Squinting into the wind, Rachel wasn’t sure if the tears that rolled down her cheeks were due to the dust, or if she’d finally succumbed to homesickness. She missed the company of her neighbors back home in Ohio, familiar faces of people she’d known all her life. Bracing against the sensation of someone crushing her chest, she mindlessly set one foot in front of the other, her worn leather shoes sinking into the loose soil. She couldn’t think about home anymore, or the friends she’d left behind.
She was the one who suggested to Thomas that they move out west so they could make a new start. She had really hoped the idea would brighten his spirits. He’d gone along with her suggestion at first, seemed almost eager at the idea, but it hadn’t taken long for his broodiness to return. She glanced up, squinting into the sun that slowly descended into the far off horizon, and tried to envision the Oregon territory she’d heard so much about. Perhaps when Thomas saw the lush green valleys of Oregon, and laid claim to the 320 acres of land that would be theirs to farm, he would finally return to the man she’d known before . . .
Loud giggles penetrated her mind, and she held her hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the wind and sun. A rider on a buckskin horse galloped toward the line of wagons, heading directly for her. Jake Owens. Rachel’s heart fluttered in her chest. The man sat his horse as if he were one with the animal. She hadn’t seen him much over the last three days, after that first night when he ate supper at her wagon.
Rachel scoffed. Thomas had probably scared him off, just like he scared off all the other people in their group. She shook her head. On second thought, it was a ridiculous notion. She couldn’t imagine Jake Owens being afraid of anything. Quiet throughout the meal, Thomas had nevertheless offered him a cup of his corn liquor, which the scout declined to Rachel’s great surprise. When Mr. Owens had casually mentioned that Thomas might feel better and see to his family more effectively if he didn’t drink so heavily, Thomas had shouted loud enough to be heard throughout the camp for Mr. Owens to mind his own business. Rachel had never wanted to sink into quicksand as badly as she did at that moment. She remembered the scowl of disapproval Mr. Owens had cast her way, just before he excused himself from their campsite. His eyes were filled with contempt and anger, but when he darted a final glance her way, there was something else written there, something she couldn’t name, or perhaps was afraid to acknowledge.
“We caught your bonnet,” Tommy yelled from behind the man approaching her on horseback. Rachel blinked to get a better look. Mr. Owens’ broad body hid Tommy’s slight form until he reined his horse in right next to her. Tommy sat behind the scout, his arms wrapped tightly around the man’s middle. The boy purely glowed from happiness. The scene reminded her of how much Billy and Tommy needed their father. Each time Mr. Owens came around, the boys buzzed to him like bees to honey. And the scout didn’t seem to mind.
The horse stopped in front of Rachel, and Jake held Tommy’s arm while the boy scrambled off the mare’s back. Tommy ran for their wagon, shouting excitedly for his brother. It was Billy’s turn to watch little David inside the wagon.
“You shouldn’t be out in the sun without your hat, Rachel,” Mr. Owens said, leaning over the saddle and holding the bonnet out to her. The leather of the saddle creaked. He rested his forearm on the saddle horn, his hand dangling over his mare’s neck. “It would be a shame if you burned that pretty face of yours.”
Heat crept up Rachel’s neck and into her cheeks, heat that had nothing to do with the sun. She opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again. No words came to mind. With a trembling hand, she reached for her hat. Mr. Owens didn’t release his hold on the fabric. In fact, he tugged it toward him, causing Rachel to take an involuntary step closer to the horse. He leaned down further.
“How’s that husband of yours holding up?” Jake didn’t disguise the dislike in his voice when he whispered to her in a low tone. His penetrating eyes locked onto hers, and Rachel swallowed. She sensed he wasn’t asking out of concern for Thomas.
“We manage,” she said, tearing her eyes away from him. “Please, let me have my bonnet. I need to catch up with our wagon.” She glanced at the line of rigs moving past. Annabelle Edwards and her mother shot
her a disapproving look from atop their wagon as it rolled by.
“Wilson’s about to call a halt,” Mr. Owens said. “There’s a grove of trees up ahead, and water. I suggest you get out of the sun for a while.”
“Thank you for your concern,” she said in a firm voice, and raised her chin. “But it isn’t necessary.”
His grin widened. “Someone’s gotta look out for you.” He released her bonnet, and simultaneously reached his hand toward her. “Grab hold. I’ll give you a ride.”
Rachel stared at the hand he offered, obviously intent on pulling her onto the horse. She backed away. “No. I couldn’t,” she said quickly, shaking her head. Was he out of his mind? Did this man have no sense of propriety? She cast a quick glance at the wagons moving slowly further ahead. Anger at Thomas consumed her all of a sudden. All the sacrifices she’d made for him, and now he didn’t have the decency to protect her from . . . from what?
Rachel turned and walked as fast as her legs would move over the uneven ground. She had to put some distance between herself and Jake Owens. Thoughts of him consumed her during those long miles each day, and his smile and penetrating eyes haunted her in her dreams at night.
The buckskin horse fell in step beside her, and Rachel gritted her teeth. Why didn’t he just leave her alone?
“You couldn’t, or you don’t want to ride with me?” Jake’s deep voice seeped into her mind. “You’ve walked all day. In fact, you’ve walked every day since we left the Missouri.”
Rachel’s head shot up, and she squinted at him. Thankfully his body blocked out the sun’s bright rays.
“Are you keeping watch over me, Mr. Owens?” she asked heatedly. “I’m sure you have much more important things to do that need your attention. Whether I choose to walk is none of your concern.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said. Rachel braced herself when he landed close beside her on the ground. He’d dismounted his horse while the animal was in mid-stride. “I’ve made it my business to keep an eye on you.”
Come Home to Me (Second Chances Time Travel Romance Book 1) Page 6
