by Tess LeSue
“You got him a puppy!”
It was a brindle and black ball of fuzz, with ears that flopped close to its head and markings above its eyes that made it look like it was frowning fiercely. Despite its adorable frown, it was shivering with delight as Georgiana petted it. It licked her hand enthusiastically, its fuzzy tail thumping against Matt’s body.
“You don’t mind?” Matt seemed concerned. “I thought it could keep him company in the wagon.”
“I don’t mind.” She couldn’t suppress the tears this time, and they rolled happily. “It’s the sweetest thing anyone could ever do.”
“It ain’t pedigree, mind,” he warned. “It’s just a mutt.”
“It’s perfect! You’re perfect!”
He seemed even more appalled by the praise than by her tears. He didn’t know what to do with her thanks and suffered it with a disgruntled expression.
If he found her gratitude hard to take, he was positively bowled over by the children, who were beside themselves at the gifts. They could barely eat breakfast, they were so excited. They kept their animals close and helped Matt feed and water them and get them saddled up, chattering the whole time. The puppy’s body was as long as Wilby’s as he carried it about with him, its pink tongue lolling out of its mouth with joy.
“I’m calling my horse Hercules!” Philip announced.
“Mine’s going to be Princess,” Susannah said.
“That’s the dumbest name ever. Besides, I think your horse is a boy.” Phin was disgusted.
“Then he can be a boy Princess.”
“That’s a prince, stupid.”
“Leave her alone,” Georgiana ordered, “or I won’t let you ride the horses today.”
“I’m calling mine Eagle.” Phin took no notice of her.
“And you thought Princess was dumb,” Susannah said under her breath. Georgiana heard Matt stifle a laugh.
“And what are you calling your puppy, honey?” Georgiana asked Wilby.
“Woof!”
“That’s right, puppies go ‘woof.’”
“No! Woof!” He pointed at the puppy, which was crouched in front of him, barking excitedly.
“I think Wilby wins the dumbest name competition,” Philip said.
“Your mother hasn’t named hers yet,” Matt protested. “How do you know hers won’t be dumber?”
Georgiana pursed her lips. “Well, I like that.”
“What are you calling your horse?”
“Wishes,” Georgiana said quickly, before the boys could make any suggestions.
“If wishes were horses?” Matt laughed. His awkwardness had slowly given way to relief and then pleasure. He seemed to genuinely enjoy their happiness.
“She was. And she is,” Georgiana replied gleefully. “My wish was a horse and here she is.” Although, she thought ruefully, she might have wished for a sidesaddle too. She’d have to sew a pair of riding pants. Until then, she wasn’t about to be bound to the wagon simply because she didn’t own a pair. Instead, she begged to borrow a pair of Doc Barry’s trousers off Mrs. Barry, with the promise she’d return them as soon as possible.
“Oh, don’t rush,” Mrs. Barry laughed. “This old pair barely buttons up anymore. I’m sure they’ll fit again in another couple of weeks, after all this exertion, but for now he can’t wear them.”
Georgiana put them on under her skirts, and the moment the wagons were packed and Becky had charge of Wilby and Woof, she swung into the saddle. She didn’t know who was giddier, herself or the children, as they rode out at the sound of the bugle.
“You all want to come and scout with me?” Matt asked them when they drew up alongside the chuck wagon. “You have to obey me, mind. No running off ahead.”
“Ma, we should bring the rifle,” Phin called. He was trying to kick Hercules into a gallop, but the paint was refusing to cooperate, staying close to its herd.
“I got docile animals,” Matt confided to Georgiana as they drew ahead of the wagon train. “Yours is the only one with any real spirit. I thought that was safer.”
It certainly was, considering the nature of her sons. They would have had their horses jumping canyons if it was up to them. As it was, they wouldn’t stop hounding her for the rifle, so they could shoot at muskrats.
Georgiana ignored them, and after a while they hushed up and instead rode alongside the river, looking for beaver dams.
Susannah stayed with Matt and Georgiana as they forged ahead.
“What are we looking for?” Georgiana asked. My, but it felt good to move. The plains stretched before them, shining in the morning sun, without the patina of dust she was used to. The dust was behind them, with the train.
“We’re going to find a place to cross the Big Blue,” Matt told her. He was easy in the saddle and loose with his smiles. And, oh, that man could smile.
Georgiana kicked Wishes into a trot as she and the children followed Matt along the tributary of the Kansas River, looking for a place to cross.
* * *
• • •
THE HORSES MADE a world of difference. There was nothing in the world as good for the soul as riding free on the plains. The enormous arc of sky above them shone gold and blue during the morning, was streaked with pink and orange at dusk, and was stacked with billowing clouds when the rains blew across the far horizon. It was the most gorgeous sight. The air away from the train was fresh and clear, and spring warmed around them into a glorious early summer. Georgiana and the children blossomed as May passed into June and the train passed deep into the plains. They worked harder than they’d worked in their lives: herding animals, scouting trails, crossing rivers, pitching tents, gathering firewood, hunting, cooking, driving. Even Becky and the children learned to drive the wagons, and soon they were all sharing the work. Only Wilby escaped lightly, but even he was put to work shelling peas and nuts and doing other menial work in the back of the wagon. After an initial kickup, he seemed happy enough to stay occupied, especially when Woof was curled up beside him.
There were places along the trail that were too beautiful to be believed. There was Alcove Springs with its verdant growth and rushing waterfall, where they spent a night and the children bathed under the silvery cold splashing of the falls. And then after a month on the trail they reached the vast stretch of land around the fork of the Platte, where grassland spread as far as the eye could see. It brought to mind the encyclopedia Georgiana’s father had shown her when she was a child, with its pictures of the wild plains of Africa. She half expected to see a giraffe or an elephant lumber by. These plains were similarly wild and sunstruck, only in place of the giraffes and elephants there were antelope and prairie dogs, coyotes, cougars, buffalo and bears. Eagles soared overhead, and otters gamboled in the streams and rivers. It was like nowhere Georgiana had seen before. It was magnificent.
The Platte itself was a silty expanse of muddy-looking water, befouled in places by the buffalo.
“Might as well take advantage,” Matt said one afternoon, when they saw a herd off on the horizon.
The train paused for a day, and Matt had his entire group form a giant circle with their wagons. The men went out hunting, and the women built large cook fires in an adjacent field of grass. Phin and Flip (as Wilby now had everyone calling Philip) yelled bloody murder when Matt and Georgiana wouldn’t let them go hunting with the men. They collected buffalo chips for the fire with ill grace and grumbled the entire day, as the women washed clothes in the river and prepared for the night’s feast. It was only when Matt let them help him with the butchery in the afternoon that they cheered up, and they returned with the buffalo steaks for their mother, covered in blood and feeling like men.
Georgiana tried not to laugh as they swaggered about the fire. Matt winked at her when he returned to find them lording it over their siblings. Susannah was utterly unimpressed. She’d spent
the afternoon peeling potatoes and felt that she’d worked at least as hard as they had.
And that night, one month out of Independence, they feasted on roast buffalo and mixed with people from farther down the train. Jugs of whiskey and kegs of beer were rolled out, and people pulled out accordions and fiddles and guitars. The purple June night was luscious with the smell of grass and flowing water and roast meat, and a full golden moon hung heavy in the sky. It was a fine night to be alive, and their spirits were high.
After people had eaten their fill of the buffalo, there were puddings and cookies and pies. And the LeFoy girls sang while people danced. Georgiana danced with every man she knew, and many she didn’t. She danced with Wendell Todd several times, even though he trod on her toes. She danced with gold miners and scouts, a reverend and an ex-army captain. But not Matt Slater, who didn’t seem to care for dancing. He drifted around talking to people, but Georgiana didn’t see him dance with a single person.
She was slightly tipsy from Mrs. Barry’s rather intoxicating apple cider and found herself looking for him in the crowd. All of these other men were fine to dance with, but the only man she really wanted was Matt.
“He’s over there,” Della Barry said, winking at her. “Here”—she held out another nip of cider—“for courage.” It hadn’t escaped anyone’s notice that Matt was friendly but not too friendly with his wife-to-be. “Good luck!” she called after Georgiana as she gathered her skirts and trotted off in Matt’s direction.
“You haven’t danced with me,” Georgiana announced, barreling into him as he left one group and headed for another.
“I don’t reckon you need me,” he said dryly. “You seem to have plenty of men willing to dance with you.”
“But I want to dance with you.” Oh, her tongue was loose tonight.
“I don’t dance,” he said.
“Of course you do. Everybody dances.”
“Not this body.”
Georgiana frowned. “Don’t they dance in Oregon?”
He was startled into a laugh. “Of course they do. I just never learned, that’s all.”
“What’s to learn?” Georgiana pointed at the chaos. “This isn’t like proper dancing. It’s not like they’re doing reels. Come on.” She grabbed his hand and dragged him into the crowd. “Besides, no one’s looking!”
But they were. A cheer went up as Matt and Georgiana entered the fray.
“Thought you’d never dance with her, Slater!”
Matt looked ready to bolt, but Georgiana kept a tight grip on him.
“Here.” She put one of his hands on her waist and clasped the other one. “Now just move your feet.” She gave him an encouraging smile. “See! You’re doing it!”
Only, he wasn’t really. He was really just standing still while she jerked him around. But then the song ended and a slower one started.
“This will be easier,” she said, inching closer and tilting her head up to look at him. Oh my, he was a beautiful man. The moonlight cast the planes of his face into sharp relief, and his eyes were endless dark pools in the silvery night.
“This don’t feel easier,” he said huskily.
“Not even if I do this?” She stepped even closer. “Now you barely even need to move.”
She could feel the heat radiating off his body. He smelled of soap and beer and apples. His hand was rough and warm and trembling in hers. His shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, and she could see swirls of dark hair. She remembered the sight of him standing in the bath at Mrs. Bulfinch’s hotel, the way that hair trailed over a hard-packed stomach, down to . . .
“I’m scairt I’ll tread on your toes,” he said. His voice was tight. With nerves? With desire? Or both?
She herself was liquid with desire, but oddly, she didn’t feel nervous in the least. In fact, the closer she got to him, the less nervous she felt. “Don’t worry, my feet are so numb from Wendell stepping all over them that I doubt I’d even feel it.”
His expression clouded at that. “You’re getting along with him better now?”
“Better than expected. Thank you for that.”
He looked startled. “Why thank me?”
“Because you obviously spoke to him. He’s been nice as pie since you did.”
Matt didn’t respond to that, and they continued their awkward shuffling dance in silence. Georgiana noticed he didn’t pull away when the music ended and another slow song started, so she took full advantage and crept all the way up to him, laying her head on his chest. He froze. Again. Just as he had back at the hotel that first night in the laundry. Georgiana could hear his heart thundering against her ear, but he didn’t move away. In fact, he didn’t move at all. So Georgiana stayed there and swayed to the music until he clumsily joined her. She could feel his hand pressing into her back and his legs bumping against hers. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the feel of him and the smell of him. While they danced, time fell away. There was no California and no Oregon, no Leonard and no children, nothing but her and Matt and this warm, heavenly feeling. Of being safe. Held. Treasured.
She wished the song would never end.
21
MATT DIDN’T KNOW what in hell was happening to him. It didn’t matter where he went or what he was doing, all he could think about was Georgiana Bee Blunt. Or “Mrs. Smith,” as everyone still called her, even though she wasn’t hiding from Wendell and Kipp anymore. He was like a drunk, spending all day thinking about the next drink. He found himself seeking her out, even when he had better things to do. She made him act like he was someone else. Someone who lathered up and shaved every night. Someone who looked forward to riding with a pack of children. Someone who danced.
He must have danced with her a dozen times at the buffalo roast, and he didn’t even dance.
He tried to keep well away from her the next day, but he didn’t last even half an hour. He was supposed to be checking that everyone was getting ready for the river crossing, and technically, he was. It was just that he made the mistake of stopping by her wagon first . . . and he didn’t manage to tear himself away until they’d removed all of the wheels and attached the buffalo hides for extra waterproofing; he found a way to hold her hands as she pulled the hides, catching her incredible blue eyes, seeing her smile. By then, he was running behind schedule.
The Platte wasn’t a forgiving river at this time of year, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted. But distracted he was. She and the children gave him multiple heart attacks as they navigated the rushing river. Georgiana was in her lead wagon with Wendell, Wilby and Susannah, while the twins were back with Becky and Kipp. This was the first crossing where he’d instructed people to remove their wagon wheels and to use their wagons as makeshift rafts, and he was tense as he watched their ox teams drag them across. Of course they got across safely, but not without him suffering a bad case of cold sweats and weak knees. What was wrong with him?
Deathrider had an opinion on that.
“You should marry her for real,” the Indian said. He was finally well enough to ride for short periods and was out scouting the tablelands of the North Fork with Matt. He’d lost a lot of weight but was finally back to his cool, terrifyingly collected self.
“What are you talking about?”
Deathrider gave him a sideways look. “Your pretend fiancée. You should marry her for real.”
“Have you been at Seb’s moonshine?”
“It makes sense to marry her. She likes you, you like her; she’s looking for a husband, you don’t have a wife.”
“That ain’t something I mind.”
“Maybe not. But you probably wouldn’t mind having one either.”
“You have been at his moonshine.” Matt galloped ahead to get away from his talk of wives. Matt didn’t want a wife. A wife wouldn’t fit. He spent his life traveling, wandering across the country, captaining trains like this one
.
But only because he had nothing better to do. Matt’s grip tightened on the reins. It was true. He was only here because he had nowhere else to be, only traveling because he had nowhere to stop. Oh, he was welcome in his brother’s home, but it was his brother’s home, not his.
Why not build his own?
It had never really struck him as a possibility before.
Ah hell, it wasn’t a possibility. He couldn’t be taking on a woman and her pack of kids. He didn’t know anything about children!
Except that they were strange and loud and often very funny.
And having them follow him around gave him an oddly pleasant feeling. A feeling of being needed.
“Parikitaru village ahead,” Deathrider called, interrupting his thoughts.
Matt shook his head to clear it. They were ridiculous thoughts. They were also impossible to shake off. As he and Deathrider entered the Pawnee camp, Matt found his gaze drawn to the children, who stood watching the strangers with large eyes. He saw the earth dwellings, with their signs of comfortable daily family life. Stray images wandered into his mind of what daily life with Georgiana might look like. Perhaps they could build a house like his brother’s in the wooded foothills close by Luke’s property; the children could visit with Luke and Alex’s girls; they could drive to church together; they could . . .
Hell. What was wrong with him?
Family life wasn’t for him.
He wrenched his mind back to the moment and tried to focus while Deathrider greeted Red Eagle. The village chief was flanked by warriors, all bearing the mohawk that marked the tribe. Matt nodded to the men he knew and kept respectfully behind Deathrider, letting him speak for Matt’s train.
“They’re happy to do some trade,” Deathrider told Matt as they left the village. Their next task was to find a place for the train to camp for the night. “But he worries our train is too large and that we’ll cause trouble. I said we’d lead the wagons away from the village.”
“Of course. We’ll stay clear until we’re farther upriver.” Matt didn’t blame them. The monster trains coming across the plains these last two seasons were full of rowdy gold-seeking men. They didn’t behave the same way the settlers did. Not that the settlers always behaved well either.
