Brides of Prairie Gold (28 page)

When Perrin spotted Cody, saddling the buckskin, she veered toward him, struggling to hold her head up. Each step on the uneven ground jarred her brain and made her wince. The only thing that offered the slightest pleasure was seeing Cody's soaring eyebrows when he noticed all the brides advancing on him. To give him credit, he recovered quickly and strode forward to meet them. Halting, he folded his arms over his chest.

"Well?" he asked coolly, studying Perrin's white face and shaking hands. Anger flickered in the depths of his eyes.

His attitude made it easy. How dare he use that tone of voice, as if they needed to explain themselves. "You deceived us!" she snapped angrily. Murmurs of assent lifted from the women behind her.

The fury that trembled on her lips was personal. She had wanted Cody to be different. She had begun to believe that he was. But he was like the other men she had known. Deceivers, all of them. Instead of the truth, a man said what a woman wanted to hear. And when he was caught, he insisted that the woman was in the wrong, never him.

"You lied to us!" she accused, spitting the words at him.

"Would you ladies have slept better knowing you were carrying arms and whiskey?" His calm tone infuriated her.

"Don't try to blame us for your deceit! We should have been told!" She resonated with the heat of past deceptions.

She told herself this was not Garin Waverly exploiting a young girl's loneliness with honeyed words. This was not Joseph Boyd manipulating her sympathy and gratitude. This was Cody Snow, who had treated her fairly and straightforwardly. Until now. But nothing she said to herself lessened her anger at him for being revealed as a deceiver like the others.

"We refuse to risk our lives by traveling all the way to Oregon with arms and whiskey." Because she had allowed herself to begin to trust this man, his deception cut all the deeper.

"Is that right?" Cody's eyes narrowed dangerously and his hands dropped to lean hips and tightened into fists.

Perrin leaned forward from the waist. "That's right!"

"And what do you propose to do with your bridegroom's investment? Abandon the wagons beside the trail?"

"We demand that you sell the arms and whiskey in Fort Laramie." Another chorus of agreement sounded. Strong conviction asserted itself against the morning ravages of strong drink.

Cody swept them with a silencing glare. "That is not an option. If there are two things a military post has an abundance of, it's arms and whiskey. Our freight will fetch three times the price in Oregon, and that's where it's going."

Perrin thrust out her chin and sparks flashed in her eyes. "Then we aren't."

Cody's shoulders jerked and he stared at her. He hadn't expected this. After studying her unyielding scowl, he lifted his gaze to the other women. Their faces were equally determined.

"We don't have time to waste on foolishness. Put out your fires and get in your wagons. We'll depart in ten minutes." One or two of the brides started to turn away, but Perrin's voice stopped them.

"No," she said firmly, her refusal ringing in the crystal air. "We aren't going anywhere until we have your promise that you'll dispose of the whiskey and the arms in Fort Laramie. That's our condition for proceeding."

"You aren't going to get it," he snapped.

Spinning on the heel of a worn pair of shoes, she marched through the aisle opened for her by the brides. They glared at him, then closed ranks behind her, united in their decision and determination. Shoulders stiff, they returned to their wagons, presumably to search for headache elixirs.

Cody signaled Smokey Joe to announce it was time to mount the wagons. Smokey's dinner gong banged out the call, and Cody finished saddling his horse, giving them time to take their places. Then he waved his hat and shouted, "Waaaaagons, hoooo!"

The wagons didn't move. No one stirred. The oxen didn't turn out of the square and plod toward the trail.

Cody sat on his horse, scowling. He and feisty little Mrs. Waverly had come head to head. She had instigated a mutiny.

"Well, we'll see how things look after she's had a day to sit on that pretty little butt and think about it," he muttered as Webb rode up beside him.

He hadn't overlooked the significance of the brides' united support, but his anger focused on Perrin. Grinding his teeth, he rode toward his two remaining teamsters, shouting orders.

An hour later, Perrin noticed without much interest that Miles Dawson and John Voss were unyoking the oxen. As the day wore on, a few of the women summoned the energy to bake bread or roll out pies. Winnie and Cora wandered off in search of ripe plums. Everyone else nursed aching heads or dozed on the shady side of their wagons and swore never again to sample whiskey. Everyone wished they had access to clean water and a bath. But all they had was the dirty Platte, not fit for man nor beast.

From time to time throughout the day Perrin glimpsed Cody talking to the men, gesturing angrily. He rode out with Webb and a few hours later returned with enough antelope that Smokey Joe gave each of the wagons a chunk of fresh meat for the stew pots. Near suppertime, she spotted Cody standing with Webb, studying the remaining whiskey wagon.

The very best part of the day was when each of the brides found a reason to stop by Perrin's wagon and then praise her for standing up to Cody and reassure her that they were united in their position. When Augusta appeared, Perrin froze, dumbstruck.

Ostensibly, Augusta came to return a cup of sugar that neither Perrin nor Hilda could recall having lent her.

"I guess we showed him a thing or two," she said firmly, pouring her cup into the sugar sack that Hilda held open. "He'll not endanger our lives!" This was the closest Augusta would ever come to voicing approval of something Perrin had done.

Perrin nodded, and waited. Because, of course, Augusta, being Augusta, couldn't leave it at that.

She gave Perrin a cold stare. "I know what you're trying to do with Cora," she said sharply. "You want to keep her with the train as an annoyance to me."

Perrin leaned away from the bread dough she kneaded at the sideboard. With the back of one floury hand, she pushed at a strand of loose hair.

"I want to keep Cora on the train so she won't ruin herself in order to eat, find shelter, or buy her passage home," she said bluntly. "Cora will remain with you until Fort Laramie, then she'll move to Sarah's wagon. Since you can't care for yourself, I expect it will be you who leaves us once we reach the fort."

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Augusta growled, baring her teeth.

"It wouldn't break my heart," Perrin snapped.

"Well, it isn't going to happen. I intend to engage a new maid at the fort!"

Perrin forced her jaw to relax, made her fists open. "Somehow I doubt you'll find many maids in a military post."

"You forget I'm a Boyd!" Holding her skirts close as if being near Perrin might contaminate her, Augusta swept away, red circles flaming high on her cheeks.

Perrin watched her go, then returned to the bread dough, cuffing it across the sideboard as if she were slapping the superior expression off of Augusta Boyd's smug face.

Throughout the day, she continued to catch glimpses of Cody and expected him to request a meeting. But he didn't.

On the morning of the third day, Cody walked toward the sunrise, then swore and flung his hat to the ground. Tilting his head back, he sucked in a long breath of cool morning air.

"Did you put out the word that every day lost on this foolishness is going to hurt us at the end of the journey?"

Heck Kelsey, Miles Dawson, and John Voss nodded solemnly. Webb stood to one side, hands in his back pockets, watching the sun push over the horizon.

"We told them about the snow and how we're trying to beat it," Heck murmured. He shook his head. The others did the same.

"Hellfire and damnation!" Fury and frustration exploded inside Cody's chest. Two trains had passed ahead of them while they were stuck here. With every minute, they fell further and further behind schedule.

"We're going to experience sanitary problems if we remain at this site another day," Webb commented, his gaze on the sunrise. "The animals have eaten every blade of grass. The water barrels are low. There isn't a buffalo chip within two miles; there won't be any fires tomorrow."

Cody stared at the crosses marking the graves of Bill Macy and Jeb Holden. The women had covered the mounds with stones and wildflowers. Heck had carved the teamsters' names on pieces of scrap lumber. The graves were a constant rebuke, reminding Cody that he should have done something differently. He should have hanged Jake Quinton when he'd had the opportunity.

"Them women got you beat, Capt'n," Smokey Joe said, flipping his long gray braid over his shoulder. His lips twitched.

"Half beat," Cody snarled. He started toward Perrin's wagon. "Prepare to move out!" He would do what he had to. It was time to end this stand-off.

She spotted him coming and walked out onto the prairie to meet him, stopping when they were ten feet apart. "Well?" she demanded suspiciously, lifting one silky eyebrow.

"Here it is, take it or leave it," he snapped. "I'll sell the whiskey in Fort Laramie. But the arms go with us to Oregon. If we sell the arms in Fort Laramie, your bridegrooms aren't going to realize enough profit to buy you ladies your houses. Is that what you want? To live in tents?"

"That isn't the whole story, now, is it? I believe you hold a financial interest in these transactions too, Mr. Snow!"

"That's correct. We've lost the profit from the stolen wagon, and I'm willing to take a reduced profit on the remaining whiskey. But I'm sure as hell not willing to part with the arms and ammunition at give-away prices! That wagon represents the bulk of our anticipated profits. So if you aren't willing to compromise, I'll"

"You'll what, Mr. Snow?" Her damned chin thrust forward and sparks flashed in her eyes. He'd never met a woman he'd wanted to turn over his knee more than this one. She irritated him in the best of circumstances, enraged him in other situations.

Right now, he couldn't believe that he had ever questioned her leadership abilities. She was a born fighter.

"We'll take the arms and whiskey wagons and we'll leave your butts right here. That's what. We'll go on without you."

"Is that so?"

"You're damned straight! You've heard my offer and that's it. No negotiation. The boys and I are leaving in thirty minutes. So make up your mind if you're coming with us."

"Wait. We aren't finished."

He turned, expecting instant capitulation, but there was no sign of surrender in her expression.

"What about Cora? Does she get to be a bride?"

"Is that a condition?" He couldn't believe this.

"It could be."

She was pressing an advantage. She had to know he was in a frenzy to settle this problem and get moving again. Anger exploded behind his chest, and pride told him to dig in and show her who was running this outfit and who made the decisions.

Experience and common sense prevailed. If getting this expedition under way depended on Cora Thorp being designated a bride, then to hell with it. Mr. White just got himself a bride.

"Congratulate Miss Thorp. I'm sure she'll make a fine farmer's wife," he snarled between clenched teeth.

"Thank you, Cody," she said, her voice suddenly soft.

He glared, fuming. "The minute Cora can't pay her way, I'll put her off the train. And one more thing. I don't appreciate being blackmailed. I won't forget this. Now talk to the others and make your decision." He left her to go saddle his horse.

Twenty minutes later all the brides appeared, led by Perrin wearing that stubborn look he had learned to despise. The others scowled as if they would gladly have drawn and quartered him.

"What is it now?" he demanded, his voice harsh.

"We think you are the worst wagonmaster we have ever heard of and we rue the day you were assigned to take us across the continent!" That was her beginning. "You have shown and continue to show a reckless disregard for our lives and well-being."

Several of the brides murmured, "Hear, hear!"

Cody drew a deep breath and tried to control the burst of temper choking him. "Are you coming, damn it? Or are you going to stay here and sulk?"

Perrin glared at him. They all glared at him.

"We accept your terms," she snapped. "Since we don't appear to have a choice. But we want your guarantee that you'll sell the whiskey in Fort Laramie and that Cora joins us as a bride."

"Agreed. Now all of you get your behinds in those wagons. I mean right now!" They tossed their heads as if flinging invisible daggers at him. After fifteen minutes he cantered to the front of his train and shouted, "Waaaagons, hoooo."

To his relief, the oxen began turning out of the square.

God, he hated to deal with women. Most especially, he hated dealing with one small dark-haired, flashing-eyed beauty who was causing him more trouble than he had experienced on his last three journeys put together.

He wanted to fling her on a bed and show her who was the boss.

His scowl faded and he laughed out loud when he realized he wasn't sure who would win that particular struggle.

By the time they finished unloading the wagons and building barges to float the beds and wheels across the swollen, sparkling Laramie River, then reassembled and reloaded on the other side, dusk muted the sky and everyone reeled with exhaustion. The lights of Fort Laramie proved no enticement to people too fatigued to move aching muscles. Everyone tossed down a cold supper, set up tents, and fell into damp bedrolls.

As bone-weary as she was, Mem couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned, stared at the roof of the tent, tossed some more, listened to Bootie whimpering in her slumber, rolled this way, tried that way, then finally sighed and gave it up.

Although she suspected she could have fired a gun through Bootie's pillow without waking her, Mem crept from the tent as quietly as she could and stepped into the cool night air. The rise in altitude and a late afternoon hailstorm had left a chill that felt more like early winter than late June.