by Tess LeSue
And yet, Georgiana knew that if he kissed her now, any chance of their being friends would evaporate. For whatever reason, he was spooked by his attraction to her. And she didn’t want to scare him away. These last weeks had been torture, with him just across the hall but totally out of reach.
Like Leo. Beyond her grasp.
No. Don’t think of Leo. She could barely move for fear when she thought of Leo. It was easier to push it away. But the pain of being cut off from Leo certainly seemed to heighten whatever this mixed-up feeling of longing-loss was from being cut off from Matt.
“So, yes,” he continued, more talkative under this cover of darkness than usual, “I think we can negotiate a new relationship. One without . . . moments.”
“Yes,” she said, able to keep the regret from her voice, even though it was the moments she liked. The moments she longed for. But of course, the moments weren’t good for their situation. And they both knew it.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said.
“Yes.”
The air between them thrummed with that tension they had, that charge, that silent anticipation. Wasn’t this almost a moment?
If it was, it was the kind they could pretend hadn’t happened.
“Good night, Georgiana.”
She shivered at the sound of her name.
“Good night, Matt.”
Did he shiver too? She hoped so. Just as she hoped that as he walked away he felt the same keen disappointment she felt, but also that strange feeling of elation that floated just above it. Because when they stepped out of their tents tomorrow, they would be starting again. As friends.
* * *
• • •
IT WAS A little awkward at first. But only for a few days. The fact that they only saw each other in groups helped, as there was always plenty of distraction. They lapsed into a distant but friendly relationship, not dissimilar to the one he had with Mrs. Barry. He wasn’t around much for there to be any risk of intimacy. He was off, up and down the line, out in front, scouting, helping with broken wagons and lame animals, fetching the doctor for people who had blisters. Which included Georgiana after a couple of days of walking.
He’d happened to be near when she’d eased her boots off after washing the evening dishes. She’d gone down to the river to wash up and had taken the opportunity to soak her battered feet. She’d thought she was alone; she eased her boots off to slip her poor feet in the cool water and had heard him curse. He was behind her, an empty pitcher dangling from his hand.
“What in hell is that?” he demanded, looking at her mangled feet, with their suppurating blisters.
“Nothing.” She hurriedly plunged her feet into the stream, out of his sight. She didn’t want him to see how weak she was. She already knew what he thought of her—that she was a pampered little miss—and she didn’t particularly want to confirm his opinion of her.
“You wait there,” he snapped.
“Why?” But he was already gone. When he came back, he was dragging Doctor Barry with him.
“Look at her feet,” he ordered.
Georgiana flushed. He sounded disgusted.
“Well, you certainly have done some damage, haven’t you?” the doctor said mildly, when she’d lifted them from the water. “It’s good you’ve cleaned them, but it would actually be best not to get them wet for a while. We want those sores to dry out.” He looked up at her. “That means no shoes for a while either.”
“No shoes!” But how was she going to walk? She groaned. As bad as walking was, riding in the shuddery wagon was infinitely worse.
“Jesus, woman,” Matt snapped.
She squealed as he bent down and hauled her from the ground. He carried her back to the camp, ignoring her protests.
“The pots and dishes are back there!”
“I’ll go back and get them later,” he growled. “What in hell were you thinking? Were you trying to make yourself lame?”
“It must have been the new boots,” Georgiana mumbled.
“Didn’t you wear them in?” He seemed furious at her stupidity.
Georgiana flushed.
“And I bet you ain’t walked like this in your entire life before,” he railed. “A smart woman would build up to a full day’s walking, not plow along on tender feet.”
“You’re right.” Georgiana’s eyes filled with tears. She wasn’t smart. And her feet were tender. In fact, they hurt beyond belief.
“Don’t cry,” he said, appalled. “Why do you always cry?”
“I don’t,” she said, feeling a spurt of anger.
“You cry a lot.”
“I cry when it’s appropriate! I’ve had a lot to cry about lately.”
“Boys,” he called to the twins when he stepped back into the light of the campfire, “bring me that big quilt you’re using. Your ma needs it.” They came running, and he put them to work spreading it out for her and fetching cushions from their tent. Then he set her down, gently, as though she might break.
“You’re not to move,” he snapped at her. “When it’s time to go to bed, you call me and I’ll carry you.”
Georgiana could see Tom Slater watching them from across the fire. He looked amused.
“I can walk,” she protested.
“No, you damn well can’t. And you’re not to walk anywhere for the next few days, you hear me? Not anywhere. You’re to let these two look after you.” He jabbed a finger at the twins. “Which you’re to do,” he told the boys. “You fetch her food, and you make sure she stays put in that wagon.”
“I hate the wagon!” Georgiana complained.
“Bad luck. You’ll hate being lame worse if you don’t keep off those feet.”
“I really think you’re taking this a bit too far,” Georgiana said. “Surely, I can still walk a little bit?” she asked the doctor.
Doctor Barry held his hands up and shook his head. “Far be it from me to get between a man and his wife-to-be.”
“It ain’t going to be easy keeping her in the wagon,” Phin said thoughtfully, adopting the western drawl he put on when he was trying to sound like Matt. “Perhaps we should have the rifle?”
Matt choked. “Why? You planning to shoot her if she don’t stay put?”
“No rifle!” Georgiana snapped. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you: you’re not to go anywhere near it!”
“Maybe we could tie her down?” Philip suggested.
“You hear that?” Matt told her. “If you don’t stay put in that wagon, they’ll tie you down. Or shoot you.”
She glared at him as he left.
“Get your ma a cup of tea,” he ordered the boys over his shoulder as he left. They jumped to it.
They never seemed to listen to her that way. Georgiana sighed in disgust and flopped back against the cushions. She hated to admit it, but it was lovely to be looked after for a while. And her feet really did hurt. Maybe she could take a nap. The fire was so warm, and the quilt was so comfortable, and she was very, very tired.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad traveling in the wagon for a little while.
* * *
• • •
IT WAS WORSE than bad. It was unbearable.
She hated that wagon. The bench was hard, the road was rough, and she was rattled from her eyeballs to the balls of her feet. Her jaw ached from clenching her teeth so they wouldn’t clack together. It was the most god-awful way to travel. Her feet were propped up on the buckboard in front of her, and, wouldn’t you know it, they got sunburned the first day, adding to her pain. After that, she kept a blanket over them. But that was hot and miserable too.
“She’s making everyone’s life a misery,” Phin told Matt cheerfully as they helped him cook. Matt had them rubbing coffee grounds into a haunch of salted beefsteak.
They hadn
’t helped her cook, Georgiana thought grumpily, and if she’d asked them to, they probably would have run off. And who put coffee in food?
Although, it tasted wonderful, she had to admit. She didn’t like the fact that he could cook so well. It didn’t seem fair that he was so capable at everything, especially when she was sitting here like a fool, with her burned and blistered feet. And his steaks made her rock-hard corn fritters look very poor in comparison.
“How long do we have to ride up here with her?” Philip moaned when Matt pulled up alongside the wagon the next morning. The twins were struggling with Wilby, who was no longer content to sit still in his nest, but clambered around, trying to entertain himself. Georgiana was in constant terror he would fall and go under the wheels, and Philip, who was Wilby’s favorite, was the one who bore the brunt of the toddler’s boredom. The worst bits were the river crossings. Even though they were just small waterways at this point, they were torturous for Georgiana, especially as Matt wouldn’t let her do anything. Sitting on the bench, helpless, made the entire procedure nerve-racking in the extreme. Wilby and Susannah couldn’t swim, so she kept close hold of them, the backs of their clothes bunched in her fists. Wilby had struggled the entire way across the Blue, the Wakarusa, the Kansas and the Vermillion, and had almost thrown himself into the Little Blue, thrashing about and indulging in an earsplitting tantrum when his mother wouldn’t let go of him.
“Wilby needs a cage,” Phin suggested now as Matt’s horse fell into a trot beside the wagon.
“No!” Wilby shouted.
“Can we put Ma in one too?” Philip asked. “She’s almost as bad.”
“Mother,” Georgiana corrected sharply. She hated being called Ma. Although, to be honest, today she hated everything. The wagon made her that grumpy.
“Bored!” Wilby complained for the six hundredth time that day.
“We’re all bored,” Georgiana snapped.
Matt sighed. “We ain’t even two weeks out,” he said. “You cain’t be bored already.”
“Bored!” Wilby yelled.
“I’m bored of you yelling ‘bored,’” Phin countered.
“You lot will have murdered one another before we even reach the Platte.”
“If we’re lucky,” Wendell said under his breath.
They glared at him.
After a few days of riding with them, Wendell had learned to mostly keep his mouth shut. Becky had decamped to the other wagon; riding with Kipp was preferable to riding with the warring Smiths. Even Wendell was suffering. He’d originally tried to use the time to cozy up to Georgiana, but her temper was filthy ever since she’d hurt her feet, and she didn’t do anything but give surly one-word answers to his questions. So he’d stopped talking and had fallen into the trance of driving for hour after mind-numbing hour.
Matt sized them all up, looking vaguely amused. “Wendell, after the noon break, you and I are going to swap.”
“Huh?” Wendell squinted at him. “Whaddya mean?”
“I mean, you can ride your horse this afternoon. I’m sure the Kleins would appreciate some help herding their livestock, and I bet you could do with a change of scene.”
Wendell visibly brightened at the idea.
Georgiana scowled. She wished she could ride too. But no, she was stuck here in this horrid wagon. Why hadn’t she thought to buy a horse back in Independence?
Because they were expensive and she’d never dreamed the wagon would be this uncomfortable.
“And you,” Matt said, fixing Georgiana with an impatient look, “are going to learn to drive this vehicle.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It will give you something to do. You and Wendell can take turns driving, and that way you’ll have something to occupy yourself with and he can get out on his horse for half the day. He’d be useful with the loose animals during the river crossings.”
“Goddamn it! We should have bought horses, Ma!” Phin kicked the boards at his feet. “We told you we should have bought horses.”
“Phineas! Watch your language!”
“If we had horses, we could herd the stock too,” Philip complained. “Without them, all we can do all day is ride on this thing . . . ”
“Or walk,” Phin said the word like it was a personal debasement. “It’s goddamn stupid.”
“Hey!” Matt growled. “You don’t talk to your ma that way. Ever. I won’t have anyone in my party speaking to any woman in that manner. Is that clear? And don’t blaspheme.”
Phin flushed.
“Is that clear?” Matt asked sternly.
“Yes, sir,” Phin mumbled.
“Apologize to you mother.”
“I’m sorry.” Phin was turning redder by the minute. He gave Georgiana a shamefaced look. “I won’t do it again.”
“I should hope not,” Georgiana said, “but thank you for apologizing.” She sighed. “I don’t agree with the manner in which you said it, but I agree: I wish I’d bought a horse or two as well. They’re just so expensive . . .”
“You can all ride?” Matt asked, eyeing the boys.
“Of course we can ride.” Phin’s chin went up, and he gave Matt an imperious look. “We’re superior horsemen.”
“They can all ride, except Wilby,” Georgiana agreed. They’d had a fine stable of horses once. Before they’d had to be sold off to pay Leonard’s debts.
“Wilby wants to ride!” Wilby held his arms out to Matt. Philip held on tight to his squirming body, and Georgiana grabbed a handful of his shirt. He looked about ready to launch himself at Matt.
“If you don’t sit still, we’re going to get that cage!” Phin threatened his brother.
Wilby let out an enraged scream.
“Stop!” Georgiana warned him. “Stop, or you can go straight back to your quilt.”
He screamed louder.
“Enough!” Matt bellowed. Wilby shut up immediately, his eyes wide. “That’s enough. Wilby, you make that noise again, you’ll be in the back of that wagon for the rest of the trip.”
Wilby tilted his head, as though he was weighing up the choice.
“But if you promise to be good and quiet, and to listen to your mother, I’ll take you for a ride.”
“What! How come he gets to ride!” Phin was incensed.
“He’s too little to walk,” Matt said curtly. “You two, on the other hand, are going to get down from there and walk off some of your energy and attitude.”
The twins scowled.
“The exercise will be good for you. And it will give your mother a break. Get down. Now.”
Georgiana watched, astonished, as the boys did as they were told and jumped from the slow-trundling wagon. She added child-wrangling to Matt’s skills.
Tom Slater’s dog saw the twins and came bounding over to play with them. That cheered the boys up, and they went out hunting for sticks to throw.
“Ride!” Wilby yelled, holding his arms out to Matt.
“Only if you promise not to yell anymore and to be nice to your ma.”
“Yes!”
“That’s still yelling.”
Georgiana swore she could see the ghost of a smile on Matt’s lips.
“Yes,” Wilby whispered in a mousy little voice.
“All right, then.” Matt leaned over and plucked Wilby away from Georgiana. The boy went rigid with delight as Matt sat him on the saddle. Wilby grabbed the pommel with both pudgy hands and beamed.
Georgiana felt a pang of envy. So did Susannah, judging by her expression. Poor Susannah. She was so quiet and so well-behaved that she was often totally forgotten. Georgiana stroked her cheek, and the girl tried to smile. But her gaze never left the horse.
“He’s good with children, ain’t he?” Wendell said glumly as Matt rode off with Wilby.
Yes. He was. Look at how firmly he
held Wilby in the saddle, and look at the way Wilby laughed with joy, for the first time all day. Look at how the twins jogged along, throwing a stick for the dog to fetch, talking happily with the Colicut boys. He’d seen their disgruntlement and he’d dealt with it.
And after lunch, he dealt with hers. Not in the way she would have wished, but it was still an improvement on the rest of her day. And she got to sit next to Matt for an hour or so, alone. Or as close to alone as it was possible to get, considering the circumstances.
Matt had sent Wendell off on his horse. The man had lit out like his tail was on fire, he was so glad to get away from the bickering Blunts. Wilby had been worn out by his ride and was asleep in the back, while Susannah was contentedly feeding bits of apple to Matt’s horse, which was tethered to the wagon hoop beside her. She was talking to the animal like it was a pet as it trotted along. The twins were off with the Colicut boys and the dog again, rejuvenated after lunch.
Matt, meanwhile, was teaching Georgiana how to drive. He handed her the rod, which she looked at distastefully. She didn’t like the idea of whipping animals.
“It’s not to whip them,” he said, exasperated, when she said so. “It’s to goad them along.”
“I think that’s just splitting hairs,” she said stubbornly. “I have been sitting here, watching Wendell. I think I know what whipping is.”
“It’s your rod. Use it as you see fit,” he replied, shaking his head at her crankiness. “Maybe Wendell uses a heavy hand, but that doesn’t mean you have to. But you’ll at least have to tap them, so they know to listen to you.”
The rod was light and supple in her hand. She did a practice swipe or two.
“You know the commands?” Matt asked.
Oh. She should have paid more attention. “Giddyup?” she said tentatively.
He nodded. “That’s right.”
“And . . . whoa?” She hoped that was a command and wasn’t just something Wendell shouted.
He nodded again. “And the others?”
She assumed Get on, you cross-patched ballbags wasn’t an official command, and neither was What in Sam Hill are you doing, you useless grunters?
