The Bride Series (Omnibus Edition)

by Bittner, Rosanne

  He sighed, leading his horse to a corner stall, where he paid a young boy to take care of it and his gear. The smell below was not pleasant. He headed up the stairs to fresh air, deciding to try to find the cabin he had rented. He glanced across a sea of animals and people to see the pretty Irish woman standing near the older woman. She climbed into the wagon then, and Josh realized she would be staying below.

  She deserves better, he thought. She was so pretty, he could imagine her in a beautiful dress, walking elegantly down the fanciest street in St. Louis, going to the theaters, the best restaurants. She seemed made for better things than riding the lower deck of a riverboat, sharing her quarters with cattle and chickens.

  Jesus, Rivers, what’s the matter with you, he chastised himself. It’s none of your damn business! He turned his thoughts to Oregon and his plans for his own future.

  The night air rang with laughter and banjo music. Josh stood at the railing of the main deck, watching the way the moonlight danced on the water. He puffed a thin cigar, listening with irritation to the dark-haired man he had seen Marybeth go to back at the courthouse, the man Josh was sure must be her husband. He talked so loudly that Josh was certain everyone on the boat and most people on either shore could hear him. He was arm wrestling, and so far had challenged and beaten several men.

  “The man who beats John MacKinder would have to be one hell of a man!” he bragged, laughing loudly.

  Josh turned and watched as he took on another. Two other men stood behind him cheering him on. One of them looked a lot like John MacKinder, and Josh guessed he was the man’s father. Apparently the older woman he had seen Marybeth go to earlier in the day was her mother-in-law. From the loud, overbearing attitude of the MacKinder men, Josh could understand Marybeth’s skittish nature. It angered him that something so pretty and soft-spoken could be linked to such brutes as the MacKinders, and it angered him even more that he cared at all. For all he knew the young woman was very happy, but he had not seen joy in her eyes—only fear.

  Again he was confused by the fact that it mattered to him if a foreign woman he didn’t even know was happy. He turned away but could not ignore John MacKinder’s bragging as he beat still another man. Josh clenched his right hand, flexing his muscles, telling himself it would be childish to go and challenge the man just to prove to himself he could do it. John MacKinder would probably tear his arm off. But then size didn’t always mean anything. Josh was a well built man in his own right, but not as big as MacKinder.

  Still, he knew he was a lot stronger even than he looked. And when he was angry sheer determination often took over and brought added strength, like the time his brother was captured by comancheros and Josh managed to ride for miles to get help, in spite of being badly wounded. And what about that time the wagon fell on Pa and you lifted it up all by yourself, he asked himself. He didn’t doubt that the thought of John MacKinder bullying the pretty Marybeth would give him that little bit of added strength. MacKinder was a braggart who needed to be taught a lesson. Maybe it would shut his big mouth.

  You’re a damn fool, he told himself as he headed for the table where John MacKinder stood up, stretching his big arms and asking if anyone else wanted to find out who was the strongest man on the riverboat. “I’ll take you on,” Josh said aloud.

  MacKinder turned to look at him, then grinned, putting out a big hand. Josh could tell the man didn’t recognize him from the courthouse. He had only glanced at Josh for a moment, not allowing his image to register. Josh shook his hand as others cheered and placed new bets. MacKinder squeezed his hand firmly, warning Josh he didn’t have a chance. Josh squeezed back.

  “And what might your name be?” MacKinder asked.

  “Joshua Rivers.”

  “John MacKinder, Mr. Rivers, an Irishman, through and through.” The man took a swallow of whiskey from a bottle handed him by his father. He handed back the bottle and straddled an iron stool, motioning for Josh to sit down across from him. “Might as well get this over with,” he told Josh, putting his elbow on the table.

  Josh reached into his pants pocket and pulled out five dollars in paper money. “Not until I place a bet on myself.” Everyone quieted as MacKinder glanced at the money. “You willing to bet against me, MacKinder? Two to one. I lose, I owe you twice what I laid there on the table—ten dollars. I win, you owe me five.”

  MacKinder’s smile faded. He glanced back at his father. “There’s not a man can beat you, John, you know that,” the older man told him. “Go ahead and bet him. He looks strong, but he’s not as big as you. Hell, you’ve beat bigger men.”

  John scowled at Josh. “What makes you think you can beat me?”

  Josh shrugged, “I just think you’re a loud-mouthed braggart full of hot air,” he answered. “If you’re afraid—”

  “Afraid! A MacKinder?”

  The crowd had fallen silent at Josh’s insult, some of them stepping back. John clenched a fist and waved it in front of Joshua. “I’ll break your wrist!” he threatened.

  “Have you got the money to cover this bet or not?”

  John stood up and dug into his pockets, dumping five dollars in coins onto the table. “I shouldn’t have bothered,” he growled. “I’ll just be putting it back in my pocket.”

  Joshua said nothing. He simply glared at MacKinder, picturing the man blustering orders to Marybeth MacKinder, imaging him behaving in bed the same way he behaved out of bed—pushy, brutal, bragging. Again, it annoyed him that he had considered the thought at all, and he surmised that plain frustration at his own thoughts would give him added determination. After all, if John MacKinder weren’t the bully he was, he wouldn’t be forced to feel sorry for the man’s wife and he could get her off his mind.

  Everyone gathered around as Josh put his elbow on the table. MacKinder grasped his hand, and for a moment they gripped and regripped, each man trying to get the best hold while a buckskin-clad mountan man eyed their hands and wrists to judge whether the grip was proper.

  The two men’s eyes burned into each other, and Josh’s jaw flexed in his anger and determination. This no longer had anything to do with the woman he had met earlier, the woman to whom he had no business giving a second thought. This had to do with the ancient need of men to challenge each other; the deep, primitive need to dominate, to show who was the strongest. It was no different from Bighorn sheep ramming heads to see which would lead the herd, or from ancient Indian rituals of manhood. Josh thought about the words of his half-Comanche brother-in-law; “The Indian believes a man can do whatever his spirit wills him to do.”

  The mountain man dropped his hand and the contest was on. Muscle strained against muscle, veins quickly expanding to show their blue pathways just under the skin. John MacKinder realized almost instantly that this Joshua Rivers was indeed stronger than he looked. The men around the table cheered and shouted, but their voices fell on deaf ears for Josh, who forced all his concentration on the man across from him. John MacKinder deserved to be taken down a notch or two, and he was, by God, going to do it.

  For sixty seconds the men seemed evenly matched, each man managing to push the other only a little before being pushed back.

  “No man…beats…a MacKinder,” John growled through gritted teeth.

  Josh said nothing, not wanting to waste an ounce of strength in even the slight effort of talking. John MacKinder was indeed a powerful man. He thought again of the pretty Marybeth, and anger at the thought brought forth one more surge of determined effort. He pushed MacKinder’s arm down far enough that MacKinder lost his leverage. With one more grunt he touched MacKinder’s hand to the table.

  The crowd shouted almost in unison, and John MacKinder jumped up, tossing the table aside as though it were a match. The money went flying, and men scrambled to pick it up.

  “You cheated!” John shouted at Josh.

  “It was fair, and you know it. Everyone here watched.”

  “I’ve already wrestled ten men. The only reason you beat me is
because I had already used up most of my strength. My arm was tired!”

  “If your arm was tired, you should have said so and wrestled me another time. Quit looking for excuses, MacKinder. I beat you. It’s that simple.”

  John lunged at Josh, taking a swing at him, but his father and three other men grabbed him as Josh ducked back. “Don’t be shaming the MacKinder name by being a bad loser, son,” Mac told John. “There will be another time.”

  John jerked away from their grasp, glaring at Josh. “You can bet there will be another time! I’m not letting it go at this, Rivers!”

  Several men handed Josh his money. Josh shoved it into his pants pocket, grinning. “That’s fine with me.” He walked off into the darkness, then turned to watch MacKinder again shove his father off when he tried to lead him away. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey from his father and drank some down, then handed it back. “I’m going to sleep,” he growled. “And by God this isn’t over!”

  “Let it go, John. You’ll likely never see the man again anyway. Besides, you were right. Your arm was tired. Everybody knows you’re the strongest man here. There’s not a man among them brave enough to stand up to you.”

  Both men disappeared down the stairway that led to the lower deck, and Joshua was suddenly very sorry he had caused such turmoil. He only then realized that if John MacKinder was angered, he might take it out on his wife. But then he wondered which was worse—an angry John MacKinder, or one who was drunk and happy and eager for his woman. Either way, Marybeth MacKinder would have to lose. He took off his hat and whacked it against the railing in frustration.

  Below Marybeth cuddled Danny closer inside her wagon when she heard John and Mac coming. “Goddamn cheat, that’s what he is!” John raved.

  “Hey, mister, be quiet,” someone grumbled. “People are trying to sleep.”

  “I’ll put you to sleep permanently if you don’t mind your own business,” John answered.

  “You keep it up and we’ll have you put off this boat, Irishman,” someone else hollered. “You’ll get the animals all stirred up.”

  Marybeth was glad to be inside the dark wagon instead of standing near John in daylight and suffering the embarrassment of being associated with him.

  “You’ve got to quiet down, John,” his father warned. “It was a one-time thing, something that will probably never happen again.”

  Marybeth frowned, wondering why John was so angry. She was sure he had been drinking and possibly gambling. Had someone cheated him at cards?

  Ella stirred nearby. “Now what?” she muttered. She sat up, moving to peer out the back of the wagon. “What’s going on, Mac?” she asked.

  “Get on into the wagon and get some sleep,” Mac was telling John as John climbed into the men’s wagon.

  “He’ll pay for this! We’ll meet again when my arm isn’t tired.”

  “Sure you will.” Mac walked up to the women’s wagon, telling Ella to hand him his bedroll. “The boy got beat arm wrestling. The young man was pretty good size, but not as big as John. I couldn’t believe my eyes.”

  “John? Why, he’s never been beaten before, has he?”

  “He sure hasn’t.” Mac took the bedroll while Marybeth listened in the darkness. “Lost five dollars to the bastard. We need that money, but we didn’t dare put up a fuss. Too many men there to say it was fair.”

  “Well, was it?”

  “Yes, I suppose it was. But John’s arm was tired. He’d already wrestled several others. Then this fellow, Joshua Rivers, he called himself, steps up and challenges him two to one.”

  Marybeth’s eyes widened, and she was glad no one could see her face. Joshua Rivers? He had beaten John MacKinder? She actually had to struggle not to laugh aloud. How she wished she could have been there to see it! John’s shame would have been doubled if he knew she was watching. How wonderful that someone had knocked some of the wind out of John.

  Why had he done it? Was he just one among a string of men who had been drinking and challenging John? Or did he have a more personal reason? She told herself that was a foolish thought. He couldn’t have done it on her account. Surely he didn’t get enough of a look at John at the courthouse to remember him. Maybe he had just connected the name. Did he know she felt trapped in this family, that John MacKinder was as much a bully within the family as he was outside it?

  She said nothing to Ella as the woman settled back to sleep. Did John know she had talked to Joshua Rivers earlier in the day? She prayed he did not, or he would make a scene. She realized that after tonight she would have to make a point not to talk to him if the opportunity arose. To her chagrin that thought disappointed her. Joshua Rivers had suddenly become an intriguing person, with his soft voice and funny drawl. She wanted to talk to him again; to find out where in America he came from that he talked different from people in New York. She didn’t want to bring unnecessary trouble to a perfect stranger, but they would be on the riverboat several days, and she might run into him again. She would have to try to avoid him.

  Chapter Four

  Marybeth spent nearly the entire journey along the Missouri on the smelly lower deck with Ella. The MacKinders were too poor to afford a cabin above; but both John and Mac insisted the main deck was not a fit place for the women even for daytime strolls, since that was where most of the gamblers and drinking men caroused. Marybeth wondered if that was where Joshua Rivers spent most of his time. Was he a drinker and a gambler? She doubted he did either with the gusto of John MacKinder and his father.

  She could not get the stranger off her mind. She liked his Biblical name, liked his kind eyes and soft voice. She also found herself worrying about him, since all John talked about was “getting even” with Joshua Rivers.

  In the evenings the riverboat stopped at designated locations, where steerage passengers could use outhouses and build fires for their one hot meal a day. At those times Marybeth would cautiously scan the riverboat, and once she spotted Rivers standing on an upper deck, watching her. She made it a point to act as though she didn’t notice him, but she could feel his eyes on her. She wished she had worn a fancier dress; but the rugged journey did not allow pretty dresses. It was either her black calico wrap dress, or her gray cotton dress—which was coarsely woven and irritated her skin—or her blue muslin. She found herself choosing the blue muslin most of the time, since it had a fitted waist and was decently attractive in spite of being practical.

  She wondered what a fool she must be to worry about what she wore. Joshua Rivers could disembark the boat at any time and be on his merry way, and she would never see him again. He could even be a married man. Yet she longed to put on her best dress, the yellow calico that fit her figure perfectly; longed to wear it and go and talk to the man who had so disturbed her thoughts. But that would be much too bold, and it would only bring trouble to both herself and Joshua Rivers.

  “Don’t you be burning the damn pork,” John told her then, awakening her to reality. “That meat is precious. We’ll be down to beans and biscuits before long and Bill says we can’t always count on finding game out there.”

  Marybeth quickly turned the meat, feeling Josh Rivers’ eyes on her family’s camp.

  “I’ll say one thing,” John grumbled. “That brother of mine must have been a saint putting up with your cooking.”

  Marybeth straightened up and turned to face him. “Well, you don’t have a whole lot of choice, now, do you, John MacKinder? If it’s so bad, why don’t you let the family have one nice meal aboard the riverboat? You’re ready enough to throw away your money on whiskey and bets on arm wrestling, but you won’t let your own mother have one night off from bending over a fire.”

  John reddened with anger, stepping closer, aware that others camped nearby could hear. “You lower your voice, Marybeth,” he hissed.

  “I’ll speak as loudly as I want. The way Bill Stone talks, the trip ahead of us is full of danger and hardship, and you said yourself there won’t be much food. You could have afforded us on
e nice meal before we get off the riverboat. And if you don’t like the way I cook, you don’t have to eat it! I’m not making it just for you. I’m making it because the rest of us have to eat or starve to death! You make your own choice which you want to do!”

  Someone nearby laughed, and John whirled to glare at him. The man instantly shut up. From where he stood, Josh could see there was some kind of confrontation between Marybeth and John MacKinder, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. He grinned when he saw Marybeth face the man, who dwarfed her. Her hands were on her hips and she was talking right back to him.

  “You tell him, Mrs. MacKinder,” he said quietly.

  “You never talked to Dan that way,” John growled to Marybeth.

  “I was a new wife. I did what I thought wives were supposed to do. And I’ll remind you that you are not my husband; even if you were, I would expect to be treated a little better than the black slaves I have been watching since we first arrived in St. Louis!”

  John grasped her arm, pulling her away from the rest of the camp. Back on the riverboat Josh watched, gripping the hand rail more tightly. He glanced at the elder MacKinders, neither of whom made a move to interfere.

  “I’ll remind you how you came to be in this family, Mrs. MacKinder. You owe us!”

  “I’ve done my share, John MacKinder, and will continue to do so. But my situation in this family does not give you the right to order me around like a servant, or to embarrass me and the rest of the family in front of others.”

  “Let them stare and gossip. It’s not their business.”

  “I’ll not put up with it through the whole journey to Oregon! Or haven’t you suffered enough shame from being beaten at arm wrestling? Maybe you like people laughing at you.”

  John’s eyes narrowed with indignation. She smiled at the look of awkward embarrassment on his face. He clenched his fists. “Some day, woman, I will put you in your place. And when I am done with you, you won’t be talking back to me again. You’ll be reaching your arms around my neck and asking my forgiveness for forgetting your place.”