The Trail Master's Bride (17 page)

“Quite a handy undergarment, darlin’,” he lifted his head a fraction to say, his breath brushing warm over her hard wet nipple, “but I haven’t gotten the chance to have you completely naked, until now.” With that said, his hand slipped under her back and pulled the drawstring. As quickly, he swept her drawers down and all the way off. His hand returned to her splayed thighs and sank two fingers inside her, delving into her wet center while his thumb connected with the achy nub in front.

“Wes,” she moaned, then bit her lip, attempting to contain her cries.

“No,” he urged, as the wind roared outside. “Be as loud as you like, sweetheart, no one will hear. I want to hear your moans of pleasure and the sound of my name on your lips as you shudder with pleasure and find release in my arms.”

“Ye-es…” Halfway through, the single word turned into a long drawn-out groan as he suckled harder on her nipple, and she lost her breath when she felt his teeth bear down firmly. It became a panting, high-pitched whimper in her throat as his long fingers began sliding in and out of her womanly passage. It felt divine. Lifting her hips upward, she met each thrust of his hand. She wasn’t holding back her cries any longer and when he added a third finger, it was enough to send her over the top, calling out his name with a throaty cry.

“Gorgeous,” he growled as he aligned his hips with hers. With the hard length of him in hand, he rubbed the head of his shaft over her quivering sensitive flesh, taking a long, slow swipe before plunging inside. Once fully seated, his hands slipped under her, palming her bottom cheeks as he began thrusting deep. His hips moved relentlessly against hers, the front of his pelvis grinding into her mound with each downward stroke. Mina felt her passion catching fire again and when he began groaning, his hot breath rushing by her ear, she found herself close to exploding along with him.

A moment later, they did. This time it was Weston who called out her name, coming out in a low, rolling rumble that rivaled the thunder echoing through the storm-swept valley.

Replete, they lay in each other’s arms for a long while, lips brushing, damp skin touching, hands stroking as the tempest outside exhausted itself. As their bodies cooled, the heavens quieted and the winds died back. The driving rain waned until all that remained was a gentle drizzle.

Since it was still early evening, they lay together, talking quietly and eating their cold collation of canned beans, bacon—if Mina never saw another rasher of the salty meat or a can of brown beans in her life, it would be too soon—and day-old biscuits. The best part was the oatmeal cookie squares Mrs. Bishop had brought over the night before.

Weston told her about growing up in the Oregon Territory on the busy Columbia River. His mother had passed a few years after his younger sister was born. She’d contracted some kind of fever and had gone suddenly, leaving his father to raise two children alone. At the time, he was ten and baby Caroline was only two. A fur trapper for years, Edward Carr wasn’t home much, so he left his children often in the care of their grandparents. It was his Grampa Earl who gave him his love for horses, and taught him everything he knew about their care and how to breed them.

Mina filled in the missing parts of her past, telling him of her four sisters and their not-so-easy life in Boston. She spoke of their similar upbringing in that her mother had passed when she was five and that even though she’d lived with her father, it was her Nana Rebecca who loved and nurtured her until her passing when Mina was still a young girl.

“If not for her presence in our lives, memories of our mother’s love would have been lost to Ruth and me.” Misty-eyed, Mina shared her bittersweet remembrances of her time with nana and Ruth, stopping only when the tears overflowed. Weston held her as he kissed them away.

“It’s ironic. My father was home, though absent from my life, while yours was present, but never at home.”

“I can’t fathom your situation. In my case, my father saw us and provided for us, but had wandering in his blood. That’s what my mother used to call it. I vowed that my traveling days were over when I took a wife. I want to be both home and present for my family, like my Grampa Earl was.”

“That makes me happy, Wes. I would have liked to have met your grandfather.”

“He would have loved you, darlin’. He was rather partial to redheads, having married one. In nature, he was a lot like Ben Jacobs: a family man, patient, kind-hearted, and nurturing, although a determined man who wouldn’t put up with nonsense.”

She reached up and stroked his chin. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

“I don’t know about the patient part, but I’ll take that as a compliment, darlin’.” Rolling half on top of her, his work-roughened hands began to move over her body, easily baring her breasts from her only half-done-up blouse. “As a reward,” he said, grinning down at her hardening nipples. “I’ll demonstrate how determined and nurturing I can be.”

Weston kissed her deeply. Once she was trembling with need, he rolled them to their sides and loved her breathless. Although this was a sweet, slow joining much different from the urgency of the first, to Mina, it was equally beautiful and satisfying. But there was something extra special about drawing out the pleasure over time while her husband caressed and kissed virtually every square inch of her body that she found even more gratifying. Soon, as the darkness of night settled in, they were lulled by the sound of the rain, the contentment of full bellies, and the wonderfully relaxed state of their well-sated bodies, finding sleep while entwined in each other’s arms.

Chapter Twelve

In the morning, the wagons rolled onward. The difference between this day and countless others was they slogged through wet, muddy terrain for a change, instead of the usual dry, dusty conditions that choked their throats and left a thick covering over everything, even themselves. Despite the break from the heat and dryness, the damp and uncomfortable travelers complained. Not unusual; grumbles and cursing over practically everything had become the norm after endless days on the trail. The source of their discontent was different, however, as the drizzle came and went, the gray skies overhead appearing endless.

Leading them in the head wagon, the owners were the exception to this rule of the day. Neither one seemed to mind the mud, or the rain, or the slippery, less-than-ideal conditions. Mina and Weston took it all as it came, without grousing or nitpicking. Doubtless this came from the hand holding, heated looks, and stolen kisses they shared throughout the long day or it could have been the sense of contentment that lingered in both of them after the stormy, but glorious night they had shared.

As they trekked some two hundred miles across Snake Country toward Fort Boise, Mina decided the reports of dire conditions in the northwest desert with drought, blistering heat and death for travelers and animals alike were exaggerated. Weston assured her they were not, recalling past trips with over three solid weeks of deadly heat, the dry conditions nearly exhausting their drinking water by the time they made it to the fort. Certainly, the days were hot—it was the middle of the summer, after all—but good fortune saw fit to bless them with a summer squall every few days and once or twice, another good soaking. Not a batten down the hatches storm that forced them to stop and take shelter, but enough to cool things down and wash things off. Practically unheard of according to the stories she’d read.

That didn’t mean their travels were without mishaps, but they made it to Fort Boise in good time, and spent three days resting and restocking at one of the last outposts on the trail. The next obstacle in their path was passing through the Blue Mountains. The brown brush and dry grasses of the valley gradually turned to verdant fields and evergreen forests as they made their ascent. The high mountainous air became taxing on the animals as they pulled their loads up steep inclines, but it was the steep descents on the other side that Weston forewarned would be the most challenging.

As they made their way up a steep incline one morning, Wes called for a stop. Rest breaks were more frequently required for the livestock in the higher elevations than what was needed in the prairie and high plains. Not for the first time, as they took another steep incline, they considered themselves fortunate to have the extra oxen to help pull the load. After one particularly rough and rocky track, Weston noticed one of the team limping.

“She’s picked up a rock,” he stated while examining the oxen’s hoof. “Fetch my tools, will you, darlin’? I’d like to get this gal reshod, the team watered, and be on our way so we can get to the other side of the pass before nightfall.”

“Sure, honey,” she said with a smile as she scrambled over the seat into the back of the wagon.

At least ten minutes passed along with several shouts from him to hurry. Mina was preoccupied and didn’t answer. His voice became louder and sharper. It was also closer by and she knew without looking that he’d stuck his head in the front to see about the delay, clearly losing his patience. She went right on with what she was doing in spite of that, tossing things left and right as she searched through their belongings.

“I can’t find it,” she exclaimed as she opened the same storage chest for the tenth time. Slamming it shut, she stood with her hands on her hips, looking at the mess in frustration. “Where could it have gone?” Her mutterings of a few minutes before were rising in pitch as she moved rapidly toward panic.

“My tools?”

“No,” she snapped in frustration, “the box you gave me to keep my trinkets in after mine melted in the fire.” She pointed at a sturdy chest. “I always kept it in that box.”

“I sent you to fetch my tools, Mina.”

“They’re not here either.” She frowned at him for his lack of concern over her cameo being missing.

The ferocity of his scowl soon eclipsed her own. “What do you mean they’re not here? Did you stow them where I showed you the last time?”

“Yes,” she said offhandedly, not giving a fig about tools. “But they’re not there now. Maybe someone borrowed them.”

His head disappeared suddenly. She heard him curse and begin grumbling loudly, making it easy to follow his progress as he stalked around the wagon. In no time, he climbed in through the back. Moving past her, he pushed the mess she’d made aside with his boot as he moved to the bench to see for himself. When he also found it empty of his tools, she snorted with impatience.

“Don’t you think I looked there already? And in the other bench, inside every bin, behind every box, crate, and bag. They’re not here and neither is my trinket box.”

“I’m not appreciating your tone, darlin’.” His words were a warning as he stood, or as much as he could without hitting his head on the bonnet. Mimicking her position, both of his hands fisted on his hips as he surveyed the chaos around him.

“I was a little frustrated when I couldn’t locate the tools,” Mina explained. “Then I noticed my trinket box with nana’s cameo was missing and could think of little else. I’ll put it all back.” Agitated, her fingers rose to her throat. “Blast,” she swore, not finding the choker where it belonged. She’d taken it off weeks ago during the stifling heat, even the small strip of lace adding to her discomfort. When the weather cooled recently, she left it stored in the wagon for safekeeping. She scoffed at that notion now. “I should never have taken it off. Not after almost losing it the last time.” Agitated, one hand rose to her forehead, rubbing at the nagging headache that was forming. “Someone has to have taken them.”

Weston grunted his unmistakable disagreement with her theory. “No one would have entered our wagon, Mina, not without asking and even then they would have waited for us to fetch the tools, not rifle through our belongings on their own.”

“There is no other explanation,” she asserted.

* * *

He shook his head at the familiar tune. It wasn’t one he cared to hear again, either. It hadn’t been long since he’d spanked her for this very same thing. She’d done better since then, except lately, little things had been happening again and she seemed to be slipping back into a pattern of distracted negligence. A tin of leftover biscuits and a missing handkerchief or two could be overlooked, but his tools were something vital for their continued journey. Having them come up missing when she’d been the last one to handle them was something that had to be addressed.

“Mina,” he uttered low, not relishing what he felt compelled to do about this most recent and serious lapse.

“No! Don’t you dare even think it. I know for certain I put those tools back.” Her voice broke as tears threatened. “Someone is out to get me, or to see us at odds and is doing this to me on purpose. What’s more, nana’s cameo is gone!”

“Darlin’.”

“The widow Matheson,” she accused wildly. “She watches you like a dog coveting a meaty bone left on the supper table. She’d love for you to cast me aside and take up with her.”

“Mina.”

“Or, Mrs. Gillespie, maybe she’s getting back at me for her laundry. I offered to help her clean it all, but she was so angry she sent me away. It could also be that awful Mr. Hill. He still blames me for not properly mourning Elliott’s death. He’d like to see me suffer. Or, maybe it’s—”

“Mina, stop it!” he barked, his hands coming to her shoulders and giving her a little shake. When he continued, his voice had softened. “Listen to yourself, sweetheart. These paranoid thoughts have to stop.”

“You still don’t believe me.” Her face fell, appearing completely disheartened.

Weston couldn’t stand seeing her so crushed, but what other explanation could there be? The families had been together for four months and become close. In his experience, a thief showed his true colors early, where he could more easily scurry back to civilization with his ill-gotten gains, not on the top of the Blue Mountains in the middle of nowhere. He pulled her against his chest, growling in frustration when she tensed, her spine going ramrod straight. “I don’t have time to sort this out now. Ben will have tools I can borrow. In the meantime, clean up the mess you made and wait for me up front.”