The Jewel: The Malloy Family, Book 11

by Beth Williamson

  “Thread the reins through your fingers and secure them on your palm.” She helped him get a good grip on the reins. “There, now you’re driving.”

  Mason was too surprised to speak. Instead he smiled at her, the first one he’d felt in his heart for a very long time. Freed from a lifetime of who he should be, now a nameless stranger in the middle of nowhere, he’d found a slice of happiness.

  Imagine that.

  Learning to drive the wagon became an obsession with him. He, who had never done more than ride a horse in his life, managed to drive oxen. The great, snorting beasts still smelled worse than anything he’d ever had the misfortune of sniffing, yet he’d become familiar with them. There were six in all and each had their own personality.

  The two lead oxen were the most aggressive, which was why they were always in the lead. The two middle beasts seemed to want to catch up with the lead oxen but could never quite reach them. The last two were followers. They didn’t appear to care where they went, just that they were in motion.

  The biggest oxen he called Hercules. It had a notch in its left ear and tended to paw the ground when anxious to move. Hercules was the leader of the herd. Mason found himself talking to the beast each morning as he secured the yokes, another skill his mother would have fainted to know he had mastered. He gave Hercules an extra bit of food and, to his delight, the oxen seemed to move faster, taking them farther each day.

  Isabelle sat beside him, spelling him with the reins, but she allowed him to drive the wagon nearly all day after a week of practice. Charlie walked beside the wagon or sat inside in a corner, sorting her rocks and barely speaking to either of them. Mason saw the strain on Isabelle’s beautiful face. Bags had taken up residence beneath her eyes and worry lines beside her lips.

  When he woke at the end of the fourth week with the Chastain sisters, Mason was surprised to find little to no pain. He had healed from injuries that should have killed him. He reached up and traced the scar from the bullet furrow on his temple. The experience had taught him a great deal, not the least of which was not to trust people.

  Yet he trusted Isabelle and Charlie. His instincts were rusty, but they were guileless. They had no reason to save him, but they did. Now he was beholden to them. Although Mason’s life had been a series of impulses to amuse him, entertain him or pleasure him, his decision to help the sisters was unselfish and surprising. He was a useless human being who loved history and good whiskey. Now he was a pioneer of sorts.

  He’d grown muscles, calluses, and wore rough clothes. Mason was a different person, someone he could grow to like. It was a unique feeling.

  This morning was colder than he expected. His breath puffed out in a white cloud, and the cold seeped into his bones. October had settled over them and the clock was ticking loudly for them to reach their intended goal. Isabelle didn’t remember exactly how long it took but knew it had been at least two months. Which meant they wouldn’t arrive at Fort John until nearly November, which in this area of the country might be full winter.

  Mason was North Carolina born and bred and harsh winters had not been not part of his life until now. He shivered and pulled the blanket tighter, but it did no good. If he wanted to get warm, he would have to start moving.

  He sat up and rubbed his hands together, blowing his breath on them to warm them.

  “Mason?” Isabelle’s sleepy voice made his body tighten.

  “Too cold to sleep.” He was loath to take off the blanket, but there was no help for it.

  “You could share my body heat.”

  At first he could only stare through the predawn shadows at her. He couldn’t possibly have heard her right.

  “Pardon me?”

  A pause. “It’s a trick I learned from my sisters when we slept beneath the wagon. It, uh, might feel a bit different if we do it together.”

  That was an understatement of epic proportions.

  “Charlie is already snuggled up against my front. You could snuggle behind me.”

  It was an enticing disappointment. They wouldn’t be alone, but he would be given the opportunity to press his body against hers. What kind of fool would he be if he turned that down?

  “That sounds reasonable.” He almost choked on the words.

  “Bring your blanket.” She let loose a sleepy sigh and he scrambled to his feet.

  Heart thumping, his shivering forgotten, Mason stepped over the recumbent women and maneuvered himself behind Isabelle. He pulled the blanket up over all of them and settled down to what he could only describe as bliss.

  Pure, sweet bliss.

  She was as soft as he expected her to be and she fit perfectly against him. A delicious warmth spread through him and his shivering ceased. He could get addicted to this particular activity. Who knew how wonderful it was to cuddle with another human being? Especially when that human being was a lovely, stubborn female who already owned half his heart.

  If not the whole thing.

  This close, he heard every sound she made, and her scent filled his nostrils. Mason had to keep reminding himself not to move closer, not to pull her nearer. Until now he never considered self-restraint, had simply taken what he wanted. That was how he was raised, how people around him behaved. Now he had to dig deep to find a shred of strength to resist his urges.

  Six months ago, he would not have known anything beyond his world of academia and society. He had become to understand he hadn’t actually been living the last twenty-nine years. No, he had existed, but not lived.

  He sucked in a deep breath. Lying there was more than simple pleasure. It was living.

  The snow began lightly, small flakes barely visible in the morning air. Isabelle ignored them as they readied the wagon for the day’s travel. Their tasks had become routine since Mason had taken a share. Although she hesitated to give him responsibility considering how injured he’d been, he surprised her. He was capable if he practiced and he was a fast learner.

  She knew nothing of him and he didn’t speak of his life. He was a history professor who loved to create family trees, and it sounded as if his family was all dead. Beyond that, he didn’t speak of his life.

  Isabelle foolishly wanted to know more but daren’t ask. They were still strangers, albeit intimate strangers. She knew his body, but she did not know his mind or his heart. It was an odd relationship. Each morning she hoped he would tell her about himself, but he didn’t. They continued east, a trio of close-mouthed people who moved by rote.

  The snow stuck on her eyelashes and she blinked it away. Isabelle glanced up at the steel gray sky. It did not bode well for a day of traveling. The air was crisp and full of moisture.

  “It’s gonna snow all goddamn day,” Charlie grumbled from within the wagon. “And it’s colder than a well digger’s ass.”

  Isabelle rolled her eyes but didn’t reply. Her sister spent most of her time complaining. Replying had gained nothing but more heartache.

  “I’ve never touched snow.”

  Mason’s voice startled her. She took a moment to absorb his statement.

  “How is that possible?”

  He shrugged, the snow already gathering on his broad shoulders beneath the jacket that had kept her father warm. She was sure Papa would be happy to know Mason was using it.

  “I grew up in North Carolina. Winters are mild and it rarely snowed. There were a few times when it snowed, but I was never allowed to play in it. My nanny kept me indoors most of the time.”

  She jumped on that piece of information. “You had a nanny. My sister Josephine was a governess in New York.”

  “I had a dozen nannies before I was ten.” His mouth twisted into a self-deprecating grin. “I was something of a handful.”

  Isabelle stared out at the oxen’s rumps and tried to think of something clever to say. “Why did you stay indoors?” she blurted out before her brain could
stop her.

  “I was sickly, had a breathing illness. My parents had enough money to pay an army of nannies to keep me inside no matter how hard I tried to escape.”

  She was horrified. “You tried to escape?”

  “What little boy doesn’t want to climb trees, catch frogs and get dirty? I might have been sickly, but I was still a boy.” He looked down at his hands. “After my sixteenth birthday, everything changed.”

  Isabelle hung on his words, desperate to know more. She brushed away snow from her arms. “What happened?”

  He glanced at her. “My father died and my mother couldn’t keep me locked up. I went away to school in Georgia and never went home again.”

  It wasn’t what she expected. “Never?”

  “Never wanted to.”

  “What about your mother?”

  His gaze grew shuttered. “She died.” He shook his head and a sprinkling of snow fell on his arms.

  Isabelle knew the pain of losing her parents, but Mason seemed closed off from his grief. She couldn’t imagine. “I’m sorry.”

  “It was a long time ago. I learned early on to rely on myself, just as my brother did.”

  “I didn’t know you have a brother. We should try to get word—”

  “No. I don’t have a brother. I had a brother. He died too. I have no family, Iz. No one.” He sounded unmoved by that fact, but she heard a hint of something beneath his casual words. Something dark and ancient.

  She wanted to tell him he had her now, and Charlie, but it was too soon. He kept himself apart from her. This was the first time he’d shared any particulars about his life before she’d found him half-dead. Not that he’d told her much, but it was something. A small nugget of what made Mason who he was.

  “Right now all I have is Charlie. Until we find our sisters, we are alone too.” She reached over and put her hand on his.

  “Perhaps we can run over a prairie dog and then everyone will be even sadder.” Charlie thrust her head out through the opening in the canvas. “Stop being so goddamn morbid and focus on getting us back to Fort John before we freeze to death.”

  Isabelle’s temper flared. “Charlotte Marie Chastain, I have had enough. You will no longer speak to me in that manner and you will give me the respect I deserve. The same respect I give you.”

  Charlie opened her mouth and then closed it. She scowled as her cheeks flushed.

  “I love you, but we have a long journey and you are making it longer. We need to be together, not apart.” Isabelle’s softened her tone. “Please.”

  “As long as he doesn’t cuddle with me.”

  Mason snorted. “I am happy to be one bookend and you the other.”

  Isabelle pulled Charlie into a hug, while her younger sister squawked and didn’t try to escape from the embrace. She kissed Charlie’s cheek noisily.

  “Je t’aime.”

  “I still ain’t gonna tell you I love you.” Charlie stuck up her chin. “Besides, right now we gotta bigger problem. The snow is going to get bad before it gets better.”

  Isabelle looked around, surprised to see the ground covered in white already. The small flakes had become larger and the frequency increased. The wind had also begun to blow, throwing the icy flakes into their faces.

  “I’m no expert in snow, but I think we need to find shelter. This storm looks to be nasty.” Mason shivered beside her.

  “I agree. We heard tales from our wagon master about fall storms and how heavy the snow was. I can’t see what’s ahead.” Isabelle refused to let panic take over. “Let’s keep moving. Charlie, you and I need to spot shelter, no matter what.”

  Chapter Six

  There were times when Mason’s instincts drew up, raising the small hairs, until every bit of his body, heart and soul screams Run!

  He had such a moment when he caught sight of the ragtag group of people huddled around the campfire in the shadows of the rock formation, protected by a tarp someone had strung above them. Isabelle had been right to stop, but neither of them expected to have to choose between shelter from a storm or possible death at the hands of miscreants.

  The wind howled around them, the sleet pelting them mercilessly until his skin was raw. He couldn’t imagine how the ladies felt but they had to get out of the storm no matter what.

  One of the group rose to his feet. He was a tall, thin man with a slouchy brown hat that had seen better days. Behind him were at least four more figures, but in the semi-darkness, Mason couldn’t tell their age, sex or size.

  “Good evening!” Mason called upon all of his charm. Their survival might depend on it. “We got caught out in the storm and saw your fire.”

  The man stared at them and then looked behind him, murmuring to the group who watched. Mason’s heart pounded. He hoped the sleet hid the sound of his teeth chattering and the dark hid the nearly healed bruises on his face. No doubt he looked like a rainbow.

  “My name is Mason Bennett and this is my, ah, wife, Isabelle and her sister Charlotte.” Mason adjusted the borrowed hat on his head as it slid down his nearly frozen forehead. “We would appreciate if we could hunker down here with y’all.”

  More silence. Charlotte cursed under her breath.

  “Do ya got something to offer?” The man’s accent marked him as from somewhere other than the Oregon country. Mason, being a student of history, decided he was either born in Germany or his parents were.

  “What do you need to allow us to share your shelter?” Isabelle spoke, her voice hoarse from the cold.

  “Well, that depends on what you got.” The man gestured to the wagon. “You got money for a wagon and you’re going the wrong way with it if’n you want to make it to Oregon proper.”

  “We are not traveling west any longer.” Isabelle leaned forward, her eyes narrowed. “We had two deaths in the family and decided to return east.”

  Mason wanted to know about her parents, really wanted her to share with him what happened. Now was certainly not the time, but he had to admit his appetite for information about Isabelle was insatiable. With each morsel, he grew hungrier, and to his dismay, bordering on desperate.

  “That so? Why don’t you hide in the wagon and wait out the storm?” The man did not appear to want to share with anyone.

  “Because you know as well as we do that we will freeze to death if we do not have shelter with a fire. There is nothing within twenty miles of here to camp at.” Isabelle’s words snapped in the air with a popping noise. Her backbone didn’t surprise him as much as they startled him.

  “Your woman got quite a mouth on her.”

  Mason’s stomach clenched and he wished he had a gun to protect “his” woman and the fifteen-year-old who had wormed her way into his respect. He had nothing but words. Hell, he couldn’t even throw a punch for fear they would be sent out into the storm to die.

  Behind the stranger, another figure stood. “They can stay.”

  Mason peered through the sleet and saw the vague outline of a woman, stooped and presumably old.

  “Thank you, ma’am. I truly appreciate your—”

  “Quit your yackin’ and get your asses under the tarp if’n you’re gonna.” With that, the old lady sat back down.

  Charlie poked him in the back. “Move the wagon over there so the oxen are behind the rocks.”

  “Bossy chit.”

  “Now. I’m freezing my goddamn ass off.”

  “Be quiet, both of you. Let’s get out of this wagon and by the fire before my fingers fall off.” Isabelle spoke through what he guessed were clenched teeth. “Please.”

  However, it was the “please” that did him in. Within minutes, he had the wagon positioned to protect the animals as best as they could.

  Isabelle pressed something into his palm. “Put my father’s ring on. I want them to believe we’re married. It’s safer.”

/>   Mason was surprised. Most men did not wear a wedding ring. What did that say about her parents’ marriage? Strong and enduring, if her father wore a ring. A foreign experience for Mason and he wanted to give it back to her, but now wasn’t the time. She turned away, fumbling with her own glove to put on a ring. The night had been stressful, freezing cold and enough to make him want to bite someone’s head off. Arguing over the rings would be foolish. Her instincts to protect herself were admirable. He could wear a ring, even if the weight were unfamiliar and uncomfortable.

  He helped the women down from the wagon one at a time, holding the stinky oxen blanket over them until they reached the shelter. They carried the other blankets and quilts. He covered the animals with the blanket as best he could before joining the ladies.

  The group beneath the tarp was worse than he expected. They would be lucky to not get their throats slit during the night. Good thing he had extensive experience in staying up all night, and this time, he wouldn’t be whisky-soaked.

  There was the man who’d spoken, the old woman, two more women who appeared haggard and unkempt, and a big man the size of a very large tree. Oh yes, they were in trouble.

  “Good evening, all.” Mason walked under the tarp and sat down between Isabelle and Charlotte. They both huddled up close to him. It was true, he supposed, better the devil you know than the devil you don’t. He had only known them less than a month, but they had been intense days of forced togetherness. Now they needed each other to survive yet again.

  The sleet pounded on the canvas tarp like needles, sounding hard enough to pierce the material and slice into them again. The wind howled as the storm raged. The rock formation behind them and the tarp protected them from the worst of it. If the three of them died that night, it would not be from cold.

  The fire crackled, burning merrily amidst a vicious storm. It was cozy, if that was an appropriate term to use in such a dire situation. Isabelle spread a quilt over their laps and then another. While they were all soaked to the skin, there was no question about keeping their clothing on.