For a Sister's Love

by Paty Jager

  “You married?” She flinched, having no idea why those words flew out her mouth.

  “No, no, I’m not married.”

  The information didn’t make her feel any better. But it did make her heart thump against her breast bone. Probably because it feared lightning bolts.

  Sam held his grin. Mert had been right. Loralei Holmes was a cute little thing. No wait, Mert had said she was a sweet little thing. He hadn’t seen sweetness—her mannerisms had been about as sour as a wild grape so far. Perhaps once they got to traveling she’d turn out to be as charming as his nieces. Of course Nancy and Katie were only seven and eight, barely more than babies. Loralei must be fifteen or so.

  “How old are you?” he asked, his thoughts turning into words on their own accord.

  “Eighteen, why, how old are you?” she snapped.

  “Twenty-six,” he answered, wondering if she’d lied about her age.

  “And you ain’t married?” she asked, full of disdain.

  “No,” he said. “I’m not married.”

  “Why? You got a mean disposition or something?”

  He coughed away the laugh bubbling up his throat. “No. I just haven’t had time to get married.” She couldn’t be more than five feet tall, standing on her tip toes, and there was no way she weighed more than eighty-pounds, and most of that was probably the layers of clothes she wore. Yet, she had a formidable presence about her. She sat straight in the saddle, her little shoulders squared and her head held high. The floppy hat, which appeared to be twice as old as she, hung over her dancing lilac eyes and a long braid of chestnut colored hair hung down her back, almost touching the swell of the saddle.

  “Doin’ what?”

  It took him a minute to get his mind back on track. While he was still contemplating, she added, “Lawyering?”

  “Yes, and no,” he answered.

  She shot him a questioning look.

  “I’ve only been practicing law for less than a year. Before that I raised horses.”

  Those lilac eyes grew wide, and a hint of excitement made them spark. The healthy condition of her pony and Ruth’s mannerisms said she knew animals. It didn’t take a horse man to know the girl and her animals had a close relationship—one that hadn’t come from hours of stern, cold training. Nope, these three held clear affection for one another. He knew the feeling. King and he had been together for ten years. He thought more of the animal than he did some of his family members.

  “You raise horses?” she asked, clearly thrilled.

  “Yes,” he answered. “Until I went to work at my family’s law firm.” He stopped there. Didn’t feel up to going into the long story of how Thomas, the one who loved the law, had acted foolish. Why some men couldn’t be satisfied with what they had amazed Sam. Thomas had had it all. A beautiful wife, two wonderful daughters, and he threw it all away by consorting with another man’s wife. He died in a dual over the woman. His family, especially their mother, claimed it was due to a business deal, but Sam, and most of New Orleans, including his sister-in-law, Tiffany, knew the truth. He didn’t tell Loralei all of this, for the same reasons he didn’t try to convince his mother of the truth. Some people would believe what they wanted no matter what the truth said.

  “Why’d you quit? Couldn’t you raise horses and be a lawyer?”

  “My father didn’t think I could do both.” After a short pause he changed his mind. “Actually, my father didn’t want me to do both. He wants me to take over the family business, so that’s what I’m doing.”

  “Oh,” she said, glancing at the countryside ahead.

  He did the same, and the knowledge they were in the middle of the Rockies fueled his next statement, “It gets dark quick when the sun sets, we best look for a place to spend the night.”

  “No,” she said.

  Confused, he asked, “No?”

  She shook her head.

  “It doesn’t get dark?”

  A curious look from those lilac eyes landed on him, and he could have sworn he saw the slightest hint of a smile tug on her lips. She of course suppressed it.

  “Yes, it gets dark. No, we won’t find a place to spend the night.” She nudged her pony.

  He did the same, kept King right beside the paint. “You plan on riding all night?”

  “No, I’ll find a place to bed down. And I’m sure you’ll do the same. We just won’t do it together.”

  Her comment, though innocently spoken, sent a jolt of hot-blooded, male-driven desire through his loins. He shivered in the saddle and shook his shoulders, dissolving the shocking urge. He wasn’t attracted to her, barely knew her, furthermore, he’d never made a habit of taking women to bed on a whim and wasn’t about to start now.

  “Miss Holmes, I didn’t mean to offend you. I simply meant we’d share a campsite. One fire, two bed rolls.”

  “I know what you meant,” she said with a touch of anger and cheeks redder than a bowl of cherries. “And the answer is still 'no’. I told you before, Mr. McDonald, Raindrop, Ruth, and I, travel alone.”

  He pointed to how the sun slipped behind a row of glistening mountain peaks. The site was breathtaking, one he’d watched with awe each evening since entering the Rockies. The sunsets here, each different from the night before, were so glorious he’d ever be able to explain them to someone who hadn’t seen one. Tonight, the flowing, changing, colors added a touch of urgency to his decision making.

  “How about we make a deal?”

  “A gamble?” Annoyance snapped in her eyes.

  “No, not a gamble. A simple deal. You agree to let me camp with you and Raindrop and Ruth,” he pointed to each animal as he spoke their names, “and tomorrow I’ll ride off, let the three of you travel alone.”

  Her eyes narrowed into thin slits. “One night?”

  He nodded. “One night.”

  It was a few moments before she pulled her questioning gaze away. “All right. That looks like a good spot over there.”

  Sam followed her gesture. A grove of trees nestled near the base of a cliff and a small trickle of water cascaded off the rocks a short distance from the ferns. “Yes, it does,” he admitted.

  A closer inspection said the spot was perfect, and had been used by others—recently. The ashes in the ring of rocks were fresh, possibly even from last night. A used campfire wasn’t an unusual finding. Plenty of people used this trail through the mountains, had been since the California gold rush, as well as the more recent Colorado rush. But for some reason, tonight, the fact made the air around him tingle like it does before lightning strikes.

  Chapter Four

  Loralei couldn’t believe her luck. Not only had the ground been cleared for bed rolls, but a supply of firewood was stacked near the bottom of a cliff. The idea of not spending her first night on the trail alone, whether she was willing to admit it or not, also added to her joy. Confused because she really didn’t like Sam McDonald—well, she didn’t know him well enough to say she liked him or not, and he hadn’t really done anything for her to not like him.

  That brown and gold suit certainly was nice. Mert used to give her old catalogs, and she’d spent many hours, usually while sitting near a sick bed, flipping through the pages and dreaming about all the things she’d buy someday.

  Sam hefted the saddle off his horse. Loralei swung around before he caught her staring. She wiped at her burning cheeks with her shoulder before unsaddling Raindrop. When she spun around, tugging the saddle with her, she froze.

  “Stop! Don’t touch that!”

  Sam, crouched beside Ruth, held a puzzled frown. “I was just going to remove it for the evening.”

  She tossed the saddle aside more careless than she’d ever been in her entire life. “Ruth, come,” she commanded. The dog listened this time. After checking the stitches, Loralei rubbed Ruth’s ears. “It doesn’t come off.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s sewn on.”

  “Why?”

  “You sure ask a lot of q
uestions.” She rose to straighten out the haphazard pile her saddle had landed in.

  “I just thought she’d be more comfortable. Don’t want the leather to rub her raw.” He moved to gather a few twigs from the pile.

  Loralei twisted back to Ruth. The leather, though well tanned, was stiffer than the cotton pouches had been. After a thorough examination, of which Ruth showed no sign of irritation or injury, she whispered, “At the first sign of chaffing, I’ll cut it off, all right, girl?”

  Ruth answered with a lapping of her tongue.

  Sam had a fire going by the time she had her side of the campsite situated. On top of the narrow piece of canvas she’d laid out two wool blankets, hoping they, as well as the layers of clothes she wore, would be enough to fight off the air that had turned brisk as soon as the sun slipped behind the highest peak. The saddle would be her pillow, and below its frame she’d stuffed two of her four saddle bags. She’d need the contents of the other two before turning in.

  “I’m sorry, we should have camped sooner, I’m afraid it’s too late for me to hunt up some meat for supper.” Sam added a larger log to the growing flames.

  “I didn’t plan on hunting every day,” she admitted, “I’ve plenty of biscuits.” Yesterday she’d baked up every cup of flour and ounce of lard at home, figuring they’d fill her up when nothing else was available.

  “Good.” He moved toward his gear. “I picked up a few supplies at Mert’s.”

  At the mention of Mert’s her stomach let out a loud growl. She’d thought about purchasing a few things, but knew she couldn’t—money was too meager. Mert would have given her provisions—for free, but she wouldn’t have taken them, she’d already lived off his kindness for too long.

  She ignored the growl and the thoughts, and put a small amount of oats into a feed bag for Raindrop. While the pony munched, she brushed him down, picking a few sticky pine needles out of his glossy black mane and tail. After stuffing the feed bag back into one of her saddle bags, and out of habit of telling Mrs. Baumgartner her every move, she said, “I’m going over to the creek to wash up for supper.”

  Sam, having taken care of his horse, joined her at the little stream of ice-cold water, and Loralei couldn’t seem to keep her eyes from roaming his way while he splashed water over his face and neck. She quickly finished and wiping her hands on her skirt, made her way back to the fire, heart pounding for no reason at all. Leastwise not one she could fathom.

  She sat cross-legged, soaking up the heat from the flames, and the cloth spread across her knees held three biscuits when he returned.

  He pulled a pot out of his bag. “I’ll get some coffee started and then get out my foodstuff. I have cheese and pickles.”

  Her heart leaped inside her chest. “Pickles? You have pickles?” She loved those crunchy, tangy pickles Mert always had in his big bucket more than any other food on earth. Years ago, on that cold morning when she’d first entered his store Mert had apologized for not having a peppermint stick to offer her and handed her a pickle instead. Pert near starving, she’d taken the pickle and gulped it down before Mr. Baumgartner had a chance to tell her she couldn’t have it. Over the years, whether Mert had candy sticks or not, he always gave her a pickle when she entered the store. He hadn’t offered one this morning, and due to the fact she was too concerned over the letter she left behind for Maggie, she hadn’t realized it until this moment.

  She’d always liked pickles. Then again, she’d always liked food. Her mother had made all sorts of wonderful, delicious things. Back then, she’d eaten her fill every day. And it had showed. The children had teased her about being so chubby. Her mother had insisted she not listen. She’d said a plump child was a happy child. That could explain why she’d been so unhappy living with the Baumgartners. She didn’t need to read the Bible to know how many ribs she had, for the past ten years, she’d been able to count every one of her ribs. Still could.

  “Yes, I have pickles. Do you want one?” He sat down beside her.

  The thought of biting into one of those crunchy treats had her too consumed to care how close he sat.

  “Yes, I do.” She pointed to the food in her lap. “Help yourself to a biscuit.”

  He folded over a layer of cheesecloth and exposed two big pickles. “Go ahead.”

  It had been at least a month since she’d ate one, and the anticipation made her tremble from head to toe. When she and Maggie settled down in Idaho, she would plant the largest patch of cucumbers possible, and learn to make pickles like this. Then she’d eat them for every meal, every day, for the rest of her life.

  “Go ahead, Loralei, take one,” he repeated.

  Shivering, she reached forward. “Thank you, Sam, thank you.”

  Sam went rod stiff. Her voice was as soft as an angel’s and as alluring as a brothel gal’s at the same time. Those lilac eyes shimmered as she gazed at the pickles, and he’d swear he saw worship beaming out of them. Mert had wrapped up a dozen pickles, saying they were Loralei’s favorites. At the time, Sam thought the man a little loco. Now he realized it was she who was loco.

  Fingers trembling, she lifted a pickle as if it was pure gold. Her straight, sparkling teeth bit off the end. Letting out the biggest sigh of pleasure he’d ever heard, she closed her eyes and chewed.

  Her behavior had his heart stomping around in his chest like a stallion in a barn. Curious, he lifted the other pickle and took a bite.

  It was all right—as pickles go that is. He glanced back to her. She’d taken another nip off the end, and once again, eyes closed, savored the event. Shaking his head, he reached over and took a biscuit. It too, was just a biscuit, nothing to write home about. Exchanging bites between a chunk of cheese, a biscuit, and his, not-as-good-as-hers pickle, he completed his meal.

  She took time to nibble on a biscuit, and eat a small square of cheese, but it was the pickle that held her attention. By the time they finished eating, the refreshing smell of coffee filled the air. He rose to retrieve his cup. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  Her pickle was gone, and she licked any remnants of salt and vinegar from her fingertips. Brows tugged together, she glanced at her saddlebags. “No, no thank you,” she said after some hesitation.

  For a moment he figured she regretted her pickle experience was over, but a glance about told him she didn’t have a cup. He walked back to the fire, sat down next to her, and filled his cup. Blowing to cool the steam, he took a testing taste, and then offered the cup to her. “Here, we can share.”

  Her nose wiggled like a little bunny sniffing the air. “I-I’ve never tasted coffee,” she said. “It smells very good.”

  “Never tasted coffee?”

  She studied his offering. “Coffee is very expensive.” Her nose wiggled again. “It reminds me of my father. He used to drink coffee.”

  He nudged the cup forward. “Go ahead try it. It’ll warm you up before crawling into bed.”

  Accepting the cup, she took a tentative sip. “Mmm.” She took another taste. “That is good.” Handing the cup back to him, she added, “Thank you.”

  “Go ahead, drink the rest of it.”

  “Don’t you want some?”

  “There’s more in the pot, I’ll have the second cupful.”

  She glanced to her saddle. “I have a cup in one of my other bags. I forgot to dig it out.”

  “That’s all right. Go ahead, drink up.”

  “Thank you.” Her eyes closed as the cup touched her lips again.

  Honey-glazed warmth settled in his chest. He still wouldn’t call her sweet, as Mert had, but she certainly was intriguing. And appealing. Probably the most appealing woman he’d ever met.

  Later, after the coffee was gone, she fed Ruth a biscuit, and he gave the dog a chunk of cheese and then banked up the fire. The air had a frosty nip to it, signaling it would be a cold night.

  Loralei bundled herself into her blankets, tucking the edges around her feet and legs, while he, on the other side of the small fir
e pit, did the same. He rested his head in the swell of his saddle and stared into the night sky. A million stars twinkled above. They looked much closer here than they did back home, if he were a child he’d bet if his arms were a little longer he could touch one of the sparklers.

  The canvas of her bed roll rustled as she squirmed. A few minutes later, after a deep sigh, she said, “Thank you again for the coffee. It was very good.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it, I’ll make more in the morning.”

  “You will?” She sounded hopeful.

  He did something he didn’t do often enough lately—smiled at the simple pleasures in life. “Hmm, yes, I will.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He closed his eyes against the glitter above.

  A short time later, and extremely dreamily, she said, “And Sam…thanks for the pickle.”

  The soft, tender tone of her voice jolted through his body, and then every point started to throb. “You’re welcome, Loralei,” he mumbled. Unable to quell the unwelcome desire creeping into his loins, he fidgeted and twisted until his blanket looked like a wadded rag. Sitting up, he flipped it open and let it float back over his body again.

  “Can’t sleep?” she asked.

  “The ground’s hard,” he justified.

  “Yes, yes it is,” she agreed. “When we were on the wagon train, Maggie and I slept under the wagon a few times. Most of the time we slept inside, but on warm nights we slept outside like this. We thought it was quite an adventure.”

  “Who’s Maggie?”

  “My older sister.” She let out a small chuckle as if remembering happier times. “She always called me Lora Beth, because my middle name is Elizabeth.” Her tone then turned serious. “Our train was attacked in Nebraska and our parents died. There wasn’t a family who could take both of us, so Maggie went with Mrs. Freeman, and I went with the Baumgartners. We took the trail into Colorado. They followed the other one up to Wyoming and on to Oregon. Before the attack we were headed to Idaho. My father was going to preach there.”