by Tina Susedik
Heat rose from her neck to her cheeks. Sarah kept her eyes on Rose’s rump. “Well, I’m not.”
“That’s what you say.” The wheels hit a rut and Greta grabbed the side of the seat. “When a man winks, and a woman blushes at that wink, they’re both interested.”
After moving only a few feet, the wagon in front of her stopped.
“Whoa, boys.” So she hadn’t imagined it. No man had ever winked at her before. Did it mean what Greta was saying? It didn’t matter. What mattered right now was getting to Oregon City and marrying a complete stranger.
She needed to quit thinking about Mister Billabard at night as she tried to fall asleep, in the morning, or all afternoon while trudging beside her wagon.
Greta smoothed out her wrinkled skirt. “I still say you should invite him for supper.”
“And, what? Kill him with my cooking?” Sarah rested her elbows on her knees and let the reins go slack in her fingers.
“You’re getting better, my dear. Why you haven’t burned anything since . . .”
Sarah couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Yesterday morning?”
“You didn’t ruin anything this morning.”
“That’s because it’s difficult to spoil apples and hardtack.”
Greta slid sideways. Sarah squirmed at her stare. The woman was up to something. In many ways Greta reminded her of Mary. Willing to help and warm-hearted with a bit of spunk to make life interesting.
“How about if you invited him to supper tomorrow night. You can help me cook, then take the extra food to serve him. I can even keep Tommy.”
If she rustled up the courage to ask the man to supper, she definitely wanted her son as a buffer. Her feelings for the man were something she’d never encountered before. What if she said something stupid? Worse yet, what if they had nothing to talk about? Tommy never ran out of things to say.
“I don’t know, Greta. I’m not very good at talking to men.”
Her friend formed a frown. “Weren’t you married for several years? Certainly you talked with your husband.”
“Peter wasn’t much of a conversationalist.”
“I get the feeling I wouldn’t have liked your husband very much.”
Sarah shrugged. “Most people didn’t.”
“Including you?”
How did one admit she hated the man she’d married? Would Greta think badly of her? Staring at the flies flitting around the oxen’s ears, Sarah sighed. Either Greta would understand and remain her friend, or she would join the other women and ignore her.
“Peter was not an easy person.” Sarah glanced over her shoulder to make sure Tommy wasn’t listening as she explained her life with Peter. With nothing to lose, she even included being hit. Greta patted Sarah’s knee a few times, but remained silent until Sarah came to the end of her tale and Peter’s death.
“Even though life isn’t easy for a widow with a young child, seems to me you’re better off without him.”
Relief washed through Sarah. “I’m glad you understand.”
“I understand all right. Jed is my second husband.”
If Greta had said she could sprout wings and fly, Sarah couldn’t have been more surprised. “Really?”
“Yes. I was married for a year to a man my parents chose for me. He was a mean, mean drunk. Rather like your Peter.”
“What happened to him?”
“I was heavy with my first child. We’d come to town to get some necessities. He dropped me off at the dry goods store and headed for the nearest tavern. Being as big as an ox, I couldn’t carry everything, so I waited and waited. A kind gentleman finally offered to help me. When we reached our wagon, Albert staggered from the tavern and went on a rampage, accusing me of carrying on with the man who helped me.”
Greta gestured in front of her with both hands. “I could barely waddle down the street let alone take on another man. After knocking me to the ground, my husband picked a fight with him, and in his drunken state, tripped on a bucket left in the street and landed on the knife he’d pulled from his coat. The blade went straight through his mean, black heart.”
“Oh, Greta, that’s horrible. What happened to the man who helped you?”
“He’s in the wagon behind us. Became a father to my oldest and the eight that followed.” Greta wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “Best day of my life was when Jed Olson asked if he could carry my bags and offered his arm to an overweight, lumbering pregnant woman.”
Sarah shook her head. “What a lovely ending to an awful story.”
“So you see my dear, good things can come out of bad situations.”
Except for both of them marrying awful men, how did Greta’s story relate to her? Maybe she meant something good would come from tying the knot with Mister Sampson. “But . . .”
“Mommy, can I get down? It’s hot in here.”
In the distance, the mass of black moved north from the wagon train. “Not yet, honey. Hopefully soon. I see someone riding through the wagons.” From here it looked like Mister Billabard. Her heart skipped a beat and her stomach fluttered. As the rider stopped briefly at each wagon and came closer, she held back an oath and gripped the reins.
“Howdy, Miz Nickelson.” Without taking his eyes from Sarah, making her skin crawl, Horace added, “Miz Olson.”
“Mister Manny,” Greta said, her voice sharp. “What’s going on? When can we start moving again?”
He tipped back his hat, then leaned on the pommel. “Well, now, it might be an hour or so. The wagon master wants to make sure the buffalo herd has moved far enough away so’s we can shoot a few for meat and not have ‘em stampede us.” Still staring at Sarah, he continued. “I have to move on. I’ll be back later to give you ladies a hand.”
A shiver ran down Sarah’s spine. The last person she needed or wanted help from was Horace. “That’s not necessary. We’re fine.”
“Oh, but it is necessary. I understand the needs of widder women like you.” He pointed to his chest, encased in a filthy buckskin jacket. “A man like me can satisfy those needs.”
Sarah swallowed around the bile rising in her throat. How did she convince this horrible man she wasn’t interested in him? Words at his audacity didn’t come.
“You just move on now, Horace Manny, and leave Miz Nickelson alone.”
Greta’s voice was one she used to toe her children into line. Sarah sincerely hoped it worked on Horace.
He tipped his hat and winked. “See you soon, Miz Nickelson.”
Obviously the man was immune to Greta’s authoritative manners. Amazing how one man’s wink set her heart pitter-pattering and the other scared her.
“Damned man.”
“Greta! I’ve never heard you cuss before.”
Greta chuckled and glanced over her shoulder into the wagon. “Well, I do, so get used to it. I simply hold back when the children are around. There’s nothing like a good swear word to relieve tension. I only wish I could have said it to Horace. Might have shocked him into believing I mean business.”
“Maybe next time he comes around, I’ll let out a stream of curse words.” Sarah stood, hoping to see how far away the buffalo herd had moved. “I’m not sure what else to do to get him to understand that if he was the last man on this prairie, I wouldn’t be interested.”
“I’ll have Jed and my oldest boys keep an eye out for him.”
Sarah fingered the small gun hidden in the pocket of her skirt. From a distance, it wasn’t much use, but if someone like Horace got too close, it would do a far bit of damage. The rifle resting under the wagon seat wouldn’t be much help if he got the better of her. “No need for that, Greta. Tommy and I will be all right.”
“If you change your mind, let me know.” After a few seconds of silence, which was a lot for Gre
ta, she interrupted Sarah’s thoughts of shooting Horace. “So, are you going to do it?”
“Do what?” she asked, sitting back on the hard seat.
“Ask Jack Billabard to supper.”
“I probably won’t see him again today.”
Greta nudged her shoulder against Sarah’s. “Then ask him in the morning when he does his rounds. You know he’ll stop by.”
Sarah shrugged. What if he said no? What if he said yes?
Tommy poked his head through the cloth opening. “I thinks you should ask him, Mommy.”
“Ask who?”
“Ask Mister Bard to eat with us. I likes him. He’s nice. Not mean like Daddy.”
Her heart cracking, she slid over and patted the wooden seat. “Come on out here and join us, young man.” When he was safely seated between them, he leaned into her side. She wrapped her arm around him. “So you think I should invite him to supper?”
Tommy nodded into her ribs. She released a sigh so deep, she was surprised the canvas on the wagon in front of them didn’t billow out and take off into the sky. How could she fight two wise people such as her son and Greta?
“All right. I’ll do it.” She wasn’t sure how she’d summon the courage. For Tommy’s sake, she would.
Chapter 6
“Why the hell am I doing this?” Jack muttered to himself as he walked past wagons and campfires where women were cooking meals whose scents would make the fullest man’s stomach wish for more. As much as he looked forward to spending time with Sarah Nickelson, her cooking skills, or lack of them, were notorious throughout the wagon train.
On more than one occasion he’d overheard women discuss the widow’s cooking. They joked about how her husband must have died from starvation or food poisoning. Or how poor Tommy would never grow to be a tall, strong man when his mother couldn’t rustle up one decent meal for him.
Some of the women were glad Sarah was a lousy cook because she wouldn’t be able to get her hooks into their men. After all, everyone knew what widows were like. If he heard that one more time, he wasn’t going to be responsible for his actions. The few times he’d interacted with her, she’d never once tried to entice him into her lair. Just the opposite. She barely looked at him.
His stomach rumbled as he waved to families sitting around their campfires, plates of mouth-watering food resting on their knees. The closer he came to Sarah’s wagon, the more torn he became. While excited to spend more than a few minutes with her, he worried he wouldn’t be able to hide his dislike of her cooking. He patted his shirt pocket where a large handkerchief resided. Maybe a few coughing fits would mask spitting food into it. He could always burn it in someone’s fire pit.
Tommy ran up to him as he rounded the front of their wagon. Daisy followed at a more sedate pace. Had the dog gained weight? Jack thought back to the first time he’d met the Nickelsons and their dogs had run off. Not a good sign.
“Mister Bard!” Grabbing his hand, Tommy pulled Jack toward his wagon. “You really gonna eat with us tonight?”
Something heavenly wafted past his nose. Could food smelling that good taste as bad as everyone said? Bent at the waist by the fire, Sarah stirred something in a black pot. She straightened and rubbed her lower back. Every time he saw her, he couldn’t get over the feeling he’d seen her before.
“Mister Billabard.” Her smile made his heart quicken. “I’m so glad you could make it. The biscuits are done and the stew nearly finished. Would you care for some coffee?”
Besides her cooking, he’d heard her coffee was like drinking the grease used on the wheels and axles. “Umm . . .”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t make it.”
When he raised his eyebrows at her, she went on. “I know what people say about my cooking.” She jammed her hands into her apron pockets. “And they’re right. I’m a fairly good cook over a regular stove. For some reason, preparing meals over a fire has me stumped. I’d have to say you’re a brave man agreeing to eat with us, knowing I could be poisoning you or at least burning the food, leaving us with nothing to eat.”
Now, how did a man respond to such honesty? “Umm . . .” was the only thing that came to mind.
“Greta helped me. Maybe by the time this trip is over, I’ll have improved my campfire culinary skills.”
Tommy let go of his hand and stood by his mother. “I helped, too, Mommy. Remember I poured the flour?”
Sarah smoothed back his hair. “I remember, honey. And you did a good job, too.”
Why couldn’t he think of anything to say? His mind was scrambled and his tongue twisted. “Umm . . .”
Sarah’s lips turned up and her eyes twinkled. “Is that all you can say, Mister Billabard?”
“Please call me Jack.”
“I couldn’t possibly do that.”
“Why not? We don’t hold with society’s rules out here in the wilderness.”
“Really?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Then why do all those biddies in the other wagons act as if they just left the ballroom in their finest and I’m nothing more than trash?”
Shit. So, she knew what the others said about her? How did he answer? Since he had to work with those biddies and their husbands, he couldn’t very well bad-mouth them, but obviously their actions and words hurt her.
He sat on one of the low stools surrounding the fire. Plates, silverware, and cups rested on a small table dropped down from the side of the wagon. He tipped his hat on the back of his head.
“I’m sorry they’re treating you poorly, Miz Nickelson . . .”
“If I can call you Jack, I give you permission to call me Sarah.”
He nodded. “Thank you, Sarah. I think they’re simply jealous.”
Sarah frowned, then went back to stirring the stew. Dare he tell her it smelled ready? After years of cooking his own food, he knew when something was done.
Dropping the spoon into the pot, she glanced up at him. “Jealous? Why on earth would they be jealous?”
“You’re young, beautiful, and a widow. They’re afraid you’ll steal their men.”
Her face turned red, and she slapped a hand to her mouth. Maybe he’d said too much.
“They think I’m going to steal their men? Simply because I’m a widow? H—” She eyed her son. “Heck, I wouldn’t want any of those men if they were the last ones on earth. Besides, I saw Miz Johnson stealing off with a man the other night. They’re both married and not to each other.”
Jack jerked his chin toward the pot. “You might want to take that off the fire, Sarah. I think it’s starting to burn.”
He stood. Before he could help, she grabbed the handle with her bare hand and jerked back, sending the pot toppling. Its contents spilled to the ground, soaking into the dry soil in seconds.
Sarah ran to the water tank, flipped back the lid, and used the dipper to pour water over her burned hand. “Damn. I can’t do anything right.”
A tear ran down her cheek. It took everything in his power to keep from wiping it away. Instead, he gasped her hand to assess the damage. A long, angry burn crossed from one side of her palm to the other. He filled a bowl sitting on the wagon table with water and pressed her burned hand into it.
“Keep your hand in the water. Where are your eggs and honey?”
More tears pooled in her eyes. “What? You’re going to cook for us now that I ruined yet another meal?” She dropped to one of the stools. “I’m worthless, just like Peter said.”
Jack ignored her comment about being worthless. If her husband had thought that, then he must have been a real ass. “The honey and egg whites will help heal your burn.”
Sarah stared at her hand. “Oh. The eggs are in the cornmeal barrel. I wrapped my honey jars in brown fabric.”
After finding the items, he knelt
beside Sarah.
Tommy patted the back of her other hand. “It’s okay, Mommy. Mister Bard will fix your hand.”
Jack bit back a grin. The boy sounded too much like a mother soothing her injured child. After cracking open one of the eggs, he passed the contents back and forth over a plate, then tossed the yoke in the fire. As he cupped the back of her hand in his, the desire to kiss away the burn grew. As if she knew what he was thinking, she hissed in a quick breath.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No.”
When he looked into her tear-filled eyes, he saw something more than pain. Fear? Shame? Surprise? Desire? If he knew her better, he might be able to decipher her emotions.
~ ~ ~
Sarah’s emotions had wildly jumbled. Embarrassment for ruining yet another meal and burning her hand. Tenderness for the way Tommy was comforting her as if he was the adult and she the child.
When Jack placed her hand in his as though she were made of the most delicate glass, her stomach muscles jumped, her heart stuttered, and breathing became difficult. Through the tears, she became lost in his eyes. The clatter of dishes, humming of voices, and animals making their evening noises receded into the background. Even with Tommy beside her, it was as if she and Jack were the only ones left on the prairie.
Without breaking eye contact, he spread egg white across her burn. Almost instantly the pain receded, leaving a dull throb, rather like the one in her lower regions of her body, a feeling new, exciting, and scary all at the same time. On top of the egg whites, he dabbed the honey. A thought came to her as she glanced at the concoction on her palm.
“All I need is some flour and we might have something to eat.” Even with the soothing mixture of honey and egg whites and Jack’s gentle touch, her palm ached, and not from the burn. What would his fingers feel like against her body? Would they be repulsive like Peter’s or thrilling, the way they’d felt in her dreams? Her nipples hardened.
