For a Sister's Love

by Paty Jager

  “Loralei, I’m sorry. Are you hurt?” He grasped her face with both hands.

  “No, I’m fine,” she assured.

  His fingers ran over her cheek. “Are you sure? I-I’m so sorry.”

  She lifted her hands to his face that was filled with worry. “I’m fine.” Her insides were a commotion of swirls. Unable to control the desire the swirling caused, she pulled his head downward and rose onto her toes until their lips met.

  Sam’s hold on her cheeks tightened. She slipped her arms around his neck. The kiss was hotter, more exciting than any of their others, and it wasn’t just because it was the first one she’d initiated. There was more to it, like their very souls were uniting. Loralei stepped closer, pressing her body against his. The heat of the connection was so enticing, she pressed harder.

  When they separated, gasping, she trembled so hard she was afraid her legs would give out. Sam held her tight. The steady, even beat of his heart pounded against her ear.

  After a few minutes, he said, “Ruth, come.”

  She glanced up.

  He kissed her forehead. “We’ll talk in our room.”

  They walked across the grass in silence, arm in arm. When Sam pushed the door open, the hotel proprietor looked up from behind his desk.

  “Supper’s ready. The misses is setting it on the table. Ham hocks and cabbage.” The man pointed to the small dining room off the foyer.

  Sam stared at her for a long, silent moment before he led her into the room instead of up the stairs.

  Perplexed, she couldn’t help but sigh as she sat down in the chair he held for her. She’d have much rather gone upstairs.

  There were a few others seated around the long table, including an older couple traveling with a small wagon train. Ruth behaved and gobbled the food a young girl placed on the floor near Sam’s chair. When the girl returned with a bowl of water, Sam leaned over, and spoke to her. Loralei couldn’t hear what he said, but a smile formed on her face. She had no doubt he’d asked for a pickle.

  Sure enough, within minutes a large bowl of them was set on the table near his plate. He handed the bowl to Loralei. She took one and passed the rest to the man who’d arrived only a moment ago.

  “Thank you,” he said. “My name’s Walter Bruns. I’m the schoolmaster. Do you have children?”

  If his booming voice didn’t frighten children into behaving, the permanent scowl on his face certainly would. Loralei swallowed the invisible lump that had formed in her throat and shook her head.

  “No,” Sam said, “We don’t have children, not yet anyway.”

  His gaze was on her, not Mr. Bruns. A blush rushed into her cheeks.

  “Spare the rod and spoil the child. Don’t ever forget that,” Mr. Bruns boomed, his scowl deepening as he stared at Ruth.

  The woman from the wagon train, Mrs. Wilson, nodded. “I agree, Mr. Bruns.”

  Ruth lowered her head back to her bowl. Her once loud slurps were now quiet licks. Sam reached down and patted Ruth’s head, but made no reference to Mr. Bruns’ advice or Mrs. Wilson’s agreement.

  When the meal ended, she and Sam walked up the stairs, followed closely by Ruth who kept a wary eye on the table, where Mr. Bruns still sat. Once in the room, which had been cleared of the bath she’d earlier enjoyed, Loralei crossed to the bed. The courage she’d found outside was gone, had left her as empty and hollow as an old tin can. Had she really asked Sam if he liked virgins? Regret roiled in her stomach.

  Sam locked the door and moved to light the oil lamp beside the bed. Once the flame was to his approval, he pulled the chair up beside the bed.

  “You wanted to talk.”

  Loralei found it hard to swallow, and impossible to speak, so she nodded.

  He let out a breath of air. “Well, that’s good, because I have something to tell you, too.”

  Remembrance of another hotel room touched her mind. “Why? Did you lie to someone again? I know we checked in as a married couple. We’ve been doing so ever since Rock Creek.”

  “No…” He ran his hands over his knees. “Yes, I have been lying to someone.”

  “Who?”

  “You.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you.”

  Fear churned her stomach. “How so?”

  Sam stood and walked across the room. He pushed the curtains aside and glanced out the window. “I haven’t really lied, but I haven’t told you the truth either. Not the whole truth anyway.”

  His shoulders had stooped, as if he carried a heavy load. Her fear grew into concern. She moved to stand beside him. “Then tell me now, Sam.”

  “I had an older brother,” he started, “Thomas died a few years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “We were never close. Not like you and Maggie, mainly because he was always with our father in New Orleans, while I was home at the farm. Not that I minded. My mother’s parents lived with us, or we lived with them. It was their farm. It was part of the marriage agreement between my parents. She and my father married, but she remained on the farm while he lived in the city. I suspect that’s why they had me, so they both would have a child with them. My grandparents died while I was in my teens and things changed a bit after that.”

  He turned and leaned against the window sill. “My father came home one day and said I was going to college.”

  “You didn’t want to go?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t have a choice. I went.”

  “Did you like it?”

  He shrugged. “School wasn’t something I liked or didn’t like. It just was. By the time I graduated Thomas had married Tiffany, and it was as if I was invisible. Which was fine by me. I started to raise horses. I liked it and was good at it.”

  “And then Thomas died and you joined your family’s law firm.”

  “Yes,” he said solemnly. “Thomas died.”

  “How?”

  “He was having an affair with another man’s wife. The other man shot him in a duel.”

  She had no idea how to respond to such information.

  Sam led her to the bed where they both sat down. “And that’s what I haven’t told you.”

  Uneasiness made her shiver. “How your brother died?”

  “No.” His gaze was serious. “That I’m engaged to be married.”

  It felt as if she’d just fallen off a cliff and hit the ground hard enough to knock the air out of her. “Married?” she choked.

  “To Tiffany.”

  “Your brother’s wife?”

  “Widow. My nieces need a father.”

  He’d mentioned his nieces many times, and Loralei had no doubt how much he loved them. She couldn’t deny the girls needed a father, she herself knew how hard life was without one, but she didn’t want their father to be Sam.

  Ruth chose that moment to whimper. Loralei leaped to her feet. “Ruth needs to go out.”

  “Lor—”

  “Come.” Loralei patted her thigh, moving to the door.

  Sam beat her across the room.

  “She needs to go out,” Loralei stated, but in reality it was she who needed fresh air. It was as if she couldn’t breathe.

  Ruth yelped.

  “I’ll take her,” he offered.

  He was engaged to someone else. Going to marry them. It hurt to even think it, yet, it was true. She knew it in her heart. “No,” she said stubbornly. “I’ll take her.”

  “I’ll go with you.” He turned the key hanging in the lock.

  “I’d prefer you didn’t.”

  He grabbed her arm. “There’s more. There’s more I have to tell you.”

  Tears stung her eyes. “I don’t want to hear any more.” She pulled open the door and raced down the stairs. She barely made it out the front door and around the outside of the building when the contents of her stomach erupted.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It had been two days since he’d told her of the marriage arrangement, and Loralei still wouldn’t listen to anything he ha
d to say. Sam shook the grass from his bedroll, glancing her way as she did the same. Short of tying her to a tree, where she couldn’t walk off as soon as he opened his mouth, he had no idea of how to make her listen.

  Ruth seemed just as miffed. He couldn’t get within inches of either one of them without the dog growling like he was about to steal her last bone. It had been stupid to start the conversation the way he had, but he’d expected her to listen to everything, and in the end, be happy.

  A hate-filled gaze from a face as homely as an apple doll’s landed on him. Mrs. Wilson didn’t look away.

  Sam did. He rolled his bedding into a lopsided mess and slapped it on King.

  He’d followed Loralei out of the hotel that night. By the time he’d rounded the corner outside the hotel, Mrs. Wilson had an arm wrapped around Loralei. Sam had rushed forward, only to be swatted away by the old woman like some pesky fly.

  Loralei had returned to their room later, but refused to listen to a word he said. She and Ruth settled onto the bed while he slept in the chair. The next morning, before he’d a chance to comprehend what happened, they’d joined a wagon train traveling Gooddale’s Cutoff from Fort Hall to Boise.

  It wasn’t a large train, only five wagons besides him and Loralei on horseback. He didn’t begrudge the company. The other travelers gave him someone to talk to while Loralei snubbed him. More often than not, the prune faced Mrs. Wilson was at her side.

  Right on cue, the woman shouted from her wagon, “Loralei!”

  Without so much as a glance his way, Loralei and Ruth, made their way over and started to help the woman with breakfast fixings. Sam moseyed over to the Danbur’s wagon. Mr. Danbur had lost one arm in the war, and though the man could do everything anyone with two arms could, Sam felt inclined to assist a man who’d fought so bravely for his country.

  The Danbur’s had three kids, two boys and a girl between the ages of five and ten, and they were right good little helpers.

  “Good morning, Mr. McDonald.” Emily Danbur carried a speckled coffee pot to the fire already ablaze in their pit. “Coffee will be ready shortly.”

  “Morning,” Sam replied. He wished Loralei had befriended Emily Danbur instead of Mrs. Wilson. Not only because Emily was younger, closer to Loralei’s age, but she also had a kind disposition and gentle, understanding ways.

  “You’ll join us for breakfast this morning, won’t you?” Emily Danbur asked, glancing toward the Wilson wagon.

  “Of course he will.” Mr. Danbur flipped his suspenders over his shoulders one at a time. “It’s his bacon and coffee we’re fixin’.”

  Sam’s eyes had wandered to the Wilson wagon. Loralei scampered around preparing a meal. It was his coffee and bacon being fixed at that campfire, too. Not that he minded. He had more than enough to share. It was just he wanted to share it with Loralei as well.

  A hand fell on his shoulder. “Mrs. Wilson still claiming she’s ill?”

  Sam nodded. “Yes, say’s it’s a touch of pleurisy.”

  Mr. Danbur gave a cockeyed grin. “If that woman has pleurisy, I’ve got two good arms.”

  “Afton!” Emily Danbur admonished, but a gleam shone in her eyes.

  “She’s got a case of the sours, that’s what that old woman has. I don’t know how Mr. Wilson puts up with her,” Afton Danbur said, walking toward the fire.

  Sam moved as well and used a large stick to stir down the fire before he set a grate across the top.

  “Well, I think it’s kind of your wife to help out the older couple,” Emily Danbur said, placing her speckled pot on the grate. “We’ve all tried to assist them, but Mrs. Wilson just didn’t take a shine to any of us.”

  Afton Danbur let out a grunt, but a smile crossed his face and he winked at his wife. A blush rose on Emily’s cheeks. The exchange between the married couple made a knot form in Sam’s stomach. He longed for what he and Loralei had before he told her about Tiffany.

  Why had he told her? He had no intentions of marrying Tiffany. It had been that damn telegram from his father. Even a thousand miles away the man had an effect on Sam’s life.

  “We can’t change how people react to us,” Afton said, glancing to where his left arm used to be. “We can only change how we react to them.” The man’s gaze went to the Wilson site, where Loralei was bent over the fire. “Give her time, she’ll come around.”

  Time was the one thing Sam had. It would take over two weeks for the train to get to Boise.

  Soon, Sam found the days slipping by faster and faster. The trail turned into little more than black rock. A single lane crossed over the rugged layers of ancient lava. The hardships of trains before them scattered the dismal valley in all directions. Crude crosses and long ago discarded possessions lined the route. Their little train forged on, assisting one another the entire way.

  Loralei no longer aided the Wilson’s from dawn to dusk. Mrs. Fletcher, a young woman who’d given birth to twins a few months ago, had contracted mastitis. The ailment had the woman feverish and unable to walk more than short distances. Loralei spent most days tending the infants, and the evenings packing the woman’s breasts with warm, wet towels.

  Sam tried to help, knew Loralei’s strength had to be waning, and though she accepted his aid—now and again—for the most part she remained aloof to his attention. He refused to grow bitter, knew it wouldn’t solve his problems. Furthermore, he was witnessing a part of Loralei he’d probably have never seen if they hadn’t joined the train. She was a natural healer. Had a way to comfort the ill and treat their aliments more compassionately than the most respected surgeon. Once again he found himself in awe, and quite profoundly in love.

  Mrs. Fletcher was pronounced healed the day before they were to reach Boise, giving the entire wagon train two reasons to rejoice. They’d also left the baron, harsh landscape behind, and the lush, greener countryside was a welcomed relief.

  That evening, when they stopped for the night, a low lying sense of excitement filtered the camp. It was Wayne Bookman who picked up on it and turned it into a celebration. He was a single man headed for the gold fields near Silver City where he planned on making his fortune with his newspaper. The printing contraption he hauled in his wagon was little shy of a metal monster. As soon as the wagons were parked and the chores complete, Bookman took out a scratched and scarred fiddle.

  In no time, Afton Danbur was blowing on his harmonica, and Mr. Fletcher slapping spoons. The women carried their meals to the center of the wagons, where everyone ate and listened to the music. A few even took turns dancing.

  Sam, missing her more than ever, walked to where Loralei sat on a blanket she’d spread out for Mrs. Fletcher and the twins. His breath caught with the idea of being near her. When she glanced his way, offering a slight smile, his heart jolted like a colt from a barn.

  “Hi,” he said, feeling about as shy as a five-year-old.

  “Hi,” she answered, her lashes lowering. One of the twins, swaddled in a quilt lay in her arms, sound asleep. The sight was enough to knock him into next week.

  “Everyone’s doing fine?” He gestured toward the twin and the other Mrs. Fletcher held.

  Loralei nodded and Alice Fletcher said, “We are doing just fine, thanks to your beautiful wife. I’m sorry we’ve taken so much of her time, but I don’t know what I would have done without her the past week.”

  “You’d have been just fine without me.” Loralei patted the woman’s arm.

  “No. No we wouldn’t have.” Alice Fletcher looked at him. “I truly thank you, Mr. McDonald. Most husbands wouldn’t have been so understanding. Wouldn’t have let their wife tend to another family nonstop.”

  “Maybe,” Sam said, moving his gaze to Loralei. “Then again, maybe most men aren’t as lucky as I.”

  Loralei offered a small, puzzled frown.

  He had to touch her in some way. It had been so long. His index finger trailed the side of her face, gliding over the soft, smooth skin. “I can’t imagine,” he said not reall
y to Mrs. Fletcher, “that there is another woman as caring and loving as Loralei.”

  Loralei’s mouth opened slightly, as if his words shocked her.

  “I’ll agree with that, Mr. McDonald,” Mrs. Fletcher said. The woman stood then, and cradling one infant in her left arm, reached down to take the other. “I think I’ll put these two to bed now.”

  Loralei started to rise.

  “No,” the other woman insisted. “I can manage. You stay here with your husband.” Mrs. Fletcher took the second infant. She was no more than two steps away when her husband, Ian, met her, taking one infant as they crossed the grass to their wagon.

  Loralei smoothed the skirt of her blue dress over her knees. Sam reached over and took one of her hands. She felt the same—warm, soft, yet firm, but for some reason he didn’t. Not on the inside anyway. He no longer had the confidence he’d had a few weeks ago. It was more like he was walking on ice and afraid of breaking through at any moment.

  “I’ve missed you.” The words came straight from his heart, and he couldn’t have stopped them with a cannon.

  Her cheeks turned crimson. “That’s silly. I’ve been right here the whole time.”

  The music in the distance floated gently on the air

  He kissed the back of her hand. “No, you haven’t,” he quietly argued. “Not right beside me, where I’ve wanted you to be. Where I’ll always want you to be.”

  Her lilac eyes glistened. Sam wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her with all the emotion bottled up inside.

  “Sam.” Her voice was a soft pleading sound that ripped his chest open.

  “Loralei,” he whispered, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck.

  Her breath tickled his lips. Anticipation made his blood rush through his veins. His mouth had barely touched her petal softness when a loud, rough voice exclaimed, “Loralei, I need you!”

  They both turned to the sound, their cheeks brushing. Mrs. Wilson, with her hands on her plump hips, glared at them. She stomped across the grass. “My pleurisy is acting up.”

  “Well, Sam and I—” Loralei stammered.

  Mrs. Wilson stopped with one foot on the blanket. “I need you now. I didn’t bother you while Mrs. Fletcher was ill, but I need you now. I can’t possibly get our wagon ready for the night by myself. Not with the pain I’m in.” The woman arched her back slightly. “It’s all but killing me,” she groaned, quite dramatically.