“Never again, Mina. If you dare repeat it, you’ll find me taking my time to pull down your drawers, bare your behind, and paddle your disrespectful bottom with the bread board hanging in the wagon. Am I making myself clear?”
She nodded.
“Not good enough. I want to hear it.”
“It’s clear. I promise I won’t ever do that again.” She tried to pull her face away, but he held firm. She closed her eyes tightly instead. Then she surprised him by admitting, “I’m truly mortified that I did that. I’m so sorry.”
“What possessed you?”
Her eyes opened and she looked up at him, admitting, “I have a quick temper, I’m sure you’ve noticed. Always have. For some reason, you seem to bring it out of me better than most.”
As he stared at her, he felt his anger melt away as pride welled up at her honest profession, as well as the burgeoning tenderness that seem to grow more every day, even though she’d thrown buffalo shit. He shook his head while laughing softly, the sound coming out in a disbelieving huff as he pulled her close.
“What am I going to do with you, darlin’?”
“Please, be patient. Except for just now, I really have been trying.”
Easing back, he put a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up to his. “I know you have, Mina. And I’ll strive for patience if you promise to do the same.” At her nod, he smiled, his heart leaping as her lips turned up hesitantly in return. This little slip of a gal was burrowing under his skin; he was afraid by the time they reached Oregon, she’d be fully embedded there and most likely be wrapped around his heart. It dawned on him, that wouldn’t necessarily be such a bad thing.
* * *
In such close quarters, there were few secrets on a wagon train. Most of their fellow travelers had witnessed their latest row and another spanking. The ones who hadn’t, heard of it by morning. This didn’t sit well with them and tongues began to wag. Mina heard the censorious whispers and told Weston her concerns. Despite his assurance that it too would blow over in time, he was wrong.
The whispers continued, growing louder by the day, made worse when they saw Mina climb into his wagon every night. Even though she did so alone and he openly bedded down underneath, it stirred speculation. He ignored it, the gossip coming mostly from the women and dying down as soon as he came near. Still, he hadn’t missed the looks they shot Mina and the wide berth they gave her as if she were the town whore or something.
Five days after the incident when they were nearing Scotts Bluff where the trail took them through a pass between two towering cliffs, which could be difficult in the best conditions, it all came to a head. They’d stopped for the noontime meal. Mina had gone to the creek with a few others to rinse the dishes while Weston re-saddled his horse.
“We want her off the train, Mr. Carr.” The woman’s voice was brittle as she spoke behind him while he hefted the saddle on his Morgan’s back.
“No one’s being put off the train, Mrs. Gillespie.” He said this without even turning around. The woman had a distinctively shrill tone.
“She’s causing a stir, strife between the men and women. She’s the only single woman now and some of the ladies don’t like her asking their menfolk for favors. It can’t be—”
“I don’t have time for this pettiness, woman. I told you my answer,” Weston growled low in response as he cinched his saddle strap. Once finished, he turned to face her head on. She wasn’t alone; five other women, the only ones with husbands who had survived the smallpox outbreak stood at her back. Reverend Jamison, who was one of the women’s husbands, stood apart from the group looking decidedly uncomfortable. Ben Jacobs was standing nearby, his arms crossed, a frown on his face, clearly not liking what was going on.
“You can all go back to your wagons because you’re wasting your breath. I’m not putting a single woman who has done nothing wrong off this train. Where is your Christian charity that you so often espouse?” His eyes shot to the reverend. “This is your flock, Jamison, tend to them.”
The older man cleared his throat, eyeing the irate women. He took a step closer. “Might I have a word in private, Mr. Carr?”
“No, there’s no time if we’re to make it through the pass by nightfall.”
The reverend’s eyes shot to his red-faced wife. Weston didn’t miss the nod of encouragement that followed.
“Fine. I’ll do some flock tending as you asked, and say my piece here and now. You’ve ruined Mrs. Hobart’s good name with your, uh, carrying on. It is unseemly for you to be kissing her and spank—” The good reverend all but choked on the word, before trying again. “For you to be disciplining her as you have is highly improper. You need to do your gentlemanly duty and do right by her.”
“Over a spanking? Given over her drawers and petticoats?”
“And kissing on the mouth,” one of the women said in a whisper, her face flushing a fiery red.
He shook his head in wonder, thinking these puritan-like pioneers must never see action underneath their wagons to be so skittish about talking about a few swats and a peck on the lips. It amazed him that they’d managed to be fruitful and multiply.
“Nonsense,” he barked. “She had as much clothing between her skin and my hand as if I’d touched her waist to lift her up to the wagon. I don’t see you carrying on when I do that.”
“It was her posterior you were touching, Mr. Carr,” Mrs. Gillespie protested in outrage. “And you were… spanking her. A husbandly right at best, sir.”
“And there was kissing on the mouth,” the same red-faced woman restated.
“You’re all overreacting. Let’s move out.”
“I’ll do right by her.”
As a group, a silent one for once, the women turned to Ben Jacobs. He ignored them, his eyes locked intently on Weston.
“That is a most honorable offer, Mr. Jacobs,” the good reverend replied, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. “I think it’s best if we take care of it as soon as possible. I’ll get my bible from the wagon.”
“Excuse me,” Weston growled. “Don’t you think the widow Hobart needs to have a say before you start the vows?”
“I’ll talk to her now.” Jacobs said this, though he didn’t move to do so, still watching him as if waiting for something.
None of this sat right with him and he felt anger flare up in his gut. It wasn’t the only emotion churning there, either. Jacobs was fifty-four, over three decades her senior, old enough to be her father, her grandfather at that. A young woman like Mina Hobart didn’t deserve to be married off to an old man—although Jacobs seemed healthy enough. How many good years did he have left? She needed a young man, someone strong who could curb her impulsive ways and settle her down a bit. She needed babies, a home, and a good life with someone she could grow old with.
The idea of her making those babies with a man thirty-four years her senior made his stomach turn a bit. Those notions were quickly overtaken by images of Mina in the throes of passion, with someone who could stir her body, her womanly, curvaceous body. As he had so often since they’d met, he imagined her stripped bare beneath him as he kissed every naked inch of her, the fullness of her mouth, her silken skin, the round breasts that he knew instinctively would be tipped with berry pink nipples to match her tempting lips. He pictured himself teaching her the ways of a man’s touch as he kissed and licked his way down her flat belly to the treasure that lay between her thighs.
A throat cleared. His head came up. Unsure if it was Jacobs or Jamison who had interrupted his lurid daydream, in either case, he was grateful. Any further thoughts that ended between Mina’s naked thighs would have had him bursting the buttons of his breeches and embarrassing himself. Feeling a bit warm, he pulled off his hat and finger-combed his damp hair back off his forehead.
Jacobs moved toward him. Softly, he spoke for Weston’s ears only. “I’ll do it, man, unless someone else steps up and claims her. A younger man who’s had his eyes full of her since she joined the train
in Independence would be best.”
He scowled at the older man. Ben was right, and the fact that he’d noticed, burned his dignity more than anything. Setting pride aside, he pondered his future plans at the end of the trail: building on his land, living in a house, not from a wagon or in a saddle, and finding a wife to start a family. There was no reason Mina couldn’t be that wife and help him achieve his goals. It would take considerable work on his part, and patience. As the image of her pink nipples hard and eager for his mouth came to mind, he figured that alone might be reward enough for his efforts.
“Dad-burned wily old man,” he grumbled, slamming his Stetson back into place. “I’ll go fetch her.” As he pushed by the reverend, he added. “We’ve got fifteen minutes, Jamison. So don’t think about getting long-winded. We’ve had enough delays on this train as it is.”
* * *
Having washed and stowed the lunch dishes, Mina was busily doing as Weston had instructed, tying down anything loose inside the wagon in preparation for their ride through Mitchell’s Pass. Not an easy task since they had combined two wagons into one and most everything of hers was hanging from hooks inside. She was outside bundling supplies in a blanket that she was tying with rope, when he approached.
Used to the sound of his boots with his long-legged stride, she glanced up, her lips tilting into a hesitant smile of greeting. Seeing the glower on his face, she froze. Leaning back on her heels, she waited, steeling herself for more bad news. There had been nothing else on this miserable journey.
“Finish up quick, Mina. We need to meet with the preacher before we get going.”
Puzzled, her mouth fell open, then shut just as quickly. She couldn’t imagine why they needed to meet with Reverend Jamison.
“Whatever for?” she asked.
“We’re getting married.” He threw the answer over his shoulder as he climbed up in the wagon and began rifling through one of his storage trunks.
Mina could only stare after him. Surely she’d misheard.
“What?” she squeaked.
“Now where did I—?” came his muffled response from inside the wagon. Not thinking it was aimed toward her, she was silent, waiting for him to come out and explain. “Ah, ha! Here it is.” He was jumping down the next instant while tucking something in his pocket. Seeing her in the same position, he frowned. “C’mon, darlin’. We’re burning daylight.”
She looked on without moving a muscle as he finished tying the bundle and tossed it easily into the wagon bed. He clasped her upper arm firmly and drew her to her feet, immediately guiding her toward the Jamisons’ wagon. Only then did she regain the ability to move, which she did decisively by digging in her heels.
“Wait!” she protested. “What did you say?”
His neck twisted and he looked down at her, his brows drawn together, his fingers not giving an inch. “Which part?”
“The part where you said we’re getting married. Surely I heard you wrong.”
“Nope, your hearing is dead on. Let’s go.”
But she didn’t go, pulling her arm free and backing up a few steps. “I don’t understand.”
He turned to face her, hands on his hips, his head tipped way back as he gazed skyward for a moment and drew in a breath. For patience, she surmised, having seen him do this before. She watched as his lips moved, appreciably counting to ten. Ever since the spanking, that would have gotten her moving. Not this time. Too bad if he became annoyed with her. He was talking about a major change in her life and she wanted to know what the heck was going on.
As she waited, arms crossed over her chest, his chin dipped down and his blue eyes homed in on her. “It seems you were right. Folks won’t quit talking about you and me. A few have asked for you to be removed from the train.”
Her hand flew to her mouth. “But why? I’ve been quiet since—” She stopped, swallowing the word, not willing to say it out loud. “Haven’t I been trying? I felt sure I was doing better?”
His expression softened and he took a step forward. When she backed away, his eyes flickered. Was that anger? Disappointment? She didn’t have time to puzzle it out because he took another, longer stride and came right up against her. She had nowhere to go with the wagon now against her back. “You have been doing better, Mina. Although it seems you’ve done so by asking for help.”
“I did,” she agreed with a nod. “I asked Mr. Gillespie what to use to tie down the wagon flaps so they wouldn’t keep flying open and getting dust all over everything. And Mr. Cooper, I asked him if he could show me how to set the churn so it would work from the motion of the wagon, like the other women do. And Mr. Frost, I asked him about building a fire. He recommended buffalo dung like you did, so he was of no help, but I thanked him anyway.”
“That’s it, Mina. The women didn’t cotton to you approaching their menfolk for advice. And after what they saw—”
“That’s ridiculous! I simply needed help. I wasn’t making overtures.”
“Why didn’t you ask the ladies, or come to me?”
She looked away, blinking fast as the wind kicked up. She hoped he would think the tears in her eyes were related to dust in her eyes, not this newest blow to her esteem.
“I know it doesn’t seem fair, ‘cause it doesn’t sit right with me either, but a beautiful young widow within spitting distance of their men got their feathers ruffled, Mina.”
Distracted by him calling her beautiful, she didn’t take time to savor the moment or the warmth that filled her inside, focusing on the dilemma at hand that had taken priority. He’d asked a question, not a romantic proposal as she’d dreamed of as a girl, but why hadn’t she gone to the ladies of the train for help? “I couldn’t ask the other women. They think so little of me already.”
“What about asking me?”
She shook her head. “You’re so busy.” It was a half-truth at best. She didn’t want to admit she was still embarrassed over the buffalo dung-throwing incident. She was also being cautious, not wanting him to get frustrated like Elliott had when she’d asked questions or risk more criticism over her failures. So, she asked the other men, who she thought were being nice by helping her out.
“We can discuss this later. The point is they came to me, insisting something be done about you, the temptress in our midst.” Sarcasm and anger were mixed in his tone. “One option was to put you off the train at the next trading post, which is Fort Laramie. They have patrols and troops moving between Salt Lake, Santa Fe, and Independence. You’d have to make your way beyond that on your own, which is something I won’t allow. Only one of the other two options was suitable. Me. So we are to be married.”
“Thank the good lord.” Mina exhaled the words softly, her relief immeasurable. Seeing his quirked brow, she realized how that sounded. “I mean, I’m thankful I won’t be abandoned in a crude army fort, with a bunch of strangers, hundreds of miles from civilization.”
“I’m sure they would have been honorable and seen to your safety, Mina, but it’s not something you need worry about because that’s not going to happen.”
“What, may I ask, was option number three?”
“Ben Jacobs offered his hand.”
She felt his eyes on her face and tried to hide her appalled reaction. She liked Mr. Jacobs. He’d been so kind and she considered him a dear friend; however, marrying a man having ten years at least on her own father was unthinkable. She was grateful for his kind offer. It couldn’t be what he wanted, not so soon after he’d lost nearly his entire family.
“He was bluffing, Mina. Calling my hand, if you will.” He must have read the confusion in her eyes, not knowing the term and went on to explain. “A poker term, which means he knew he could push me into marrying you if I thought he was willing.”
“Why would you? You don’t even like me. I’m a pain in your—” She snapped her mouth short of saying it.
“Ass, Mina?” he asked, amused. Although she didn’t find it funny, the sound of his low rumbling laughter set he
r heart aflutter. “I’ll agree, at times you can be a real pain in my hind parts, but you have many redeemable qualities. I’ve seen you with the kids on the wagon train. They are drawn to you. You read to them the other night by the fire and they hung on your every word. That was very kind of you and I have also seen shades of sweetness. Not often, since you mask it well with sass and the bite of your tongue, though I suspect you do that to protect yourself and out of uncertainty, not real nastiness or spite. You’re also very easy on the eye. I was planning to take a wife when we get to Oregon, this being my last trip, so marrying you will save me a lot of courting time.”
“How convenient for you.” The sarcasm dripped from her tone.
“See, protecting yourself,” he replied, his eyes meeting hers. “I apologize for that; it was insensitive, but it was truthful. I think we’ll get on fine and we’ll both benefit from this marriage. You need a strong man to safeguard you and I’m already filling those shoes. You also need a solid future; I can provide that too. I won’t be too hard to look at for the next thirty or forty years, will I?”
Mina felt the blood rush to her face. Weston Carr was anything but hard to look at. Ruggedly handsome was more like it. Tall, muscular, he was also very capable and confident, and made her feel protected. He was also quite strong, thrilling her in the way he lifted her like she was little more than a bag full of down. And he made the effort to see that she was safe and secure, which was something else uncommon to her for most, if not all, of her life. Moreover, he stirred something deep within her that no man ever had before.
“I think marrying me is the best of all three options.” His hand rose to her cheek, holding her gently as his thumb arced out to lightly brush her lower lip. He leaned down, and as he did, Mina closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his breath on her face. She anticipated his kiss, a sense of disappointment sweeping over her when he stopped just shy of doing so. When he next spoke, she could feel his words on her lips. “What do you say, darlin’? Wanna get hitched?”
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