Frontier Courtship (4 page)

Gathering what breath she could muster, Faith struggled to get her feet back under her. She glared up at him. “Stop! That hurts!”

He just laughed. Tucker’s meaty hand dwarfed her wrist and her fingers were already turning white from his tight grip. Surely, Charity had told him about her injuries! Therefore, he must be inflicting this horrible pain on purpose.

Suddenly, a buckskin-clad arm shot past her shoulder. A stalwart hand closed like a vise on Tucker’s thick wrist, forcing the man to his knees in the wagon bed. The captain let go. His adversary did not.

Faith, clinging to the wheel for needed support, knew instantly who had come to her rescue. The glimmer of fear in Ramsey Tucker’s eyes was a truly blessed sight to behold!

The plainsman’s voice rumbled. “Are you hurt?”

Rubbing her wrist, she backed away from the wagon. Pure truth could do irreparable damage. Like it or not, without the captain’s guidance, she and Charity would never make it all the way to California.

Faith made the necessary choice. “No,” she gasped. “I’m fine. There’s no problem here. Captain Tucker and I just had a little misunderstanding.”

The plainsman regarded Faith, his doubt evident. “You’re sure everything is all right?”

“Positive.” She labored to make her voice sound stronger, more convincing. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was just about to get into this wagon and start back to the train. We’re pulling out soon.”

“Whatever you say.”

He released Tucker’s wrist, nodded to them both and started away without further debate. Faith could tell he didn’t believe her assertion. Not for one minute. And no wonder. The statement, though partially true, had burned on her lips it was such a blatant lie.

She squared her shoulders. With her left arm held tightly against her waist and side, she faced Tucker. She knew there was loathing in her expression. “Back off and I’ll get in.”

“You meant what you told him? Well, well.” Chuckling with satisfaction, he offered his hand.

Faith gritted her teeth, gathered her skirts, put one foot on the step and managed to boost herself aboard without his help.

“I need a ride and you’ve come to fetch me. That’s all,” she said icily, wrapping her skirts around her legs so they wouldn’t touch even a smidgen of Tucker’s person. “Nothing else has changed between us.”

He slapped his knee, guffawing rudely. “Feisty little thing, aren’t you? Aw right. If it’s a wagon ride you fancy, a wagon ride you’ll get.” Lowering his voice, he added, “Other kinds of things, you and me’ll discuss after you’ve healed up.”

Faith’s face flared in anger and embarrassment. Of all the insulting, vulgar…She held her temper, saying nothing. Tucker had the upper hand, for now. Someday, though, she’d best him.

She swore it on her mother’s grave.

C
onnell stomped down the street, pulling his hat lower over his eyes to shade them from the morning sun. It was going to be another scorcher. Pretty normal for this time of year hereabouts.

A green spring wagon clattered past, stirring up a cloud of dust. Ramsey Tucker rode the driver’s seat. Beside him, her back ramrod straight, her bonnet strings blowing behind her, sat Faith Beal. The bad blood between her and the captain was as thick as flies on a dead buffalo, so why had she insisted on letting him have his way?

Connell cursed under his breath. Why should he care? He had enough trouble already. He had to find Irene.

Pushing on the door to the saloon, he paused a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim light. The place was sure busy. Him, he’d rather have a steak than a slug of whiskey for breakfast. But here was where the drovers from the Tucker train had congregated, so here he’d stay. At least as long as they did.

What few chairs and crude benches the place had to offer were already taken. Connell leaned against the far, canvas-covered wall with some other latecomers and studied the crowd.

A short, slight man with a wary look in his eyes and a Colt revolver stuck through his belt sidled up to him and spoke. “You’re not with the Tucker train, are you?”

Connell shook his head. “No. Why?”

“Just wondered. It’s a big outfit, but I didn’t think I’d seen you before.”

“I rode in alone. You?”

“Lookin’ for a party going back to Missouri,” the thin man said. When he smiled, Connell saw he was missing his front teeth. It didn’t look like they’d been gone very long either, judging by his swollen lips and gums.

Noting the focus of Connell’s glance, the man closed his mouth as tightly as his injuries would allow. “Saw you face up to the cap’n this mornin’. Wished it’d been more of a fight. He needs to be taken down a peg.”

“You know him?”

“Too well.” The man rubbed his jaw. “Too blamed well.”

Nodding, Connell reached into his pocket for the miniature of Irene and held it out in his palm. “Ever see her before? Last trip, maybe?”

“Your woman?”

“Irene Wellman. My intended.”

“Nope. Sorry. You might ask them two by the door. If she was ever with Tucker, they’d know. They been his drovers for years.”

“Which ones?”

“Tall, fat fella with the beady eyes in the black vest and beat-up gray hat is Stuart. The shorter, weasely one next to him is Ab. He walks, you’ll see he limps a might. Understand he got hurt around St. Jo last trip.”

The hair on the back of Connell’s neck was bristling. “What makes you think my Irene might have been with Tucker?”

“It figures. You been payin’ a lot of attention to the captain’s affairs. If it was me and I was lookin’ for my intended, I’d start backtracking. Her trail lead you here, did it?”

Connell took a chance that the man really did have a grudge against the wagon boss. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Thought so. Word is, Tucker has a bad reputation with women. No offense, but was your lady the kind to change her mind about waitin’ for you and marry up with a fella like him, instead?”

“Marry
him?
” Remembering his recent meeting with the wagon boss, he didn’t see how any woman would consider agreeing to such a marriage bond.

“No. Irene isn’t like that,” Connell said. “We’ve known each other since we were children. If she’d changed her mind, she’d tell me straight out.”

“Well, like I said, if it was me, I’d talk to Ab and Stuart. You never can tell.” Pulling his battered brown felt hat lower, he used the floppy brim to partially hide his face. “Just don’t let on I sent you, all right?”

Palming the miniature, Connell agreed. He began at the closest end of the bar for his informant’s sake, asking after Irene as he worked his way along. By the time he reached the door, the fat man named Stuart was already gone. Ab, the weasel, seemed ready to bolt as well.

Connell touched the brim of his hat. “Morning.”

“Mornin’.” The shifty-eyed little man glanced toward the open door and shuffled his feet.

“I wonder if you could tell me…?” As Connell lifted the portrait, the man looked the other way, muttered something about being late and darted out the door.

Tucking Irene’s image away in an inside pocket with her last letter, Connell followed. He was in time to see the two drovers mount up and ride. For fellows who were just honest, hardworking hands, they were acting awfully suspicious. If they didn’t know anything about Irene, why refuse to look at her picture?

He swung easily aboard Rojo and trailed them at a distance. They made a dash straight for the Tucker train, then split up. The shorter man stopped at one of the wagons to help a lone woman harness a mule team. The same woman Connell had rescued twice.

Pondering all he’d learned, he squared himself in the saddle to watch and think. It was starting to look like the key to locating Irene might lie in that wagon train. Her last letter to him had been written while she was at Fort Laramie and she had mentioned a Captain T., without actually spelling out the man’s name.

Beyond that clue, Connell had no other leads. Perhaps a kind Providence was trying to tell him something. He had planned to follow the same trail the wagons did, anyway. Why not do it as an actual member of Tucker’s train?

Once the wagons were lined out and rolling, Connell figured he’d simply ride along by the Beal rig and offer his services. He already knew the women needed a driver. If he kept his eyes and ears open, someone might inadvertently give him a clue to Irene’s whereabouts. And in the meantime, he’d be able to keep a close eye on Miss Faith and her addlebrained sister.

It never occurred to him she might turn down such a sensible offer.

Riding drag for the first hour, Connell figured he’d picked up enough trail dust in his beard to grow potatoes. Shaking it off as he cantered forward, he drew up beside Faith’s wagon. There was no sign of her sister.

He tipped his hat. “Morning.”

“Good morning.” Her glance was cursory. “If you came to judge whether or not I was capable of handling my team, you can plainly see that I am.”

“Oxen would be better for a hard crossing like this,” Connell said, trying to steer their conversation in another direction. “You could pull a much bigger wagon.”

“I grew up with two of these mules, the lead jack, Ben, and one of the jennies. The other two came cheap. A good ox cost more than I could afford. So did a Conestoga.” She eyed him curiously. “Now that we’ve discussed my livestock, why are you really here?”

“Just passing by.”

“In the middle of the plains? Really, Mr. McClain.”

“Hush. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t use my name.”

“Why not?”

Connell shot a glance at the empty portion of the seat beside her. “Your sister isn’t with you?”

“Not at present. You haven’t answered my question.”

“May I come aboard?”

“No! I told you, I’m perfectly able.” She heard him mutter a string of epithets that reminded her of her father’s mood just prior to his leaving for the gold fields. Before she could protest further, Connell had urged his horse closer and stepped off onto the wagon seat as easily as if he did it every day.

His presence crowded more than her body. Her senses were full of him: his earthiness, the scent of the soap he’d obviously applied so liberally while at the fort. And his strength! Oh, my! He exuded the power, the controlled force of someone who knew his extraordinary capabilities and took care to harness them as long as he deemed necessary.

To her relief and surprise, he didn’t try to wrest the lines from her. Still, she ordered, “Get out of my wagon.”

“No.”

“It’s not fitting for you to be here or to talk to me that way.”

He lowered his voice. “If I’d come to court you, Miss Beal, you’d be right. But I have no such intentions. I’m here to speak to you man-to-man…as much as possible. So please keep your voice down and try to look relaxed.”

Staring ahead, he propped one booted foot up near the brake and laced his fingers together around his knee. “You’re going to hire me.”

“I’m
what?
” Faith’s voice squeaked. She was still struggling to digest his odd suggestion that they speak man-to-man.

Connell laid a finger across his lips. “Shush. Some of Tucker’s people might hear you.”

“What if they do? I have no intention of hiring anyone. I already made that quite clear.”

“I know, I know. You’re a regular mule skinner. Fine. Say that’s true. Who’s going to spell you along the way? Your sister?”

Faith pulled a face. “You know better.”

“Ab or Stuart, then?”

She scowled over at him. “How do you know them?”

“I get around.”

“They used to help me out. The last time Tucker beat poor Ben, I stood up to him and caused him to lose face, so now he doesn’t want either of them to come near me. This morning, Ab helped me harness up and the captain flogged him across the shoulders for his trouble.”

“Nice fella.”

Faith couldn’t help agreeing with the sarcastic observation. “I wish my sister didn’t really believe that.”

Taking off his hat, Connell ran his fingers through his thick hair to comb it back. “That’s the only part that’s got me buffaloed.”

“What does?” She was so caught up in their strange conversation she was almost able to forget the shooting pain in her side every time the wagon hit a rut or bounced over a depression.

“Mrs. Morse tells me Tucker’s been acting interested in your sister. I can’t figure out why. Not that she isn’t a pretty little thing.”

Faith kept her familiar twinge of sibling rivalry to herself. For as long as she could remember, people had remarked how lovely her younger sister was.

“Charity is comely,” she said.

“So’s a butterfly, but men don’t go around courting them. No. There’s got to be something else.” He pondered a bit, then shook his head and replaced his hat. “Blamed if I know. From what I’ve heard about Tucker, he only goes after women of considerable means.”

Faith gasped, nearly dropping the reins. “Oh, no! Why didn’t I think of that?”

Connell reached over and relieved her of the lines without incurring any protest. “Think of what?”

“The mining claim.”

“What claim?”

Faith shifted her body sideways. She wanted to watch her companion’s expression while revealing the family secret. “Papa’s been gold prospecting. Last we heard, he’d been quite successful. I’ll bet Charity told Tucker. She’s just foolish enough to have spoken out of turn.”

Connell’s eyebrows raised. “So that’s why you’re headed west by way of Sacramento City.”

Since they hadn’t yet come to the place where either of the trails to California branched off from the Oregon trail, she was surprised he knew. “Yes, but how…?”

“I’ve been asking around and keeping my ears open. Same as anybody could do. Chances are, Ramsey Tucker’s not the only one who’s heard about your papa’s good fortune by now, either.”

“Oh, dear.”

She grasped the wagon seat and held on tight while they jostled across an unusually rough area. The wagon creaked with the stress. Late spring rains and the passage of earlier wagons had left deep, uneven ruts. Now that drier weather had come, the roughness bound the wheel rims and put a twist on the wagon’s undercarriage that made it squeal in protest.

“I’ll work for
found,
” Connell offered, expounding on his original offer. “You won’t be the first traveler to need extra help on the trail. Just feed me and give me a place under the wagon to sleep and we’ll call it even.”

“I couldn’t do that,” Faith said flatly. “It wouldn’t be fair to you. It’s been over a year since my father’s last letter home. We may not even be able to locate him when we reach California. I couldn’t guarantee any pay, even then.”

“I never asked for it,” he countered gruffly.

Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew the miniature of Irene and held it up. “See this woman? Her name is Irene Wellman. We’ve been friends since we were children. She disappeared on her way to marry me. I figure, if she was traveling with Tucker on his last trip, she probably mentioned my name plenty. That’s why I didn’t want you to use McClain. I don’t want anybody to get suspicious and shut up before they can spill useful information.”

Gently, reverently, Faith took the picture. The woman was young, in her early twenties from the look of it, and pretty in a plain sort of way.

“After my mother died,” Connell said, “I lived with Irene’s family for a few years and we grew close. She gave me that picture when we parted and we pledged to marry someday. I was sixteen and headed for the mountains to make my fortune trapping. By the time I finally sent for her, she’d decided her bounden duty was to help her father care for her invalid mother, instead.”

“What does all this have to do with me?” Faith asked.

“Irene and I kept in touch as best we could. After her parents both died she had no family left, so she finally wrote and agreed to come to California to join me. That was a year ago. Far as I can tell, she never reached Salt Lake. Nobody will admit to knowing what happened to her.”

“And you think Tucker may be responsible? Why?”

“Because he’s the most likely prospect I’ve come across, for starters. The only connections I’ve been able to come up with are the first initial of his last name and the funny way his drovers started acting when I was asking about Irene. I know it isn’t much to go on, but it’s all I have. I need this job so I’ll be in a position to learn more.”

Faith gave back the miniature, sighed and turned to face the west where heaven-knows-what awaited her. How awful not to know for sure what had happened to a loved one. Was wondering worse than knowing the worst? She thought it might be.

Her mind made up, Faith held out her hand. “All right. Shake on it,” she said. “You’re hired.”

As soon as there was an easy opportunity to do so, Connell pulled the Beal wagon out of line. Halting the team, he called to Rojo. The gelding responded by obediently trotting up.