At that instant in his reverie, every time, he was brought to a screeching halt. You sick bastard! Cole chastised himself, even as he wiped away drops of sweat from his forehead. She’s pregnant. She’s goddamned pregnant! You gonna diddle a woman heavy with child?
“Are you all right?” Janetta, observing the almost pained look on his face at one point, asked with concern.
“Uh. Yeah. Fine.” And he shifted position on the seat, hoping to hide his noticeable arousal.
Cole often wondered how the Butler train and its occupants were faring, and what other problems Jordan might have run into by now. With the Reverend Ross no longer a force to be reckoned with, Cole hoped to catch up, if possible; there is always safety in numbers when traversing unknown territory. But that likelihood lay on the knees of the gods.
Independence Rock was the next scenic vista to catch attention.
A huge mound of granite almost 130 feet high and 1900 feet long, located some 200 miles northwest of Fort Laramie, this served as another landmark along the Oregon Trail. Not to mention the many more rivers that must, at some point, be contended with: the Sweetwater, so sinuous it would need crossing again and again; the Big Sandy, more properly called Creek; then a tedious and demanding 45 miles of desert, dusty and dry, whose sun beat down with seemingly maniacal ferocity; before reaching the Green, whose treacherous depths required ferries during peak travel times, the waters of which would eventually empty into the Colorado.
All of this Cole took in stride, as did Janetta. The hours slipped by into days, the days into weeks. Early October, and the leaves of aspens were turning to butter-gold, and sumac to burgundy.
And Janetta took on the look of a brooding mare.
Cole kept eyeing her, growing more and more uneasy. He had hoped, by now, to have reached the Butler train. He had hoped to have a doctor ready and waiting when her time came. Would only he and his willing but clumsy hands be available to offer service? What the hell did he know about birthing babies?
According to plan, Jordan had intended to take the Sublette-Greenwood Cutoff, heading due west past Fort Bridger to cross a mountain range, then connecting once again with the main Oregon California Trail, in Bear River Valley. Good grass would be available for stock, plenty of fresh water and firewood, as well, but in places the passage might be steep and rough.
They had rolled their way across rivers and plains, through the wasteland, over the mountainous areas, and, following Bear River northwest, into Idaho Territory. There they discovered the irrepressible delight of what would come to be known as Soda Springs.
“Oh, what is that?” Janetta asked with a surprised smile.
Cole was pleased to see her perk up a little. If he could take credit for this natural attraction, damned if he wouldn’t do so!
“Accordin’ t’ my information,” he said a trifle smugly, “geysers and steamboat springs. I’m thinkin’ this’ll be a good place t’ stop, Janie, girl. We can rest up, let the animals feed, and maybe I can hunt us up some fresh meat.”
She was looking around with tired eyes. “I like that idea, Cole. I wonder—do you suppose it might be possible to take a bath?”
“Not only possible, but a good sure thing. I wanna see the expression on your face once you sink down int’ that water.”
A tilt of the head, curious. “Why is that?”
“Oh, I ain’t about t’ tell you. I’ll let you find out for yourself.”
Once established around a campfire, with the oxen free to roam and the horses lightly tethered, Janetta gathered her things and, with Cole’s help, waddled to a pool where runoff from the spouting geysers had collected. Once he returned to the wagon, she slowly removed loose skirt and the shirt she had borrowed from his wardrobe, in order to dabble her toes.
“It’s hot!” she discovered.
“Ahuh,” Cole called back. Coffee. If she was going to be stark naked not more than twenty feet away, he needed boiling strong coffee, and he needed it fast. That, or the remains of Oliver’s bourbon.
“And—bubbly!” Pleasure rang in her voice. “Oh, Cole, this is wonderful!”
The water was, indeed, carbonated—hence the inevitable title—and had become a favorite stop for the pioneers on their way west. Here they could relax, wash accumulated laundry, and feed up their stock.
He was frying the inevitable slices of bacon over the camp fire by the time she had finished soaking, dried off, dressed again in fresh clean clothing, and huffed and puffed her way back. Barney, who had accompanied her every step of the way and enjoyed his own quick bath—and hearty shake afterward—parked his wet bottom beside the pan to beg for a taste of whatever smelled so good.
“Beginnin’ t’ wonder if I’d have t’ come drag you outa there,” Cole grinned over his shoulder, “like landin’ a fish.”
Janetta, who had already seated herself in the rocker, felt comfortable enough and rested enough to stick her tongue out at him. “Leave that for now, and go try it out yourself.”
During the prolonged time she had spent out of, in, and back out of the water again, Cole had kept busy: tactful enough, delicate enough, even, to manfully refrain from sneaking a look.
She was not. Nor did she sneak. She stared, full on and curious.
From top of roughened dark head to soles of brown bare feet, he might have posed for Michaelangelo during the sculpting of David. Wide muscular shoulders, smooth flesh covering flat scapula and ridged spine, a tapering down to naked buttocks, sturdy thighs and calves coarsened by black curly hair.
Turn around! she longed to implore him. I want to look at more! As appealing and attractive as Cole appeared from the back, how much more so would he be from the front, where all the action would take place?
The devil. He must have known. Because he slipped into his waiting bath without giving her the satisfaction, and eventually he slipped out by the same route.
“Didja like what you saw?” Cole asked a trifle smugly, as he returned buttoning a nice white shirt.
Now it was her turn to withhold satisfaction. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she retorted, with her nose in the air. “I’ve caught glimpses of better.”
“Only glimpses?” His voice had acquired an odd huskiness, and something new and intriguing gleamed in his eyes. Coming closer, he hunkered down beside the rocker to spread his fingers flat, uninvited, across the hillock of her belly. “I can beat that. I can show you everything.”
Her breath got caught somewhere between midriff and collarbone and stuck there. “Cole…” she whispered. “I wish I—”
“Ahuh. Me, too, sweetheart.”
He leaned in, careful to cause neither pressure nor fear, and cradled her sweet uplifted face with both big palms. Closer yet, and he could touch his lips to the curve of her cheek and the side of her jaw, before moving on to seek her mouth. Sought, and covered, and took, with such yearning, such warmth, such delight, that Janetta moaned, deep in her throat, and lifted herself to return the kiss full measure.
Lost in the throes of this, her first real passion, she was vaguely aware that his tongue had slipped inside to play with hers, that his right hand had eased to the back of her skull to hold her still, that his left hand had found and cupped the full weight of her breast.
He was forced to release her at last only so both could breathe.
“God, Janie, girl,” he finally was able to get out, over a gulp. “What—what you do t’ me—!” Overcome, he slid down to enfold her in his arms, resting his curly head on the shelf of her bosom and closing his eyes, as if he had just come home to everything he had ever wanted.
“Cole. Oh, Cole.” With the smile of a Botticelli angel, she had threaded her fingers through his hair, tenderly combing back the strands from his face. “We—we sort of picked an inconvenient time for—for all this…”
“Maybe so, honey.” He looked up with a flash of his old impudent grin. “But there’ll come a time when it won’t be inconvenient at’all.”
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * * *
He had planned on allowing a full two days at the springs. One afternoon was taken up by the checking over of harness and animals, to ensure that everything remained in good working order, and a hunting foray into surrounding woods. Returning with a couple of fat rabbits, which Barney had obligingly scared up out of the tangled grass, he skinned and cleaned both carcasses to be roasted over the fire for their supper.
“Oh, this is so good,” murmured Janetta, licking her fingers free of grease. “It’s been too long since we’ve had fresh meat. And I know the baby appreciates it.”
“Don’t forget the potatoes.” Which he had laid into the flames to bake.
“I won’t. You can cook for me anytime.”
She lifted her face for his quick but lusty kiss. As if yesterday’s initial and surprising attempt at hanky-panky had finally broken down all the barriers for her, Janetta suddenly could not get enough of Cole’s intimacies. A touch, a caress, a brush of the lips, even—as she grew braver and bolder—a grasp of what lay within tantalizing reach but must, for the moment, remain unfortunately unused.
The first time she tentatively reached out, to cup the crotch of his pants with one warm palm as he passed by her rocker, he nearly jumped out of his skin with astonishment. Now, he was merely enjoying whatever physical approach she took. Besides returning, in full measure, anytime and anything he could.
Originally, he had wondered just a bit whether she was missing her father so much that he himself had become a substitute. Then reason stepped in. It was to be expected she would draw closer to him, for support, for companionship. But what was happening now had come about through the tender feelings between a man and woman. That was it.
“Um. Cole.”
“Ahuh. Want some more?”
“No. Cole. I don’t—I don’t feel very well…”
Her skin had, in fact, gone more pale than usual, and slightly damp with perspiration. She had put aside her plate, still half-filled, for Barney to crunch away at and finish.
“Janie, girl, you hurtin’ any?”
“Uh—sort of. Cramps. Like during—you know…well, no, silly me, of course you wouldn’t know, that’s a female thing, and not something any man could understand, not even...” Babbling, she started to rise from the rocker and glanced around.
Putting down his coffee cup, he reached her in three easy strides. “Whatcha lookin’ for?”
“I don’t—I can’t quite—figure that out.”
It could only be that her labor was finally starting. Hell and damnation. And here they were, all alone. He couldn’t fail her now.
“All right. Gonna getcha settled, sweetheart, b’cause I think your time has come. Can you climb up int’ the wagon, and we’ll—”
Cole broke off. Fool. Of course she couldn’t climb into the wagon. Bent over with the onset of a sudden sharp pain that had stopped her breath, she could barely walk, let alone climb.
“All right, all right. Gonna get this fixed, and you taken care of, and whatever details we gotta know…” It was his turn to babble. He didn’t do well at it.
What he did, and could, do well at was organizing preparations and making arrangements. In a flash he had her slim mattress out of the wagon and on the sheltered ground beneath it, with a spare sheet laid over and her loose nightgown ready.
But when he tried to move her toward it, she resisted. “No, Cole. I want to walk. I need to walk. Please, just stay with me.”
“Anything, Janie. I’m right here. You just tell me what you need done.”
Early afternoon passed into late, and the sun eased from its zenith to the westering horizon. Barney napped, snuffled occasionally in the middle of some doggie dream, and snored away.
All the while Janetta walked. Cole kept pace with her, talking in encouraging tones, pausing when the pains hit, and proceeding on when they abated.
Finally, panting and sweat-soaked, she conceded to the demands of her struggling body. “Where—have you put me—?”
Settling her on the mattress, loosening her clothing, Cole left her long enough to fetch a pan of cool water and folded cloth. A gentle sponge bath of whatever he could reach at least made him feel a participant rather than a spectator.
“Jesus, honey,” he fretted after her first few moans. “I want so bad t’ help you. Just dunno what t’ do from here on.”
A spasm stiffened her spine and threw her head back, with teeth gritted and fists clenched. After the worst had died away, she managed the ghost of a smile. “You’re doing fine, Cole. I think—”
Another spasm, and a guttural sound more like some animal caught in a trap than some writhing human being. Breasts heaving for air, she gasped out, “Time to—time to get changed. That you can—help me with, Cole.”
Hunkered down beside her in the shade of the wagon bed, he clenched his own teeth and complied. Shirt unbuttoned and tossed aside, top pulled free from limp-muscled arms, skirt undone and removed to be used as padding, chemise—Cole tried to avert his gaze, as much as possible—stripped off down to bare skin.
Quickly he jerked the loose cotton nightgown over her head to let her lie back once more.
“Ribbon,” she huffed next. “There—skirt pocket. Hair tied back, out of the way. Please.”
Through all her toil, all her travail, it was her wobbly smile that most wrung his heart. Brave as any man in the face of fire, and poignant with tears and pain, that smile made him long to kiss away all her hurts and put everything better. He could only sit beside her, sharing from his own abundant strength and letting her clamp down on his hand till it seemed the bones must break.
The hours crawled by. At one point she croaked a request for water; at another she thanked him, several times, almost incoherently. Eventually, she neither knew nor felt his presence. Just like any beast of the field, she lay writhing on her bed of torment, struggling desperately to give birth.
He left her again, for a few minutes, long enough to stir up the fire as darkness approached, walk out the knots in his legs, and shakily pour a cup of coffee. The moans had been submerged by louder groans into cries of anguish as the interminable labor went on and on. He didn’t think he could bear to hear her screams much longer.
And yet the noise was better than silence. If she went silent, he would fear—
“Halloo!” The greeting call coincided with a rumble of wagon wheels and a jingle of harness.
Cole, unshaven, exhausted, with bloodshot eyes and raked-through hair, grabbed his rifle and took stance.
A battered and beaten prairie schooner pulled to a stop not far away, with a “Whoooooa!” from its driver. Someone climbed down to advance, then another, then a whole passel of young’uns, chattering and squabbling and ecstatic to be released.
“Hello, Mister,” said the newcomer, with hand outstretched. “Saw your fire, here, and hoped we might join you. I’m Wesley Holcomb, and this is my wife, Martha.”
Still stunned into awkward silence, Cole could only stare.
“How do you do,” the woman said, coming forward with a smile. “Got four kids on the loose, sir; I hope you don’t mind our—“
Janetta’s first shriek of pure agony cut through the verbiage, startling everyone.
“What the hell—?” began Holcomb, as his hand went immediately to the weapon on his hip.
Mrs. Holcomb felt no such compunctions. “That’s a woman in labor, or I miss my guess,” she stated firmly, nodding. “Your wife? Where is she?”
Wordlessly, Cole jerked his head toward the wagon.
“Wesley, you take charge of things here,” came the order. “I’ll go see what’s going on.”
And away she bustled, leaving such an air of competence and capability in her wake that Cole drew his first full breath of the day. The breath thawed his rigid posture and allowed a return to normalcy. Reaching out a hand, he welcomed the family with lightened heart. “I apologize for my lapse, Mr. Holcomb. Been so darn worried…” He introduced himself, and Janetta,
and offered coffee right off.
“Say, I’d take great pleasure in that, Mr. Yancey. Just lemme undo my team, first, and see what them kids are up to.”
No doubt in anyone’s mind what four rambunctious children would be doing, given the splashing and laughing going on at the springs. At least they were temporarily occupied.
“Be happy t’ help, sir. I wanna check in on Janie, and then I’ll be right there.”
Much later, in what seemed the middle of the night to Cole—and probably was—everything that had been turned topsy turvy had righted itself, and chaos smoothed out into order. He would never forget how providential it was that this particular wagon, with this particular helpful family, had come along just when it did. This could have just as easily been a set of brigands, determined to rob and maim and kill, as someone so easy to get along with as the Holcombs.
Almost enough to make him believe that Someone was watching out for the two of them, after all, and possibly trying to make up with good for so much past bad.
The Holcombs had left Fort Bridger with the hope of, as it turned out, trying to catch up with the Butler train, for their next trek through the rest of Idaho Territory, down into the State of Nevada, and thence into northern California.
“My hope, too,” said Cole.
At the time, while Martha tended to whatever was still going on beneath the wagon, he was presiding over the cooking of a hearty supper. He figured it was the least he could do. Wesley brought along some of his own provisions; and everyone ate well and heartily. Especially the tired children, who had been thrilled to find an energetic dog to share their playtime.
Camp chores attended to, everyone finally settled down, he had been free to return to Janetta.
“My God!” he gasped, seeing her condition.
Nightgown soaked with blood and natal fluids, overburdened body thrashing for release, she looked to be on the verge of giving up. Of possibly—
A Western Romance: Cole Yancey: Taking the High Road (Taking The High Road Series Book 9) Page 12
