“Have I made it clear who’s in charge here?” His tone was stern, though his anger seemed lessened considerably.
She nodded, although that didn’t seem to satisfy.
“Say it, Mina. Whose orders do you follow from here on out?”
“Yours, sir,” she whispered, the burn in her bottom fresh enough to contain any consideration of a sharp-tongued response.
“That’s right. As I said, Mina, I’ll protect you with my life, but you have to help me do that by following the rules.” He set her on her feet and stood. With his hands on her shoulders, he bent and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I don’t want to be harsh with you, Mina; nonetheless, you can expect more of the same for any future defiance. Is that also clear?”
She nodded. “I’m sorry. Elliott called my coffee sludge, too.” Her voice cracked on the last few words, then to her horror, she burst into wails loud enough to carry across the prairie and cause a buffalo stampede.
“Darlin’,” he murmured, pulling her into his chest. “I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have teased.”
Feeling alone and despairing, she clung to him, her hands fisting in his shirt. He held her, stroking her back and whispering softly not to fret until her tears finally slowed. His hands cupped her cheeks and tilted her face up to his, wiping her tears away again as he did so. “We need to learn to get along, Mina. Unfortunately, your fuse is short.”
She stiffened.
“Wait, let me finish. You’re very sensitive and tend to fly off the handle without hearing things through. I on the other hand have a slow burning fuse, except when my directives are ignored and in the face of outright defiance. Knowing that, can we move forward with more consideration of the other?”
Sniffling, she nodded. “I promise to try, Mr. Carr, although I really am a deplorable cook.”
“I’ll teach you and won’t tease any more now that I know that’s a sore spot. And, I think you can drop all the mister business. My name is Weston.”
She offered him a tremulous smile; even after their blowup, he was being kind and caring, which was another thing she was unused to. He returned her smile, his growing into a grin, his perfect white teeth gleaming in the moonlight. She couldn’t help lowering her gaze and watching. Truly, he had a beautiful mouth.
The next thing she knew, she was wrapped in his arms and his lips met hers. Firmly, his mouth brushed over hers and she swore… Was that his tongue stroking along her lower lip? Robbed of breath, her knees went weak. Too soon, he lifted his head.
“Sorry, darlin’,” he said softly, sounding a bit breathless himself. “The way you were looking at my mouth, like you wanted a taste, I couldn’t help but oblige.”
Embarrassed, she stiffened and pulled away, thankful for the cover of darkness, knowing at that moment that the color of her face surely matched the red tint of her hair.
He let her go, but not very far. “Now that the excitement is over, let’s go see about those fish.”
With a hand on her lower back, he began to lead her back to the camp and froze. She glanced up at him in question. Upon seeing him staring up ahead, her eyes followed. Heat of embarrassment licked up her neck and spread across her face when she saw nearly the entire wagon train had gathered nearby. Some of the women’s mouths were gaped open, others were frowning in obvious disapproval; most of the men, except for the reverend, were smothering grins and laughter, all without a doubt having witnessed her punishment and the kiss that followed.
Mina’s first inclination was to flee and hide for a month of Sundays. However, the strong arm that held firm to her waist wouldn’t allow her to move from his side.
“The show’s over folks; head on back to camp.” He then led Mina past them as if they hadn’t seen her with her skirt over her head and his hand on her behind or his tongue on her lips. Whispers and undertones followed in their wake.
“He uncovered her drawers, did you see?”
“A widow no more than a few days. Tsk, tsk, tsk.”
“Her husband not cold in the ground and she’s carrying on with another.”
She choked at the condemnation and tried to pull free of his grasp.
“Ignore it,” Weston said in a low voice, not stopping.
“Impossible, they saw my petticoats, and your hand…”
“I’m sure everyone has witnessed a spanking before.”
“Not one given to a new widow by the wagon master, surely! I’m humiliated, my reputation in shreds, and it’s all your fault.”
“There is no fault here. It’s no one’s business except ours what went on, and if you don’t make a fuss over it, this will blow over in no time.”
Despite his conviction, Mina knew better.
Chapter Six
“Is this really necessary?”
“Yes, Mina. Now, quit fussing and try again.”
“But my arm is sore. This gun is too heavy for me. I need something lighter.”
Tired of her complaining, Weston countered, “I reckon if you don’t like that gun, I’ll simply head over to the armory and pick you up another. I believe there’s one behind that outcropping of bushes to your right. How convenient that someone built one just for you right smack dab in the middle of the prairie.”
Her bottom lip quivered the slightest bit as if she was going to pout and he immediately regretted his sarcasm. He forgot sometimes that she was more bluster than bite.
“I didn’t mean to snap at you, darlin’. Just try again, like I showed you.”
Mina swung back to the targets he’d set up about one hundred feet in the distance and took aim again. She pulled the trigger and as with the previous twelve rounds, jerked as the gun discharged, the recoil sending her back into his chest.
Once the six-shooter was empty, she handed him the revolver, using the proper way he showed her with the grip forward. When he didn’t take it, she grabbed his hand and pressed it into his palm.
“I’m finished for the day.”
“Not until I say.”
“Do you enjoy humiliating me?” she demanded, as she pushed past him.
He caught her elbow and swung her back. “I know you don’t like this, Mina, but it’s important you know how to protect yourself, if I can’t.”
Her eyes flashed up to his in alarm. “Were you planning to go somewhere?”
“No, though what if I’m out scouting or on watch, and it becomes necessary to defend yourself?”
She reached up and rubbed her shoulder. “I’m not sure I can do this. It really hurts.”
He moved behind her, curled his fingers around her shoulder, and began massaging the tight muscles underneath. “Maybe we should try a shotgun. You only have to get close with buckshot.”
“That’s even heavier, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but I can adjust the load to diminish the recoil.”
“All that sounds like Greek to me. In English, what does it mean?”
He chuckled. “We can get into the details tomorrow. Since you’re hurting, shooting lessons are over for today,” he agreed. “You can go on back and start supper. You’ll need to collect fuel for the fire first. Make sure you get enough for breakfast, too. We got a late start since you had to fetch it this morning.”
He couldn’t see her face as she stomped away, but imagined it was the same one she made yesterday when he explained the newest chore added to her daily routine. They were days past Fort Kearney, heading north along the Platte River, which was a murky, muddy shallow river with water too foul too drink and bathe in. The prairie here was arid, the earth dusty and dry, which meant the grasses were shorter and trees scarce. That also meant firewood was scarce. Thus, she was charged with collecting buffalo dung to fuel their cook fires.
The look of disgust on her face when he’d told her was unsurpassed and she’d gone about her task wearing a similar expression. As the memory replayed in his head, he couldn’t keep from laughing now, thoroughly amused by the little soft-horn. Unfortunately, she heard and apparentl
y mistook the source of his humor because Weston was sure she was grumbling to herself; words like bossy, high-handed, arrogant, and one, if he’d been one hundred percent certain that she’d said it, would have earned her a talking to or more. A word not fit for a lady’s lips, one that he’d used in a fit of anger growing up that had earned him a cake of soap in his mouth.
She was a spitfire, all right, and amused him no end. He was growing fond of her, despite her being a pain in his ass. She had a temper and lacked any sort of pioneer skills, but he found it a pleasure sparring with her and teaching her new tasks, because it meant he got to spend time with her. Mina wasn’t stupid, as her husband had implied. She’d already conquered coffee, which wasn’t really genius skill level, and moved on to bacon without added salt, as well as corncakes and bison stew. In addition to being bright, she had a quick wit, when her acerbic tongue didn’t take control of what came out of her beautiful mouth. Her husband just hadn’t appreciated her, or taken the time to explain how things were done—the horse’s ass.
Looking after her as she stomped away, his body tightened when his eyes dipped to her rounded bottom, which in her agitation made her skirts swish back and forth. She seemed to sashay rather than stomp across the field to their wagon. He longed to have it under his hand again, yet not for a paddling, but for something much more enjoyable. He also yearned to kiss her again, but not as chastely. He wanted to dip his tongue inside and taste her, to see if she was as sweet as the promise of her berry pink lips.
He groaned, bending to pick up his satchel of extra ammunition while trying to put thoughts of kissing Mina Hobart and holding her sweet backside in his hands from his mind. The tightness in his groin expressed what he knew to be true since he’d met her. Forgetting the pretty little easterner was easier said than done.
* * *
The next day before dark, he led her away from the wagon circle, yet again, to the targets he’d set up for another lesson. With brows drawn close and her usually full, soft lips compressed into a tight line, she eyed the much larger gun skeptically. She didn’t need words to express that she expected today’s shooting would be no better than the day before. He ignored her misgivings and started right in.
“This is a Remington ten-gauge shotgun. It doesn’t require as much skill as the pistol, though you do have to be closer to your target. I’d prefer a long-range rifle, but you’re nowhere near ready for that. If you aim at the widest part of the body, you’re sure to hit something that will hurt and hopefully incapacitate.”
“Why is that?”
“Because of the scattershot I have loaded. Once it leaves the barrel, it splits apart and sprays smaller pellets at a high rate of speed. You’ll hit something, as I said, as long as your aim is close to the target.”
He showed her how to hold it and all the different parts of the gun.
“It has a bit of a kick, but I’ve got a light load, so maybe it won’t knock you on your backside. I’ll stand behind you for support just in case.”
Frowning at his comment, he knew right away what she was thinking. “Don’t fret, Mina. I won’t let you land in the dirt. Go ahead and give it a try.”
She wedged the butt against her shoulder as he’d demonstrated, bent her head, and sighted along the barrel. He noticed the tremble in her finger as it hesitated over the trigger. She did the worst thing she could do, next. She closed her eyes as she squeezed.
Naturally, she missed, though she kept on her feet. Squinting at the cans he had lined up on a stump fifty feet away, her brows knit together. “I’m never gonna get the hang of this.”
“If you can’t see your target, Mina, you can’t hit it. Try again with your eyes open this time.”
She tipped her head back, her blue eyes wide. “I hadn’t realized I’d closed them.”
Looking down the barrel once more, she fired. With a pinging noise, the tin can flew clear off the stump. “I hit it!” she cried excitedly. “Mr. Carr, did you see?”
At her exuberance, he grinned down into her upturned face. “Sure enough, darlin’.” Wanting to hear his name from her lips, he added, “And please, call me Weston.”
Her smile slipped a bit. “Oh, no. I don’t think that would be proper.”
He laughed. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. I hardly think the propriety police are going to find out.” At her blush, he stopped teasing. “Let me show you how to reload and you can try again.”
After a half an hour had passed, she had hit seven out of ten of her targets and become more comfortable with loading and handling the gun.
“Well done, Mina. More than passable for a first time.”
She beamed at his praise and it was all he could do not to pull her close and devour that tempting mouth.
“What’s next?”
“You gathering more fuel and getting supper on.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s all I ever do anymore. Gather buffalo dung and dead grass.” Her nose wrinkled up in distaste. “I think cold biscuits and bacon will do nicely for supper.”
“Nope. We need to eat those bison steaks the Gillespies gave us or they’ll spoil. We’ll save the bacon for when we don’t have fresh game.”
“It’s tough as old shoe leather and tastes about as good. Applesauce, biscuits, and bacon, I think.”
“No, Mina. We can’t afford to let food go to waste. It’s a long haul to the next trading post at Fort Laramie. Cook the steak with the potatoes and onions into a stew and it won’t be so tough. I’ll join you right before dark.”
He recognized the end of her good mood by the mulish set to her mouth and her flush of indignation. If he had the luxury to allow her a night off, he would. Food was food, nevertheless, and meat freely given a rare commodity. With his other duties, which included keeping an eye on Mina, he didn’t have much time for hunting. She’d have to manage. His orders given, he stooped to pack up his gear.
“I think not,” she said, distinctly miffed. “What will you be doing while I’m sweltering over a hot fire? Shooting the breeze with Jeremy? I’m tired of fetching buffalo muck, blistering my fingers on hot cast iron, and bathing in a tin basin at night. I’m also tired of this hot, dusty purgatory I have been sent to for some reason. Tonight, I’m relaxing with biscuits and bacon.”
Her defiance shifted her pique to him. He stepped in close, towering above her much smaller frame as he set the record straight over how it was going to be.
“Let me make something perfectly clear, little lady. You cook, do the wash, gather fuel for the fire, and help set up and break camp, in addition to whatever other tasks I set for you. I drive, see to the cattle, hunt and fish when I can, and prep the meat, which is something the woman ordinarily does. Apparently, you didn’t understand all this when I laid it out before. This may or may not be your life once we reach Oregon, that’s still undecided. Until we get there, purgatory or prairie, whatever you call it, this is your life and you’ll have to make the best of it. As for me, I’m never off shooting the breeze with Jeremy. As the guide and trail master, I have extra duties beyond what the other men have. I scout, guide the train, arbitrate disagreements, set the watch, and see to the safety of every man, woman, and child on this train. I also must ensure that we keep to a reasonable timetable so we don’t find ourselves in the middle of the Cascades in early fall with two feet of snow to deal with, which let me make perfectly clear is deadly. If that isn’t enough, on a daily basis, I get to deal with a bellyaching brat who was dumped in my lap. What’s more, she can’t seem to realize this isn’t Boston and the servants aren’t going to tote and fetch for her anymore. Now, I’ve set you a task and expect it done without any more lip. Understand?”
Before he said more or really lost his temper, he walked away without waiting for answer. He’d taken no more than three or four steps when something hit him square in the back with a thud, stopping him mid-stride. After a brief pause, he slowly turned back. As he did, another projectile came his way and struck him dead center in the
chest. Gawking down at the dark brown smudge on his shirt, his eyes came up, absolutely amazed at her gall.
“Did you just throw dung at me?” He asked the obvious, completely flabbergasted that she would throw anything, let alone excrement at him.
“I want to make something clear to you, oh, mighty wagon master. Never in all of my twenty years did I imagine a life such as this, so excuse me if I don’t jump for joy at the chores you have assigned. Gathering animal dung on the prairie was not my lifelong dream. So if I’m irritable, or uncertain, or if I need a night off from blistered fingers while I cook for you, you’ll just have to put up with it and my bratty bellyaching.”
Unable to get over the fact that she had thrown shit at him—twice—he heard her words, but they didn’t register. “I asked a question, Mina. Did you just throw buffalo dung at me?”
“I did, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Have a good night.”
To his out-and-out disbelief, she walked away from him. He saw red. Just who did the little brat think she was, hurling shit at him? He was after her lickety-split, catching up with her at their wagon. Without another word, he propped his boot upon the wheel and pulled her face down over his thigh. As she kicked and screamed, he hauled up her skirt and petticoat, leaving her thin white drawers in place. Although fit to be tied, he noticed how the linen pulled across her hips and thighs in this position. Reminding himself why she was upended, for an excellent reason at that, he proceeded to wear her tail out.
Swatting her no less than thirty times, he paid no heed to her fussing and squirming. As the first ten landed, she cussed a blue streak. By the second set of ten, she was apologizing and pleading for him to stop. The last ten were accompanied by sniffles and promises to never do it ever again.
At thirty, his ire had abated enough to set her back on her feet, taking hold of her shoulders for two reasons: to steady her on her noodle-like legs and to keep her from running off if her temper returned. Tears glistened on her cheeks, which softened his heart, but by God, she’d thrown shit at him.
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