Wolf nodded. “True. No need to get your dander up.” He slid her a sideways glance. “You’re not the only one tired today. Mrs. Macauley’s husband is still abed, and it’s past midmorning. Perhaps if he’s not awake when we get back, I should make sure he’s all right.”
Jessie bit her lower lip and drew it into her mouth with worry. “Ah, I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Wolf. He must’ve drunk an awful lot last night, so maybe it’d be best to let him sleep it off,” she suggested, keeping her eyes trained on the uneven ground.
Desperate to get away, she pulled her arm from Wolf’s grasp and quickened her steps. “James said you’re selling a few head of cattle to the soldiers, so I won’t keep you.”
Wolf laid his arm across her shoulders, preventing her escape. “How considerate of you, but I’ve already finished my business. I’ll just escort you back to camp. No telling what shady characters are hanging about. Wouldn’t want you to run into Zeb, now, would we? Scarred his face but good with that whip of yours,” he commented casually.
Jessie’s jaw fell. Neither she nor Eirica had ever mentioned running into the drunken man to anybody. When she’d learned that he was traveling, she’d kept a low profile, making sure he didn’t see her when their trains passed one another.
Before she could explain, Wolf lifted a brow. “We’ll talk about that one later. Let’s talk about your more recent activities.”
“How ’bout not,” Jessie mumbled.
Wolf ignored her and continued thoughtfully, “I spoke to James earlier. Seems he was a bit worried to find Birk still sleeping. His unexpected concern over a man he despises made me curious, so I asked him why he cared.”
He paused dramatically. “To my surprise, he confessed to drugging Birk’s drink last night with laudanum.”
Jessie stopped and stared in disbelief. “James did what?” Her voice ended on a squeak, and her mind raced. Surely she hadn’t heard right. James, her straitlaced, never-do-wrong brother, had drugged Birk?
“You heard me.” Wolf rested his hands casually on his hips. “Now mind you, his intentions were good; something about wanting to make sure Birk slept through his drunken stupor and didn’t beat up on Eirica. Very clever of him, wouldn’t you agree, Jessica?”
“Sounds like it worked,” she muttered, wondering where this was leading. But she knew. Somehow he’d found out that she’d done the same thing. She sighed in defeat and thrust her chin out. It wouldn’t do any good to continue the charade. She glared at him, daring him to take her to task. “It served him right,” she said under her breath. “How’d you find me out?” She kicked a stone.
Wolf lifted a brow, his mouth set in a grim line. “About the incident with Zeb or that you drugged Birk’s drink?”
Jessie screwed up her face. “Both.” Resigned to his anger, she waited.
Wolf put his hands on his hips, his features grim. “Let’s take Zeb first. I saw the whole thing. Before I could step in and take care of him, you were there with your whip. Nice piece of work. Of course, I followed him once I saw that you were taking care of Eirica. Added my own warnings to yours and have kept my eye out for him and his buddies since.”
Jessie swallowed hard. “You followed him—”
Wolf startled her by slashing the air with one hand. “No one threatens or harms those under my protection. No one.”
Oh, Lordy, here it comes. Jessie braced herself.
“And as for last night, I saw Birk drinking with Zeb and his pals and found it particularly interesting when a soldier joined them with a flask just for Birk. Heard them laughing when the soldier said some lady sent it. Of course, I had to wonder who this lady was.”
Jessie groaned, but Wolf continued, his voice conversational, yet she heard the thread of fury and disappointment underlying his words.
“Curious, I followed the soldier.” A gleam came into his eyes. “I convinced the lad that it was in his best interest to tell me what was going on.”
“Convinced? His best interest?” Jessie repeated in horror. She cringed at Wolf’s smug expression.
“Not to worry, Jessica, dear. I didn’t touch him. Didn’t need to. He figured out on his own that it was wise to tell me what I wanted to know. He was only too happy to spill his guts. But can you imagine my surprise when he described you as the one who paid him to deliver the bottle?”
His voice hardened. “Didn’t take much to figure out you’d drugged Birk’s drink, as apparently James had done. Hearing you and Anne only confirmed it.”
Jessie bit her lip and focused her attention on the row of fringe sewn into the yoke of his buckskin shirt. She supposed he’d traded his vest for a more conventional shirt because of the visit to the fort. “Don’t blame her. If she hadn’t given it to me, I would have gotten it elsewhere.”
Wolf stepped close and gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his furious blue gaze. “Jessica, be careful. Birk Macauley’s not a man to play games with. While he may or may not deserve it, it’s not your place to punish him. Are you willing to accept the responsibility of his death? He could have died.”
Jessie swallowed hard, her face paling, her eyes wide. “You don’t think—”
“No, he won’t die. He’s just sleeping—deeply—but you and your brother are lucky. What if, God help us, others had done the same thing?” Wolf released her, stepped back and folded his arms across his chest.
Jessie narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t think anyone else would do it too.”
“You were lucky, as you were with the hornets. Men have been known to die from that many stings.”
Jessie winced. Wolf knew all. She didn’t know how, didn’t want to know. She dug a toe into the sandy soil. While it hurt to have Wolf angry with her and disappointed in her, she didn’t regret what she’d done. Well, maybe just her impulsiveness. She clasped her hands behind her back and looked him in the eye. She’d done what she’d thought needed to be done. She wouldn’t apologize for that. “It was never my intention to harm Birk. I just wanted to lay him up, keep him from beating on his wife and children.”
“I know. You’ve got one hell of a good, caring heart. I can’t fault you for that. Just be careful. I don’t want to see you hurt.” With that admission, Wolf walked away, leaving Jessie to stare after him.
Leaving Fort Kearny, the emigrants headed up the broad, sandy track along the left side of the Platte River, following the Great Platte River Road. Seven days after leaving the fort, they came to Cottonwood Spring. Wolf dismounted and stretched his arms over his head. He drew in deep, relaxing breaths, then studied his surroundings.
He’d hoped to gain a few more miles before stopping, but even he’d had more than enough of the dry, dusty and sandy trail. He led his horse to the spring. Though it wasn’t much more than a seep in a gully, it boasted the best-tasting water since Alcove Springs.
He eyed the old riverbed, following the curve up toward Cottonwood Canyon, and made a mental note to remind Rook that the nearby ravines were filled with scrub cedar. The slight breeze lifted his long hair off his shoulders, soothing his hot, dry skin. It was blessedly cool, thanks to the tall cottonwoods. His horse, Black Shadow, lowered his head and drank greedily, which meant the spring was untainted.
Wolf followed suit and cupped the cool water in his hands, drinking deeply, then splashed some of the soothing liquid over his face. With his thirst quenched, he sat back on his heels to enjoy the quiet. There were only a couple of wagon trains camped nearby, but before dusk, at least two others would catch up to take advantage of the water supply.
“Is the water good, Wolf?” a low, husky voice inquired behind him.
Wolf stood. His lips tightened when Rosalyn sashayed up to him and caressed the gaping edge of his vest. Damn the woman. Every time he went off by himself, she managed to intrude. Did she spend all her time watching him? His nostrils flared. She certainly didn’t understand plain English, and he was growing weary of fending off her unwanted advances. He plucked her fingers from hi
s vest. “Help yourself, Mrs. Norton.”
Rosalyn’s eyes darkened with restrained fury, but in the blink of an eye, it was gone. She stepped in front of him. “Oh, Wolf, I thought we agreed to drop the formality. The name’s Rosalyn.” Her lips formed a pout, and she fluttered her long lashes at him. “Please, Wolf, won’t you say my name just once? It’s not so hard.”
Her fingers dug into his arm like an eagle’s razor-sharp talons. “Just say Rosalyn,” she purred. Two fingers walked up his chest. “You must be so tired after sitting in the saddle all day. I can make you feel so much better.”
Wolf stepped back, frustrated that Rosalyn refused to take no for an answer. “You don’t have anything I want. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He had to get away from her. His patience was near an end, yet he held on tightly to the reins of his temper.
But Rosalyn wasn’t going to be put off any longer. She lunged forward and wrapped her arms boldly around his neck. “Oh, Wolf, I love it when you turn fierce. Though I do wish you’d stop worrying about Hugh. It’s so trying. He won’t mind, you know. He has man problems, and this trip is so long and boring. You and I could amuse each other.”
Her voice dropped to a seductive whisper. “If you’re too tired, I’ll do all the work. I love to ride.” Her dark eyes glazed over with passion, her full lips parted and her bosom heaved as her breathing grew erratic.
Disgust ran through him when she boldly rubbed her full breasts against him. He reached up to pull her arms from him but she refused to let go. She pressed her lips to his and moved her pelvis against him. Clamping his lips shut, he shoved her away. “Mrs. Norton, I’m warning you for the last time to keep your distance. My men may not care that you’re married, but I do.”
Rosalyn’s gaze hardened. “And if I weren’t married?”
Weary of the game, Wolf ran a hand through his hair, his temper taut, ready to snap. “It’s a moot point, Mrs. Norton. Go back to your husband.”
Rosalyn ducked her head and stared at the front of his pants. She reached out and stroked him. “Oh, Wolf. You don’t have a problem down there, do you? I’m really, really quite good.”
She grabbed the waistband of his trousers and giggled, a false sound that grated on his nerves. But before he could dispense with her, he saw Jessie standing in the deep shadows. Her hands were jammed onto her hips, and from the look of her, she was furious. When Rosalyn slid her hand into the waistband of his blue jeans, Jessie’s right hand dropped. He swore beneath his breath when he saw her go for her whip. He tried to disengage the Norton woman’s hands, but before he could, the sound of rawhide snapped at Rosalyn’s back.
Rosalyn squealed and jumped behind Wolf.
Jessie stepped out of the shadows into the sunlight. “I believe Wolf has refused your services, Rosalyn. Why don’t you be a good whore and ply your trade elsewhere.” Her eyes were spitting green fire.
Rosalyn narrowed her eyes and stepped in front of Wolf. “Why, you little bitch. You’re just jealous because you don’t have anything to offer a man like Wolf.”
Wolf groaned when he saw Jessie’s fingers tighten on the handle of her whip. He was so disgusted with Rosalyn Norton, he was tempted to leave her to Jessie. But no matter how angry or disgusted he felt, he didn’t dare.
Never had Jessie she felt such an all-out consuming rage as when she’d come upon Rosalyn and Wolf. It hadn’t taken long to figure out that Wolf had no interest in the woman, but jealousy reared its ugly head.
“At least I’m no lickfinger. Now, you heard the man, Rosalyn,” she mocked. “Don’t want to be greedy, do you? According to the gossip one hears at mealtime, you are quite the bed warmer, so take your whoring ways where they’re appreciated.” She smirked. “If I recall rightly, tonight is Duarte’s turn.”
Rosalyn sputtered, her face a furious red. “How dare you interfere? Do you really think Wolf is going to be interested in some flat-chested little girl? Why don’t you go practice flirting on the youngest Svensson boy? He’s more your type. Now get outta here and mind your own business,” she said, the air whistling through the gap in her front teeth.
Jessie’s answer was to bring her arm overhead and send the rawhide zinging forward. Wolf lunged and yanked Rosalyn out of the whip’s reach. The balled ends snapped a mere inch from her nose.
She stumbled backward, tripped over a rock and fell, landing in a heap on the ground, her bonnet hanging from her neck.
“If you persist in goading Jessie, you’re a fool, Mrs. Norton. This is your last warning. If you continue to cause trouble, you and your husband are out.”
Jessie watched Rosalyn frantically replace her bonnet and tie the ribbons. Curious, she stared at the other woman’s hair. She had light-colored roots. She shrugged and forgot about it when Rosalyn got to her feet and flounced off. Smug with her victory, Jessie couldn’t resist one last taunt. “By the way, Rosalyn, there’s nothing wrong with any of Wolf’s parts.” She stepped close to Wolf and patted the parts in question. “They work just fine.” She snickered when Rosalyn screeched out a long string of curses.
Wolf grabbed her hand in a crushing hold. “Jessica Jones, you minx. Did you have to add that? Now she’s going to think we’ve slept together.”
Jessie shrugged and turned to face Wolf. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him firmly on the lips, slipping her tongue inside for a brief, teasing touch. He groaned. She pulled back, satisfied. “So? There’s many miles between here and Oregon. You want me and I want you, but you’re just being stubborn. We’re well suited. Your heart knows it, and soon your mind will admit to the truth.” She clipped her whip to her belt.
Before he had a chance to launch into another lecture, she looked him in the eye, a small grin tugging at the corners of her lips. “Wolf?”
“What?” He sighed.
Her eyes gleamed with mischief and shifted to the obvious bulge beneath his buckskin trousers. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong down there.” Chuckling, she sashayed off, confident in her ability to arouse him, and patient enough to wait for him to come to his senses.
Chapter Sixteen
The landscape continued to go through major changes. Tall green grass undulating across vast, open prairies gave way to short brown grass and endless sandy soil. Sagebrush, thin-bladed yucca plants and prickly-pear cactus took the place of the tall cottonwoods, and rattlesnakes replaced songbirds. Dried buffalo chips became the fuel for cooking, and even the air they breathed seemed different.
Since leaving Missouri, they’d climbed steadily. The air was thin and dry, chapping their lips and causing their wagon wheels to shrink and crack and the axles to squeal. The sun burned bright, its fingers of light racing across a cobalt-blue sky, beckoning man and beast onward, bringing them ever closer to their goal.
Wolf rode ahead of the wagons, scanning the sandy ground for rattlesnakes. He took note of his bearings and nodded in satisfaction. Despite earlier problems with one Wagon losing a wheel, they’d traveled a fair distance, making up lost time by going through the low, sandy O’Fallon’s Bluff where, once again, the trail had bottlenecked, forcing wagons to proceed single file. But rather than losing time waiting, Wolf had led his wagons across a three-mile detour up and over the rolling sandy hills toward one of the crossing sites of the South Platte.
Many of the wagon trains had crossed back at Fremont’s Ford, a fork of the Platte River. One fork became the South Platte, which ran a southwestern course, and the other fork became the North Platte, running northwest toward Fort Laramie. Wolf preferred the lower California crossing, so he’d continued along the left side of the South Platte. He studied the position of the sun, gauging the amount of travel time left in the day. He’d hoped to reach the crossing by nightfall.
Glancing over his shoulder, he grimaced at the sight of the oxen plodding forward, tongues lolling, eyes glassy. The animals were nearing exhaustion and couldn’t go another five or six miles. They had to stop, and soon. A sudden blast of hot air blew sand into his face, forcin
g him to raise an arm to shield his eyes. Black Shadow shifted beneath him and pawed the ground restlessly, drawing Wolf’s attention. “What is it, boy?” he crooned, automatically soothing the horse with a pat to the withers.
Then he saw it—a dark, cloudy mass rising in the distance. Standing in his stirrups, he stared at what looked to be another thunderstorm. But when he lifted his eyes upward, his gaze encountered clear blue skies as far as the eye could see. Another dust storm? Frowning, he dismounted and knelt, keeping a firm hold on the reins. Then he felt it, a tremble in the earth.
“Damn.” That dark, roiling mass was no storm. It was buffalo. A large herd, judging from the way the dust rose like some tornado to obscure the horizon. He jumped back in the saddle and rode hell-bent-for-leather toward the wagons.
“Williams, circle. Wheel to wheel. Oxen in the center,” he shouted, letting all know by his instructions that this was an emergency. “Elliot, see that everyone leaves their oxen yoked, and tie all horses and cows to the back of the wagons.” Wolf rode on. Black Shadow lengthened his stride, closing the distance separating wagons and livestock. Wolf issued orders to halt the cattle and wind them into a tight circle, then traded Black Shadow for Lady Sarah and rode for the wagons.
Jessie stood next to her oxen, dimly aware that the tired beasts leaned into one another, panting with exhaustion. She glanced at Rook when Wolf raced by, this time riding bareback on his Indian-trained mount. “What’s up?” she asked, fearing an Indian attack. Rook didn’t answer, his attention focused on the western horizon.
She groaned when she saw the widespread darkness. “Not another storm! I’m not through mending the holes in the canvas covers from that last hailstorm,” she grumbled, remembering the large stones of ice that had torn through the covers and bruised their animals.
And if the rain and hail weren’t enough, the dust storms were the worst, wreaking havoc by driving the fine, dusty soil into wagons and tents, coating everyone and everything.
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