Frontier Courtship Part 6

"Take it as you like," she offered, slipping the scissors, a wide-toothed comb and a small hand mirror into her ap.r.o.n pocket.

Once again, Connell tentatively held out his arms to her. Situated above him as she was, allowing his help in descending was the sensible thing to do. This time, Faith acquiesced.

"Okay. Easy," she said, placing one hand on each of his shoulders and leaning forward.

His hands circled her slim waist, almost fully spanning it, and he lifted gently, slowly and with great care, bringing her closer, then lowering her till he felt her feet brush the toes of his boots.

Breathless at his nearness, Faith was loath to let go. She was remembering how marvelous it was to be cradled against this man's broad chest, to be held the way a loving husband might hold his wife.

Only she and the plainsman weren't husband and wife, nor would they ever be, she reminded herself. Not only was he betrothed to someone else, he was little more than a stranger to her!

Shocked by the wild thoughts racing through her head, Faith decided they must be sinful. She'd always been taught that no good Christian woman desired a man's arms around her, so why did this moment seem so right, so meant to be, as if her whole life had been nothing but preparation for her extraordinary encounter with the plainsman?

Connell knew he should let go of her, yet kept granting himself one more breath of the natural fragrance of her hair, another second to plumb the wondrous depths of her dark, expressive eyes. If they had been alone, he knew he might very well have leaned down and kissed her. Then there'd be a fracas for sure, wouldn't there?

"Did I hurt you?" he finally asked as he released her.

Faith cleared her throat. "Um, no. Not at all."

"Good. Where do you want me?"

For some reason, her brain seemed as befuddled as it had been immediately following her accident at Fort Laramie. "Want you?"

"To sit. For my haircut."

"Oh." She took as deep a breath as her ribs would allow, then gestured toward one of the packing boxes they had used for chairs while they ate. "Over there. Take off your hat."

Connell seated himself, hat in hand.

"You'd better take your s.h.i.+rt off, too," she warned. "Papa always complained I got bits of hair down his neck."

"I'll be fine the way I am."

Faith knew she should let him have his way, especially since his reply had sounded so gruff, yet a perverse part of her nature insisted otherwise. "You act as if I've never seen the top of a man's union suit before," she taunted. "I guess if you're afraid to remove your s.h.i.+rt in my presence we'll just have to make do as is. I won't be responsible, though, if you itch something fierce afterwards."

Casting her a sidelong glance that was more an irate glare than an expression of admiration for her boldness, he reached down, crossed his arms and drew the soft buckskin hunting s.h.i.+rt off over his head. There'd been times when he'd stripped to breechcloth and leggings while stalking buffalo or antelope, but when among those he considered the polite society of his upbringing, he'd always remained fully clothed. Till now.

"Okay. Remember this was your idea," he said.

Hearing m.u.f.fled gasps from somewhere behind her, Faith clenched her teeth. When Connell tried to swivel his torso to see who was making the fuss, she stopped him with a firm hand on his bare shoulder, a reflexive action that did not go unnoticed by anyone, she was sure.

She bent closer. "You could have mentioned that you weren't wearing a union suit under your buckskins."

"You didn't ask," he grumbled. "I suppose the fat's in the fire now."

"Let it be," she said, rancor in her tone. "All my years I've tried to live a pure, untainted life, just like the Good Book teaches. Soon after Charity and I started this pilgrimage, I realized I'd have to make many concessions in order to survive. The more time that pa.s.ses, the more certain I am that I'm right."

Taking up the scissors, she handed him the small mirror so he could watch as she began to cut. Instead, he angled it so he could observe her reflection. He thought new maturity had come to Faith in the past few days-maturity and awareness. He saw her glancing openly at the muscles of his bare back and wondered what female notions might be going through her head.

There were certainly plenty of ideas pa.s.sing through his. In lots of ways, she reminded him of his late Arapaho wife, while in others, her daring spirit far surpa.s.sed even his most unrestrained fancy. Knowing she was innocent of any wrong-doing, Faith was willing to stand up to everyone in the entire traveling party to affirm it. Women usually set great store by what their peers thought. Surely, Faith Beal was no exception. She, however, had the backbone to a.s.sert her innocence by both word and deed. Such courage was its own reward.

Connell closed his eyes to better enjoy the pleasant sensations of the comb pa.s.sing through his hair, the slight tug of the shears, the whisper of Faith's ap.r.o.n against his lower back. When she stopped, took up a corner of the ap.r.o.n and began to brush his shoulders off with it, he stood and stepped away, rather than let her see how much her tender ministrations had affected him.

"Thanks, I can do the rest," he said, finis.h.i.+ng the job with quick swipes of his hands.

"All right."

She held out shears and comb to him, then watched while he propped the mirror on the side of the wagon and went to work on his beard. It was just as well he'd taken over, she mused. The way her hands had begun to shake, no telling how the rest of his haircut would have turned out if she'd continued.

Suddenly exhausted, she sank onto the packing box Hawk had vacated and tried to regain control of her heightened senses. What was wrong with her? Was it her own unseemly thoughts and actions that were at fault, or was an outside force trying to undermine the purity of her motives and thereby destroy all the good she was attempting to do?

And another thing, her conscience was quick to interject, her conscience was quick to interject, look how you're dressed. look how you're dressed. Custom dictated that she and her sister should still be in mourning for Mama. Yet, truth to tell, she'd felt a surge of relief when Charity had returned from a trip to the river to do the wash and had reported that their black dresses had been swept away by the current. With so little extra money at their disposal, replacing the somber clothing was out of the question, especially while traveling. Custom dictated that she and her sister should still be in mourning for Mama. Yet, truth to tell, she'd felt a surge of relief when Charity had returned from a trip to the river to do the wash and had reported that their black dresses had been swept away by the current. With so little extra money at their disposal, replacing the somber clothing was out of the question, especially while traveling.

Should she have dyed another of her frocks dingy black no matter what? Faith wondered. She didn't think so. Surely, the Good Lord understood her present predicament. After all, hadn't He sent her a guardian to watch over her?

A brief glance toward the wagon showed just how rough around the edges that so-called guardian was, in spite of his recent tonsorial efforts.

Faith smiled and turned away. Even with an imagination as creative as hers, there was no way she could convince herself the plainsman was actually an emissary from G.o.d.

Her smile faded. On the other hand, it wasn't at all hard to envision Ramsey Tucker being a faithful minion of Lucifer, himself, was it?

The afternoon sun was high, the prairie affording no shade except what little could be found under the wagons. Prairie vastness that had once been lush and green was spoiled now. Swaths of bare land miles wide on each side of the emigrant track meant the travelers had to drive their livestock off to find fresh pasture, let them graze, then bring them back so the journey could continue.

Faith knew that. Her heart, however, coveted the presence of her only remaining ally. When Hawk made ready to take his turn as a drover so other men could come into camp and eat, she found herself wis.h.i.+ng mightily she could go with him. It wouldn't do to ask, of course, for what good was a protestation of gentility if a body then followed up with such an unacceptable suggestion? Therefore, she'd wait as the other women did and ready the wagon for travel while Charity stayed with the Ledbetters and Hawk rode off to do men's work.

"Take care," she called as he mounted.

Whirling Rojo in a tight circle, he paused and leaned closer. "Watch your back, Faith. Get out the Colt and strap it on like I told you."

"I will."

Connell straightened. "Do it now."

She snapped off a mock salute. "Yes, General."

It was clear from his lack of levity that her jest hadn't pleased him. Well, too bad. As long as she followed orders, why should he care how it was accomplished? Being around him made her feel silly and giddy and altogether unhinged, with an excitement coursing through her that she hadn't even dreamed of before. Daily life was supposed to be mundane. The feelings the plainsman was awakening within her were anything but.

Climbing stiffly into her wagon, Faith let down the flap for privacy before she loosened the bodice of her dress and slipped it off. The muslin bindings had bunched beneath her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, their roughness coupling with trail dust to cause an irritation in spite of her soft cotton camisole.

Padding the bandages along the edges with tufts of lamb's wool, she hoped to find enough relief to carry her through till evening when she'd ask Charity to apply clean dressings. At this point, it was hard to decide which hurt worse, her cracked ribs or the cure. Cautiously, she threaded her arms back into the dress sleeves.

Papa's Colt lay beneath the clothing in her trunk. Probing under the piles of folded garments, Faith lifted the holster and heavy pistol. The belt was much too big, as she knew it would be. Preparing to make the necessary adjustments, she seated herself on the ticking she and Charity used for their bed.

The straw-filled softness beckoned, making her admit how much the trying day had already taken out of her. She'd rest for just a few moments, she thought, lying down on her uninjured side, the Colt beside her, her eyelids so heavy she could barely keep them open.

Camp noises from outside the wagon became a m.u.f.fled din as sleep overtook her. Drifting in and out of awareness, she only vaguely heard a man say, "I'll kill him before I let him ruin my plans to marry Charity Beal," but that was enough to snap her to wakefulness. She held her breath and listened.

A different voice asked, "Aren't you afraid of him?"

"Naw. I don't care who he really is or who he fought with in California. He'll bleed to death easy as any man."

Faith's eyes were wide, her lethargy gone. There was little doubt who the men were discussing, especially since she recognized the bloodthirsty speaker as Ramsey Tucker and the other as his cohort, Stuart.

"I imagine he'll be shot by renegade Indians real soon," Tucker said, laughing.

"What about Miss Faith?"

Tucker shushed his companion. "Watch your mouth, you lamebrain. She may be about."

Stuart protested that he'd already checked the camp, then began to whisper. Faith could only catch a word here and there. "...trail...problems...accident..."

She yearned to move and press her ear to the canvas but the straw in the ticking would surely rustle if she tried. Once her presence was discovered, there was no telling what might happen next.

Slowly, cautiously, she reached for the Colt. Her fingers closed around the grip and drew it closer till it rested on her stomach. The firearm was heavy, weighing at least four pounds. She held it tightly with both hands, her eyes on the loose flap of canvas covering the rear of the wagon, her thumbs ready to pull back the hammer to c.o.c.k and fire, if necessary.

It wasn't. Hearing the men walk off, she let out the breath she'd been holding and slowly sat up. Rapid-fire pounding of her heart accentuated her worst fears. Tucker was planning to do serious harm to Hawk McClain, with the help of Stuart and probably others of his henchmen.

And it was all her fault. It wasn't McClain they had started out to best-it was her. By allowing the plainsman to come to work for her, she'd unknowingly placed him in mortal danger!

Maybe it wasn't too late to save him by sending him away, Faith reasoned. Certainly she'd be no worse off than before, and since she now had indisputable proof of Tucker's nefarious character, she'd be doubly on her guard. As long as she carried the Colt and stayed close to the other wagons, she was certain Tucker wouldn't dare harm her, not if he really wanted to win Charity's heart.

The idea of her poor sister in the wagon boss's bed turned Faith's stomach. It didn't matter how much he slicked himself up and minded his manners for courting, the evil shone through. Given time, Charity would see that. She must. Their future depended upon it.

Chapter Six.

When the men returned with the sated animals, Faith helped her hired hand harness the mules. They were fastening the trace chains to the hames when she quietly told him, "As of tomorrow, you're fired."

He scowled over at her. "I'm what? what?"

"Fired. It's for your own good."

"What about Irene?"

"n.o.body will talk to you anyway, thanks to Tucker. After you've gone and things have settled down, I'll ask around and keep my ears open. If we rendezvous later on at some place like Independence Rock or Fort Bridger, I'll tell you whatever I've learned. I simply can't have you traveling with Charity and me anymore."

Connell ducked under the heads of the lead mules and came closer, his countenance dark. "What's happened?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Faith turned her face away, afraid the imperative lie would be too plain to miss.

Two strong fingers lifted her chin. "Yes, you do. Something made you change your mind about me while I was gone. What was it?"

She jerked away. "I just decided it would be better for my reputation-and for my sister's-if I didn't encourage any more spurious rumors. That's all."

"And you really want me to go?" His hand had come to rest lightly on her forearm, the contact as necessary for him as was breathing. If she truly did mean to part company, he wanted this brief moment to become seared into his memory the way his idyllic days with Little Rabbit Woman had been.

Connell's heart leaped to his throat at the comparison. No, No, his mind shouted. his mind shouted. No! Not like that. Never again like that. No! Not like that. Never again like that.

To care too much was to invite loss. He should know. He hadn't been able to prevent his mother's death or his father's drunken tirades. And he'd been away hunting when the p.a.w.nees had raided the Arapaho camp and killed his bride. Now, not only was Irene missing, he was beginning to have strong feelings for Faith Beal, as well.

Connell muttered and turned away. Faith was right. The best thing he could do was comply with her wishes. He'd been fooling himself into believing she needed him a lot more than she really did. Without him around to sully her reputation, she'd be free to implore some of the other men for help-men who were more civilized and more to her liking. Besides, nothing said he couldn't keep out of sight and dog the train from a discreet distance without her knowledge.

"All right," he said, rechecking the mule's harnesses while he spoke. "The Sweet.w.a.ter River pa.s.ses by Independence Rock. You won't get there by Independence Day, like Fremont did when he named it, but you should arrive sometime in mid-July. I carved my name at the base of the western face in '43. Since you're the only one around here who knows it's McClain, you can watch for me near that mark without causing suspicion."

Faith nodded. "What's your Christian name?"

"Connell," he said quietly, feeling a p.r.i.c.kle at the back of his neck as she echoed it ever so softly.

"I like it. It suits you," Faith told him, thinking sadly of their proposed parting. She'd prepare a special meal tonight, something he could also take along on his journey to remember her by.

"How's the pain?" he asked.

"Nearly gone." She hated to lie to him again, but she knew if she told the absolute truth, he'd never leave. And if he stayed, Tucker's men would kill him for sure.

"Good." Scooping her up, he lifted her easily yet gently, set her in the wagon and handed her the lines. "Think you can handle the team from here on out?"

"Yes, but..." She watched him mount Rojo. "Where are you going?"

"No sense waiting till tomorrow to part company," he said flatly. "The longer I stay, the more gossip it'll cause." He gallantly touched the brim of his hat, nodded and said, "Vaya con Dios." "Vaya con Dios."

Faith had heard that phrase before among the Mexican wranglers. It was a parting benediction.

In her heart she knew she'd done the right thing for Connell McClain. Sending him away was her wordless blessing on his quest.

She only wished there was some way of letting him know the underlying reasons for what she'd done and how much she truly cared about his welfare.

Following parallel, the sun at his back, Connell managed to easily keep the Tucker train in sight. If anyone noticed him, he figured they'd probably think he was just one of the extra drovers, rounding up loose stock, or maybe a lone Indian on a scouting mission. There were sure plenty of those around since the emigrant trains had cut such a wide swath through the plains.