Colorado Courtship
She sat upright. If the deed was worth what Lyle had claimed, perhaps someone had killed him in order to lay hands on it. Shivering, she pulled the quilt up around herself and leaned against a trunk. Someone might be, this very moment, planning on finding the deed.
And she didn’t even know herself where it was. Only that Lyle had hidden it and laughed when she’d asked its location. “You don’t need to know,” he’d said harshly.
“Mrs. Beaumont? Jessica?” The voice was low, its tones pitched so as not to carry beyond her hearing, and she caught her breath sharply as she saw the shadow of a man standing at the back of her wagon. Standing head and shoulders above most of the men on the train, he was easy enough to recognize. Finn Carson, himself, come to call. She drew the quilt closer about her shoulders and felt the beating of her heart like a bass drum in her ears.
“Yes, Mr. Carson,” she answered, her whisper carrying to where he stood.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” he asked. “I’m going to crawl under your wagon to sleep tonight, and I wanted to know if you need anything before I settle down.”
“Are you by chance staking a claim, Mr. Carson?” she wanted to know, aware that her voice held a brittle note. He might as well put up a sign, she thought. This woman taken.
And then his words verified her thoughts, and she heard amusement color the syllables. “You might say that, ma’am.” He was unmoving and she shifted, rising to her knees, the better to catch the expression on his face.
“I hope you know that Jonas wasn’t pulling your leg, Mrs. Beaumont,” Finn said. “You don’t have a choice. Either you marry one of us, or you get sent back East when we reach Council Grove.” He stood without moving, as if he awaited a reply, and then he held out a hand to her.
“Will you come over here and talk to me?”
“No.” She didn’t believe in mincing words, could not countenance a clandestine meeting on the very day she’d buried her husband, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she wondered that he would expect it of her.
“Will you take a word of advice, then?” he asked quietly.
“Talk to me tomorrow,” she said sharply. “I’m a newly widowed woman, Mr. Carson. At least give me tonight to mourn before you make your bid for me.”
He was silent for a moment, and then he propped his forearms on the side of the wagon and leaned forward a bit. “I saw you in Saint Louis, Jessica.” As though he owned the right to it, he used her name deliberately. “I watched the way the bastard treated you that day when the first wagons loaded up and pulled out toward Independence. You can’t know how badly I wanted to knock him flat on his back.”
“You saw me? In Saint Louis?” She was stunned by his words, not that he’d seen her, but that his reaction to Lyle’s behaviour had been so strong. “Why should you care about the way Lyle treated me?”
“I’ve watched your wagon, him especially, for the past weeks, ever since we left Independence, and he did nothing to impress me with his…his ability to perform as a man.” He chose his words carefully, and Jessica heard the bitter tinge they carried.
“Who are you?” she asked, whispering the words as a shiver of apprehension swept over her. “Have you been keeping an eye on me all along?”
“No.” It was one syllable, one word, muttered harshly, and she knew it for a lie.
“Good night, Mr. Carson,” she said, drawing the quilt over her shoulder again as she placed her head carefully on her pillow. She heard him move after a moment, heard the muffled rattle of a metal bucket beneath the wagon as he found his place on the ground. And knew that Finn Carson was a man to be reckoned with.
He’d botched it. He’d pushed her too hard, said too much. He’d backtrack, let her stew a bit and then choose his time. The ground was hard beneath him, but Finn was used to sleeping wherever darkness found him. He’d shared feather ticks in his time, slept on cotton mattresses more times than he could count, and spent more nights under the stars than he could shake a stick at.
Sleeping beneath Jessica’s wagon was, after all, akin to staking a claim, as the lady herself had said. And somewhere in that wagon was the deed to a claim that Aaron Carson had died for. Finn’s mouth flattened as he thought of his older brother.
Aaron’s mercantile had held the man captive as surely as if it had wrapped chains around him for almost ten years. He’d been tied to making a living, when his heart had yearned for adventure, and his feet had itched to travel toward the goldfields. Aaron’s letter to Finn in April had been filled to the edges of each page with his excitement.
A customer, a man Aaron had outfitted and sent on his way four years before, was dying and had sent the deed to his claim back to Saint Louis, addressed to Aaron, the storekeeper, with a description of the location of Carson’s Retail Establishment.
Becuz you give me a hand when I needed it, the letter had said. Now I’m dying and here’s yer payback. The miner had signed it with a shaky hand, and sent the letter, the deed, and the assayer’s report with it to Saint Louis. Aaron’s life had changed forever.
It was a rich claim, according to the assayer’s report that had been included in the envelope, and the deed had been proclaimed valid by a lawyer. Aaron’s soul had thrilled to the news. He’d written to Finn, inviting his brother to join in the trek to the goldfields, offering to share the gold they would mine together.
And then he had been killed for a piece of paper, one that promised riches beyond belief. Standing by Aaron’s grave, Finn had sworn to avenge his death and set off to find Lyle Beaumont, the man he’d been told was the thief and murderer who’d pulled the trigger and stolen the deed.
Only to find that Lyle Beaumont had something infinitely more precious than the deed to a piece of land.
A woman—a heavily pregnant, defenseless female named Jessica Beaumont. A woman who had, from the first, touched a chord in Finn’s heart. A woman who even now held the deed he’d vowed to regain.
He would have them—Jessica Beaumont and the deed to the piece of land Aaron had died for. No matter the price, Finn would possess both.
The woman didn’t stand a chance.
Chapter Two
“Good morning, Mrs. Beaumont.” Jessica knew without looking from the back of the wagon that her visitor was Gage Morgan. His voice was distinctive, deep, and with a touch of the South in each syllable. Hastily she fastened the remaining buttons on her dress and snatched up her brush, bending as she reached the opening where he stood.
“I’m not ready for company this morning,” she said quietly, looking out on the circle of wagons, and then to the man who watched her. Close enough to see within, yet far enough distant to appear discreet to the passersby, he smiled as she glanced in his direction.
“Can I help you from your wagon?” he asked, extending a hand as she considered the ungainly chore of climbing over the rear opening.
It was too good an offer to pass up, she decided, having found over the past couple of weeks that her balance was decidedly off center. His palm was broad, his hands callused and strong, and he gripped her firmly, long fingers at her elbows as she carefully climbed to the ground.
“Thank you, Mr. Morgan,” she murmured, feeling at a distinct disadvantage, off balance with the added weight of the baby and her hair disheveled from a restless night’s sleep. Her face was still unwashed, and it was embarrassing to have a stranger see her without the benefit of time alone to put herself together for the day. On top of that, she felt other eyes watching her, probably making her the topic of gossip over every campfire.
“My pleasure, ma’am,” Gage said, smiling lazily, his gaze fastened on her as she wobbled a bit, unwillingly thankful for his steadying hands, hands that caressed her arms lightly before he released his grip. “I brought you warm water from the campfire by our wagon,” he said. “I thought it might be welcome.”
And it was, she realized. Yet, there was a degree of hesitance as she nodded her thanks, and the obligation she felt to the man made her uneasy. If Finn had done the good deed, she’d have no doubt welcomed his help. But coming from Gage Morgan, it didn’t sit well, and she had to force the smile he no doubt expected.
“I’ll leave you to it, ma’am,” Morgan said, tipping his hat, his gaze narrowing as his eyes took a survey of her face and form. “If there’s anything at all I can do for you, just give me a wave and I’ll be here. I hope you realize you can depend on me to lend a hand when you need it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Morgan.” Turning from him, she reached inside the wagon and found the towel she’d left on a box, handy for her morning ablutions. When she looked back to where he’d placed the bucket of water, she found he’d filled the basin for her use, and she felt her mouth tighten. It smacked of intimacy, tending to her needs this way, and she felt he’d ventured too close for comfort.
But the water was warm, refreshing against her skin and she used it lavishly, appreciating the luxury of the early-morning wash without having to first light a fire. Her hair required daily brushing before she braided it, and it didn’t seem she would have the time available this morning to perform the task. A quick swipe of the brush through the dark waves would suffice, she decided, as she reached for her sunbonnet.
More than one man spoke as she made her way to a secluded area that had been set aside for the women’s use last evening, and assessing eyes took note of her, much to her discomfort. It seemed that marriage had, before today, provided a barrier, protecting her from the attentions of other men, and now that Lyle was no longer in the picture, she was open game for the available men on the train. Jonas had warned her it would be so, but the reality was almost overwhelming.
In a few minutes, she returned to her wagon and found Finn there, tending a small blaze, her skillet in his hand, bacon waiting on its surface for the burning wood to heat sufficiently. He glanced up at her and grinned. His hair looked like morning sunshine, she thought, and his eyes were warm. It was unfair to compare men, one to another. It was like apples and oranges, her mother had always said. Yet, the difference between Finn and the darkly handsome Morgan was a night-and-day variation.
Finn watched her, his good mood apparent, and she found herself returning his smile as he welcomed her back to her own campfire. “Good morning,” he said with a hint of teasing edging the greeting. “I didn’t mean to neglect you this morning, but I had to leave early on, just before sunrise. Jonas asked me to ride out and take a gander at the trail up ahead. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to lend a hand, but I promise you I’ll have a real treat in store for you tonight when we circle the wagons.”
“A treat?” she asked, and he shook his head.
“I’ll say no more till tonight,” he said.
The man was clean shaven this morning, his clothing neat, his hair showing the line where his hat had perched as he rode. An altogether presentable appearance, one she could envision taking pleasure in viewing in the days to come. And with an indrawn breath, she recognized that she was very near to making her choice, no matter the suitability of Gage Morgan.
“I missed you earlier,” she said in answer to his apology. “I was about to set a match to my fire and fix some breakfast.”
“I beat you to it, and saved you a bit of time,” he told her. “Now, I expect some food for my trouble. But I’ll bet you’ve already figured that out.”
He was crowding her, and she recognized his methods, knew he meant to gain a foothold, but she was onto his shenanigans. Her smile came easily as she nodded, waving a hand at the skillet he held. “I’ll do that. Give me a few minutes and I’ll mix together some biscuits and get them baking in the coals, then I’ll tend to the bacon.”
Turning back to the opening, she lifted the wooden box, settling it in place so that she could climb into the wagon bed, only to find him at her side. “Here, you take this,” he said, giving her no choice as he pressed the skillet into her hands. “I’ll climb up and get you a measure of flour from your barrel.”
Flustered, she took the iron pan and then watched as he made short work of what would have taken considerable time and effort on her part. In moments, he had the bowl of flour handed out to her, and she took it in her free hand and placed it on a precious chunk of wood by the fire. The lard can and her jars of salt and soda clutched to his chest, he climbed down and placed the bits and pieces next to the bowl of flour.
“All right. I’ll switch with you,” he said cheerfully, spreading the coals a bit as the wood burned down to permit the skillet’s placement atop the heat. “We’re going to have to resort to buffalo chips soon,” he said. “There won’t be much more wood available until we reach Council Grove.”
Jessica nodded. “I thought I might gather some during the day and fill a burlap sack full while I’m walking by the oxen.”
“Probably be a good idea,” Finn agreed, placing the bacon to fry atop the coals.
With deft movements, Jessica mixed lard into the flour, added salt and soda and then formed the biscuits while Finn turned the bacon as it cooked. The shallow stone she used for baking was already hot beneath the coals and Finn poked it from the fire, then wiped it clean with swift movements, readying it for her use.
The biscuits sizzled in a bit of lard and within ten minutes the small, flat bits of bread were ready to eat. “These don’t look like what I made back home in Saint Louis,” she said, placing bacon between two layers of the makeshift bread. “But they don’t taste half bad when you’re hungry.”
“It’s enough to keep us going till nooning,” Finn told her as he gingerly lifted two more from the stone, tossing them from hand to hand to cool them down. She smiled at his antics, aware that his actions were designed to amuse her. Hers were not the only eyes focused on Finn, but he seemed oblivious to the frankly envious looks from several men aimed in his direction.
And then he settled down to finish his breakfast and sat cross-legged on the ground, his gaze assessing Jessica, lingering on her face as if he gauged her well-being by the color of her skin, the circles she knew lingered beneath her eyes.
“Thank you for sleeping under my wagon last night,” she said as she brushed the crumbs from her fingers. “I know I was less than gracious to you, and I apologize.”
“When I consider the day you lived through, I’m surprised you didn’t reach out and toss me on my—” He grinned suddenly. “Sorry. I forgot myself for a moment there.”
He was a scamp, she decided, his eyes twinkling, his mouth curving in a smile. And she was responding to him as might a young girl faced by her first suitor, enjoying the company he offered. Companionship she’d lacked with Lyle. She looked down at her hands, clenching her fingers in her lap, and felt a moment’s shame that she should so quickly set aside the memory of her marriage.
But Lyle was gone and buried, she thought, gritting her teeth. Still, she supposed she should feel some small bit of remorse, perhaps even grief at his passing. Yet, when all was said and done, she could only be relieved that he was no longer here to berate her and make her life miserable. Her sigh was audible as she faced her own lack of caring for the man she’d married.
“What is it, Jessica?” Finn rose from the ground and moved toward her, then crouched, one knee on the ground, his big frame dwarfing her. “You look like a shadow just passed over and left you in the shade.”
“I suspect I’m feeling guilty,” she murmured, unable to look up at him. “Lyle’s been dead less than a full day, and I can’t find it in me to regret his death.” Her voice caught on the words and she felt the warmth of a tear as it slid the length of her cheek to fall against her breast.
“Jessica.” Finn spoke her name, almost as a sigh, and she lifted a hand, as if she rejected his comfort. “Surely you don’t have regrets,” he said quietly. “The man was not worthy of you. Everyone in the wagon train recognized that as the truth. He didn’t have a friend among the family men, only a handful of lowlifes who liked to gamble as much as he did. And the whole bunch of them aren’t worth the powder it would take to blow them away.”
Jessica nodded, aware that his assessment of Lyle and his cronies was on target. “He used to get angry with me,” she began quietly, “when he’d been playing poker late at night and then was too tired to get up in the morning. He said I should take my turn and walk by the ox team and let him sleep in the wagon.” She looked up as she spoke, as if she sought comfort in the gentle smile Finn offered. His features were blurred by her tears, and she brushed them away with her palms.
Finn’s mouth tightened as he watched her futile gesture, for the tears would not be halted now that they had begun. “Don’t cry for him,” he said harshly. “He wasn’t worth your tears, Jess.”
“I suppose that’s why it saddens me so,” she said haltingly. “I loved him once—or at least I thought I did. When he came courting, he was a gentleman, mannerly and polite. It wasn’t until we were married for a few months that he began drinking more. I suppose he’d hidden his vices well, early on.”
“Why on earth did he marry you?” Finn asked bluntly. “He didn’t seem cut out to be a family man to my way of thinking. Surely he didn’t have an overwhelming love for you. At least it didn’t seem so.”
She shrugged. “He thought he would be well-fixed. My parents have a bit of money. We always lived nicely, and my father had his own business. I think Lyle had visions of coming into an inheritance one day. My parents had me very late in life, and I was their only child. He thought they’d support all of his schemes. And if that didn’t work, he figured he’d inherit a nice amount when they passed on.”
“And then it didn’t work out the way he thought it would, I expect.”
She shook her head. “No, it didn’t. My father gave him a job, and Lyle stole from the company.” She felt the blush of shame sweep over her countenance. “He was let go, and then no one else would hire him when it became known that he wasn’t trustworthy. My folks wanted me to leave him and come back home.”
“But you didn’t.” Finn’s words were touched with anger, and she watched as his hands formed fists and his eyes narrowed with the force of his emotion.
“No, I couldn’t.” She looked up at him, remembering the day she’d made that foolish choice. “I couldn’t admit I’d been wrong to marry him. But I changed my mind later, after I found I was carrying a child. Then, one day—”
Her words came to a halt as she remembered the day when Lyle had struck her down and she’d fallen the full flight of stairs in the boardinghouse where they lived.
“What happened?” Finn asked, rising to stand before her.
She looked up at him. “There was an accident and I lost my child. She was born too early and didn’t live.”
“And Lyle? Did he feel any remorse?” His jaw taut, Finn looked away, as if unwilling to allow Jessica to see the depths of his disgust with the man.
“No. He refused to pay the midwife who came. He said it was her fault the baby died and he didn’t owe her one red cent. Then we moved away from there and I began to work for our keep in a boardinghouse. It gave us a roof over our heads, and so long as I could cook and clean, we had a place to live.”
“How long were you married to him?” Finn asked.
“Four years. Four long, miserable years.” She bit her lips, remembering the past months. “I thought when he brought home the deed that night, things would be different. He said we’d go to Colorado, farm the land, and he’d look for gold. The papers that came with the deed said there was a rich vein there. It was probably the first time he’d ever won such an amount in a poker game.”
“So you joined a wagon train and headed out from Saint Louis.” Finn’s voice took on a lower, gruffer note, and Jessica looked up at him.
“It didn’t take Lyle long to make that decision,” she said. “We must have been leaving the day you said you saw me, that first time. That was two months ago.” Her mind searched out the memory of that day. “I don’t remember you being there, but then, things were hectic, and Lyle was late getting our things packed up.”
“Yeah, he was busy.” Finn’s voice imbued the word with a harshness she hadn’t expected. “He tossed you on top of the wagon seat like you were a sack of oats.”
Jessica’s gaze searched his face, bewildered by the anger that tightened his jaw as he spoke. Surely he had no reason to hold such a grudge against Lyle, no matter how poorly he’d behaved. He hadn’t even known the man.
“It’s all in the past, anyway,” she said, rising and brushing down her skirts. “I survived, Mr. Carson. I’m tougher than you think.” She looked to where Jonas was walking inside the circle of wagons. “It looks like Mr. McMasters is getting ready to roll. I’ll have to go and sort out my team.”
“No, Jessica. You’ll do no such thing,” Finn told her. “Just put your dishes away and scrub out your skillet. I’ll have your team here and hitched to your wagon in fifteen minutes.” He stalked away, and Jessica was left to watch his long legs cover the ground to where the animals were staked within an enclosure.
As she watched, Gage approached the herded beasts from another direction, and he and Finn came face-to-face, obviously having words in the midst of the docile oxen. Finley Carson was not a man to cross swords with this morning, she thought as Gage cast a look in her direction, tipped his hat in a gesture of greeting and walked back to the wagon where his partners waited. The other men were already hitching up their team and Gage turned aside, tossing odds and ends of their gear inside the wagon.
Finn led Jessica’s animals toward her, his eyes seeking her out. Time was fleeting while she stood gawking, she thought, and with practiced movements, she washed out her skillet and scrubbed off her baking stone. Within ten minutes she was ready for the day, and at Finn’s bidding she climbed into the back of the wagon, reaching to take the wooden box inside for storage until they halted once more.
“You forgot your hairbrush,” he said from behind her, and she turned to see him in the rear opening, handing in the bone-handled utensil. “I’ll have to speak my mind, I think,” he said with a smile. “I like your hair that way, hanging loose down your back. It makes you look about sixteen years old.”
“I’m not sixteen,” she told him tartly. “I feel like an old woman already at twenty-four, and this morning every single year is weighing me down.” As if to refute his remark, she gathered her hair across her shoulder and separated it into three thick strands, her fingers industrious as she formed the accustomed plait she wore.
“Don’t scowl,” he said with a grin. “I’d think you’d be feeling pretty special, Jess,” he told her, the teasing note returning to his voice. “There’s a whole flock of menfolk circling you like wolves after a pretty little red deer. You’ll have your pick,” he reminded her.
“I’m not in any hurry. I have two weeks to make up my mind,” she retorted, and noted his satisfied smile as he turned away. The fact that at least two men were actively seeking her favor should have made her feel a bit more secure, she supposed. But instead, she knew an uneasy sensation that blighted her day.
Gage Morgan was a handsome man, and if she hadn’t already been approached by Finn, he might have been able to win her over, to a point where she’d consider him more seriously. As it was, Finn was crowding her, intent on cutting out the competition, and though it made her feel womanly and worthy of attention, she didn’t like it—not one little bit. For the first time in her life, she savored the feeling of making her own choices, of pondering her future and charting her course. Independence was an exhilarating thing, she decided.
After the stop for noontime, when the women brought forth cold food left from breakfast or the night before, Jessica offered Finn what was left of the rabbit stew. He forked through the bits of meat and placed several on a biscuit, then topped it with another and ate the makeshift meal while he stood beside the wagon.