The Trail Master's Bride (3 page)

So, they pressed on with Elliott leading the team day in and day out, not letting them pull out of line, as she did. Or stop the train dead as she had when they got breachy—which she learned from one of the women meant unruly—much to the dismay of the family who had the misfortune to be in line behind them.

Truly though, Elliott had no one except himself to blame for approaching her father and contracting marriage without so much as a ‘by your leave’ to her. She would have told him she had no idea how to go about being a pioneer wife. She should have felt sorry for the man, but she didn’t in the slightest, particularly when he called her names, like ninny hammer and cabbage head, questioning her intellect ceaselessly. This didn’t sit well with Mina and she returned his ire without hesitation, none of which went unnoticed by the other members of the wagon train and their leader.

Mr. Carr had been easygoing and patient when the trip had begun. That had changed with the Hobarts going hammer and tongs at each other nightly. He watched with narrowed eyes as the pair carried on and it was clear to all, including Mina and Elliott, that his tolerance was wearing thin. Because of their ineptitude, he moved them up front in the train where he could better keep an eye on them, he said. That had been an extremely unpopular decision, especially when they held up the train time and again. They soon found themselves shuffled back in the long line of wagons, until eventually, they were bringing up the rear. This soothed their traveling companions immensely as they were for the most part out of earshot. It worried Mina though, especially when she heard Mr. Carr’s warning to Elliott—keep up or be left behind.

One night, about three weeks into the trip, Mina got fed up with Elliott’s constant insults and criticisms. She was trying, really she was. And rather than succumbing to the tears of frustration that had lingered just beneath the surface ever since leaving Boston, she exploded in anger.

“Sludge! Pure and simple. You are the worst wife who ever lived, Mina Franks!”

Pushing to her feet, she spun and hurled the coffeepot beyond the circle of their campfire, into the darkness.

“It’s Mina Hobart, you horse’s hind end, and I’ll remind you that I didn’t ask for this. This was your brilliant idea. So, don’t you dare complain one more time. What in the world made you think I could cook, wash clothes in a creek on a washboard, or drive a team of oxen?”

“I believed you had a brain between your ears at the very least, not flotsam and a bunch of feathers! Besides, I needed your money to fund the trip.”

That stopped Mina mid-rant.

He laughed at her surprise. “Surely you didn’t think I proposed out of my undying love for you. Your stepmother promised to fund my trip if I’d marry you and take you off her hands. I can see why she was so anxious to see the last of you. You are hopelessly obtuse.”

Vanessa. This was her doing. She should have known. Elliott also should have known to be wary of Vanessa Franks and the bill of goods she’d sold him along with an inept bride.
Caveat emptor,
her father always said about his business dealings, let the buyer beware. Unfortunately, in this case, it was his daughter who got the raw end of the deal.

Elliott continued, heedless of her feelings. “The mill burned down and we were left in dire straits. As a third son, I had to do something else. So I really had little choice other than to marry and you seemed the best bet, financially. Now, I regret not borrowing the money and marrying Betsy Snow. That gal was stout as an ox and could have pulled the wagon by herself, I have no doubt.”

Mina didn’t know what to think. She’d known love wasn’t involved; nonetheless, it stung to have been essentially sold to a husband who didn’t really want her. No wonder he had barely touched her. Except for a requisite buss on the cheek when the preacher told him to, he’d never even kissed her. He acted like he’d been the one forced into this farce of a marriage, and furthermore, he was certainly no prize himself. Only a few years younger than her father, he was too old and foul-tempered. And he certainly wasn’t one to make the ladies swoon with his gallantry and good looks. She hadn’t expected much from a contracted marriage, but was it too much to ask for civility? What hurt her the most about the situation was the fact that she had went from being unloved and unwanted under one man’s roof to the same situation with another. It was heart-rending and dreadfully humiliating.

Unable to deal with it, she whirled on her heel and started walking. To where, she didn’t know. What she’d do when she got there, well, she didn’t know that either, and at this point she didn’t care. Leaving the circle of light behind her, she stomped on weary legs and aching feet off into the darkness.

With half an ear, she listened for her husband, hoping to hear him call her name and tell her to stop, to show a semblance of husbandly concern for her well-being, or for God’s sake to come after her as she went tramping off in the dark in the middle of nowhere. He didn’t and she hadn’t really expected him to; that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

* * *

Having heard the argument clearly—hard not to when whispered voices carried well on the prairie after dark, and the Hobarts were far from whispering—Weston had steered clear at first, leaving the couple to work out their differences amongst themselves. He was saddling his horse to patrol beyond the perimeter of the camp, when one of the women waylaid him to tell him that Mina Hobart had gone off on her own in the dark and her husband seemed not to care. He couldn’t let it slide.

Wasting no time, he finished up with his mount and headed over to the Hobarts’ wagon. Not surprising, Ben Jacobs, who was one wagon ahead of them on the train, had arrived ahead of him. “Go after her, man,” the older man urged.

Unconcerned, Elliott merely shrugged and muttered, “She’ll come back after she calms down.”

“It’s dangerous out there for a woman alone,” Jacobs insisted. “There are coyotes, bobcats, and all sorts of critters, not to mention the two-legged kind.”

When the man just blinked up at him, clearly unmoved, Weston snapped. He grabbed Hobart by his collar and lifted the puny man off his booted feet. “She’s your wife, you jackass. Now, saddle up and go after her, before I make you regret it.”

Elliott sputtered and coughed ineffectively in his grasp, collapsing in a heap at his feet when he suddenly released him.

“Deuced useless piss-ant pilgrim,” Weston grumbled as he stared down at the poor excuse for a man with contempt.

“I’ll go fetch the gal myself, by God,” Mr. Jacobs asserted angrily as he started toward his wagon.

“No, Ben. My horse is saddled. It’ll be faster if I go,” he said this while mounting up. “If we delay, there’s no telling what fix she’ll be in by the time I find her. You stay here and see if you can reason with this imbecile. Start with explaining the finer points of being a husband and seeing to his responsibilities.”

“By all means,” the older man replied, also glaring with disgust at the man still coughing and carrying on in the dirt. “Although, I seriously doubt I’ll have any success.”

Throwing Jacobs a look of complete understanding, he whirled his horse and rode out on the trail of a very foolish young woman.

Chapter Three

Weston spotted Mina no more than half a mile up the trail, her white blouse gleaming like a beacon beneath the full moon. If that didn’t attract the attention of wild animals, both the four- and two-legged kind, her mumbling rant would. She didn’t hear him approach, so focused was she on denigrating her spouse. He made out something about a bumbling baboon and going from the frying pan into the fire before he reined in beside her.

She squealed and jumped back, her hand flying to her chest in obvious alarm.

“Mr. Carr,” she gasped. “You gave me a fright.”

“Ma’am.” He tipped his hat. “Nice night for a stroll.” Sarcasm was clear in his gesture and tone. Not quite the cabbage head her husband had called her, she had the grace to look chagrined.

“Can I ask what destination you had in mind?”

“Uh—”

“You’re heading the wrong way if going back is your aim. However, it you stick to the trail you’re on, alone and on foot, you should reach Oregon City in time for Christmas.”

She blinked up at him, then looked away before bowing her head to stare at her hands, which were twisting in the folds of her skirt. He saw her shoulders shake as her breath escaped on a little sob. That’s when he realized how young she really was and felt like an ass for teasing her.

He dismounted and held out his arm. “C’mon, darlin’. I’ll take you back.”

As his hands encircled her slender waist, the tears came like a flash flood, pouring down her cheeks and dripping off the end of her chin. She surprised him next by stepping forward and pressing her face into his chest.

“I don’t want to go back. I want to go home.”

Very aware she was married, he still couldn’t stand by without offering her comfort. Cautiously, he brought his hands up and stroked her upper back. “Wouldn’t your husband miss you if you go?”

“I highly doubt it,” she stuttered on a shaky sob. “More like he’d have a celebration. I can’t do anything right so I know he’d be happy to see the end of me.” She sniffled, wiping at her tears with her fingers, unable to keep up as more rolled down her cheeks. “He couldn’t even be bothered to come after me, could he?”

He didn’t feel he needed to answer that and fished in his pocket for his handkerchief. He offered it to her. “It’s clean.”

She huffed a little breath, as though finding that funny for some reason, and accepted it. His tension eased a bit, thinking the torrent of tears had passed. Then, he pressed her for an answer to something he’d wondered about since Independence.

“Why the hell did you marry that idiot?”

This time she laugh, just a short burst and without much humor. It was the first he recalled hearing from her, a soft and throaty laugh that he liked and that stirred up feelings he shouldn’t have for a married woman.

“It’s a long story.” She sucked in a calming breath that hitched a bit as she mopped her face with his linen. “Suffice it to say we don’t suit.”

He grunted, giving her shoulders a sympathetic squeeze. “All too often life gives us challenges with very few choices.” Her head came up in question. Not willing to go into his personal struggles, he put on his master’s hat. “You know it’s not safe to go traipsing off on your own in the dark, or at any time for that matter.”

“I do. It’s just that Elliott can be…”

“A horse’s ass?”

She laughed for real this time. “Yeah. In fact, I very nearly called him the same thing before stomping off.” Quieting, she admitted, “I lost my temper.”

“Then I can expect that this won’t happen again? The stomping off part, I mean, Elliott being a horse’s ass seems to be a forgone conclusion.”

She grinned up at him briefly, but the next instant her smile faded and she pulled away. Clearly, in that instant, she realized as did he, that this shared moment in the dark with her in his arms shouldn’t be happening.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Next time my husband makes me furious, I’ll have my temper tantrum within the safety of the camp.”

“I have your word?”

“I promise.”

“Good girl.”

Her back went ramrod straight at that remark and he felt it was best if they headed on back. He lifted her into the saddle and mounted behind her.

“I’m not a girl, sir,” she murmured as he slid his arms around her to take up the reins.

“How old are you?” he asked, as he guided his horse back toward the camp. “Twenty-two, twenty-three at most?”

“I’ll be twenty-one, the seventeenth of next month.”

He chuckled. “As old as that, huh? I’m thirty-one, darlin’; to me, you are a girl.” That’s what Weston said aloud; inside he was thinking she was far from it, especially with her warm, soft body pressed against his front, the roundness of her bottom conforming to the spread of his thighs and the underside of her full breasts brushing against his forearm with each stride of his horse.

Damn! She made him hard and ache with desire. The sudden tightness of his denim trousers was indisputable proof of that. He fought against it though, telling himself it wasn’t her, rather the fact it had been a while since he’d been with a woman. Besides, she was unavailable. If she weren’t married, she was still too young, too green, and much too soft to make it in the harsh world he lived in. She was also sassy, spunky, and delightfully curvy in all the right places, which, like her laugh, he liked a whole helluva lot. He stifled a groan as Mina wiggled her soft bottom, making herself comfortable in his lap.

He heeled his horse into a fast gait out of self-preservation. As they raced back to camp, the rapid pace stirred up the rush of warm air around them, sending tendrils of her sweet-scented long hair that had come loose from her braid whipping across his face.

Damn! He repeated silently as the ache she’d roused became a burning need. He urged his horse faster.

* * *

Exhilarating. That was the only word that could describe the feeling of riding across the plains under the moonlit sky while held tightly by strong arms and for the first time in her life feeling valued and secure.

It was silly, really. The man was simply doing his job. A job that should have fallen to Elliott. Where her husband had failed, Mr. Carr had stepped in and seen to her safety. Tall, muscled, handsome, he was the antithesis of Elliott Hobart. Mina lamented how ill-fated misfortune always seemed to find her. Why couldn’t she and Weston have met at a different time under different circumstances?

Again, it was a silly notion. That this rugged Western pioneer would want an inept city girl like her was truly laughable. For that matter, that she would include life on a wagon train into a romantic daydream of what she hoped her life would be, even more so.

Too soon, the lights of the camp up ahead came into view.

“So, to be clear, we won’t have a repeat of this late night ride, will we, Mrs. Hobart?”