White Wolf (7 page)

Elliot broke in. “Cut it out, Coralie. Pa and I heard you taunting Jessie. In my opinion, you deserved it.”

Twin flags of rage brightened Coralie’s cheeks. Her lower lip trembled as she shook out her skirts. “You’re so mean, Elliot. You don’t know anything.” She peeped at her husband through wet lashes. “Are you going to believe him or me?”

Jordan ran a hand over his jaw. His expression, more than words, let her know he wasn’t fooled by her female wiles. He tilted her chin, forcing her to meet his stern gaze. “It doesn’t matter who started what. What’s past is past.”

He set his half-full teacup down and gripped her hands. “As my wife, you will go along with this. You and Jess are sisters by marriage now. I won’t have any more fighting from either of you. Understood?”

Coralie lowered her gaze and nodded, hiding her resentment. “Yes, Jordie,” she replied, forcing meekness into her voice. What she wouldn’t give to one-up that tomboy Jessica.

Jordan reached out to finger one long golden curl. “Good. Now, my family will be here by nightfall, thanks to your father’s kind generosity in allowing us to stay here until morning. You have the rest of this day to get used to the idea of thinking of Jessie as my little brother. In the meantime, Elliot and I have much to do, as do you. Pack your personal belongings while Elliot and I help your father. Remember, one small trunk.”

Coralie flounced out of the room without a backward glance. Jordan cringed when her bedroom door slammed shut, shaking the whole house. The two men looked at each other and shook their heads.

“As I said, this will not be a dull trip with our sisters along,” Elliot said. “I just hope we can keep them from killing each other.”

Dusty rose fingers of color raced across the pale blue sky, tinting the fluffy white clouds with the delicate blush of a newborn babe’s skin. Down below, dew clung to spring green grass, pooled on bright shiny leaves and freshened tiny wildflowers dotting the landscape. Sniffing the crisp morning air, a shaggy, white-furred wolf sat on his haunches beside a weathered gray barn. His ears perked forward, and his bright blue eyes tracked the movements of oxen pulling wagons past.

From inside the barn, the animal’s master silently observed the frenzy of activity out in the streets as his wagon train prepared for its journey west. Wolf knew that by month’s end the Oregon Trail would be one endless stretch of white-topped wagons. While most emigrants set out around the first of May, he was leaving nearly two weeks earlier in the hope of getting ahead of the rush and avoiding clogged trails, long lines at the crossings, fouled water and trampled prairies.

Stepping out into the weak warmth of the sun, Wolf saw the approach of the Jones family. He nodded to James and Jeremy, each leading an extra horse as they rode past. Elliot and Jordan followed with two wagons. He glanced down the muddy street, looking for the youngest Jones boy. The fact that Jessie Jones wasn’t with his brothers wasn’t a good sign. Now what mischief was he up to? Feelings of misgiving assailed him. On one hand, the boy was not his concern, but by hiring Jessie as Rook’s assistant, he’d personally assumed responsibility for him.

He knew better than most that the trail was unforgiving of the rashness of youth. This trip would either make a man of the boy or claim his young life. When the ground vibrated beneath him, Wolf instinctively stepped out of the road and back into the shadows to avoid being hit. His gaze narrowed when he noticed that the reckless rider galloping past was none other than the youngest Jones boy. A black-and-tan dog streaked past, then stopped abruptly to eye the wolf.

Hackles raised and head lowered, Wahoska growled low in his throat, but before Wolf could call the animal off, a shrill whistle rent the air. The dog turned away, surging forward in a burst of power to rejoin her master.

Wolf joined his pet in a warm pool of sunlight. “There goes trouble, my friend,” he said to his companion, feeling unaccountably uneasy. Tension radiated beneath his fingertips. He glanced down to see Wahoska tracking the dog’s movements with his keen eyes. Low rumbling continued to erupt from his throat. Wolf pulled at his freshly shaved chin, his gaze pensive as he stared after the youngest Jones brother, now riding ahead of his siblings. Somehow it seemed fitting that Jessie’s dog had agitated the wolf. Heaven only knew the boy managed to get under his skin. Damn. It was going to be a long trip.

The sound of mules braying down the street reminded him that there was work to be done. “Time to get moving, my friend.” Resolution filled him. He had a job to do, and he’d do whatever it took to see that every man, woman, child and beast made it safely to Oregon. Mounting his nervous black stallion, he rode out into the sunlight. Giving a low whistle, he commanded Lady Sarah, the Indian-trained mare he’d named after his mother, to follow. Wahoska padded alongside.

He rode to the meeting spot outside of Westport, joining Rook, who stood near four wagons loaded with food and provisions for the hired men. Aside from food, there was also feed and shoeing equipment for the forty-plus horses that were needed to see the cattle to their destination in the Willamette Valley.

Wolf ran an experienced eye over each team of oxen, checked each wagon, then conferred with Rook over the food and feed stores. When he was satisfied that everything was in
order, he turned to the older man. “Have the rest of the wagons line up for inspection,” he ordered.

“Yes, boss.” Rook hurried off. His bowed legs carried his burly figure from wagon to wagon; his deep booming voice rang loud as he shouted out instructions. In short order, the emigrants pulled their wagons into three long lines.

Wolf leaned against the rough wood of a supply wagon, his arms folded over his chest. Tipping his chin to the sun, he breathed deeply and felt his blood race in anticipation of the challenging trip ahead of him. He thrived on pitting his skills and knowledge against the outdoor world he knew so well. What he didn’t enjoy was leading unseasoned travelers across the rough and dangerous terrain. Too many of them had heads filled with unrealistic dreams rather than good sense. Often their lack of preparation resulted in death.

He grimaced. To avoid most of the common mistakes green emigrants made, Wolf insisted on inspecting each and every wagon, draft animal and load before setting off. Nothing brought morale down faster than having to abandon a family along the way. When Rook rejoined him, he pushed away from the wagon and squared his shoulders. All resentment at being saddled with the trip faded. From that moment on, he had a job to do, one that required skill and a clear mind. Hands on his hips, he drew in a deep breath and scanned the lined-up wagons.

“All set, boss. They’s jest awaitin’ on you now.” Rook waved his pipe in the air. “Only the Macauleys’ wagon is missin’.”

“How do they look, Rook?” He knew the answer in advance.

Years of close association showed in Rook’s toothy grin. “Green, boss. All green, but reckon they’ll learn fast enough,” the tough trapper answered, tugging at his bushy white beard.

“They’d better, my friend. I’m setting a hard pace. We’ve got cattle to deliver by fall.”

Wolf started with the two wagons belonging to the Jones party. With Jordan and Elliot at his side, he checked the rigging, the condition of the oxen and the wagon from wheel to wheel. Glancing in the back, he ran his experienced eye over the load, mentally calculating the load weight and the food supply.

Hopping over the wagon tongue, he peered into the front end of the second wagon. One brow rose when he saw Jordan’s bride. Coralie Jones sat perched on a wooden box wearing a fine linen dress of pale lilac. Her skirts fluffed out around her, and a matching frilly bonnet sat upon her head. Glancing down, he noted the thin-soled and spooled heels of her shoes. He bit back a groan. They were totally unsuited for walking. He pulled Jordan aside. “Don’t mean to interfere, Jordan, but your wife is dressed for Sunday church.” A thread of impatience crept into his voice.

Jordan let out a long, pained sigh. “Yeah, I know, but she refuses to wear anything else.” He sent Wolf a wry shrug. “I packed practical clothing for her for when she’s ready to be reasonable. I figure it’ll only take a day, two at the most, before she realizes I’m right.”

Wolf nodded his understanding, well acquainted with the stubbornness of the female of the species. Watching Coralie lean out of the wagon to talk to her friends who’d come out to see her off, he felt a small measure of relief that Jordan wasn’t blinded by his wife’s doll-like beauty. “Perhaps you should stay with the wagon for a few days. I can do without you for a bit,” he offered, even though the first three days on the trail with cattle were the most difficult.

Jordan knew it too. “No need, Wolf. Elliot and Jessie will be here to help Coralie during the day, and I’ll be with her most evenings.”

Wolf nodded and glanced around in search of the youngest Jones brother. He spotted Jessie patting one of the oxen on the rump. He winced at the idea of Jessie and Coralie being
together all day long. The incident he had witnessed from the saloon window was still fresh in his mind; he could well imagine the boy’s idea of “help.”

No, expecting Jessie to help his sister-in-law was just asking for trouble. Another concern came to mind as he stared at the two teams of oxen. “Elliot’s in charge of one wagon, but who’s in charge of the other one? I can’t see your wife being up to that task quite yet, Jordan.”

Jordan nodded toward Jessie. “Jess.”

Wolf frowned and narrowed his eyes at the boy’s slender frame. “The boy doesn’t look strong enough to handle a team of four yoke. It takes a lot of muscle to handle eight oxen.” He kept to himself the thought that Jessie certainly couldn’t be trusted to do the job.

Shoving his hands on his hips, Wolf glanced around. “I’ll ask Lars Svensson if his youngest boy is free to help Elliot with the other team, unless you’d rather stay with your family instead of riding herd?”

Jordan shook his head and adjusted his hat. “No need, boss. Jessie’s stronger than s—” Jordan coughed. “Stronger than he looks. He trained and gentled one team of oxen. Elliot will handle them while Jessie breaks in the new ones on the trail. They’ll be fine on their own.”

Wolf eyed Jessie doubtfully. The older brothers seemed to expect a lot from their young sibling. The feeling that he needed to keep Jessie well supervised made him shake his head. “No. I’m not willing to trust the oxen or wagons to young Jess until he proves himself. Perhaps later, after I’ve had time to observe him working the oxen, I’ll change my mind. For now he travels with Rook.” Wolf turned on his heel, unaware of the look of concern that passed between Jordan and Elliot.

Wolf stopped a few feet from Jessie and watched silently. The boy ignored him and proceeded to the next yoke, talking in low, gentle murmurs to calm the restless beasts. Wolf studied the rigging, which Jessie had expertly adjusted. He found no fault and had to concede that the boy seemed to know what he was doing and handled the oxen well. But some perverse part of him forced him to keep to his resolve.

When Jessie glanced up to acknowledge his presence, Wolf hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “You’re riding with Rook. He’ll need your help gathering fuel for the fires and fresh greens when they’re available while we travel. And remember, you do whatever he says.”

Jessie’s brows drew together. “The oxen—”

Wolf held up a hand to forestall the protest. With the sun rising at his back, he got his first good look at Jessie. Staring down at the face tipped up toward him, he frowned. Without the dark shadows of the barn or the streaks of mud, Jessie looked different than he’d expected—younger, softer somehow. Not what he’d expect to find in an adolescent boy who should be showing signs of maturing.

He questioned whether the boy was really fourteen, as Rook had said. All the more reason to veto the idea of his taking charge of the oxen. A plaintive sound of mooing came from behind the wagon. Wolf narrowed his eyes as the Joneses’ cow tried to break free in order to reach the tender shoots of grass. Glancing around at the other wagons, he noticed the Svenssons also had a cow tethered to the back of their wagon, and he knew that the Macauleys, who had small children, would most likely also have a cow. And if he counted the one Rook purchased, he suddenly found himself in need of someone to herd them during the day.

He snapped his fingers. “In addition to helping Rook, you’re also in charge of the milk cows. You will collect the cows from their owners each morning, drive them on the trail, then deliver them back to the wagons each night,” he finished, pleased with himself. He’d found a way to keep Jessie too busy to cause any mischief while they were on the trail.

“But—”

“Don’t argue. I’m the boss.” He paused and carefully enunciated his next words. “You will not drive a wagon until I’m sure you can handle the oxen. I won’t risk any delays or injuries due to your inexperience.” Wolf stared into blazing green eyes. “And a word of warning. Keep that temper of yours under control. I won’t tolerate tantrums or mischief. Got it?”

Jessie thrust her chin out, glaring at him until the sound of Jordan clearing his throat sent her stalking off, rocks flying out from under her scuffed boots.

Wolf forced back the guilty feeling brought on by those prairie-green eyes and that stubborn chin. Boys above the age of ten regarded the care of cows to be girl’s work, but Jessie Jones had become a thorn in his side from the first day he’d encountered him. He reached up to scratch his jaw. If the boy learned nothing else during this trip, it would be how to control his temper.

Leaving Jordan and Elliot to finish getting ready, Wolf went on to the next family, shoving worries over the youngest Jones from his mind. Lars and Anne Svensson had two wagons with three yoke of oxen each, and six children: two girls ages ten and eleven and four boys ranging from fourteen to nineteen. Alberik, the eldest son, a tall, sturdy blond, and his father were in charge of the wagons, while Nikolaus and Bjorn, ages seventeen and fifteen, had been hired by Wolf to help Rook with two of the supply wagons. “I have need of another driver, Lars. Can you spare Rickard during the day to help Elliot Baker with the Joneses’ wagon? He’ll be paid the same rate as the other two for each day’s work.”

Rickard, standing next to his parents, stood taller. A wide grin spread across his features. Lars nodded to his son, who replied, “Thank you, Mr. Wolf.”

Wolf nodded. “Drop the mister. Wolf will do,” he said, dismissing the boy to report to Elliot. He then commenced inspection of the wagons. Finding no fault, he moved on to the Nortons’ wagon. Mr. and Mrs. Hugh Norton were a quiet newlywed couple in their mid-twenties. To his surprise, the new bride batted her long, dark eyelashes at him.

He ignored her flirting as he checked the outside of the wagon. When he’d finished, he turned his attention to the inside. He lifted a brow. There was only one trunk packed among the stores of food and trail gear. Even the food supply consisted mostly of dried meat, hard bread and crackers with a small amount of bacon, pork and beans. They were also the only family traveling with horses. Rosalyn informed him in a breathy voice that she and Hugh planned to ride most of the way to Oregon, that they’d hired a driver to deal with the oxen and the wagon, as well as the cooking chores. Wolf took note of the long troughs on the outside of the wagon and made sure they had sufficient grain for the horses, as the animals wouldn’t survive the long trip on grazing alone.

The last wagon rolled up into position, driven by a small woman with golden-red hair. Eirica Macauley had trouble getting the oxen to stop and fall into line. Wolf took over, explaining what to do, then waited for her to lift her three children, all under the age of five, out of the back of the wagon before checking it over. He found no fault with the wagon or the animals. Jumping onto the wagon tongue, he examined the load inside and found the supplies and provisions to be on the meager side. Lifting a quilt, he peered beneath it.