Defiant Heart (8 page)

Willard stepped forward, smiling his usual mocking grin. “Mighty chivalrous of you protecting those women and the young'uns.”

Blake's defenses rose. “Chivalry had nothing to do with it. I would have done the same for you.”

“Still, a man has to wonder if trouble's going to keep following us now that those four are part of the train.”

“You just concentrate on not causing trouble of your own, Willard, and I'll worry about Miss Caldwell and Toni. Got it?”

Blake left him standing and strode to where Hank Moore still hung back, watching the wagon. Blake extended his hand, taking note of the other man's strong grip and work-hardened palms. “Thanks for your help, Hank.”

The giant of a man inclined his head. “Glad I was handy.”

“What are your plans now?”

“I ain't goin' back to Hawkins, thet's for sure,” he said. “You-uh-got room for another man on horseback?”

This could be the answer to one more problem for the wagon train. A smithy would be an invaluable addition. “You're a blacksmith, right?”

“Yep.”

Blake exchanged a look with Sam, expecting to find easy acceptance. Instead, hesitance clouded the hazel eyes. Concern slid through Blake; it wasn't like Sam to stand in judgment of anyone.

Still, without a good reason, how could Blake say no? Especially after the man had given up his life in Hawkins to watch over Fannie and Toni? That action alone deserved the benefit of the doubt. “We can always use a blacksmith. As long as you keep prices fair.”

“You got my word on that.”

“You can put your bedroll next to my fire.”

“If it's all the same to you, I'd rather stay close to Miss Toni's wagon so I can keep an eye on her. George ain't gonna give up just because you say so.”

“As a matter of fact, it's not all the same to me. It's not proper for you to sleep outside of her wagon. I'm sure Toni doesn't need the train's gossip mill to buzz any more than it already will after the truth about her past came up tonight. And if I'm not mistaken, one of those men actually implied you're a longtime customer.”

The man's eyes caught fire, and Blake braced himself just in case the fellow might take a swing.

“Mr. Tanner?”

Blake turned to the sound of Kip's voice coming from the wagon. “What is it, Kip? Everything okay?”

“You ought to let Mr. Moore stay outside our wagon. He helped us get away from Tom. Even kept our wagon and oxen for us. We wouldn't be here if he hadn't helped us out. Couldn't you just sorta let folks know that Mr. Moore ain't doin' anything improper? Miss Toni's changing her ways. I heard her say so.”

Blake hesitated at the youthful ability to believe in folks. He considered the lad's words. It would be nice for someone else to assume responsibility for the women and young'uns. He surely didn't have time to play nursemaid to the bullheaded Miss Caldwell and her wagonload.

Again Blake looked at Sam for approval, and again he was greeted with hesitance. He knew he'd have to get Sam alone and find out what it was about the blacksmith that made his friend's hackles rise.

“The boy might feel safer if someone he knows and trusts stays outside the wagon, Mr. Tanner,” Hank said. In the firelight, Blake took note of a look in Hank's eyes that might have been desperation. The man must really care about Fannie and the twins. Still, he couldn't just dismiss Sam's concerns without at least taking time to investigate further.

Never one to let another man think for him, Blake shook his head. “I'll stand guard tonight. You're welcome to join me. I could always use the company.”

The smithy's eyes grew dark, and he seemed about to argue, but a sudden change came over his face as his gaze landed on Kip. He smiled at the lad and ruffled his red hair, which was in desperate need of a pair of shears. “There, you see?” he said with the tenderness of a father. “You'll be safe with Mr. Tanner standing guard. And I'll be here too.”

Kip's face relaxed into something akin to relief. “Good night, Mr. Moore,” he said. “I'm glad you decided to come with us. When Fannie wakes up, she'll be glad too.”

The man's expression softened beneath his bushy beard. “Me too, son.”

Blake watched the paternal exchange with a sense of foreboding. The man seemed to be a savior. But Blake had never known Sam's instincts to fail him, and that gave him more than a little reason to pause. On the other hand, he'd seen the way Sam looked at Toni. Could his reservation be a simple case of the basest of human emotion? Jealousy? The only other time Sam had been wrong about a man had also involved a woman. And that time almost got him killed. Sam might be a brilliant tracker and the best shot in the West,
but when it came to women he was about as dumb as one of Fannie's oxen.

He walked away from the wagon, where Sam still stood, looking on like a mother hen watching over her chicks. “You best turn in,” he said. “Morning comes early.”

Sam shook his head. “Later.” He stared at the blacksmith as the man made himself comfortable against a wagon wheel, his rifle laid strategically across his lap.

“Suit yourself.” Blake knew better than to try to make Sam talk when he didn't want to. And right now, all his friend seemed to want was to keep an eye on the newcomer.

Blake headed back to the wagon, mentally shaking his head. Sam must be smitten with the prostitute if he was so determined to watch the man standing watch over the wagon. Blake knew from experience that Sam made his own decisions. If he'd decided this woman was somehow special, no amount of talking would convince him to look elsewhere for love. But he supposed he shouldn't judge. Being half-Indian, Sam's choices for a wife were limited. Most white women wouldn't look at him twice, let alone consider him a suitable match. But a woman like Toni…she ought to be grateful any man would even consider a relationship with her that lasted for more than an hour.

Blake listened to the sounds of the camp as folks settled back down after the upset of a gunshot and attempted kidnapping. He figured husbands and fathers would be restless at the thought of anyone wandering into camp and carrying off their loved ones. But he wasn't too worried. He didn't figure the two men would try anything more tonight.

From the looks of things, Fannie needed at least a couple days more to recover before they could move on. The laudanum was keeping her asleep, which was the best way for her to be so she didn't stress her body more than necessary. But he dreaded having to inform the wagon train they couldn't move forward because of one woman…a new member of the wagon train at that. No one would understand the delay.

Blake didn't quite understand his actions himself. He only knew that he couldn't leave Fannie behind and risk her being captured by that brute of a taskmaster. He could only imagine the abuses she had already suffered at the man's hands, even before the latest beating. And despite the repercussions, he couldn't move forward and take a risk she might be killed from the shaking of her wagon. The choice was clear…they would wait, even if that meant discontent and suspicion throughout the rest of the train.

 

George's Gold Nugget saloon buzzed with speculation. Where was Toni? For that matter, where was Arnold? The henchman hadn't been seen in a couple of days. Tom sat across from George, nursing a glass of whiskey, morosely imagining what he should have said. Done.

“Shoulda used my rifle.”

George nodded. “Thet's whut we get fer tryin' to go in there nicely and appeal to those folks' sense of decency.”

“Yep. Wanna go back?”

Guzzling down a beer, George let out an earsplitting belch and shook his head. “Naw, they ain't gonna let us nowheres near them women now.”

“Know who I want to shoot?” His pickled tongue slurred the words. But he didn't care.

“Hank,” George supplied.

Tom nodded and tipped his whiskey glass, flinching as the amber liquid burned his throat, then relaxing as it warmed his stomach, giving him courage to imagine himself walking into that camp and taking out whoever stood in his way. He slammed his fist on the table and shoved his girth back in his chair and stood on shaky legs.

“Whut do ya think yer doin'?” George asked gruffly.

“I'm goin' to git Fannie.” He reached for his hat and missed, reached again and grabbed the battered covering.

“Sit down, ya dumb mule.”

Quick anger shot through Tom. He was sick of folks calling him dumb, no-good, fat. He shoved the table into George. “I'm goin'.”

George's face grew red, and he stood, his pistol in hand. “I said sit down, idiot. We're gonna stick to the plan. You remember the plan?”

Coward. They called him coward too. But looking down the barrel of a Colt revolver, Tom sobered up good and fast. He plopped his body back into the chair.

“We're gonna git them back. But we gotta be smart about it this time. Plan better so we don't walk away empty-handed.”

George lifted the whiskey bottle and poured Tom another drink. That settled him right down. One thing about George, he wasn't stingy with his liquor.

The saloon doors swung open just as he reached for the
glass. Clay Robinson staggered in, carrying a man over his shoulder. Even before he tossed the man onto the plank floor, Tom knew.

“I found him in the old barn south of town. He's been dead for a couple a days.”

Tom stayed put while George walked across the floor and stared down at his friend, the man who had done all of his dirty work for the past five years.

“Git him outta here, Clay,” George instructed. The circle around the dead man thinned out. “I'll give ya a full day's wages to take him off somewhere an' bury him.”

“Ya got yerself a deal,” Clay muttered around a wad of tobacco. He hefted the dead man to his shoulder once more and exited the way he came. As though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, the farmers, miners, and traders went back to drinking, gambling, and the saloon girls.

George walked back to the table and took his seat. He reached for his glass of whiskey and downed it in one swallow. “Well, now,” he said, his face stone cold. “This looks like a case for the law.”

“The law?” That was the last thing Tom wanted to see come to Hawkins. When a town got a sheriff, it got civilized. Before long a preacher would be building a church, and decent folk who looked down their self-righteous noses would move in and take things over. He couldn't abide that.

“Why do we need to call in the law? It ain't gonna do Arnold any good now.”

George drew an impatient breath. “We just gonna let those women get the best of us? That wagon train's gettin'
more and more distance on us. And before long, they's gonna be gone fer good. I figure only the law has a chance at bringin' them back.”

“You think Fannie killed Arnold?” Tom knew well and good the girl was a lot of trouble, but if she was going to murder anyone, it would have been him. No. She was no killer, and Toni had refused to leave him long enough without food and water where he would die. “No. Fannie didn't have nothin' to do with it.”

George nodded. “The way he's sliced up, I'd say Hank's huntin' knife did a number on him.”

Tom swallowed hard at the cold assessment of the man's untimely death. A man who was supposedly George's friend. “Then how's that gonna get the girls back?”

Tom leaned forward, his gut squeezed uncomfortably against the edge of the table. “Well? How's Hank killin' Arnold gonna get my Fannie back?”

“We send the U.S. Marshal after the girls. Hank'll have to come forward and confess.”

“Why'd a fellow do that?”

“Ya know how that fool feels about Toni. I'd bet my right arm he's all set to marry up with her and settle down out West like she weren't never no fancy girl.” George summoned another bottle of whiskey from the saloon girl behind the counter.

Confusion that Tom attributed to the mind-numbing effects of half a bottle of whiskey clouded his mind, and he couldn't quite grasp the logic behind George's reasoning.

A chuckle rumbled the saloon keeper's chest. “I kin tell by
that dumb look on yer face ya ain't got no understandin' of whut I'm gettin' at.” He took the bottle from the girl, smacked her on the rump, and chuckled again as she stumbled away.

No sense denying it when there was so much at stake. “Thet's right.”

George popped open the whiskey and poured them each another tumblerful. “Trust me. By the time Toni and Fannie clear their names, the wagon train'll be long gone. And they'll be back.” His eyes glittered with an evil that made Tom shudder. He wasn't sure, but he had a bad feeling he'd just partnered with the devil.

Fannie winced as the wagon wheels jerked over endless ruts on the well-worn trail. She had to admit today was better than yesterday, and yesterday easier than the day before. But she was growing impatient with her slow progress. They'd been back on the trail for a week now, and she was beginning to despair of ever getting her strength back.

Blake had instructed Mr. Cooper, the captain of their section, to assign her to fuel-gathering duty, so she, along with the children of the camp, gathered buffalo chips and small twigs where they could be found. Today would be her first day working the chore. She was ready.

“How you feeling?” Toni asked from her seat next to Fannie. Toni's hands gripped the reins. She'd learned to drive the oxen pretty well.

“Better,” Fannie said. “But I'll be glad when Blake calls a halt for the day.”

Toni glanced across the horizon toward the western sky. “Shouldn't be long now. Maybe another hour.”

An hour could seem like an eternity. But Fannie was determined not to complain.

“Hi, Fannie.” The sweet sound of Katie's voice reached her ears, and she looked to the side of the wagon. Her sister walked next to another little girl who Fannie didn't recognize. The strange child gave her a bright smile that wrinkled her nose and won Fannie over without effort.

“This is Becca Kane,” Katie said. “They're a few wagons back. Her ma says I can walk with her if it's okay with you.”

“Rebecca Marie Kane!” The stern sound of a woman's voice brought a look of guilty worry to the little girl's face.

She swung around. “Yes, Mama?”

The woman, a tall, slender brunette who was most likely around thirty years of age, stomped forward and took hold of her daughter's hand. “What have I told you about disturbing these…ladies?”

Toni bristled next to Fannie but, to her credit, didn't cause a scene in front of the children.

“Becca was just asking if she and my little sister could walk together.” Fannie kept her steady gaze on the woman's face. “I was under the impression it was okay with you. But if it isn't…”

Mrs. Kane's expression remained firm, but she gave a nod. “Becca knows she may walk with the other children, as long as she does it close to our wagon.”

“I'm sorry, Ma. Katie wanted me to meet Fannie.”

Fannie slid from the slow-moving wagon and extended her hand. “I'm Katie's sister, Fannie Caldwell.”

For the first time since her arrival, the woman's expres
sion of steel softened, and she took Fannie's offered hand. “Amanda Kane. I didn't mean any offense. But one can't be too careful. She's all I have left.”

“Your husband…?”

“Oh, well, yes, my husband Zach. But Becca's my only living child.”

Fannie didn't pry, but could see the pain of fresh wounds in the woman's eyes. “You can be sure I'll look after Becca anytime she wants to come to our wagon.”

Hesitance creased her brow. “Thank you, but I…”

Fannie understood a little of what the woman must be feeling. She truly was happy to see Katie make a friend, but she wanted to keep her sister close. What if Tom came back? A horrible image invaded her mind without mercy. She shuddered at the thought of Tom snatching her sister while she wasn't around to protect her. With a pounding heart, she opened her mouth to refuse the little girl, but the pressure of Toni's hand on her arm stopped her.

Apparently sensing her hesitation, Katie looked at her with wide, soulful eyes.

She just didn't have the heart to say no. “I guess it'll be all right. If it's truly okay with Mrs. Kane.”

Amanda nodded, her face softening with relief. “That sounds fine. Good-bye, Fannie. It was very nice to meet you. I-uh-hope to see you again soon. Let's go, girls.”

“Thank you, Fannie!” Two giggling little girls dashed off through the prairie grass. “Nice to meet you, Becca,” Fannie called after them.

The little girl stopped, turned, and waved. “You too,
ma'am.” Then they both turned and resumed their jaunt. Fannie smiled after them.

“That's a nice sight to see,” Toni said.

“I know. The twins desperately need to have a little fun.”

“I agree. But I was talking about your smile. It's nice to see you in better spirits.”

Fannie sobered as Toni's words reminded her of just why she had to keep her guard up. “I just can't help but worry about Tom and George coming back.”

Toni dismissed her worry with a roll of her green eyes. “We have nothing to worry about. Between Blake and Sam Two Feathers, we're plenty safe.”

One name was noticeably absent. “And Hank?”

It was pretty evident to all that Hank was sweet on Toni. But Toni kept him at arm's length. Fannie observed how she carefully avoided being alone with him. Even now, a troubled frown creased her brow. “You okay?” Fannie asked.

“I don't know. I keep remembering something, but I'm not sure I should mention it.”

“About Hank?” Fannie felt the discomfort in her own chest.

Toni nodded and gathered a breath. “Do you remember anything about the day we left Hawkins?

“Of course. Every detail.”

“I mean…anything in…particular.” A troubled frown creased her brow, and Fannie had a sudden, sick feeling that Toni was about to voice the same fear she'd held in since that horrible day.

“Fannie”—Toni's eyes sought hers with a spark of fear
blinking out from beneath long eyelashes—“when Hank came out to say good-bye, did you notice something?”

A wave of nausea rolled through Fannie's stomach. There was no denying what Hank had done. Slowly, she nodded. “Blood smeared on the legs of his britches.”

“Yes. As though he had wiped off a knife.” She flicked the reins as the oxen slowed down, trying to snatch a few blades of prairie grass.

“He said he had him all tied up and was going to wait and take him back to town after we got away.” Even though Fannie had considered the necessity of killing the man, she'd have never been able to go through with it. The thought that Hank had committed such an act, so cold-bloodedly, wiped off his knife, and swaggered out of the barn to say good-bye without so much as an ounce of remorse clouding his eyes, was almost unthinkable. “You think he might have killed Arnold?”

Toni looked at her askance. “If not, then where was Arnold the other night when George and Tom showed up? I've never known George to do his own dirty work. He must have been desperate. I'd lay odds on it, Fannie. Arnold's dead, and Hank's the one who killed him.”

“You think that's why he came along on the trail?”

“Partly.” Her voice remained stoic. “I'm the other reason.”

“Did he ask you to marry him?”

“No. He's already married.” Her nostrils flared slightly as her chest rose and fell in a deep breath. “Has a wife out on a little farm east of town. Didn't you know that?”

Fannie blinked in surprise. “No. I truly didn't. How come we never saw her?”

“Hank never wanted her in town. She stayed home with their four children. She's full-blooded Cheyenne Indian.”

“You mean he just abandoned them?”

Toni's shoulders lifted in a shrug. “That's the way it looks.”

“How's she going to survive?”

“Hank figures she'll go back to her people.”

“Doesn't he even care about his children?”

A shrug lifted her shoulders. “Apparently not.”

Fighting against anger and loyalty toward the same man, Fannie shook her head. “I just can't believe it. We couldn't have gotten free without him.”

She nodded. “I know. He always had a soft spot for you three. Your mama was kind to him, and your pa gave him his first job when he came to town. He felt an obligation.”

Fannie tried to wrap her mind around the implication that Hank had abandoned his wife and children and murdered a man so that he could follow Toni, a prostitute, out West.

She looked ahead, past the wagon in front of her, and saw Hank riding down the line checking on the wagons one by one as he and several other men did throughout the day. As if sensing her gaze, he glanced her way and waved.

“I just don't know what I'm going to do, Fannie.”

“What do you mean?”

“I-I think he's not quite hinged in the head altogether. Do you know what I mean?”

“You mean you think he's crazy?”

“Not all the way. Just enough so that you can't predict what he might do if he gets angry enough. That's why I
haven't had the gumption to tell him I'm not interested in continuing a relationship with him. Now or ever.”

“Has he…?”

Toni shook her head. “Not yet, but I recognize that look in his eyes. He'll be coming around soon and expecting something for his efforts. Something more than a kiss and a hug.”

Cheeks burning, Fannie felt her throat close, and she swallowed back a cough. “Well, don't give it to him.” She dreaded the very thought of what Blake would do if he found out Toni was so much as looking with favor on a man, let alone submitting to improper advances.

“I don't plan on it,” Toni replied dryly. “But I don't know what he might do if I say no too many times. There are only so many excuses and only a certain length of time a man will be patient.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

Again, she shrugged. “For now, I can hold him off. We can be thankful that he fancies himself in love with me. That'll buy me some time.”

“How so?”

A grim smile touched her lips. “Men in love are more willing to wait for what they want from the woman they want. Men who only want one thing aren't. Hank expects us to live together in Oregon and lead our neighbors to believe we're husband and wife. All his dreams are swept up in us living a grand happily ever after.”

“Shh, here he comes,” Fannie said in a hushed tone. She smiled brightly. “Good afternoon, Hank.”

The man flushed brightly around his bushy beard. “Goin'
perty good. Blake's callin' a halt up ahead, next to the Big Blue River. We'll be crossin' over in the mornin'.”

Worry hit Fannie, clenching her gut. “Will the oxen be swimming across?”

He nodded. “Only a fool would pay the prices that ferry operator's askin' per wagon when the water's this calm, and it don't look like we're in for no rain.”

“H-how much to ferry across?”

“Two dollars per wagon.” Hank's eyes narrowed. “You ain't thinkin' of payin' it, are ya? Blake won't take kindly to it. Figures a person ought to stick to the plan. He's tellin' everyone to prepare to ford the river and not pay for the ferry.”

Fannie's shoulders squared. Blake Tanner could force her to pick up buffalo chips, he could assign her a spot in the train, could force her to stay away from the single men of the train; but he couldn't tell her where to spend her own money. “We'll be taking the ferry,” she said with a stubborn nod.

Hank's thick eyebrows shifted upward, then he gave a laugh. “Suit yerself, girlie. I reckon you've earned the right to do as ya please.”

“Does that go for me too, Hank?” Toni asked, staying carefully guarded and smiling as though teasing.

Hank's eyes narrowed for a split second, then his face cracked into a grin. “Sure does, honey. As long as you please to stick with me.” He tipped his ragged hat in an attempt at manners. “I gotta get along and let the rest of these folks know we'll be stopping soon. I'll be around for supper.”

When he was out of earshot, Toni expelled a long, slow breath. The woman was right. Hank wasn't going to let her
go, and, unless Fannie was mistaken, refusing him might be slightly more dangerous for Toni than George could ever be.

She gave an involuntary shudder. “Think we ought to talk to Blake about this?”

Toni shook her head. “No. Blake would figure I deserved whatever Hank has in mind. He won't lift a finger against a man who hasn't done anything wrong.”

“Yet.”

“Yeah…”

 

Blake faced the onslaught of blue sparking at him from Fannie's enormous eyes. He understood her fear of the crossing. The first time feeling the wagon wheels lose solid ground and being at the mercy of oxen who might or might not be able to pull together during the swim was disconcerting. Blake had seen his share of drownings, but usually those incidents were a result of carelessness either of the wagon master who had no business allowing a crossing of a rough, swollen river, or a driver who tried to rush across.

“As long as you take it slow and let the oxen know who's boss, you'll be fine,” he said evenly, trying to reassure the young woman.

“I already forked over my two dollars to Mr. White for a ride across, and I aim to get my money's worth, Mr. Tanner,” she said with stubborn resolve. “I'll meet you on the other side.”

Tarnation, she was one difficult little woman. “Listen, Fannie. If I let you take the ferry, every woman feeling nervous about the crossing is going to force her man to pay money
they can't afford to ferry across. It'll take us two days instead of half a day to get everyone over. We'll lose more time we can't afford to lose. The water is gentle, and there hasn't been rain in several days according to Mr. White.”

Stubbornness wilted into consideration and he held his breath. She gave a slow nod. “All right, Blake. I can see your point. I'll do my best.”

Surprise and admiration lifted in Blake's chest.

“I'll get my wagon out of the line with the special wagons as soon as I talk to Mr. White and get my money back.”

Blake placed a restraining hand on her arm. He knew better. Louis White would never refund her money. He'd take a bullet first. “It'll save time if you get your wagon back in place in our line. I'll get your two dollars.”

“He charged me three,” she admitted with a sheepish blush of pink tingeing her cheeks, forcing her freckles to pop out in an attractive spray across her nose.