For a Sister's Love

by Paty Jager

  Sam’s jaw hardened into granite. He glared at the woman. Her stare back was defiant, but Sam read something more in it. The woman wanted him to pitch a fit, insist Loralei not aid her. He cocked his head, wondering why. A cord struck then. Over the trail the woman had used most everything he did against him, prattled on about how selfish and boorish he was, no matter how hard he worked. She had it out for him, and most likely her goal was to have Loralei thinking as badly of him as the lemon-sucking-faced old bat did.

  His cheek twitched. You get more bees with honey than you do vinegar, his grandmother had always said. He stood, assisting Loralei to rise beside him. Reaching down to retrieve the blanket, he offered, “I’ll help you, Mrs. Wilson. Loralei is tired.”

  “I don’t want your help,” Mrs. Wilson snapped.

  “Come along, Mrs. Wilson,” Loralei said, wrapping an arm about the woman’s shoulders. “I’ll help you prepare for bed.” She glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes pleaded, asking for forgiveness.

  Didn’t she know he’d forgive her if she stole the sunshine from the sky? He winked one eye, and the smile that grew on Loralei’s face made his chest expand. Happier than he’d been in sometime he shook out the blanket and folded it across his arm before he followed the two woman across the grass.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The small train arrived in Boise before noon the next day. All five wagons would travel on to Silver City, but they’d spend the night and replenish supplies before doing so. Sam helped set camp before he went in search of Loralei. The others could spend the night here, on the edge of town, but he and Loralei wouldn’t. He’d find them a room, complete with a comfortable bed, and big bathtubs full of hot water.

  Last night Mrs. Wilson had insisted her pleurisy was so sever Loralei needed to bed down near her wagon wheels.

  Miffed, but able to disguise it, Sam had bed down there as well, in spite of Mrs. Wilson. He hadn’t been sorry either, for as soon as the old woman’s, as well as Mr. Wilson’s, snores rumbled out of the wagon, Loralei had scooted her bedroll closer. Without a word, she’d laid her head on his shoulder, snuggled up to his side, and fell to sleep. He’d fought his own slumber, relishing in the act of holding her close as long as possible.

  He found her now, carrying a bucket of water from the nearby water supply to the Wilson wagon. Taking the bucket he asked, “Are you about ready?”

  “Ready for what?”

  “To go to town and get us a room for the night.”

  “I thought we’d camp here, with the others.”

  “Oh, well,” he teased, “you thought wrong.”

  “I did?” Her smile was adorable.

  “Here, I’ll take that.” Mr. Wilson appeared at Sam’s side and grasped the bucket handle. “I’m sorry for all the trouble Mrs. Wilson has been.” The man glanced toward the wagon several yards ahead of them. “Over the years I learned to pick my battles with her. Ever since the war stole both our sons she ain’t been the same. I figured while we were on the trail, there wasn’t much I could do, but now that we’re camped…” he paused, staring at the wagon. “You two run along. I’ll take care of Mrs. Wilson.”

  Startled speechless, Sam stared at the man. Over the past weeks he’d wondered more than once how the pleasant mannered man put up with Mrs. Wilson.

  “Go on,” Mr. Wilson insisted.

  Loralei’s eyes shimmered with excitement. Sam grabbed her hand and pulled her toward their horses before Theodore Wilson changed his mind.

  A short time later, side by side, they rode past the wagons. The wail of a baby near the Fletcher’s wagon caught their attention, especially Loralei’s. Her concerned gaze locked on the wagon. Sam pulled King to a stop. “Go on, make sure everything’s all right,” he offered.

  “I’ll only be a minute,” she said, already climbing down.

  Sam slid off King and led the horses to the small grove of hardwoods nearby. He should have known it would only take Mrs. Wilson a matter of minutes to find him. Barreling across the grass, practically leaving a rooster tail, she bore down on him.

  “I certainly hope, Mr. McDonald,” she started while still stomping his way, “you plan on purchasing a wagon while you’re in town.”

  Taken aback by her suggestion, he stuttered, “What?”

  “Well!” she huffed, coming to a halt in front of him.

  Ruth whimpered and raced behind the tree. Sam chuckled.

  “In your wife’s condition, riding is not safe.”

  He snapped to attention. “Condition?”

  “Loralei should be riding in a wagon, not on horseback. The further along she gets the more dangerous it becomes.”

  “T-the fur—”

  Mrs. Wilson interrupted his confusion. “Don’t play dumb with me, Mr. McDonald. You may have the rest of this train fooled, but not me. I know a low-down, dirty southern scoundrel when I see one. And that’s just what you are. A southern villain if there ever was one.”

  Sam barely heard the woman through the ringing in his ears. He slumped against the tree, staring at the Fletcher’s wagon. No wonder Loralei had asked if he liked virgins. Because she wasn’t one.

  “Why I bet you hope she miscarries, then you won’t have the burden of a child. That’s how you southerners are. Don’t care a wit about no one but yourselves…”

  ****

  Loralei climbed out of the Fletcher’s wagon, saying good-bye to Alice and looking for Sam at the same time. Excitement of spending the night with him—alone—had her insides singing.

  Mrs. Wilson had him cornered, waving a finger in front of his face. A sympathetic groan rumbled up her throat.

  “Sam!” Loralei yelled, waving.

  He separated from the woman, who continued to wave her finger as he led the horses out of the shade. His face was ashen and his steps faltering.

  Loralei rushed forward. “Sam?”

  He barely looked at her while she mounted. “Is Mrs. Wilson that angry?”

  His glare was as cold and unwavering as he swung into his saddle. Loralei shivered and let Raindrop fall back to follow King into town. Her mind raced as they rode.

  Silently, she dismounted and followed Sam into the large building he’d stopped in front of. The man behind the desk was pleasant, but Sam wasn’t. His demands wore short and curt, and when the hotel worker, a dark haired man wearing an eye patch, said he had a telegram for a Sam McDonald, Sam’s blue eyes narrowed and his lips grew tight.

  Loralei, trembling in her boots, stepped forward and took the note off the desk, where Sam had left it. Smiling her thanks, she asked, “Do you have a bathing room?”

  “Sure do, ma’am. At the end of the hall. There’s two tubs in there. They each got their own hot water boiler.”

  “Thank you,” she offered, and scrambled to catch up with Sam who had paused at the foot of the stairs, waiting impatiently.

  Ruth trotted ahead of them, casting a glance back every now and again. Even though Sam looked like he was ready to spit nails, he hadn’t forgotten to insist the dog remain with them.

  The excitement of being alone with Sam had faded. Her steps grew sluggish. If only she could take back the last two weeks. There had been so many times she wanted to go to him and apologize for her behavior, but the moment had never arisen—not with taking care of Mrs. Wilson and the Fletcher twins.

  He’d always been off doing something, fixing a wagon hub, or hunting food, or scouting the trail ahead for boulders or a safe place to forge the rivers. When he was near, Mrs. Wilson, Mrs. Fletcher or one of the twins had needed her. Besides, apologizing wouldn’t change the fact he was engaged. All in all, though it had been the worst two weeks of her life, it had been for the best.

  Loralei paused at the top of the stairs. He stood down the hall, stone faced, with the door to their room open. She picked up her pace.

  Moments after they entered the room, he rifled through the saddle bags he’d carelessly tossed on the bed. “Get your clothes.”

  She held out
the telegram. “Don’t you want to read this?”

  “No.” He took it from her and tossed it across the room.

  His behavior flared her ire. “You don’t have to be rude.”

  “Get your clothes, Loralei.”

  She opened the flap and pulled out a clean set, shaking out the wrinkles. He caught the ends of her green dress and tugged it from her hands. “Come on.”

  Snatching up her undergarments, she followed out the door and down the hall. He was already inside the other room. She stuck her head in. It was large with two folding paper-screened walls separating brass bathing tubs. “I’ll wait until you’re done,” she offered.

  He grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the room. “There’re two tubs.”

  “Yes, but I think that’s if there are two women or two men, not—”

  “I’m not letting you out of my sight,” he growled.

  “Why? What have I done?”

  His glare had the ability to cut steel. “What haven’t you done?”

  “What haven—Sam McDonald, you have no reason to speak to me like that. I’m sorry if Mrs. Wilson angered you—”

  “Don’t talk, Loralei,” he snapped, between clenched teeth. “Just don’t talk right now.” He opened the door and hung a piece of wood with the word occupied painted on it over the outside knob.

  The sound of the door banging made her want to explode. “Fine, I won’t talk!” She twisted about and stomped behind the first screen.

  “Good!” he grunted.

  A large tank with a flame glowing beneath it hung on the wall behind the tub. It must be the boiler the man at the desk talked about. She moved closer, inspecting the contraption. Pipes ran down the wall and into the tub.

  “Turn the t-shaped handles, the water will flow into the tub,” Sam said from across the room.

  He still sounded mad, which snapped at her irritation. “I know,” she lied, thinking it would make her feel better. It didn’t, but water did flow out of the pipes.

  Rustling on the other side of the screen, and the solid thud of his boots, gave her the determination to follow suit. If he could strip naked and take a bath, so could she. She could do anything he could do.

  There was something about a hot tub of water that made every ache disappear. Loralei dropped her shoulders and eased her head back against the tub.

  Sam broke her moment of luxury. “When were you going to tell me?”

  She let out a sigh, and reached for a square of soap on the little shelf beside the tub. “Tell you what?”

  “You know what.” The sound of water splashing on his side of the room made her wonder if the entire room would soon flood.

  “No, I don’t know what.”

  “About the baby,” he boomed.

  She glanced at the screen, wished she could see more than light through it. How did he know? “Emily’s baby?”

  “Who?”

  “Mrs. Danbur. She didn’t want me to tell anyone. At least not until they get to Silver City. She doesn’t want Mr. Danbur to have anything more to worry about.”

  “The Danbur’s are having another child?” His tone had softened.

  So did hers. “Yes, Emily’s really excited about it.”

  The silence in the room was light, not nearly as charged as it had been before. Sam’s voice cracked as he asked, “When were you going to tell me, Loralei, about your baby?”

  Water sloshed over the edge of the tub as she jolted. “My baby?”

  “Yes, your baby. Two Moons is the father isn’t he?”

  “Two Mo-my—” she had to gulp for air. “Two Moons and I never-I’m not.” She took another breath of air. “I’m not having a baby.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “Then why did you tell Mrs. Wilson you are?”

  “Mrs. Wilson?” A poignant memory slapped her like a wet rag. “Oh,” she groaned.

  A splash sounded and seconds later Sam stood on her side of the screen, a towel wrapped around his hips. She covered her breasts with one arm, slipping deeper into the water. “Get out of here!”

  His eyes locked onto hers. “You’re not pregnant?”

  “No, now get out of here.”

  Thankfully he obeyed. “Why did you tell Mrs. Wilson you were?”

  She could see his feet below the bottom of the paper. Ire rose again. “I didn’t.” The lie made her cringe. “Not really anyway.”

  “What do you mean, not really?”

  Watching his feet, making sure he didn’t move, she climbed out of the tub and grabbed a towel. “She found me outside the hotel, throwing up, and assumed it was because I was pregnant.”

  His feet moved. “Stay there!” she demanded.

  He stayed. “You threw up?”

  She flipped around, tugging on her underclothes as quickly as possible. “Yes, I threw up.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” she spat as soon as her shift fell past her face.

  “Why didn’t you tell Mrs. Wilson you weren’t pregnant?”

  Loralei grabbed her dress, anger building in her like a thunderstorm rolling over the Rockies. “And what should I have told her?” Her wet feet slapped the floor as she stomped around the screen. “That my husband will soon be married to another woman?”

  They stood eye to eye, and she didn’t back down. “That would have been harder to explain than being pregnant!”

  His penetrating stare became too strong, but looking down was worse. Water hung on his skin, droplets and trails covered his molded shape all the way to where the towel hugged his hips. Her stomach stirred and her knees quivered.

  She spun around. “Go put some clothes on!”

  His footsteps echoed off the floor. She moved, too, back behind her screen.

  “I’m not marrying Tiffany.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Her dress got stuck. Try as she might she couldn’t get her arms in the sleeves and her head through the collar opening. She was about to rip the gown to shreds when it lifted.

  “Did you hear me?” he asked. “I’m not marrying Tiffany.”

  Loralei couldn’t do much. Her legs had become less trustworthy than a wild cat. His eyes were solemn, serious.

  “You’re not?” she barely mustered up a whisper.

  He wore nothing more than his britches. Water dripped from the ends of his dark hair. “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to.”

  “But your nieces—”

  “Will be fine.” He flipped her dress over the top of the screen and took her shoulders with both hands. “Why did you want to know if I liked virgins?”

  Embarrassment flamed her face. His hands began to move, caressing her shoulders with easy, gentle strokes. She braced herself with a deep breath. “Because the trappers said no one likes virgins.”

  His brows drew down. “What? When?”

  “Before you arrived. They said—“

  “Did they hurt you?”

  “No. They didn’t touch me.”

  He pulled her forward and folded his arms around her back. His hold was tight, crushing even, but she didn’t mind for it was the most wonderful place on earth. She pressed her face into his skin, inhaling deeply.

  Sam’s hands roamed over her back, pressing her body deeply into his. Then they skirted upwards, over her shoulders to cup her cheeks. He tugged her face up.

  “I love you, Loralei, and I want to marry you.”

  Her knees buckled. She tightened her hold on his waist to stay upright. “Y-you do?”

  He nodded. “I do. I promise to do everything I can to make all your dreams come true. I promise to help you find Maggie, to find your necklace, to plant fields of cucumbers so you can eat pickles every day for the rest of your life, to—”

  “What about your dreams, Sam?”

  He leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. “You are my dream. There’s nothing more I want.”

  “What about raising horses? What about being an attorney?�
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  “I can do those things anywhere. But they weren’t really my dreams. They were someone else’s. My father’s. My grandfather’s. You’re the only thing I’ve ever really wanted.” His hands gently squeezed her face. “Will you marry me, Loralei?”

  An explosion of sorts happened inside her, and when the sparks settled, Loralei knew nothing else on earth mattered. Thrilled, excited, and happy beyond belief, she nodded. “Yes, Sam, I’ll marry you.” His lips descended onto hers, as they touched, she added, “As soon as we get to Silver City.”

  He kissed her long and hard, until her head spun and she saw nothing but stars. It was a moment or more after the kiss ended that he stepped back. “As soon as we get to Silver City?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, stepping back into his arms. “As soon as we get to Silver City.”

  “Why can’t we get married, here, in Boise?”

  She ran her fingers up his chest, over his wide, muscled shoulders. “Because,” she kissed the sweet skin below his chin. “We don’t have time. The train will leave at sun up.”

  “We don’t have to go with them. We traveled alone before.”

  “I promised Emily and Alice that I’d go the rest of the way with them.” She nibbled on his chin. “Besides, it really doesn’t matter. They all think we’re married.”

  “Yes, but thinking and being are two different things.”

  “To whom?” she asked, pressing her lips to his. When they parted again, she pushed him backwards, towards the door. “Take me to our room. To our bed.”

  “We aren’t married, Loralei.”

  “In my eyes and my heart, we’ve been married for a very long time.” She ran her tongue over his bottom lip. “I love you, Sam.”

  To her delight, Sam didn’t waste the time to gather their clothes. Instead, he swept her in his arms and carried her across the hall.