Trail of Longing (Hot on the Trail Book 3)

by Merry Farmer

“Well then,” he said. “We’ll just have to make the most of those long walks, won’t we?”

  A tickle of hope played in her chest. “I suppose it would be what mother wanted.”

  He grinned and stole one last kiss before walking her around to the shack’s front door. “We couldn’t allow her to go to all this trouble for nothing,” he said. “And who knows what might happen in the meantime.”

  Who knows indeed?

  Chapter Seven

  As far as Dean was concerned, life couldn’t get any better. The prairie may have been wide and bleak, a sudden squall of rain may have kept them shut up inside the tiny way station for two days, but nothing could dampen his spirits.

  Emma had kissed him.

  She’d kissed him more than once, every day since that first kiss, with a sensuality that he had only ever dreamed of in a woman. He knew she couldn’t possibly be experienced, but she had trusted her instincts and let them bring out the passionate woman who lurked beneath the shy, demure maid. He was more in love than ever. In fact, the only thing that kept him from dropping to one knee and proposing right there was her mother.

  “If only we had a bit of clothesline to hang the wash,” Mrs. Sutton said as the three of them worked outside, laundering their clothes and spreading them on the grass in the newly returned sunshine to dry. “They need air,” she went on. “They need a chance to dry quickly. Otherwise they’ll become soiled all over again.”

  Dean exchanged a knowing grin with Emma behind her mother’s back. Her ankle had healed considerably during their long days at the way station. She stood over a beat up old wash basin that he’d found in a corner, sleeves rolled up past her elbows, scrubbing one of his shirts with a cake of soap. Emma was delicate and held herself like a society lady, but she looked perfectly happy scrubbing clothes in water drawn from the river. Then again, that could have been because of the lingering kiss they’d enjoyed that morning, when her mother had gone to use the outhouse.

  She met his impish grin with one of her own before returning to her work. His heart swelled until it was too large for his chest.

  “Of course, what these clothes really need,” her mother nattered on, “is a skilled, competent servant to clean them for us. I’m not trying to be elitist,” she insisted without taking a breath. “We have always been abolitionists in my family. But there are those who have a talent for important yet overlooked tasks, such as cleaning clothes well. I am not too proud to say that I’m not one of them.”

  Dean stifled the urge to laugh out loud. Everything made him want to laugh these days. He couldn’t remember being so happy. “You do a splendid job, Mrs. Sutton.”

  “Call me Elizabeth, dear, I’ve told you before. And it’s Emma who deserves the credit for that.” She laid the last of the damp garments in her arms across the grass and stood straighter, one hand on her back. “She’s the one who—Good heavens, what is that?”

  Dean kept his smile as he pivoted to see what had startled Mrs. Sutton. Emma looked up as well. Far across the prairie, along the road to the east, a cloud of dust billowed. Dean stood straighter, took a few steps to the side, and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun as he focused on it. Whatever it was, it was big and moving slowly.

  “It’s a wagon train,” Emma said. She pulled her hands out of the wash tub and moved to stand by Dean’s side.

  “I think you’re right.” He was hit with both excitement and disappointment at the same time. They could move on now, but this happy time was over.

  The new wagon train was slow in approaching. Before it reached them, Dean and Emma and Mrs. Sutton had time to gather and pack their remaining supplies and clothes—even though the clothes were wet—so that they wouldn’t hold up the new train’s progress. The three of them waited at the front of the way station as though they were waiting for a ship to come in.

  Oddly enough, as the new wagons drew closer, they heard music. It was faint at first, buried under the clopping and lowing of the oxen and the rattle of the first wagons in the train, but it was definitely there—fiddles, drums, and a flute. A gaggle of red-headed children danced behind the lead wagons.

  “What in heaven’s name?” Mrs. Sutton exclaimed under her breath, pressing a hand to her chest.

  “Good mornin’ to yeh,” they were greeted by a handsome man with dark hair and blue eyes. He walked near the front of the train, playing a fiddle, and greeted them without missing a note. He flourished the last couple of notes of an Irish jig, then lowered the fiddle. “Didn’t expect to find people waiting for us,” he added in a thick Irish brogue as he strode toward them.

  “We didn’t expect to be waiting here,” Dean answered. He stepped forward to meet the fiddler with a friendly smile and an outstretched hand. “Dr. Dean Meyers.”

  The fiddler nodded and shifted his bow to his left hand with his fiddle before taking Dean’s. “Aiden Murphy. Do they station doctors all across America?”

  “No,” Dean laughed. He stepped to the side and gestured to Emma. “This is Miss Emma Sutton and her mother, Mrs. Elizabeth Sutton.”

  “How do you do miss, ma’am.” Aiden bowed to them with a saucy grin.

  “Irish?” Mrs. Sutton blinked at the wagon train. It was at least thirty wagons long, and well over half of the men, women, and children it contained had bright red hair. “All of you?”

  “Mother,” Emma scolded. She somehow managed a smile and an awkward half curtsy for Aiden. “Mr. Murphy.”

  “It’s Aiden to everyone but schoolmasters and constables,” he told her with a wink.

  “Aiden Murphy, whatever do you have here?” A woman stepped away from the wagons slowly passing. Her hair was as bright and coppery as the sun and as flowing as the waves of the ocean. Her pale skin was peppered with freckles, and her green eyes held enough mischief to give Mrs. Sutton a run for her money. “Are you going to introduce me to your new friends?” she asked, stopping by Aiden’s side and planting her hands on her hips.

  “We’ve barely met ourselves, a ghrá,” Aiden told her with a grin.

  “Stop calling me that,” the woman said before turning to Emma. “Boys are such lummoxes, aren’t they? I’m Katie. Katie Boyle.” She held out her hand and marched straight up to Emma to shake hers.

  “Emma Sutton,” Emma replied, her cheeks flushing bright pink.

  “What a fine name.” Katie continued to hold her hand, switching her grip to clasp it as though they’d been friends since childhood. She leaned closer. “This your man?” she asked.

  “Oh… I…. That is….” Emma stumbled over her words, her free hand fluttering to her chest in an imitation of her mother.

  “No need to say another word. I understand completely,” Katie replied with a wave of her hand. “As I said, boys are lummoxes.”

  “Have a heart, Katie,” Aiden told her. He leaned closer to Dean. “She’s a beauty, our Katie, but she’s got a heart of ice and a tongue of steel.”

  “Bless you, Aiden, I’ve never received such a compliment,” Katie shot right back. Without waiting, she asked Emma, “What are fine folk like you doing out here in the middle of this vast prairie all alone?”

  Emma opened her mouth, but when her words refused to come, her mother said, “My darling Emma injured her ankle after the tornado that blew through here last week. Dr. Meyers here was kind enough to stay with us as Emma rested in this humble way station. He is very kind.” She met and held Katie’s eyes with iron strength. “He is quite fond of my daughter, Miss… Boyle, was it?”

  “It certainly was,” Katie replied, unfazed. She twisted to assess Dean, looking him up and down and giving him the feeling of being a prize pig at market. “And you’ve nothing to fear from me, Mrs. Sutton. Your doctor is a handsome man, but he doesn’t have enough spark to him to interest me.”

  Mrs. Sutton gasped. A wave of shock stunned Dean to silence. Emma merely stood there staring at the wild, red-headed Irishwoman.

  “You must forgive Katie.” Aiden broke the silence wit
h a laugh. “She’s full of blarney, but she means as well as anyone. Now,” he went on before Katie could say anything else, “by the look of these bags of yours, you’re ready to travel on from this oasis in the prairie. Might you be wanting to come along with us?”

  Dean recovered quickly enough to say, “Yes, in fact. We’ve been waiting for the next train to come by, and it looks like you’re it. Emma’s father and sister are heading to Oregon, to Portland. Are you headed that far?”

  “As it happens, we are,” Aiden answered. “Why don’t you come along and we’ll ask Mr. Erikson, our trail boss, how he feels about adding on three more.” He glanced around. “You don’t have a wagon of your own?”

  “No,” Dean answered. “Mr. Sutton took his family’s wagon on ahead and I,” he shrugged, “I was more than happy to leave everything but one bag behind me. I paid our former trail boss to share in his supplies before. I’d be happy to strike the same deal with you.”

  “I’m sure that could be arranged.” Aiden smiled.

  “That’s exactly what I was hoping you would say.” Dean let out a breath of relief. He bent to pick up Emma’s carpetbag. “Lead the way.”

  The wagon train filled with Irish immigrants was as different from the train that Emma and her mother had started west with as spring was from autumn. Where their original train had been rife with problems caused by miners, sickness, and weather, the Irish train was full of laughter, music, and joy.

  “It’s a grand opportunity for us all,” Katie explained as she walked by Emma’s side later in the day. “We’ve gone from nothing and less than nothing back home to a wide, welcoming land full of opportunity and adventure. It’s the adventure part that makes me want to fly.”

  “Makes you want to… fly?” Emma asked. Next to this bright and cheery woman, she felt dull and faded, like a pastel watercolor hung next to a vibrant oil painting. Still, she found herself drawn to the woman.

  “Yes,” Katie exclaimed, flinging her arms to the sides. “I want to fly off into the West and embrace the wildness and challenge of it all. It’s a far cry from the tedium of Ireland, that’s for sure and certain.”

  Emma watched Katie, her smile growing with each step. She’d been so fascinated by her new friend that she hadn’t stopped to consider how well her ankle had healed all day. “I suppose I’ve never thought of it like that,” she said.

  “Never thought of it like that?” Katie echoed. “How else does one think of the grandest adventure of one’s life?” Her green eyes sparkled with expectation as she turned to Emma for an answer.

  Emma didn’t have one ready. “It’s simply a change of location.” She shrugged. “My sister, Alice, needed to get away from New York after her husband was killed in the war. My father saw his business profits tumbling and pulled out before the situation became too serious. He has an associate in Portland with whom he intends to go into business.” She took a breath at the end of her speech. How did she get me to say so many words?

  “Ugh, business.” Katie waved the word away like it was an unpleasant odor. “Aiden talks about the same. He tells me he wants to set up a business as a musician, working for himself, providing custom entertainment for balls and parties. It bores me to tears.”

  Emma peeked over her shoulder to where Aiden and Dean were walking together, deep in discussion. “It seems like a fine endeavor to me.”

  “Boring,” Katie repeated. “Almost as boring as the sights he has set on me.”

  Emma whipped her head forward to blink at Katie. Her cheeks flushed on her new friend’s behalf.

  “Aye, I see that look you’re giving me. Every man, woman, and child I’ve ever known since I was a girl has assumed that Aiden and I would end up marrying someday,” Katie explained. “I’ll have none of it.”

  “But… but he seems like a perfectly nice man. He’s cheerful, if what I’ve seen so far today is any indication. From what you say, he’s industrious. He’s quite handsome as well. Very handsome, in fact.”

  “He’s all that.” Katie shrugged. “He’s also expected, obvious, and boring. He crowds around me until I can’t think. No, Aiden Murphy is not for me.”

  Emma took one more look over her shoulder. Instinct told her that poor Aiden wouldn’t like Katie’s reasoning. She wondered how he felt about Katie.

  Those thoughts were cut short when Dean glanced up and met her eyes. He smiled and the whole world heated.

  “That one loves you,” Katie said, startling Emma into looking straight forward again. “I can see it in the way he watches you,” she added, leaning closer. “Now there’s a handsome man. Those eyes, that jaw. And how about those broad shoulders? A frontier doctor to boot. Now that’s the sort of adventure I’d be looking for.”

  Emma flushed even deeper, fear rushing through her. If exciting, attractive Katie set her cap for Dean, would she have a chance?

  “Stop your fretting,” Katie laughed, seeing right through her. “I wouldn’t dream of trespassing on another woman’s territory. I’ve been on the look-out for a fine, tough American soldier or a rancher. Have you seen any since starting out?”

  “Well, ah…. That is… um.” Emma’s thoughts refused to form into words.

  Katie laughed harder and looped her arm through Emma’s. “People are always telling me that I talk too much and that I should close my mouth before a bird flies in and makes a nest. I’ve never met someone who talks as little as you have since we met.” She said it as though they had met years ago and not hours. “My old mam would say that we make perfect friends. I’ll pull the talk out of you and you can teach me to keep my thoughts to myself now and then.”

  As stunned as she was by Katie’s blunt speech, something about it reached into Emma’s chest and settled with a lightness on her heart. “Yes, I do believe that could be right.”

  When they stopped to rest that evening, music filled the camp. Emma and her mother had been welcomed into the Boyles’ wagon by Katie and her family. They were a warm and noisy bunch. Katie was the oldest of nine children. She was in her mid-twenties, while her youngest sister was barely able to walk on her own. Mrs. Boyle was a plump woman with a lined face and red hair to whom the children seemed to gravitate like kittens to cream. Mr. Boyle was one of the musicians, playing a shiny black concertina, his fingers flying over the keys as if he was tickling them. The children who were not hugging and kissing their mother danced to his tunes.

  Immediately beside them, Dean had joined with Aiden’s wagon. The Murphys were just as jolly as the Boyles, but there were fewer of them, all grown men.

  “Mam’s put up with a lot,” Aiden explained in a hushed voice to Emma and Dean when he took a break from playing his fiddle to eat. “Pa died right after the Great Famine, nearly ten years ago. Took it hard, she did. Somehow they managed to keep me and my brothers alive through the hard times, only to have Pa get into it with a landowner after the first good harvest. Landowners don’t take well to being disagreed with,” he informed them as though it was an everyday fact of life. “That night, Pa went out to the pub as usual, but he never made it home.”

  “What happened?” Dean asked.

  Aiden cocked his head to the side with as grim an expression as Emma had seen on him yet. “They say he fell off his horse while drunk.”

  “How unfortunate,” Emma’s mother said.

  Aiden nodded stiffly. “Even more unfortunate with that knife in his back.”

  The camp was silent. The Irishmen who had heard the story bowed their heads in solemn remembrance for a moment. One or two cursed under their breath. Then they lifted their heads and went right on playing. Even Aiden brightened.

  “But we’re come to the land of opportunity now, aren’t we Mam?” he called over his shoulder to his mother, who still worked over the campfire.

  “That we are, young man,” she answered with a smile that seemed, to Emma, at odds with the story her son had just told.

  “So all is right as rain,” Aiden finished. “It’s a better li
fe with better things waiting.” He glanced to Katie with a wink.

  Katie pretended to ignore him, but Emma saw the splash of color that lit her cheeks. Her new friend wasn’t immune to the charms of the man she’d known her whole life after all. The thought brought a grin to Emma’s lips.

  “I admire your spirit,” Dean said. He raised his glass of beer to Aiden before taking a drink.

  A moment later he choked, spitting beer, as a tall man with a barrel chest and a dark beard strode into their camp. Dean gaped at him as if seeing a ghost.

  “I thought I heard your voice,” the man said. He shook his head and smiled wide. “Dean Meyers. Fancy seeing you here. I never thought they’d let you out of prison.”

  Chapter Eight

  Dean’s chest and throat squeezed so tight with rage that spots formed at the corners of his vision. His pulse beat a loud, steady rhythm in his head.

  “Russ.” He nodded and stood. How dare he show his face here? How was he even here in the first place?

  “Dean, my friend.” In spite of the fact that Dean glared at him, refusing to offer a hand, Russ crossed the Boyles’ camp toward him, arms extended for an embrace. “It’s good to see you looking so well. I’m surprised, all things considered.”

  He captured Dean in a bear hug. Dean stood, stiff as a board, hot with fury. He clenched his jaw until his teeth hurt. Russ let him go, but kept one hand on his back. To anyone who didn’t know better, it would appear as a friendly gesture. Dean knew better.

  “Won’t you introduce me to your friends?” Russ asked. “The Boyles and the Murphys I already know, but who is this charming and delicate maiden?”

  Dean saw red as a wave of possessiveness washed through him. “This is Miss Emma Sutton,” he introduced Emma in a rough growl, “and her mother, Mrs. Elizabeth Sutton.”

  Emma, her cheeks pink and her eyes bright with caution, nodded from the stool where she sat, supper plate in hand. Her mother gaped, mouth open in shock. Not a drop of that shock was for Russ. It was all directed at Dean.