Frontier Courtship Part 4

"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? 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 s.h.i.+fty-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 pa.s.sing 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? 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 b.u.t.terfly, 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 s.h.i.+fted 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 pa.s.sage 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, 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. n.o.body 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.

"You'll ride him for a while," Connell said, climbing down and holding out his hand for Faith to follow.

"There's no need."

He gritted his teeth. Why did she have to be so proud? "It's not a favor, it's common sense," he argued. "You don't weigh as much as a good-size calf, the horse is making the trip anyway, and your ribs will heal faster if you don't go bouncing around all day on that hard wagon seat." He started to make a token effort to get back into the wagon. "But, if you don't want to..."

"I see your point," she said begrudgingly. When he started to reach up to grasp her by the waist then stopped himself, she rea.s.sured him with, "I can manage. My side hurts less when I move without a.s.sistance."

Standing by the side of the horse, Connell laced his fingers together to give her a boost up, wincing as he watched the signs of pain flash across her face. You could see from her eyes that she was hurting a lot more than she'd let on. To his surprise, she swung a leg over to ride astride. Her skirt hitched up to her boot tops, showing a bit of white stocking.

Seeing his quizzical expression, Faith adjusted the fabric of her dress and gave him a half smile as she took up the reins. "I was raised riding mules like old Ben without the benefit of a saddle. A body tended to wind up in the brambles if she didn't sit her mount sensibly."

Without comment, Connell climbed back aboard the wagon and called to the team to move out. Nothing Faith Beal did or said should surprise him, yet it kept happening. She was an enigma: a frail-looking beauty with the strength and stubbornness of a mule and more than a few useful skills many men didn't possess.

Connell smiled to himself. Looking at her, he'd never have guessed just how capable she was; nor did he think it wise to tell her what he thought for the present. Something inside him kept suggesting that Faith was the key to finding Irene and he tended to trust his gut feelings. Besides, she made an interesting traveling companion.

He looked over at her astride his horse and sighed. It had taken him months to acclimate himself to life among the Arapaho but he'd eventually adjusted, thanks to the love of Little Rabbit Woman. A p.a.w.nee raid had ended her short life. He hadn't let himself care for a woman that way since. Nor had he wanted to.

Connell cast another sidelong glance at his new boss. No G.o.d-fearing Christian woman would submit herself the way Little Rabbit Woman had when they'd been married in the Indian tradition. That was as it should be. So why was he suddenly feeling let down?