by Merry Farmer
“Mind if I borrow your wagon for just a minute? I’m trying to avoid someone,” He rushed up to the back of Gideon’s wagon and hopping into the bed. He shuffled to the far end and crouched between two stacks of crates.
“What—”
“Just act natural,” Charlie whispered. “You don’t know where I am.”
Gideon made a face, but turned back to whatever he had been doing with his chemicals. Charlie hunkered down at the back of the wagon. His backside pressed into something hard and sharp. As Chet’s voice sounded outside of the wagon, “Evening. Lovely weather we’re having,” Charlie arched his hips so he could reach whatever he’d sat on. It turned out to be a silver locket with a pretty filigree pattern. It was too dark to get a better look at it and to judge its worth, but as Chet and Gideon continued to talk, Charlie grasped it as if it was a rosary and prayed for salvation.
“What was that all about?” Gideon wondered aloud after Chet was gone.
Charlie figured the coast was clear and scooted to the back of the wagon. “Old friend,” he explained. “One who I’m pretty sure wants me dead.”
Gideon’s brow flew up. “Dead?”
Charlie peeked around the edge of the wagon, then hopped out. “Long story. We used to be, uh, in business together.” He brushed his jacket off with one hand. “By the way, I found this in your wagon.” He held up the locket and grinned. “I bet Lucy dropped it when you two were… visiting in there.”
Gideon blushed scarlet and took the locket. “Thanks.”
“No, thank you,” Charlie said. He thumped Gideon on the back, then hurried off in the opposite direction from where Chet had been heading. With any luck, he’d be able to avoid the man until his initial burst of murderous rage calmed down to…to cold, calculating manslaughter instead. There were no two ways about it, Charlie would have to watch his back for the rest of the journey.
Wise words, but easier said than done. Charlie made it no further than his own wagon before Chet stepped out from around the corner where the oxen were grazing, fury making his handsome face ugly.
“Is this some sort of revenge,” Chet growled. “Exposing me because I told your pretty wife what she already knew?”
“Keep Olivia out of this.” Charlie’s heart beat in his throat in fear of what Chet might do to Olivia if he figured out how deeply hurting her would hurt him. “It’s about you and me and Josiah’s fortune.”
“A fortune that belongs to me as much as to you.” Chet marched forward, stopping only a few feet from Charlie. “I worked as hard as you did to deserve that money.”
“Deserving it is exactly what you didn’t do.” Charlie clenched his hands into fists at his sides, the urge to protect a dead man as strong as it had been when Josiah was still alive.
“I earned that money,” Chet insisted. He blinked, his expression twisting to a toothy grin. “Old Josiah really did a number on you, didn’t he? Conned the con.”
“He was a good man.”
Chet laughed, a sick sound that rumbled up from his black soul. “What did he promise you, lifelong wealth?” He narrowed his eyes. “Salvation for your sins?”
“He didn’t promise me anything. He…he helped me, made me see that it was high time I went straight.” As much as the words needed to be said, it felt like a violation of a confidence to share them with Chet.
Chet’s sneer grew more derisive. “What was he, a father figure to you? You pitiful bastard.”
Charlie raised a fist, fully intending to rearrange Chet’s face.
“Stop right there!” Pete’s shout did just that, stopped him cold.
Charlie turned, panting and red-faced, to find Pete marching up to him, Graham limping slightly behind. What truly startled him was that Olivia was only a few feet away, a bucket of water in her hands. Her eyes were as wide as glittering moons, and judging by the solidity of her stance, she’d been there for more than a few seconds. She must have heard his exchange with Chet.
“I refuse to let this wagon train descend into chaos, and that means no fighting.” Pete stormed up to them, inserting himself between Charlie and Chet and holding out his arms to force the two to back up.
“Chaos, you say?” Chet jumped to speak first. “Then maybe you should consider kicking this black-hearted thief out of your train.”
Charlie’s heart dropped to his feet.
Pete rounded on Chet. “I just had a complaint from Martin Hulse and half a dozen other men about you.” The force of his frown wiped the smirk off of Chet’s face. “If I hear so much as a peep about you coercing money from the pioneers in my train, I’ll tie you to the nearest tree and wait for the coyotes to take care of you.”
Chet’s mouth dropped open in protest, but he bounced back fast enough to point at Charlie and say, “There’s your problem right there. You think I’m some sort of trickster? Well if I am, I learned from the best. I could give you a list as long as your arm of dark deeds that one’s done. It’s amazing the man isn’t in prison.”
Two directly conflicting instincts hit Charlie at once. He should speak up, defend himself, and throw back every dastardly deed that Chet had done in the man’s face. On the other hand, he should keep silent, take the high road, keep Olivia from being hurt any further by the past he would give anything to have fully behind. The war between the two impulses left him standing still, rigid and silent.
“I don’t care to have any sort of funny business in my wagon train.” Pete turned on Chet as Graham limped up to stand firmly behind the man, as if he was still a strong, healthy soldier with the ability to take the enemy out. Knowing Graham, he could, leg or no leg. “If I hear so much as a peep of either of you two interfering with the lives of the pioneers in my charge, you’re through. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Charlie answered, quickly and firmly. He met Pete’s eyes, hoping he could still call the man a friend and that he saw the sincerity of his promise.
Pete glanced to Chet. “I’ll behave if he does,” Chet grumbled. The ferocity of his eyes when they met Charlie’s said that everything was far from over.
“Good. Now get back to your wagon,” Pete told Chet. “I don’t want to see you talking to anyone tonight. At all.”
Chet dragged his gaze away from Charlie, nodded to Pete, then turned and marched off, jaw tight, steps clipped.
Charlie turned to go.
“Stop.”
He twisted back to face Pete. Pete’s tough stance softened by a hair, and he stepped closer. “I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you.” He nodded at Chet’s retreating back. “I don’t want to know. I make it a point to never ask about the past of the folks traveling in my wagon train, unless that past becomes a problem. Is it going to become a problem?”
“No, it is not,” Charlie promised.
Pete stared at him long and hard. A lesser man would have wilted on the spot. No wonder Pete had spent so many years escorting folks across the vast wilderness of the trail and earned himself a reputation as a safe, reliable, and fair boss.
“I’ll be honest with you,” he said. “The only reason I’m not dropping you off at Ft. Bridger and moving on is because of Olivia. She deserves better.”
Pete wasn’t talking about just the journey to Oregon.
Charlie nodded, glancing past Pete to where Olivia continued to stand still, watching them. “I promise to both of you that I will do my utmost to make sure there’s no more trouble. At least not from me.” He hesitated before adding, “I’m a new man. Everything Chet said has some truth to it, but you haven’t heard the whole truth. The point of my journey west is to start over, to become a better man. I promise you that.”
The promise was spoken directly to Olivia. She heard it, drew in a breath, then turned and marched off. Charlie didn’t bother fighting the urge to droop like a man defeated. He was defeated, in far too many ways.
To his surprise, Pete thumped him on the back. “If anyone can inspire a man to make something of himself, it’
s a good woman.”
Charlie turned his head to raise an eyebrow at Pete.
Pete shook his head. “I know that look, and I can only tell you that it’s never too late.”
“You think?”
“I know.” Pete thumped him one last time, then started to walk away. “But you’ve got your work cut out for you, son.”
Chapter Eleven
Olivia had never been so unsettled in her life, and it had nothing to do with the Hamiltons’ wagon rattling on through the Wyoming Territory, over terrain that grew increasingly steep and rocky. They were heading closer and closer to the great mountains that they would have to cross, just as she felt she was heading closer to some sort of breaking point in her life.
“I never thought I would see the day that little Olivia Walters would sit idle when there was work to be done,” Mrs. Hamilton scolded her. For a change, the middle-aged woman was the one lifting crates and sacks of flour and cornmeal out of the back of the wagon while Olivia stood still, staring at the mountains on the horizon.
As soon as Mrs. Hamilton made her comment, Olivia sucked in a breath and returned to work. “Sorry, ma’am.” She took a heavy, unopened sack from Mrs. Hamilton’s arms and piled it with the rest of the supplies a few feet away.
Although the main outbreak of dysentery was past, other, smaller illnesses had been reported by members of the wagon train. Pete, Gideon, and Dr. Pyle had assured the rest of the wagon train there was nothing to worry about, but they had also advised that the trail school be suspended until there was no trace of illness. Mrs. Hamilton wasn’t taking any chances. She’d obtained more chlorine water from Gideon, and was preparing to scrub her family’s wagon from top to bottom. Olivia had nothing to do but help her. She was right back where she’d started, little more than a servant for her mother’s friend.
Olivia took a small barrel half-filled with pickles from Mrs. Hamilton’s arms and set it beside the pile of supplies. When she straightened—hands pressed to her aching lower back—her gaze settled several yards down the line of camps on Charlie. Her heart caught in her throat.
She’d overheard almost all of the conversation Charlie and Chet had had a few days ago, when Charlie had gone around to talk to the men who were planning on investing in Chet’s timber scheme. She’d stood right there, unnoticed by either man, and listened as pages from the chapters of their past together had been laid out. It was everything she had hoped to hear, enough to crack open the door to considering that Charlie still wasn’t everything he seemed to be, but none of it had put her mind at rest. She continued to have too many questions.
Who was this Josiah that the two men had argued about? Was he the father figure to Charlie that Chet seemed to imply? If so, why was that a bad thing? Had Charlie robbed his father figure or was something else going on? She wanted so desperately to believe that there was a good, noble, and honorable explanation for everything, but her weeks on the trail were teaching her that no one and no thing was every completely good. Or completely bad.
Charlie glanced up from the barrel where he was sitting playing solitaire. He glanced around—as if he knew someone was watching him—then met Olivia’s eyes. Everything about his expression changed. His frustrated scowl was replaced by a wistful smile. His shoulder’s dropped, and he raised a hand to acknowledge her.
Cheeks flaring hot, Olivia snapped away. She marched back to the wagon. “Is there anything else that needs to be moved?” she asked Mrs. Hamilton.
“Nope. Everything that needed to come out of the wagon is out. Though if you’re itching for something to do, you might go through Bo’s and my laundry to see what needs washing and what needs throwing out. I swear, Bo hasn’t washed his socks in so long that you could fight a wolf off with them.”
Olivia grimaced and dragged herself to the pile of supplies, flipping open the lid of the Hamiltons’ trunk. The smell that wafted out of it was enough to make her turn her head. She was willing to concede that it was hard to keep things perfect and clean on the trail—though Charlie somehow still had shirts as white as if they’d been cleaned at a professional laundry—but…
The thought wandered off, and so did her attention. She dropped her arms, staring into the trunk but seeing nothing. Charlie was always so well-dressed, even in the most trying of circumstances. It was such a trivial thing to snag her heart on, but there it was. She picked up one of Mr. Hamilton’s filthy shirts with her thumb and forefinger, and grinned at the stark contrast between it and Charlie’s clothes. Even dirty, Charlie’s things had a pleasing scent to them, a scent like him.
“Nonsense,” she muttered to herself, flinging Mr. Hamilton’s shirt to the ground beside the trunk, starting a pile for laundry. Charlie was a rogue. He probably had warrants out for his arrest in half the states. Sure, he was handsome beyond even the princes in her dreams, his kisses were magic, and with his arms around her she’d felt as safe as she’d ever felt in her life, but…
She couldn’t recall if there was another thought after those. It was shameful to care about a man only because his kisses were exciting. Many a weak-minded girl had ended up in a bad way because of just such a thing. Olivia touched her fingers to her lips, then lowered her hand to twine her fingers together in her skirt. It wasn’t just Charlie’s kiss. It wasn’t just the promise of all the things that they’d never gotten around to as husband and wife. She’d heard it with her own ears, Charlie had been trying to go straight. The way he’d said so to Chet—that this Josiah person had helped him to go straight—implied that he had wanted to change his life but couldn’t do it on his own.
Or was she just making that up to excuse her wicked husband so that she could justify…justify what? Convincing him to kiss her again?
“You look like you’ve been asked to walk the rest of the way to Oregon City carrying that trunk on your back.” Olivia gasped and glanced up to see Josephine looking down at her, arms crossed, compassion in her expression. “And by the smell of it, you wouldn’t make it two more miles,” she added in a quiet voice, winking at her while Mrs. Hamilton’s back was turned.
“It’s nothing.” Olivia reached into the trunk, took out one of Mrs. Hamilton’s crumpled blouses, studied it, then threw it in the pile to wash.
“Sweetheart, I may never have married, but I’ve been around long enough to know that that look isn’t nothing.” Josephine lowered her arms. She pulled one of the Hamiltons’ boxes over and sat as Olivia continued to sort through the disgusting clothes in the trunk. “Tell me all about it.”
“There’s not much to tell.” Olivia avoided looking at her as she picked up a pair of Mr. Hamilton’s trousers. “I foolishly married a man who turned out to have a scandalous past, and now I’m stuck.” Her mind added “with him,” and her heart flopped over in her chest. She instantly frowned and scolded that ridiculousness. She couldn’t possibly be happy that she was still legally and morally bound to Charlie, could she?
“Is that all it is?” Josephine asked. “Because this is the 1860s, for gosh sakes. It’s not like when I was a girl. If you really wanted it, I’m sure Charlie would give you a divorce.”
It would have stung less if Josephine had reached out and slapped her. Heart feeling as though horses had trampled it, she lowered the petticoat she’d pulled out of the trunk and her head with it.
“Oh, so it’s not that at all,” Josephine went on so that Olivia wouldn’t have to. She sat straighter, studying Olivia with narrowed eyes. “You don’t want to get rid of him. You want to keep him.”
“No, I don’t.” The words felt like a lie on her lips. Perfect. She’d married a criminal, and now she was turning into a liar.
Josephine hummed, then leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “So it’s worse than I thought, then.”
“Worse?” Olivia peeked up, wondering what other scandalous rumors had come to light about Charlie and his past.
Josephine grinned, shaking her head. “You fell in love with him, didn’t you?”
&
nbsp; “I—” As soon as her mouth was open, Olivia shut it again and sighed. “I was charmed by him. I have come to feel affectionately about him.”
“You love him.” Josephine nodded.
Olivia contemplated arguing, insisting she could never fall in love with a liar and a cheat, but there was no point. That sliver of doubt—the fact that Charlie had made a point to tell the other men in the wagon train not to fall for Chet’s scheme, even though it put him in danger, coupled with the things she’d overheard—persisted. She shook her head.
“I came out west because I didn’t want to lose my self-respect to a marriage with a man of questionable character,” she told Josephine with a sudden burst of feeling. “It’s my own fault that I ended up doing exactly the same thing out here.”
“Well, Charlie is indeed a man of questionable character,” Josephine agreed. “But have you considered that it might not be the question that you think it is?”
“What are you talking about?” Part of her felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for an answer.
“I don’t know much about his past, and I can’t say I think much of this Chet Devlin character,” Josephine went on. “All I know is that Charlie has been helpful and honest with me. He got that brooch of mine back when Luke stole it. He’s behaved like a gentleman with you, as far as I can tell, in spite of the fact that the two of you are legally married.”
“True.” Olivia lowered her head, cheeks flushing hot. More than a few times, Charlie could have demanded his rights as her husband…and she would have given everything to him gladly. He hadn’t put her in that position. Was that because he knew that he had secrets? Secrets that should come out before a man and a woman were intimate with each other?
“He warned people off of Mr. Devlin, and from what Pete says, that wasn’t as simple a thing as it might appear to be,” Josephine went on.
“Do you think he’s in trouble?” The sudden tightness of fear was more than Olivia could handle. As soon as she asked the question, she huffed out a breath of frustration. “Why should I care so much if Charlie has put himself in danger with his own dastardly ways?”
