The Trail Master's Bride (7 page)

“Dang, woman,” he rasped. “It’s boiled away to nothing but sludge. How much coffee did you put in the pot? And how long did you set it to boil for that matter?”

Stung by yet another culinary failure, with Weston comparing her coffee to sludge as Elliot had, Mina bristled. “I warned you.”

He didn’t respond, too busy guzzling water from his canteen. Once he had stopped wheezing and choking, he grabbed the towel she’d been using for a hot pad and pulled the skillet out of the fire. He flipped the cake over, expecting it to fall on the plate he held. He waited, shaking it a bit to get it to come out, though nothing happened. Taking up a wooden spoon, he banged on the back of the skillet. Still, nothing. He ended up scooping it out with the spoon, the overcooked, dry cornbread crumbling and falling apart on top while the thick black crust adhered to the bottom of the pan.

“Jo-fire, you did warn me, but darlin’, I reckoned you were kidding.” He chuckled as he looked at her in amazement. “My kid sister was cooking up a storm over a campfire by the time she was ten.”

Humiliated and hurt, she pushed to her feet. “Well, it’s a sorry shame she isn’t here to do it now, then isn’t it.”

“I was teasing, Mina. Sit back down.”

“No, I’m going for a walk.”

“No,” he echoed back, reaching up and grabbing her hand, his tone firm, “you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.” She twisted her arm and broke free of his hold.

Through narrowed eyes, he looked up at her and said in a stern tone, “It’s nearly dark and I don’t want you wandering off. I’ll clean the skillet and show you how to fry up the fish. It won’t take long at all.”

He wasn’t yelling or calling her names as Elliott had, but the sting of her late husband’s abuse was too fresh and this a very near reminder.

“I’ve suddenly lost my appetite, for both the food and the company,” she announced as she turned and stomped away.

“Mina.” The low tone of his voice was a warning, but she ignored it. “Come back here, now.”

Hurriedly, she rushed past the circle of wagons and headed toward a small copse of trees by the river, deciding it was best to cool off both her body and her temper before going back to camp.

When she was shy of her goal by a few feet, a large hand caught her arm and spun her around.

“I can see I didn’t make myself clear, little lady, when I told you I expect you to do as I say, when I say. I especially don’t like being ignored when I give an order.”

She glared up at him, still feeling the bite of his words, no matter if they were said in teasing. In her pique, she foolishly disregarded the darkening of his eyes, the hard line of his mouth, and the tense set of his broad shoulders.

“I beg your pardon,” she snapped, not the least bit contrite. “You may have appointed yourself my keeper, but you are neither my husband nor my father. Furthermore, I’m a grown woman who doesn’t need to be told what to do. I also don’t take kindly to orders and insults, particularly those given by an insensitive braying jackass.” Mina yanked on her arm, but this time his fingers held firm. “I was going to wash up before bed, if you don’t mind.”

“As a matter of fact, I do mind.” She blinked in surprise as he leaned down and put his face next to hers. “I mind a woman stomping off in a huff in the dark, unescorted. I mind a woman ignoring orders for her safety. I mind having to babysit a greenhorn tenderfoot who doesn’t know better than to take off by herself in the middle of Indian Territory. And, I mind being saddled with a brat to play daddy to for another eighteen hundred miles, so we are going to nip this behavior in the bud, here and now.” He pulled her along toward the trees.

“Wait. Where are you taking me?”

“You wanted to run off? Fine. The trees will be the perfect place for me to teach you a little lesson on how things will be now that you’re under my protection.”

He stopped by an uprooted tree and without releasing her, seated himself on the fallen trunk. The next instant, her belly hit his hard thighs and her view of the world inverted, what she could see of it, that is, through the hem of her skirt, which was suddenly flung over her head. She yelped as a sharp smack landed on her upraised bottom. Before her brain could formulate words to lodge a protest, his hand fell again, and again. The sting was breathtaking and in her shock, it was all she could do to sputter unintelligible sounds of dissent. Relentlessly, his hard, broad hand fell on her vulnerable bottom, her thin drawers and one petticoat providing little barrier to the crack of his palm.

“Stop!” she gasped, struggling against his hold. The iron band around her waist didn’t give an inch, only tightened.

“I’m not stopping until I whup some sense into your foolish, risk-taking, city-girl head.”

Mina kicked and pushed with her hands against his unforgiving hold to no avail. Another ten swats, maybe as many as twenty fell before she exhausted herself against his hold and lay unmoving over his lap. Tears of humiliation had long since welled up in her eyes and spilled over.

It was at that point he ceased the spanking. The next moment she found herself upright and seated on one of his hard thighs. He grasped her chin and tilted her face up to his. His thumb swept over her cheeks, collecting the tears that had fallen, whisking them away. It was a tender gesture she hadn’t expected. Never having received such consideration before, particularly on top of a spanking, her head whirled in confusion.

“Have I made it clear who’s in charge here?” His tone was stern, though his anger seemed lessened considerably.

She nodded, although that didn’t seem to satisfy.

“Say it, Mina. Whose orders do you follow from here on out?”

“Yours, sir,” she whispered, the burn in her bottom fresh enough to contain any consideration of a sharp-tongued response.

“That’s right. As I said, Mina, I’ll protect you with my life, but you have to help me do that by following the rules.” He set her on her feet and stood. With his hands on her shoulders, he bent and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I don’t want to be harsh with you, Mina; nonetheless, you can expect more of the same for any future defiance. Is that also clear?”

She nodded. “I’m sorry. Elliott called my coffee sludge, too.” Her voice cracked on the last few words, then to her horror, she burst into wails loud enough to carry across the prairie and cause a buffalo stampede.

“Darlin’,” he murmured, pulling her into his chest. “I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have teased.”

Feeling alone and despairing, she clung to him, her hands fisting in his shirt. He held her, stroking her back and whispering softly not to fret until her tears finally slowed. His hands cupped her cheeks and tilted her face up to his, wiping her tears away again as he did so. “We need to learn to get along, Mina. Unfortunately, your fuse is short.”

She stiffened.

“Wait, let me finish. You’re very sensitive and tend to fly off the handle without hearing things through. I on the other hand have a slow burning fuse, except when my directives are ignored and in the face of outright defiance. Knowing that, can we move forward with more consideration of the other?”

Sniffling, she nodded. “I promise to try, Mr. Carr, although I really am a deplorable cook.”

“I’ll teach you and won’t tease any more now that I know that’s a sore spot. And, I think you can drop all the mister business. My name is Weston.”

She offered him a tremulous smile; even after their blowup, he was being kind and caring, which was another thing she was unused to. He returned her smile, his growing into a grin, his perfect white teeth gleaming in the moonlight. She couldn’t help lowering her gaze and watching. Truly, he had a beautiful mouth.

The next thing she knew, she was wrapped in his arms and his lips met hers. Firmly, his mouth brushed over hers and she swore… Was that his tongue stroking along her lower lip? Robbed of breath, her knees went weak. Too soon, he lifted his head.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he said softly, sounding a bit breathless himself. “The way you were looking at my mouth, like you wanted a taste, I couldn’t help but oblige.”

Embarrassed, she stiffened and pulled away, thankful for the cover of darkness, knowing at that moment that the color of her face surely matched the red tint of her hair.

He let her go, but not very far. “Now that the excitement is over, let’s go see about those fish.”

With a hand on her lower back, he began to lead her back to the camp and froze. She glanced up at him in question. Upon seeing him staring up ahead, her eyes followed. Heat of embarrassment licked up her neck and spread across her face when she saw nearly the entire wagon train had gathered nearby. Some of the women’s mouths were gaped open, others were frowning in obvious disapproval; most of the men, except for the reverend, were smothering grins and laughter, all without a doubt having witnessed her punishment and the kiss that followed.

Mina’s first inclination was to flee and hide for a month of Sundays. However, the strong arm that held firm to her waist wouldn’t allow her to move from his side.

“The show’s over folks; head on back to camp.” He then led Mina past them as if they hadn’t seen her with her skirt over her head and his hand on her behind or his tongue on her lips. Whispers and undertones followed in their wake.

“He uncovered her drawers, did you see?”

“A widow no more than a few days. Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

“Her husband not cold in the ground and she’s carrying on with another.”

She choked at the condemnation and tried to pull free of his grasp.

“Ignore it,” Weston said in a low voice, not stopping.

“Impossible, they saw my petticoats, and your hand…”

“I’m sure everyone has witnessed a spanking before.”

“Not one given to a new widow by the wagon master, surely! I’m humiliated, my reputation in shreds, and it’s all your fault.”

“There is no fault here. It’s no one’s business except ours what went on, and if you don’t make a fuss over it, this will blow over in no time.”

Despite his conviction, Mina knew better.

Chapter Six

“Is this really necessary?”

“Yes, Mina. Now, quit fussing and try again.”

“But my arm is sore. This gun is too heavy for me. I need something lighter.”

Tired of her complaining, Weston countered, “I reckon if you don’t like that gun, I’ll simply head over to the armory and pick you up another. I believe there’s one behind that outcropping of bushes to your right. How convenient that someone built one just for you right smack dab in the middle of the prairie.”

Her bottom lip quivered the slightest bit as if she was going to pout and he immediately regretted his sarcasm. He forgot sometimes that she was more bluster than bite.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you, darlin’. Just try again, like I showed you.”

Mina swung back to the targets he’d set up about one hundred feet in the distance and took aim again. She pulled the trigger and as with the previous twelve rounds, jerked as the gun discharged, the recoil sending her back into his chest.

Once the six-shooter was empty, she handed him the revolver, using the proper way he showed her with the grip forward. When he didn’t take it, she grabbed his hand and pressed it into his palm.

“I’m finished for the day.”

“Not until I say.”

“Do you enjoy humiliating me?” she demanded, as she pushed past him.

He caught her elbow and swung her back. “I know you don’t like this, Mina, but it’s important you know how to protect yourself, if I can’t.”

Her eyes flashed up to his in alarm. “Were you planning to go somewhere?”

“No, though what if I’m out scouting or on watch, and it becomes necessary to defend yourself?”

She reached up and rubbed her shoulder. “I’m not sure I can do this. It really hurts.”

He moved behind her, curled his fingers around her shoulder, and began massaging the tight muscles underneath. “Maybe we should try a shotgun. You only have to get close with buckshot.”

“That’s even heavier, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I can adjust the load to diminish the recoil.”

“All that sounds like Greek to me. In English, what does it mean?”

He chuckled. “We can get into the details tomorrow. Since you’re hurting, shooting lessons are over for today,” he agreed. “You can go on back and start supper. You’ll need to collect fuel for the fire first. Make sure you get enough for breakfast, too. We got a late start since you had to fetch it this morning.”

He couldn’t see her face as she stomped away, but imagined it was the same one she made yesterday when he explained the newest chore added to her daily routine. They were days past Fort Kearney, heading north along the Platte River, which was a murky, muddy shallow river with water too foul too drink and bathe in. The prairie here was arid, the earth dusty and dry, which meant the grasses were shorter and trees scarce. That also meant firewood was scarce. Thus, she was charged with collecting buffalo dung to fuel their cook fires.

The look of disgust on her face when he’d told her was unsurpassed and she’d gone about her task wearing a similar expression. As the memory replayed in his head, he couldn’t keep from laughing now, thoroughly amused by the little soft-horn. Unfortunately, she heard and apparently mistook the source of his humor because Weston was sure she was grumbling to herself; words like bossy, high-handed, arrogant, and one, if he’d been one hundred percent certain that she’d said it, would have earned her a talking to or more. A word not fit for a lady’s lips, one that he’d used in a fit of anger growing up that had earned him a cake of soap in his mouth.

She was a spitfire, all right, and amused him no end. He was growing fond of her, despite her being a pain in his ass. She had a temper and lacked any sort of pioneer skills, but he found it a pleasure sparring with her and teaching her new tasks, because it meant he got to spend time with her. Mina wasn’t stupid, as her husband had implied. She’d already conquered coffee, which wasn’t really genius skill level, and moved on to bacon without added salt, as well as corncakes and bison stew. In addition to being bright, she had a quick wit, when her acerbic tongue didn’t take control of what came out of her beautiful mouth. Her husband just hadn’t appreciated her, or taken the time to explain how things were done—the horse’s ass.