The Trail Master's Bride (8 page)

Looking after her as she stomped away, his body tightened when his eyes dipped to her rounded bottom, which in her agitation made her skirts swish back and forth. She seemed to sashay rather than stomp across the field to their wagon. He longed to have it under his hand again, yet not for a paddling, but for something much more enjoyable. He also yearned to kiss her again, but not as chastely. He wanted to dip his tongue inside and taste her, to see if she was as sweet as the promise of her berry pink lips.

He groaned, bending to pick up his satchel of extra ammunition while trying to put thoughts of kissing Mina Hobart and holding her sweet backside in his hands from his mind. The tightness in his groin expressed what he knew to be true since he’d met her. Forgetting the pretty little easterner was easier said than done.

* * *

The next day before dark, he led her away from the wagon circle, yet again, to the targets he’d set up for another lesson. With brows drawn close and her usually full, soft lips compressed into a tight line, she eyed the much larger gun skeptically. She didn’t need words to express that she expected today’s shooting would be no better than the day before. He ignored her misgivings and started right in.

“This is a Remington ten-gauge shotgun. It doesn’t require as much skill as the pistol, though you do have to be closer to your target. I’d prefer a long-range rifle, but you’re nowhere near ready for that. If you aim at the widest part of the body, you’re sure to hit something that will hurt and hopefully incapacitate.”

“Why is that?”

“Because of the scattershot I have loaded. Once it leaves the barrel, it splits apart and sprays smaller pellets at a high rate of speed. You’ll hit something, as I said, as long as your aim is close to the target.”

He showed her how to hold it and all the different parts of the gun.

“It has a bit of a kick, but I’ve got a light load, so maybe it won’t knock you on your backside. I’ll stand behind you for support just in case.”

Frowning at his comment, he knew right away what she was thinking. “Don’t fret, Mina. I won’t let you land in the dirt. Go ahead and give it a try.”

She wedged the butt against her shoulder as he’d demonstrated, bent her head, and sighted along the barrel. He noticed the tremble in her finger as it hesitated over the trigger. She did the worst thing she could do, next. She closed her eyes as she squeezed.

Naturally, she missed, though she kept on her feet. Squinting at the cans he had lined up on a stump fifty feet away, her brows knit together. “I’m never gonna get the hang of this.”

“If you can’t see your target, Mina, you can’t hit it. Try again with your eyes open this time.”

She tipped her head back, her blue eyes wide. “I hadn’t realized I’d closed them.”

Looking down the barrel once more, she fired. With a pinging noise, the tin can flew clear off the stump. “I hit it!” she cried excitedly. “Mr. Carr, did you see?”

At her exuberance, he grinned down into her upturned face. “Sure enough, darlin’.” Wanting to hear his name from her lips, he added, “And please, call me Weston.”

Her smile slipped a bit. “Oh, no. I don’t think that would be proper.”

He laughed. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. I hardly think the propriety police are going to find out.” At her blush, he stopped teasing. “Let me show you how to reload and you can try again.”

After a half an hour had passed, she had hit seven out of ten of her targets and become more comfortable with loading and handling the gun.

“Well done, Mina. More than passable for a first time.”

She beamed at his praise and it was all he could do not to pull her close and devour that tempting mouth.

“What’s next?”

“You gathering more fuel and getting supper on.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s all I ever do anymore. Gather buffalo dung and dead grass.” Her nose wrinkled up in distaste. “I think cold biscuits and bacon will do nicely for supper.”

“Nope. We need to eat those bison steaks the Gillespies gave us or they’ll spoil. We’ll save the bacon for when we don’t have fresh game.”

“It’s tough as old shoe leather and tastes about as good. Applesauce, biscuits, and bacon, I think.”

“No, Mina. We can’t afford to let food go to waste. It’s a long haul to the next trading post at Fort Laramie. Cook the steak with the potatoes and onions into a stew and it won’t be so tough. I’ll join you right before dark.”

He recognized the end of her good mood by the mulish set to her mouth and her flush of indignation. If he had the luxury to allow her a night off, he would. Food was food, nevertheless, and meat freely given a rare commodity. With his other duties, which included keeping an eye on Mina, he didn’t have much time for hunting. She’d have to manage. His orders given, he stooped to pack up his gear.

“I think not,” she said, distinctly miffed. “What will you be doing while I’m sweltering over a hot fire? Shooting the breeze with Jeremy? I’m tired of fetching buffalo muck, blistering my fingers on hot cast iron, and bathing in a tin basin at night. I’m also tired of this hot, dusty purgatory I have been sent to for some reason. Tonight, I’m relaxing with biscuits and bacon.”

Her defiance shifted her pique to him. He stepped in close, towering above her much smaller frame as he set the record straight over how it was going to be.

“Let me make something perfectly clear, little lady. You cook, do the wash, gather fuel for the fire, and help set up and break camp, in addition to whatever other tasks I set for you. I drive, see to the cattle, hunt and fish when I can, and prep the meat, which is something the woman ordinarily does. Apparently, you didn’t understand all this when I laid it out before. This may or may not be your life once we reach Oregon, that’s still undecided. Until we get there, purgatory or prairie, whatever you call it, this is your life and you’ll have to make the best of it. As for me, I’m never off shooting the breeze with Jeremy. As the guide and trail master, I have extra duties beyond what the other men have. I scout, guide the train, arbitrate disagreements, set the watch, and see to the safety of every man, woman, and child on this train. I also must ensure that we keep to a reasonable timetable so we don’t find ourselves in the middle of the Cascades in early fall with two feet of snow to deal with, which let me make perfectly clear is deadly. If that isn’t enough, on a daily basis, I get to deal with a bellyaching brat who was dumped in my lap. What’s more, she can’t seem to realize this isn’t Boston and the servants aren’t going to tote and fetch for her anymore. Now, I’ve set you a task and expect it done without any more lip. Understand?”

Before he said more or really lost his temper, he walked away without waiting for answer. He’d taken no more than three or four steps when something hit him square in the back with a thud, stopping him mid-stride. After a brief pause, he slowly turned back. As he did, another projectile came his way and struck him dead center in the chest. Gawking down at the dark brown smudge on his shirt, his eyes came up, absolutely amazed at her gall.

“Did you just throw dung at me?” He asked the obvious, completely flabbergasted that she would throw anything, let alone excrement at him.

“I want to make something clear to you, oh, mighty wagon master. Never in all of my twenty years did I imagine a life such as this, so excuse me if I don’t jump for joy at the chores you have assigned. Gathering animal dung on the prairie was not my lifelong dream. So if I’m irritable, or uncertain, or if I need a night off from blistered fingers while I cook for you, you’ll just have to put up with it and my bratty bellyaching.”

Unable to get over the fact that she had thrown shit at him—twice—he heard her words, but they didn’t register. “I asked a question, Mina. Did you just throw buffalo dung at me?”

“I did, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Have a good night.”

To his out-and-out disbelief, she walked away from him. He saw red. Just who did the little brat think she was, hurling shit at him? He was after her lickety-split, catching up with her at their wagon. Without another word, he propped his boot upon the wheel and pulled her face down over his thigh. As she kicked and screamed, he hauled up her skirt and petticoat, leaving her thin white drawers in place. Although fit to be tied, he noticed how the linen pulled across her hips and thighs in this position. Reminding himself why she was upended, for an excellent reason at that, he proceeded to wear her tail out.

Swatting her no less than thirty times, he paid no heed to her fussing and squirming. As the first ten landed, she cussed a blue streak. By the second set of ten, she was apologizing and pleading for him to stop. The last ten were accompanied by sniffles and promises to never do it ever again.

At thirty, his ire had abated enough to set her back on her feet, taking hold of her shoulders for two reasons: to steady her on her noodle-like legs and to keep her from running off if her temper returned. Tears glistened on her cheeks, which softened his heart, but by God, she’d thrown shit at him.

“Never again, Mina. If you dare repeat it, you’ll find me taking my time to pull down your drawers, bare your behind, and paddle your disrespectful bottom with the bread board hanging in the wagon. Am I making myself clear?”

She nodded.

“Not good enough. I want to hear it.”

“It’s clear. I promise I won’t ever do that again.” She tried to pull her face away, but he held firm. She closed her eyes tightly instead. Then she surprised him by admitting, “I’m truly mortified that I did that. I’m so sorry.”

“What possessed you?”

Her eyes opened and she looked up at him, admitting, “I have a quick temper, I’m sure you’ve noticed. Always have. For some reason, you seem to bring it out of me better than most.”

As he stared at her, he felt his anger melt away as pride welled up at her honest profession, as well as the burgeoning tenderness that seem to grow more every day, even though she’d thrown buffalo shit. He shook his head while laughing softly, the sound coming out in a disbelieving huff as he pulled her close.

“What am I going to do with you, darlin’?”

“Please, be patient. Except for just now, I really have been trying.”

Easing back, he put a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up to his. “I know you have, Mina. And I’ll strive for patience if you promise to do the same.” At her nod, he smiled, his heart leaping as her lips turned up hesitantly in return. This little slip of a gal was burrowing under his skin; he was afraid by the time they reached Oregon, she’d be fully embedded there and most likely be wrapped around his heart. It dawned on him, that wouldn’t necessarily be such a bad thing.

* * *

In such close quarters, there were few secrets on a wagon train. Most of their fellow travelers had witnessed their latest row and another spanking. The ones who hadn’t, heard of it by morning. This didn’t sit well with them and tongues began to wag. Mina heard the censorious whispers and told Weston her concerns. Despite his assurance that it too would blow over in time, he was wrong.

The whispers continued, growing louder by the day, made worse when they saw Mina climb into his wagon every night. Even though she did so alone and he openly bedded down underneath, it stirred speculation. He ignored it, the gossip coming mostly from the women and dying down as soon as he came near. Still, he hadn’t missed the looks they shot Mina and the wide berth they gave her as if she were the town whore or something.

Five days after the incident when they were nearing Scotts Bluff where the trail took them through a pass between two towering cliffs, which could be difficult in the best conditions, it all came to a head. They’d stopped for the noontime meal. Mina had gone to the creek with a few others to rinse the dishes while Weston re-saddled his horse.

“We want her off the train, Mr. Carr.” The woman’s voice was brittle as she spoke behind him while he hefted the saddle on his Morgan’s back.

“No one’s being put off the train, Mrs. Gillespie.” He said this without even turning around. The woman had a distinctively shrill tone.

“She’s causing a stir, strife between the men and women. She’s the only single woman now and some of the ladies don’t like her asking their menfolk for favors. It can’t be—”

“I don’t have time for this pettiness, woman. I told you my answer,” Weston growled low in response as he cinched his saddle strap. Once finished, he turned to face her head on. She wasn’t alone; five other women, the only ones with husbands who had survived the smallpox outbreak stood at her back. Reverend Jamison, who was one of the women’s husbands, stood apart from the group looking decidedly uncomfortable. Ben Jacobs was standing nearby, his arms crossed, a frown on his face, clearly not liking what was going on.

“You can all go back to your wagons because you’re wasting your breath. I’m not putting a single woman who has done nothing wrong off this train. Where is your Christian charity that you so often espouse?” His eyes shot to the reverend. “This is your flock, Jamison, tend to them.”

The older man cleared his throat, eyeing the irate women. He took a step closer. “Might I have a word in private, Mr. Carr?”

“No, there’s no time if we’re to make it through the pass by nightfall.”

The reverend’s eyes shot to his red-faced wife. Weston didn’t miss the nod of encouragement that followed.

“Fine. I’ll do some flock tending as you asked, and say my piece here and now. You’ve ruined Mrs. Hobart’s good name with your, uh, carrying on. It is unseemly for you to be kissing her and spank—” The good reverend all but choked on the word, before trying again. “For you to be disciplining her as you have is highly improper. You need to do your gentlemanly duty and do right by her.”

“Over a spanking? Given over her drawers and petticoats?”

“And kissing on the mouth,” one of the women said in a whisper, her face flushing a fiery red.

He shook his head in wonder, thinking these puritan-like pioneers must never see action underneath their wagons to be so skittish about talking about a few swats and a peck on the lips. It amazed him that they’d managed to be fruitful and multiply.