by Tess LeSue
It was as she rummaged about that she heard the next sneeze. It was definitely a sneeze, and it was definitely right here in the wagon with her.
“Susannah!” It had to be her daughter. It was definitely female. Although, what on earth Susannah would be doing in here was beyond her.
“Susannah, you get out here right this minute!”
Silence.
“I really don’t have the patience for this.” Georgiana began yanking things about, trying to find her. As she hefted a sack of coffee beans, she was astonished to uncover the corner of a patchwork quilt. The tents and bedding were stashed right by the end of the wagon, near the back. What was a quilt doing here? What was her daughter up to?
The sneeze sounded again, and the quilt jumped. Georgiana pulled it, and it came away, revealing a stowaway.
“Becky!”
The girl looked utterly horrified to be discovered. “You weren’t supposed to see me until tonight!” she wailed. “Please don’t send me back!”
“How did you fit in here?” Georgiana was astonished as she peered into the crack between the barrels. The girl was crammed into a nook that could barely have accommodated Wilby.
“It hasn’t been comfortable,” Becky admitted.
“Come out of there.” Georgiana wriggled out of the wagon, making way for Becky to follow. Only, the girl’s legs had gone to sleep under her, and when she tried to move, she was seized with agonizing pins and needles. She sprawled on top of the baggage, whimpering.
“Mrs. Tilly will be beside herself with worry,” Georgiana scolded, as she watched the girl trying to massage the feeling back into her legs.
“I left her a note,” Becky protested. “She’ll understand. She always knew I wouldn’t stay forever.”
Georgiana shook her head. “Are you chasing after LeFoy?” she asked, already knowing the answer. “You do know he’s not even in this group?”
Becky looked sheepish. “But he is traveling close by.”
“You can’t go running off with a strange man like this!” Georgiana conveniently ignored the fact that she had been trying to do much the same thing by placing her advertisement.
“I’m not,” Becky insisted, finally wriggling out of the wagon after Georgiana. “I’m running off with you.” She gave Georgiana a hopeful look. “I can help you with the children.” Her gaze dropped to the recipe book Georgiana was still holding. “And I can cook!”
Georgiana shook her head. She heard Matt’s voice in her head: Roll up your sleeves and work like the rest of us. He was right. Mrs. Barry didn’t have a girl helping her, and neither did Mrs. Colicut or Mrs. Klein or Mrs. Blomgren. “I’m going to learn,” she said firmly. “And I’m perfectly capable of looking after my children myself. You have to go back. Poor Mrs. Tilly.”
“I can teach you to cook, then,” Becky begged. “And of course you’re perfectly capable, but everyone needs help sometimes. And those twins . . . ” Becky trailed off significantly. “Besides, I’m not asking to stay with you all the way to Oregon. I’m planning to be married by then.”
“Married!”
“Yes.” Becky lifted her chin stubbornly. “I have all summer to get him to fall in love with me. And even if he hasn’t quite yet by then, he has children too. I bet he needs a wife.”
Georgiana sighed. Becky was so young.
“Please, Mrs. Smith. I’m ever so useful!” Becky’s eyes were pleading. “And I love him!” she said. “I really do. And I’ll earn my keep.”
“Mrs. Tilly . . . ”
“Isn’t my family,” Becky finished, cutting her off. “She was so good to me, taking me in when my family passed away, but we were heading west, and she always knew I’d finish the journey one day.”
“How are you doing, missus?” Seb hollered from the cook fire. “You’re running out of time!”
Georgiana sighed. She hadn’t provisioned for Becky . . . But then, she’d bought more than the list had specified, because she’d had Matt’s voice in her head: Just in case.
“Fine,” she said, thrusting the frying pan at Becky, “but only if you make lunch.”
* * *
• • •
“WHERE THE HELL did she come from?” Matt asked, when he finally reached the head of the train, sometime just before sunset.
Becky was walking along next to Georgiana, off to the side of the wagons, away from the dust. The twins had long tired of walking with them and were sitting up next to Wendell. Susannah and Wilby were asleep in their nook in the tray.
“She’s a stowaway,” Georgiana said calmly. She was long since used to Becky’s presence. Today seemed like it had lasted for more than a week. She barely even remembered discovering the girl in the wagon; it felt like Becky had been with them all along.
Matt grunted. “She didn’t pay to come.”
“I’ll pay for her,” Georgiana told him. Becky had already proved her usefulness, feeding them all and helping with the children. The children had already been a bigger challenge on the journey than Georgiana had anticipated. It was only the first day, and the younger ones were bored and uncomfortable, and the twins were in constant danger of serious injury or of getting lost. Becky was a godsend, distracting the two little ones and helping to keep track of the boys. She was also company on the walk. She was so thrilled that Georgiana hadn’t sent her back to Independence that she chattered away merrily. It was a welcome distraction from the pain in Georgiana’s feet.
Mrs. Barry had joined them walking very briefly, but she still preferred the wagon at this stage. And the Scandinavian women didn’t speak enough English yet to be good traveling companions. Mrs. Colicut, the southern woman with all the children, was too busy with her brood to be able to talk much either.
By sunset, when Matt rode up, Becky and Georgiana weren’t talking much themselves. They plodded along, watching the way the dust clouds turned golden as the late sunlight fell through them in thick wedges. Matt, on the other hand, was easy in the saddle, dusty and sweaty and looking far too energetic for this end of a long day.
“I can pay you when we stop tonight,” Georgiana promised.
“Looks like you got yourself some hired help after all,” he said, and then he rode off to join the chuck wagon.
Georgiana winced. He thought she was a spoiled little rich girl.
Well, she was. Or rather she used to be. And if she could afford it now, she most certainly would have brought a team of nannies and cooks and helpers with her, she thought longingly.
“He’s a mighty handsome man, isn’t he?” Becky said. “I would never have known it when he was under all that beard.”
“You think he’s handsome?” Georgiana feigned indifference, even though she couldn’t tear her gaze from his broad back.
“Not as handsome as Pierre,” Becky said loyally, “but very close.”
It took all Georgiana’s willpower not to laugh. Pierre LeFoy wasn’t anywhere near Matt Slater when it came to looks. They were almost different species!
Speaking of Matt Slater, where was he going now? There had to be less than an hour of daylight left, yet he was cantering off toward the horizon. For the love of God, weren’t they ever going to stop?
They did eventually, but not until Georgiana had just about walked herself to the edge of death. Her legs were trembling from all the exertion.
Matt cantered back into sight after fifteen minutes or so, and then he led them to a river; they followed along beside it for quite a long while before he called a halt. The cool air rising from the waters was bliss; Georgiana could feel it slipping against her skin. She would have collapsed right beside it, if Matt, that horrible man, hadn’t ridden past, snapping at them to circle the wagons and corral the animals in the center. There were too many of them to make one large circle, so instead they formed a few smaller ones; Georgiana’s lead group of ten wagon
s joined up with the second and third groups. The circle they made was big enough to form a substantial paddock for the animals.
She was quite happy to let Wendell and Kipp see to the livestock and the tents while she and Becky prepared the evening meal. At least she was until the men had finished and were sprawled by the fire. At that point she realized that the women’s work would last far into the night: once they’d fed everyone and done the dishes, she’d still have to put the children to bed. Bed. Oh my, how she was longing to just crawl under a quilt and sleep.
She eyed her children, who were snuggled up under blankets and quilts around the fire. All four of them were heavy eyed with exhaustion.
“You know,” Tom Slater drawled, as he watched Georgiana struggle with the cook pot, “it makes no sense you cooking for your lot and Seb cooking for me and Matt. Not when you’re marrying Matt. That just doesn’t seem natural.”
Georgiana shot him a dirty look. She didn’t fancy having to cook for more people than she already had to. Look at him sitting there, shelling peanuts, his legs stretched out before him, while she had to go haul water and slave over the cook fire.
“It seems to me that we should pool our resources,” Tom said, flicking a peanut shell into the fire.
“Be quiet,” Matt warned his brother.
Georgiana jumped. She hadn’t realized he was there. He was just outside the circle of firelight, his eyes fixed on her. How long had he been there?
“You shouldn’t talk to your lady that way,” Tom scolded.
“I was talking to you.”
“What do you think, Seb?” Tom continued, as though Matt hadn’t spoken. “We can cook half the time and she can cook half the time?”
“Sounds good to me,” Seb said as he dropped the burlap sack he was carrying. It thudded to the ground, and a potato rolled out. “I wouldn’t mind a night off here and there.”
Georgiana looked at Tom in shock. Was he actually being nice to her? She hadn’t been expecting that from him. Was he really suggesting she wouldn’t have to cook every night? Because that was music to her ears.
“I’m happy to do a night a week,” Tom said, stretching out, “and Matt’s a decent cook.”
Of course he was. Georgiana stole a look at him. Was there anything he couldn’t do?
“So with me, Seb, Matt, Mrs. Smith and Becky here, that’s five of us.”
“I can cook,” Wendell interrupted belligerently.
“Not well,” Kipp said.
Wendell looked furious at the slur. “I bet I’m as good as Slater.”
“There you go,” Tom said. “With Wendy here, we’re six. That just leaves the Sabbath, and maybe we can have leftovers on Sundays.”
“It’s Wendell,” Wendell growled, “not Wendy.”
“I’d be happy to join in with you,” Mrs. Barry said from where she stood at the cook fire. “That is, if you don’t mind?”
“There you go,” Tom told Matt smugly. “It looks like I’m almost as good at organizing things as you are. Mrs. Barry makes seven. This way none of us needs to cook more than one night a week. And,” he added, with relish, “we can all eat together. Like one big, happy family.” His gaze drifted back and forth between Matt and Georgiana.
Matt scowled at him.
Oh, she could have kissed Tom Slater, even if he was a scary man. She wouldn’t have to cook every night! The thought of slumping down by the fire and resting her feet at the end of the day sounded like heaven.
As did the thought of eating with Matt Slater every night. It was a thought that sent a delicious thrill through her. It was a thrill that was completely oblivious to her better sense. It didn’t care that he had avoided her like the plague these last weeks, or that he preferred the company of whores. Some stubborn part of her was desperate to be in his company. And, after the exhaustion and monotony of the day, she was glad to give in to it.
“Who cooks tonight, then?” Matt growled. He didn’t look at all happy about this arrangement.
“Let’s do it together,” Tom said cheerfully, “in honor of our first night. Why don’t you help your lovely fiancée fill that cook pot with water from the stream, little brother? It’s just about bigger than she is.”
Georgiana heard him muttering under his breath, but he came along. Her heart pounded as he snatched the cook pot off her and led her to the stream.
“You don’t need to come,” he snapped. “I’ll bring it to you when it’s full.”
“I don’t mind.” In truth, she couldn’t have stopped herself from following him. Her heart was racing and her hands were sweating and she wanted nothing more than to be alone with him at the stream. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Don’t do this to yourself. Oh, shut up. Shut up and allow me this one moment of happiness today. Because it was happiness to be near him. Even when he didn’t seem happy to be near her.
“Did it go well today?” she asked nervously as they stepped beyond the firelight and into the blue evening. The sound of flowing water ran like music through the night.
“As well as it could,” he said shortly. He filled the cook pot, bending down on one knee over the stream. He wasn’t wearing his hat, and his dark hair was curling against his neck.
“My feet have never hurt so much in my whole life,” she admitted. She was nervous and rambling, and she kept rambling, about her sore legs and how many miles lay ahead of them, but she couldn’t stop herself. She was too tired to be composed.
He stood and looked at her.
“Oh, that must be heavy,” she said, looking at the cook pot brimful of water.
He didn’t say anything.
“I could never have carried it,” she babbled. “I would have had to make several trips with a pitcher.” She pressed her lips together. “I’m sorry, I’m blathering on. It’s just,” she blurted, “you make me nervous.”
His eyebrows shot up. She’d shocked him.
She’d shocked herself. She certainly hadn’t expected to tell him the truth. She was just so tired. And she had a deep-body memory of the comfort of his arms. She wanted comfort tonight.
She’d regret this tomorrow. Tomorrow, after she’d slept, she’d care again about the whore and about the fact that she shouldn’t get attached because she’d have to say good-bye to him at Fort Hall. But now wasn’t tomorrow.
Georgiana took a deep breath and simply told the truth. “I missed you these last few weeks.”
Now he looked worse than shocked. She plowed on.
“I’m sorry, I know this is awkward. I know we had . . . a couple of . . . moments . . . that complicated things.” She cleared her throat. “And I know that you don’t want to be around me anymore. I mean, you’ve made that perfectly clear.”
He wasn’t saying anything. He wasn’t so much as moving. Georgiana shriveled with embarrassment but couldn’t stop herself from talking.
“But it’s a long journey, Mr. Slater, and we’re traveling practically in each other’s pockets. Pretending to be engaged, of all things.” She laughed nervously. Oh God. He was like a statue. This was so humiliating. “I just thought perhaps we could find a way forward, so things aren’t so awkward? We could treat it more like a business arrangement? Act like we’re associates? Or friends?”
And that way she could see him again. They could talk. And maybe, in an unguarded moment, she might feel his arms around her again, his lips on hers . . .
She was mad. Truly, deeply mad.
She swallowed and waited for his reply.
“This is heavy,” he said gruffly. And then he pushed past her and walked back to the cook fire, and she just about died of shame.
19
EVEN THOUGH SHE’D never slept in a tent in her life, even though the ground was hard and there were strange noises in the night beyond the canvas, even though the children snored and Wilby flailed about, Georgiana had the best night’
s sleep she’d had for weeks. Mostly because of the brief conversation she’d had before going to bed.
She’d been heading into the tent when he’d stopped her. The children were long asleep, and the campfire had been damped down for the night. Tom Slater had fallen asleep wrapped in an Indian blanket by the fire, and everyone else was retiring, except for those on the first shift of guard duty. The only sounds were the stream and the soft voices drifting from other fires farther off.
“Georgiana.” It was the first time Matt had said her name. The sound of it from his lips had made her quiver.
She’d pasted a polite smile on her lips, still not recovered from the humiliation by the stream. “Yes?”
He approached, radiating discomfort. He was a long, bulky shadow in the darkness. “I’ve been thinking about what you said before,” he said huskily. He sounded apprehensive.
Georgiana felt ill. Could this situation get more embarrassing? “Please,” she begged, “forget I said anything. I was overtired from the day.”
“Of course.” He cleared his throat. “But . . . you meant it?”
Oh God. Of course she did. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be standing here dying of embarrassment, would she? At least it was too dark for him to see her expression.
She heard him breathing in the darkness. She couldn’t make out his expression either.
“Yes,” he said abruptly.
“Yes?”
“Yes. Yes, I think we can be associates.” He paused. “Friends.”
She hadn’t been expecting that.
“If the offer still stands,” he said lamely.
“Of course.” Oh, the relief.
“You were right. We have had a few . . . moments. And we both know they can’t happen again. And I think it’s unlikely they will happen again, considering our lack of privacy here.”
What was the madman talking about? Look at them right this minute, alone in the darkness! It didn’t get much more private than this. Admittedly, there were people only a few feet away, but it was pitch-black out here. He could kiss her and no one would ever know . . .
