Книга - Colorado Courtship

Colorado Courtship
Carolyn Davidson


Choose A Man Or Be Left Behind!So said the code of the West for women alone on wagon trains. But newly widowed Jessica Beaumont had a baby on the way, and what kind of man would willingly take on another man's child? Apparently the rugged, handsome kind, for wagon-train scout Finn Carson staked his claim on her early…and swore never to let go!Finn Carson Was An Honest Manwho honestly wanted Jessica Beaumont to cherish and love forever. But would this fetching beauty accept him if she discovered his connection to the danger stalking her? Or would their chance at happiness be lost before it was truly found?









“You’ll find me easy to please, Jessica,” he said. “All you have to do is smile in my direction.”


Such foolishness! “A smile will do it?” she asked.

“Just looking at you gives me pleasure,” he told her, and she laughed, a quick, harsh sound.

“I’ll put some stock in that if I didn’t know how I look these days, Finn.” She set her jaw, deliberately acknowledging her own shortcomings.

He laughed at her. The man had the audacity to touch his fingers to her cheek and then bend to kiss the tip of her nose. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss Jessica.”

Then he was laughing no longer, his mouth taking hers fiercely, his need powerful, elemental. And then they lurched, almost in unison, as the baby made its presence known to them both, a tiny hand or foot poking indiscriminately in protest…!




Acclaim for Carolyn Davidson’s recent titles


The Texan

“…heart-touching characters and a vivid, mythic setting…”

—Romantic Times

A Marriage by Chance

“This deftly written novel about loss and recovery is a skillful handling of the traditional Western, with the added elements of family conflict and a moving love story.”

—Romantic Times

A Convenient Wife

“Carolyn Davidson creates an engaging, complex plot with a hero to die for.”

—Romantic Times

The Tender Stranger

“Davidson wonderfully captures gentleness in the midst of heart-wrenching challenges, portraying the extraordinary possibilities that exist within ordinary marital love.”

—Publishers Weekly




Colorado Courtship

Carolyn Davidson





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Sometimes those who point out our faults are not truly appreciated. But if the truth be known, I owe an enormous debt of gratitude to the women who read and critique my work and let me know when and where I have fallen short of the goal. They do their best to make me look good in front of my editors, and to those ladies I offer my heartfelt thanks for their efforts on my behalf. Brenda Rollins and Betty Barrs, this book is dedicated to you, with love.

And as always, to Mr. Ed, who loves me.




Contents


Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen




Prologue


Saint Louis, April 1862

He wanted her.

With but a single glance he acknowledged the desire flaring within him, knew instinctively she would fit neatly into his arms should he lift her against himself. His mouth tightened, as did the pressure of his knees against the sides of the horse he rode, and the black gelding sidestepped, tossing his head impatiently.

Appearing small and fragile beside the tall wagon, the woman’s face was in profile, her features finely drawn. Woman? She seemed but a girl, clad in a poorly fitting, voluminous dress. From beneath her sunbonnet, dark hair hung in a long braid down her back, the end tied with a bit of ribbon. It was a feminine touch, almost an aching reminder to the watching eye that, no matter the adversity, a woman’s need for such small fripperies would prevail.

To Finley Carson’s narrowed gaze, she appeared too delicate for the rigors of traveling across prairies toward the mountains that beckoned the unwary. Silently she stood looking upward at the seat, and then placed a slender hand on the wooden vehicle, hesitant, obviously fearful of climbing upward, lest she fall.

“Get in, Jessica.” The order was growled impatiently, the man standing beside the pair of oxen apparently not given to gallantry. Harsh syllables that offered no leniency to her smaller stature, her obvious fear.

“I’m not sure I can,” the young woman answered. “There’s nothing for me to step up on.” Her voice was husky, that of a woman full grown, but laced now with frustration only too clear to a bystander.

And a bystander was exactly what he must be, Finley Carson reminded himself. No matter that the man muttered an obscenity as he stalked back to where the young woman stood, it was not his concern that she was lifted and tossed with careless movements to sit atop the seat. Not his affair to wonder at her rough treatment by the man whose actions brought quick tears to her eyes and caused her to cringe from his uncaring hands.

Yet, the aching awareness of dark hair and fragile-boned femininity made Finn frown. The urge to rest callused palms upon her narrow shoulders, to look into those wary eyes, tugged at him. For a single moment he knew envy of another man, such as had never possessed him in his twenty-six years.

His hands tightened on the reins of his mount and moved with an almost unseen signal, turning his horse aside. The black gelding obeyed with a toss of his head, and Finn caught a glimpse of the woman’s face as she turned her head in his direction. Unsmiling, she nodded, a simple acknowledgment of his presence, and he felt a lurch in his chest as controlled anger gripped him.

He wanted her. Ached to lift her from where she huddled on the high seat. Yearned for a long moment to feel her softness against his body. The thought possessed him and he turned aside, his heels again nudging the barrel of his mount, urging him into an easy lope.

With a discipline gained from his years as an army scout, Finn Carson put the dark-eyed female from his mind, his jaw firm as he rode down the line of wagons. His gaze surveyed the men who performed last-minute chores, readying the train for its imminent departure from Saint Louis, heading for Independence, Missouri.

This was an assignment he almost relished, one that must be uppermost in his mind over the next months. Taking his place on this wagon train as a guide, using his skills to find the man who was a cheat—a murderer who had stolen the deed to a homestead. One hundred sixty acres of land that lay in the shadow of Pike’s Peak—a speck of wilderness that held a fortune in gold in its depths, if the assayer’s office could be relied upon.

Lyle Beaumont. The man was here, his presence a canker, his very existence a stain on the essence of decency Finn had been raised to believe in. Lyle Beaumont—the man who had cheated Finn’s brother, Aaron Carson, of his rightful claim to land and then killed him to conceal the theft.

Lyle Beaumont—who even now possessed the deed to those 160 acres in Colorado.

It was toward that man his mind must focus, that man Finn must identify and pursue, even as he hid his own identity on this train. With regret, he set aside the moment of yearning he’d suffered, acknowledging his purpose would not—could not—include a dalliance of any sort on the journey. Certainly not with a woman who so obviously was already possessed of a husband.

There were only a dozen or so females counted among the group. Most of the men were miners who traveled toward the promised land of gold and silver that courted their interest. More of an obsession, actually, Finn decided with a shake of his head. Men who lusted after gold were a breed apart. Willing to sacrifice everything they possessed on the altar of greed.

Even a woman—a woman obliged to follow the path her husband took. A woman who was off-limits to other men, he reminded himself. A woman bound to the man who had placed a ring on her finger and fear in her heart.




Chapter One


June 1862

It was a scar on the landscape—a raw wound against the backdrop of prairie flowers and lush grasses. The earth was mounded over the narrow plot of ground, and beside it Jessica stood in silence. The man she’d lived with for most of her adult life lay beneath several feet of hardscrabble soil.

Her last memory of him was the look of surprise he’d worn as a bullet tore through his chest only hours before, a recollection she suspected she’d live through again, more than once, during the long nights to come.

“Mrs. Beaumont?” The wagon master stood at her side, his palm cupped beneath her elbow, and she glanced up as he spoke her name.

“We’ve got to get rolling, ma’am,” Jonas McMasters said, his words spoken firmly as he nudged her from the graveside. Beside him, the kindly minister who was heading for Santa Fe with his family closed his Bible and offered her a final nod. At least Lyle had had a real funeral, Jessica thought, even though he’d said more than once that he had no belief in anything he couldn’t lay hands on.

And that included the God she worshiped.

Now Jessica nodded at Jonas, aware as they turned from the grave that a huddled group of men waited next to Lyle’s wagon. Her wagon, she amended silently. The bullet that had shattered Lyle’s heart had effectively robbed her of her position as his wife, as a woman under a man’s protection. Now she was on her own, yet not alone, she thought, as the child within her reminded her of its presence with a rolling motion.

“I’m ready,” she told Jonas quietly, aware that she did not present the appearance of a grieving widow, that her tearless eyes made her seem uncaring. And yet, she could not mourn Lyle. At least not as she might have if he’d endeared himself to her in any way over the past years.

He was dead, and she faced an uncertain future. But for today she had only to sort out what she would do for the next few hours. Tomorrow morning would bring problems enough to worry about for one day. There was no point in thinking too far ahead.

“Mrs. Beaumont.” Another voice broke her reverie as she made her way toward the wagon. Finley Carson stood before her and she looked up at him, met his gaze and felt a shiver of awareness. “I’ll walk with your oxen this afternoon,” he said. “Why don’t you ride in the wagon and get some rest. You’re looking a little peaked.”

And then his mouth twisted in a grimace. “And wasn’t that a kind remark to make,” he said with a shake of his head. “I only meant that you’ve had a shock, and in your condition…” His voice trailed off, as if he were aware that her obvious pregnancy was a topic not fit for discussion between strangers, especially when one of them was an unattached male and the other a woman who had been, only hours before, cast into the role of widowhood.

“I’ll leave you to tend to her, Finn,” the wagon master said with a quick nod of his head in the other man’s direction. “We need to make another three miles or so before sunset.”

Finn Carson’s hand touched Jessica’s back, his wide palm warm against flesh that felt chilled from within, and she shivered. He bent to peer beneath the brim of her sunbonnet. “Can I help you up onto the wagon seat?”

“If you don’t mind,” she said, aware that the step was too high for her to reach. Lyle had made it plain he had no patience with her, just providing a box for her to climb up on in order to get into the back of the wagon and then find her way to the front. It seemed that Mr. Carson had more finely honed manners than Lyle, she thought as the man supported her, lifting her, his hands firm around her middle, then easing her onto the wagon seat.

“Thank you,” she whispered, breathless as she arranged her skirts and settled herself. He was strong, there was no doubt about that, and mannerly to boot, his index finger lifting to touch his hat brim in a small salute.

She sat stiffly, barely able to focus her thoughts, yet aware of the men who sorted out their families, the miners who lined up the wagons, and the womenfolk who cast her looks of sympathy as they gathered their children up and hastened to ready themselves for departure.

The shot had come out of nowhere, it seemed, felling Lyle as if lightning had struck and taken his life in a single instant. He’d turned halfway toward her from his position near the oxen, and the light in his eyes had gone out as though a puff of air had extinguished a candle. He’d fallen and, in moments, had been lying in a pool of blood that spread beneath him like a scarlet cape.

Three men had ridden out, intent on seeking the gunman, and had come back empty-handed an hour later, shrugging helplessly as they stood before her, hats in hand, sweaty and weary from their efforts.

Now she watched dully as the oxen leaned forward and the wagon was set into motion, Finn Carson walking to the right of her team. He glanced back at her, his blue eyes darkening with concern as she lifted her hand in acknowledgment of his unspoken message. And then she relaxed on the seat, knowing that the jouncing of the wagon was easier to survive if she rolled with the rocking motion.

Finn walked at a steady pace, conscious of the woman atop the wagon seat behind him. As he’d been aware of her daily ever since the wagon train had left Independence long weeks ago. He’d dreamed of her, had imagined touching her dark hair, had envisioned holding her in his arms. Since the day in Saint Louis when he’d first seen her, she’d stuck in his mind like a burr beneath his saddle. And though his good sense had bade him forget the woman existed, he’d hoarded the vision of her wide-set eyes, her gleaming hair, and the memory of her gentle profile as she walked the trail.

She was married. He’d repeated the words over and over, even as he’d chafed when Lyle Beaumont treated her uncaringly, when the man had ignored her needs and been unkind in a hundred ways. Finn’s stride was long, his mind working in time with the pace set by the oxen who plodded beside him.

Jessica Beaumont was a widow, available…and in dire need of a man to take care of her. Tonight, after they set up camp, when the wagons were circled and fires lit, he’d go to Jonas and speak his mind. And if the unwritten laws of the wagon train were to be observed, Jessica would accept a husband from among the available men in the group, or be sent back to civilization at the first opportunity.



She’d not been treated so well since Saint Louis, Jessica thought. Never had Lyle lifted her from the wagon, carried firewood or asked after her well-being while she cooked the evening meal. Now Finn watched her from beside the wagon, his gaze intent on her as she bent over the campfire and rescued her kettle from the flames. She stirred the rabbit stew once and her stomach rebelled as the rich scent rose on a cloud of steam.

“If you’re ready to eat, I’ll dish you up a serving,” she said quietly, turning to face him. He stood upright from where he’d leaned against her wagon and stepped closer, taking the kettle from her, gripping it firmly over her protests.

“I’m not used to being waited on,” she said. “I don’t mind—”

“But I do,” he returned curtly, cutting off her objections to his lending a hand. “You’ve had a rough day, Mrs. Beaumont. I’m here to look after you this evening. Jonas gave me leave to skip my duties for a day or so until we get you some help lined up.”

“I can take care of myself,” she told him, lifting her chin in defiance of his words. “I watched Lyle tend the oxen for the past weeks. I’m sure I can learn well enough how to stake them out at night and get rolling in the mornings.”

“I’m sure you can,” Finn said agreeably. “But it isn’t necessary. Not while I’m here, anyway.” And making himself indispensable to her was the name of the game, he’d decided during the last four miles they’d traveled today. Jonas had agreed—halfheartedly to be sure—but had finally given a curt nod in response to Finn’s suggestion.

“You got any more of that stuff?” Jonas asked, as if in answer to Finn’s thoughts. He squatted beside his guide and looked up at Jessica. “How you doin’, Mrs. Beaumont?” he asked.

“I’m all right,” Jessica told him. “I’ll fix you a bowl right away, Mr. McMasters.”

“You need to eat, too,” Finn reminded her quietly.

She only nodded as she dug through the small keg in which she kept her dishes and silverware, seeking out a bowl for Jonas. Filling it to the brim, she offered it to him, handed him a spoon, then returned to dish out a portion for herself.

“I know I have to eat,” she said, her gaze meeting Finn’s. With care, she lowered herself to sit on the ground, her skirts surrounding her, her legs tucked up beneath her, and felt herself the focus of those who watched from various campfires around the circle. And then she poked at the savory stew, forcing herself to lift a spoonful to her mouth.

“Ma’am?” Jonas’s voice caught her attention and she looked in his direction.

“I know this ain’t a good time to be talkin’ to you about this, but there ain’t gonna be any better time, so far as I can see, in the next couple of weeks,” he said glumly. “The hard fact is that a woman alone can’t travel with the train, Mrs. Beaumont. You’re gonna have to either find a husband or leave the train when we reach Council Grove. And that’s less than two weeks from now.”

“I’m not leaving the train,” she said firmly, her jaw set, as if that alone would convince him of her intent. “My husband has—had, I mean—a deed to property near Pike’s Peak, and that’s where I’m going. It belongs to me now.” Her hand rested in an automatic gesture against the rounding of her belly as she spoke. “It’s all I have, Mr. McMasters, and I’m not walking away from it.”

“Well, it’ll take a man to work the land and build a place for you to live,” he told her bluntly. “A woman alone can’t handle something like that.”

“There’s a cabin there, according to what Lyle heard of the place. Not much, but enough for shelter. And he said there was a chance that gold could be found there.” She lowered her voice, lest the words carry to the adjacent campfire. Gold was a powerful incentive, its presence inciting men to lie and steal. Even to murder.

Lyle’s life’s blood had been shed today, and unless she missed her guess, the claim to land in Colorado had something to do with it. Lyle had bragged one night, after he’d consumed half a bottle of whiskey, telling her of gold to be found, and then left bruises as he threatened her lest she repeat his words to anyone.

Now the land was hers, and sharing it with a man was not her first choice.

“Ma’am, you’ll have to be thinking about accepting one of the available men on the train as your husband,” Jonas said, his dark eyes holding not a shred of doubt as to his ultimatum. “It’s just the way it is, ma’am. I’ll give you till we get to Council Grove to make a choice.”

He looked around the circle to where more than a dozen men watched the drama going on, with Jessica as its focus. “You won’t have any lack of suitors,” he said with a grimace. “There’s already talk about who you’ll pick.” He grinned briefly, shaking his head. “There’s never enough women to go around in the West, and these men are already plottin’ to come courtin’ you.”

Jessica glanced at him, then shot a look at Finn. He returned it with a nod. “Jonas is right, you know,” he said. “Any one of those men—” He tilted his head, lifting an eyebrow for emphasis as he spoke. “Any one of them would be on you like flies on honey if you give them a nod. You’re a good-looking woman, and you’ve got a wagon and a team of oxen, and, as you said yourself, your husband had a deed to a piece of property.”

He smiled, looking into the depths of the fire for a moment. “You’re going to be in demand, Mrs. Beaumont. I’m not the only bachelor who’ll be coming to call. And, as harsh as it sounds to a woman newly widowed, you’re going to have to make up your mind in a hurry.”

Jessica nodded, aware that the truth was staring her in the face, and the man delivering the message was no doubt presenting himself as one of those offering for her hand.

“I expect you’re right, Mr. Carson. But not tonight, please. I can’t think straight right now, and by the time I get my supper mess cleared up, I won’t be fit company for anyone.” If Finn Carson meant to make her an offer, he’d have to wait until her head was clear and she was able to consider all of her options.

An hour later she was settled atop her feather tick on the wagon floor, her mind racing with the events of the day. And for the first time, tears came to her eyes. Not grief at Lyle’s death, although she supposed she should feel some small amount of remorse, at least, at leaving him by the side of the trail in a poorly marked grave.

But the past years had hardened her heart to his cunning smiles, and she’d long since lost any love she’d ever harbored in her heart for the man. He’d been mean. There was no other word for it. The man had been uncaring at times, harsh when she didn’t oblige him to his specifications, and too handy with hands that hurt and bruised her on occasion.

No, she didn’t mourn him, only the loss of those long years she’d spent trying to hold together a marriage that was doomed from the beginning. Her father had been right. Lyle Beaumont was a taker, a man without scruples. And Jessica had been blind to that side of him…until it was too late.

She curled on her side beneath a quilt, and a succession of faces appeared behind her closed eyelids. Miners, both young and in their middle years, at least half a dozen that she knew of, who had offered their condolences today as they eyed her with narrowed gazes, as if they considered her ripe for the taking.

She shivered. There were only two unattached men on the train she would even consider if push came to shove and she was forced by circumstances to choose a husband. Finn Carson, one of the guides, was one of them. The other, a miner named Gage Morgan, was a tall, husky man, older than Finn by few years. He was quiet, a good-looking specimen with dark hair and smoky-gray eyes. He’d offered his hand and had engulfed her own in his palm, just for a moment as he passed by the open grave this afternoon.

“Ma’am,” he’d said quietly, and his piercing eyes had darkened, taking her measure, a hint of admiration in their depths as he offered silent condolences. On the surface, he was all that a woman could ask for, she thought, and wondered what there was about him that made her stomach clench. Not that he had offered any disrespect. Never had he been anything but courteous the few times she’d nodded in his direction during the weeks they’d been following the trail.

Now she wondered at him, her fists clenching as she thought of what it would mean, should she take either of those two men as her husband. Eventually they would want to claim their rights, and she would be obliged to comply.

Shivering, she pushed aside the memories of nights filled with fear. Sleepless hours when she dreaded Lyle’s home-coming, those times when he was out at a saloon or gambling at a poker table.

Taking a man into her bed was a daunting prospect. Offering her body before the baby was born was out of the question. She was misshapen, her body swollen with the babe she carried. Not that she cared—in fact, she gloried in the heavy weight of the child within her. But to a man, especially one who’d had his share of voluptuous women, she might be more than a bit off-putting. But then, most of these men were hungry for female companionship, and that fact alone would probably make her more appealing to them.

She smothered a giggle under the quilt, and then felt a stab of shame that she could lie in her bed less than a dozen hours since Lyle’s body had turned cold in death and laugh at the prospect of another man climbing into her wagon and taking his place at her side. She needn’t fear turning a man’s head, she decided, punching her pillow as she tucked it beneath her head.

The deed to land near Pike’s Peak was another matter. It was enough to lure any man into her clutches, given the steady stream of miners heading west, hoping to find just such a claim to work. If Lyle was right, if the land were indeed worth—

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.

“I’m sorry there wasn’t more,” she said. “Maybe Arlois Bates has leftovers to spare. Want me to ask her?” As a scout, Finn was welcomed at almost every campsite, and offered food from various kettles each night. He carried supplies in Jonas’s wagon, but rarely needed to set up a fire of his own.

“I’m fine,” Finn assured her. “I have to ride out for a while. If I see any game, I’ll bring you back something for supper. Will you mind pacing the oxen for a couple of hours?”

She shook her head quickly. “No, that’s fine. If you’ll get my burlap bag I’ll keep an eye out for chips for the fire tonight. I need to walk for a while anyway,” she told him, sliding over the back of the seat into the wagon bed. He was at the rear when she made her way through the piles of boxes and bits of furniture stacked on either side of the floor, and reached in to lift her from the canvas shelter with a total lack of ceremony. He reached back inside for the burlap sack she’d left handy.

“Here you go,” he said, and then hesitated as she grasped the heavy burlap. “I hate you having to gather buffalo chips,” he said.

“I’m healthy and able,” she told him. “I’m just lucky not to have run out of wood before this. All the other women do their share, and I’m no different.”

“That’s where we’re going to disagree,” Finn said. “You are different. In the first place, you’re going to have a baby.”

“All women have babies,” Jessica told him. “I knew when I started out from Saint Louis that this wasn’t going to be an easy trip. I’m not afraid of work, and I can certainly do my share, whether it’s picking up buffalo chips or cooking or walking with the team. As a matter of fact, the responsibility is mine—all of it.”

“Not anymore it isn’t,” Finn said gruffly. “You’re going to have a man to take care of you, Jessica. I’m planning on it being me.”

“I thought I had a choice in this,” she said smartly. “Gage Morgan is interested in me. And I’ve had several other of the men looking my way.”

“And you wouldn’t take on any of them,” Finn told her. “Maybe Morgan, in a pinch. But I’d rather you didn’t consider him, either.” His jaw was taut and his eyes blazed with an icy fire. “I want to marry you, Jessica. It isn’t a spur-of-the-moment thing with me. I’ve been committing the sin of looking at a married woman with desire in my heart for the past—”

“Stop it, Finn Carson,” she said, cutting his declaration short. “I don’t want to hear this. It makes me feel like you’ve been waiting for something to happen to Lyle so you could come courting me.”

“No, I didn’t wish him dead,” Finn told her firmly. “But I sure as hell wished he wasn’t your husband. The man didn’t deserve you, Jessica.”

She snatched at the burlap bag and stalked away, heading for the team, the pair of them standing with their heads down waiting for the signal to leave. Finn’s admission was honest, she’d give him that. And he was right—it was a sin to be looking at another man’s wife. Look what that sort of shenanigans got poor King David in the Bible.

Jessica laughed beneath her breath. She was no Bathsheba, that was for sure. But she’d be willing to bet that an offer from Finn Carson was as good as she’d ever come by in this lifetime. The man was prime. Golden hair that tempted her fingers to measure its silky length, and blue eyes that touched her with tenderness.

“Can I walk with you?” Arlois approached, her own bag in hand, and Jessica smiled a welcome.

“It looks like we’ve been given the job of gathering up tonight’s fuel for the fires,” she said, holding her own bag at arm’s length.

Arlois wrinkled her nose. “I’d think firewood would be the better choice,” she said. “I told David that handling buffalo dung was not my idea of fun, and he told me he’d give me fun after dark tonight.”

Jessica laughed softly, a yearning for the sort of happiness Arlois shared with her David sweeping over her. She’d heard their murmurs as they walked outside the circle of wagons on occasion, had noted David’s possessive gaze on his wife, had seen his hand reach for Arlois as they sat by the fire at night. They had two children, and yet there was a shine about them that made her think they still resembled newlyweds.

She’d had little of that sort of affection with Lyle. Maybe with Finn, she thought. And in her mind’s eye she could envision his hand enclosing hers, imagine his body sheltering her from the wind.

“Jessica?” Arlois peered at her. “Did I upset you, talking that way about David? I wasn’t thinking.” Her cheeks blushed crimson, as if she regretted her impetuous remark. “I forgot for a minute about Lyle…about him being gone.” She faltered and then leaned closer to hug Jessica.

“Do you miss him at all?” she asked. “I mean, I know he wasn’t a very kind man, but he was your husband—and I’m just rattling on like an idiot, aren’t I?”

Jessica stifled a laugh. “You’re not an idiot,” she said, admonishing Arlois. “And you’re right about Lyle. He wasn’t very kind to anyone, least of all me. We were married, but never close the way you are with David, or Geraldine is with Harvey.”

Arlois squeezed her tightly for a second and then stepped back. “Well then, I won’t apologize for being so blunt. I think you’d be better off with any one of the other bachelors than you were with Lyle.” She grinned. “Although I’m partial to Finn Carson, if the truth be known.” And then her eyes widened and she groaned.

“Here comes another suitor, Jessica. And this one is scary. I’m not sure what there is about Mr. Morgan, but he’s a little frightening if you ask me.” She set out at a fast pace. “I’m going to do a roundabout for a while, see if I can fill my bag and make David happy.” With a wave of her hand at the approaching horseman, she walked at an angle, joining several other women who were scanning the ground on either side of the train for fuel for tonight’s supper fires.

“Mrs. Beaumont.” Gage Morgan slid from his gelding and held the reins in one hand, then closed the gap until he walked apace with Jessica. “I thought I’d check on you and see if there’s anything I can do to lend a hand.” He gestured toward her bag. “I see you’re going foraging this afternoon. Maybe I can bring you some wood from our stockpile instead,” he offered.

“I doubt your partners would appreciate you sharing their supply,” Jessica said. “I don’t mind gathering chips.”

He nodded, as if he accepted her refusal of his offer, and then took her arm. “I made you a walking stick,” he said. “I hope you have use for it. I thought I’d ask first and then bring it by later if you like.”

She looked down at his hand, and he grimaced and released her elbow, murmuring a soft apology. “I’m sorry if I offended you,” he said nicely. “Perhaps I’ll stop by the wagon and get the stick now. It will make it easier for you, I think.”

“That’s thoughtful of you,” she said, unwilling to be rude, yet not wanting to be beholden to the man in any way. His gaze touched her again, dark and shuttered, as if he saw within her and could know her thoughts. His next words supported that theory, she decided.

“I wonder what there is about me that frightens you,” he said quietly. “I don’t think I’ve ever done anything to cause you alarm, have I?”

She shook her head. “No, of course not. I’m not easily frightened, Mr. Morgan.”

“I’m sure,” he said agreeably. “But nevertheless, I’d like to get to know you a little better, ma’am. But I don’t want to be pushy or infringe on your grief.”

Jessica met his gaze head-on. “I’m not grieving, Mr. Morgan. My marriage was not a happy one, as you have probably already guessed.” Her shoulders lifted in a shrug as she continued. “I’ve decided that life must go on, no matter what.”

“Then would my proposal to you be out of line?” he asked. “I’d like you to consider marrying me, ma’am. I know that Jonas McMasters has given you a choice of either marrying one of the single men of the group, or leaving the train in Council Grove and going back East.”

“News travels fast, doesn’t it?” She picked up her pace, feeling a flush paint her cheeks at his words. “I feel as if I’m up on an auction block, Mr. Morgan, and I’m not enjoying it one little bit.”

“You’re a good-looking woman,” he said bluntly. “I’d be foolish if I didn’t throw my hat in the ring. I won’t be the only one trying to persuade you into a wedding ring.”

“And you have a ring handy?” she asked, glancing at him skeptically.

“I’ll come up with something,” he told her. “If I have to buy one from one of the ladies on the train, I will.”

“I doubt any of the married women would give up their wedding band for my sake,” she said. “I wouldn’t wear someone else’s, anyway. I’d rather go without.”

“That’s all right with me,” he said. “The ring isn’t the important thing.”

“I’ll be very blunt with you, sir,” she said after a moment. “I have two weeks to make up my mind. I’ve already had one offer, and I’m considering it carefully. I’ll put your name in the hat and let you know my answer.”

“I can do more for you than Finn Carson,” he said harshly.

“Really?” She looked at him, saw the flash of anger he hid with lowered lashes and felt a shiver of awareness spin the length of her spine. She’d been wrong. There was an element of fear in her that responded to this man’s presence. Relief flooded her as he turned aside and mounted his horse. The nod he tossed in her direction was quick and his horse spun from her, its rider obviously holding a tight rein.

She walked alone for several minutes and then heard Arlois’s call as the other woman hastened to catch up. “Wait for me, Jessica.”

With a look over her shoulder, Jessica stepped to one side, allowing her team to plod ahead, and Arlois joined her, breathless from her hasty jaunt. “David is sending Joshua to walk by your team for a while,” Arlois said. “Let’s climb inside and rest for a few minutes.”

Even as she announced her idea, Joshua, a cheerful youth of perhaps thirteen years, took Jessica’s place by the lead ox. Arlois gripped Jessica’s arm and together they paced the wagon for a few minutes, then climbed into the back as it lumbered over the rutted road. Weaving their way through the assorted barrels and boxes inside, they gained the front and shared the wide plank seat.

“Whew!” With relief, Arlois untied her sunbonnet and lifted it from her hair. “I’m about tired out. That sun is really beating down today.” The breeze teased the few locks that had escaped her braid and they curled over her forehead, giving her a youthful look, Jessica thought. The woman had become a good friend over the past weeks, ever present when help was needed, offering an ear and reserving judgment.

Now she looked as though her curiosity was about to burst the boundaries of good taste, and Jessica took pity on her. “No, I didn’t accept the man’s proposal,” she said with a laugh. “Not that he wasn’t persuasive. He even offered to buy a wedding ring for me from one of the ladies on the train.”

“He didn’t!” Arlois was caught between laughter and disgust, it seemed, and she made a face. “As if any decent woman would sell her wedding ring.” She tilted her head to one side. “Not unless her children were starving, or some idiot offered an outrageous amount.” Her laughter won out, and Jessica joined in.

“I needed that,” she whispered, wiping her eyes as her giggles subsided. “The man is handsome and even a bit dashing, but pompous doesn’t begin to describe him. He told me he could do more for me than Finn Carson, as if he were offering to buy my affections.” She considered that idea. “I think he’d want more from me than I could offer,” she said quietly, her humor retreating as she recalled the man’s anger.

“How about the other bachelors?” Arlois asked in a teasing manner.

“Most of them are still wet behind the ears, as well you know,” Jessica said, “and the rest haven’t had a bath since we left Independence.”

“Speaking of which,” Arlois said, her voice rising as if she announced something of tremendous import. “We’re going to be crossing a nice shallow creek in the morning, David said. Instead of dabbing around in a bucket, we’ll be able to wash clothes and get ourselves clean all over while we’re waiting to cross over. Maybe even by tonight, he said.”

Jessica would warrant that the creek ahead of them was the surprise Finn had spoken of this morning. Just the thought of fresh, cool, running water made Jessica’s heart beat faster. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” she said, already plotting her strategy. “Maybe we can gather up all the ladies and go as a group.”

“Not unless we have some menfolk to watch out for us,” Arlois said sharply. “I wouldn’t put it past those scruffy young miners to sneak up and take a peek if they got the chance. I doubt David would let me go without him tagging along.” Her eyes lit with mischief. “Of course, he’s liable to sneak a peek himself.”

Jessica felt a tinge of envy as Arlois spoke of her good-looking husband. She’d never had such rapport with Lyle, but the prospect might be feasible with a man such a Finn. It was a prize to be considered in the gamble she was considering.

The thought of Gage Morgan’s eyes on her naked body was enough to send goose bumps traveling the length of her frame. In fact, the idea of any man catching a glimpse of her swollen belly and oversize bosom was enough to make her shudder with dread.

Even Finn? The thought rattled her and she closed her eyes. She could almost imagine his warm gaze sliding over her, his callused palms curving beneath her breasts.

“Jessica?” Beside her, Arlois spoke her name and Jessica’s eyelids flew open. “Are you all right? You looked so funny there for a minute. You’re not having any pains, are you?”

Jessica shook her head and dredged up a smile. Not pain, she thought. But an aching void that would only be filled by the tender care and attention of a man—though not just any man would do. Her choice was as good as made.

Even though Gage would yet pursue her, Finn Carson had already won the race.




Chapter Three


The smaller of Jessica’s black kettles was steaming, its contents a savory stew, thanks to a roebuck brought down by one of the miners earlier in the day. The deer had been slaughtered swiftly, the meat passed among the wagons, according to family size, and Jessica had received a small chunk of venison from a hind quarter.

Now it simmered over the fire, having been dredged in flour and browned in lard. Half of her hoarded stash of tiny wild onions, dug from the prairie a few days before, garnished it with an appetizing aroma, Jessica having offered part of the tasty vegetables to the contents of Arlois’s stew pot.

Her small store of potatoes were wizened, but she’d washed three of them and added them, skin and all, to the kettle. Hopefully, the venison would be tender—and well it might—for the deer had been a spike horn. She spared only a moment’s pity for the animal, that his days were cut short by rifle fire.

Months ago she’d have been aghast at the thought of watching an animal butchered, her cooking limited to meat bought at a butcher’s shop. Things had changed, she thought, her spoon mixing a blend of flour, salt and soda. She added a bit of milk, a generous gift from Harv Littleman, whose dainty Jersey cow traveled behind the Littleman wagon every day.

With two little girls along, Harv had brought the animal, knowing full well that finding feed might be a problem. Thus far, the prairie had provided sufficient grass for the cow to produce her usual amount of creamy milk twice a day, and Geraldine had offered the excess in trade for other food to those families with children who had no such milk supply. Several others had their own cows along, with the understanding that should dire need arise, the animals could be slaughtered for food.

What a horrendous idea, Jessica thought, a shiver passing down her spine. Though what difference there was between a cow and the deer she was cooking was obscure, except that the cow was a treasured family possession.

“What are you building there?” Finn asked from behind her. “Whatever you’re cooking, it sure smells like home.” He squatted beside her and peered into the bowl she held. “Biscuits?” he asked.

“I’m going to spoon dumplings on top of the stew,” Jessica answered. “I’ll need the lid for my kettle from the wagon, if you don’t mind sorting through the box for me.”

“I can do that,” he said cheerfully, rising to step up into the wagon bed, and then poked his head from the canvas cover. “Is this it?” He held a black lid in one hand, and eyed the kettle. “There are two of them, but this one looks like it’ll fit.”

Jessica rose from the stump she used as a seat and took it from Finn’s hand. “Thanks, I appreciate your help.”

“Not nearly as much as I’m going to appreciate that kettle of food,” he told her. “And, not nearly as much as you’re going to enjoy my surprise for you.”

She slid a sidelong glance in his direction. “I’ll warrant I know what it is. Arlois told me about the creek even before we got here.” His mouth drooped, an expression she suspected he donned for her enjoyment, and she laughed softly. “You look like a little boy who’s just been denied a candy stick in the general store.”

Finn shook his head. “Women. Can’t put anything over on them. Here I thought I’d spring something on you, and you’re way ahead of me.” He settled beside her, watching as she dropped spoonfuls of the biscuit mix onto the simmering stew. “Does this mean you’re not going to let me finish out my plan?”

She scraped the final bit of dough into the pot and reached for the lid, clapping it in place. “You have a plan? If it involves filling my water barrel, I’m all for it.”

“Well, that, too,” he said teasingly. “I spoke to Harv Littleman and Dave Bates about taking our women to the stream to take baths tonight. Are you willing?”

“Depends,” she said, hesitating as the picture of clear water and a bar of soap tempted her mightily. “Will it be seemly for me to go with you?”

“You ladies can’t go alone,” Finn said firmly. “We’ll take you down to the stream and leave you there while we stand guard. I think there are several other women who want to go along. They’ll join us, and maybe their husbands, too.”

“Arlois said she feared the younger miners might try to sneak a peek at us.”

Finn’s mouth tightened and a stern look touched his features. “Not on your life, sweetheart. It will be as private as if you were in your bathtub in Saint Louis.”

“What bathtub?” she asked wryly. “I didn’t have one of my own after I left home to get married. It was one of the things I missed the most.”

“You should have gone back to your folks’ house a couple of times a week for a bath, then,” he told her, then frowned as he noted her silence and the quick bowing of her head. “What is it, Jessica? What did I say?”

“My parents washed their hands of me when I married Lyle,” she admitted. “Well, not actually right then, but later, when he’d stolen from my father’s company.” She looked up at Finn, hoping he would understand why she’d chosen Lyle over the mother and father who had loved her so.

“I’d promised to stay with him, for better or worse,” she said finally.

“And it only got worse, didn’t it?” His mouth had lost all traces of his usual good humor during their exchange and his eyes seemed to lose the sparkle she was wont to see in their depths. His hands touched hers and the bowl she held was lowered to sit on the ground at her feet, leaving her fingers free to twine with his.

“I’ve tried, especially on this trip, not to let others know how bad it was,” she said with a sigh.

“Most of those who traveled nearby your wagon knew you were being abused during the last weeks,” Finn told her, and she swallowed a protest. As though he read her mind, he nodded, a firm movement of his head. “There was no hiding the way he spoke to you, Jessica. And more than once you wore bruises.

“It was all I could do not to shoot him myself,” he admitted. “Jonas told me to stay out of it, that if you wanted help, then it would be time enough to interfere.”

“Lyle was difficult,” she said, looking down to where Finn clasped her hands in a grip so firm she thought she might never be turned loose from his hold. “You can let go of me,” she told him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Not without me, anyway,” he said fervently. “From now on you’ll be mine to protect, Jess.”

“I haven’t said—”

“Look at me,” he said, cutting off her words with a wave of his hand. And then as if he saw something in her expression that made him hesitate, he only smiled. “Later on,” he said quietly. “We’ll talk after a while, when we’ve eaten and taken care of the bath detail down at the stream.”

She nodded, willing to set aside their discussion. Pewter bowls from the keg made an appearance within moments, and Jessica lifted the lid from the kettle a bit, peeping beneath to check on the dumplings. “I think they’re almost done,” she told him.

“I’ll wash up,” he said, reaching for the basin that hung on a hook beneath her wagon. “There’s fresh water on the water wagon, Jess. I’ll pour some in your barrel.”

She nodded, shooting him a smile of thanks. “All right. I’m beginning to run low.”

“We’ll fill all the barrels in the morning. Jonas said there’ll be time for the ladies to do their washing before we head out again and cross the stream. We’ll go upstream and make sure we dip clean water while the women get lines strung and scrub their clothes. We may be here for another full day.”

She sighed in anticipation of a day spent doing the small bits and pieces of household chores that would allow her to stay in one place, and then volunteered a bit of help in his direction.

“You’re doing so much for me, Finn. Let me do your washing tomorrow, why don’t you?” she offered. “It’s the least I can do in return for your hard work on my behalf.” He considered her for a moment, then nodded agreement before he turned away.

Her gaze remained on him as he headed for the water wagon, heard the murmur of his voice as he spoke to someone while he poured water from a bucket into her basin, and then watched as he returned. The man moved with a natural grace, she thought, his stride long, his shoulders wide, and his body lean and honed.

For so long a time she’d made certain not to look at another man, lest she set Lyle into a temper tantrum. It was no wonder she’d paid no attention to Finn during the early weeks of the trip west. Her instincts were for self-preservation, and one glance from her eyes toward anyone wearing trousers was all the excuse Lyle would have needed to punish her for her lapse.

Now, she thought with a sense of freedom, she could look at Finn Carson all she pleased. And it did please her, she admitted to herself. She had the right to pick and choose who she would speak with, the privilege of walking beside another woman, passing the time of day, should that be her inclination.

She turned back to the fire and lifted the lid of the kettle with a folded towel, setting it aside with care, lest she burn herself. Her large serving spoon held a dumpling and over-flowed with gravy and meat as she turned it out into a bowl. Another scoop of the spoon added a potato, bits of onion and more gravy.

“Looks good,” Finn said, standing at her elbow, waiting to take the bowl from her.

He sat by the fire and watched her as she served the second bowlful and then joined him, easing to the ground with care, accepting his hand for balance as she settled beside him.

They ate in silence, broken only when Finn rose to serve himself another bowlful of the stew and offered her seconds. She shook her head, and he nodded, settling down beside her again, only to nudge her with his elbow as he pointed to where two little boys ran back and forth, chasing a dog between the wagons.

“I’ve always wanted a dog,” she said as she scooped up the final bite from her bowl. “Lyle said they weren’t worth the food it takes to keep them alive.”

“I’ll get one for you if you like,” Finn told her. “But probably not until we get to the end of this trip. Hell, you can have two of ’em, if it’ll make you happy, Jess.”

She laughed aloud in delight, and then quickly placed her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. “I can’t believe I did that,” she whispered. “I’m supposed to be in mourning, Finn. One day a widow and already I’m carrying on as if I’d never been married. Let alone the fact that I’m to have a child.” She smiled at him. “If you can get a pup, I’d appreciate it. And I’ll try to be more circumspect in my behavior. No more cutting up and carrying on.”

She felt the same weightless sensation she’d noticed earlier. “It’s almost as if I’m set free, Finn. As if the bars have been removed and I’m no longer a prisoner.”

“Well, you’ve about got that right,” he told her flatly. “After what you put up with, no one would blame you if you had spit on the man’s grave.”

“Oh, I doubt that would have gone over very well,” she said quietly. “There are a couple of the ladies who don’t seem to approve of me. Even at the graveside, one gave me a long look and sniffed, as if I smelled really bad.” Her eyes sought his, and she felt the old sense of loneliness creep closer as she spoke words that saddened her yet filled her with a new resolve. “I think they’d like to see me leave the train at Council Grove.”

Finn snorted and shook his head. “A pretty woman is always vulnerable to gossip,” he said. “And you’re the prettiest female around. Some women can’t help but keep a tight rein on their menfolk. Maybe they think you’re a threat to them.” He shot her a quick look. “And then there’s the single men, most of them needy—some of them really looking for a wife. Why do you suppose the vultures are circling? We’re all hoping you’ll give one of us the nod.”

“Is that so?” She took his bowl and stacked it in hers, then rose to clear up the remains of their supper.

He watched, relaxing for a few minutes, enjoying the sight of her graceful movements, the elegant line of her profile and the prospect of having her walk beside him to the bank of the stream a bit later on. “Harv said once Geraldine got their girls settled down for the night, we’d go to the stream for our baths,” he said quietly. “I see her scrubbin’ them up right now, and Harv’s cleaning up their supper dishes.”

“I won’t be long,” Jessica told him. “I’ll just need to clean my kettle out first.” She emptied the remains of the stew into a quart jar and set it aside, then poured clean water into the black container, sloshing it around before she dumped it on the far side of the wagon. Again she poured a portion of clean water into it and set it over the fire to heat.

The bowls went into it, along with the spoons and the mixing dish she’d used earlier. Finn watched, a comfortable sensation flooding him as she methodically did her evening chores. She would wash everything in a few minutes, adding soap and using a rag to clean every surface. He’d watched her from the shadows more than one evening as she organized her campsite, aware of the aura of loneliness surrounding her. Lyle had not invited the friendliness of others, and Jessica had suffered for it.

Now she looked up, smiling as Arlois approached, towel in one hand, a bundle of clothing in the other. “We’re about ready to walk to the stream,” she said. “Geraldine said she’d be ready in five minutes, and a couple of the others are coming along. Can I help you, Jessica? I’ll climb in your wagon and find your towel and nightgown and wrapper if you like.”

“Would you?” Jessica answered. “I’d appreciate it. I try not to hoist myself up over those boards any more often than I have to lately.”

His own towel and change of clothes were ready at the back of Jonah’s wagon and Finn sauntered in that direction, nodding at Arlois as he walked past her. “You and your wife going along?” he asked another of the men, and received a nod. He felt a part of the group in a different way tonight, he realized, aware that it was because of Jessica, because of her tentative acceptance of him as a suitor.

Glancing back to where she stood with Arlois, he caught her gaze and knew a moment of revelation. Limned in the light of the fire behind her, she seemed an almost unearthly figure. And wasn’t that a strange thought.

For the space of just a few seconds he was back in Saint Louis, watching as an unknown female stood by a covered wagon and then was tossed with uncaring hands to sit atop the seat. Her eyes had met his for only a moment then, her nod a polite response to his own.

And with an ironic twist of fate, she’d been destined to be the one woman he must pursue in order to avenge Aaron’s death. Marrying her would only solve part of the problem, he admitted to himself silently. If she found, somewhere down the road, that he’d courted her in order to gain possession of Aaron’s deed, she would turn from him in anger and disgust. He would lose her trust should his motives be revealed.

One day, he would tell her the whole story, one day when their marriage was secured and he’d had time to prove himself to her. And if she turned from him then, he would kick himself for keeping the secret from her.

Finn clenched his jaw. It couldn’t be helped. Blood had been shed, and Aaron’s death must not be in vain. Jessica was an innocent bystander, but that fact couldn’t be considered now. Of primary importance was possession of the piece of paper that had caused Aaron’s death. No matter the cost, he would possess the deed, and Aaron would be avenged.

The group assembled quietly in the darkness, whispering among themselves lest children sleeping in the wagons be disturbed. Finn walked beside Jessica, lifting her hand to rest on his bent arm as he led her toward the stream. Around them several couples walked, the women clinging to their menfolk, almost as if this were a celebration of sorts.

“I feel as if we’re going to a party,” Geraldine Littleman said in an undertone as she and Harv caught up with Jessica’s slower stroll. “I’m so tired of that wagon seat and walking in the dust, it’ll be almost fun to wash clothes tomorrow morning.”

“I hope you’ll be feeling the same way when I bring you my things,” Finn said in a low voice, his head bending until his mouth almost touched Jessica’s ear.

She smiled at his words, glancing up at him, her fingers squeezing his forearm. Words didn’t seem to be necessary, she thought, enjoying the darkness, the murmurs of the men and women who surrounded them. Just ahead was the stream, its banks lined by shrubbery, shaded by darkness that spread its cover beneath the low branches of willows that fought for space beside the water.



The men stayed at a distance while the women sought the shallow stream. “I’m glad Mr. Carson brought you along,” Geraldine said as she dropped her bundle on the stream bank. “You looked so tired today, Jessica. Not that it wasn’t expected, after all that happened yesterday.”

Besides Arlois, of all the other females on the train, she’d been drawn to the young mother. She’d watched during the evenings as Geraldine’s two young daughters wrote their sums and then begged for stories from the precious books that held a place of honor in their wagon.

“Mr. Carson was thinking of you, I’ll warrant, when he walked around to the campfires, recruiting the bunch of us to come along for bathing tonight,” Geraldine said with a chuckle as the women stripped quickly from their clothing. “I think he has eyes for you, Jessica.”

“You think so?” she asked, thankful for the darkness that hid her rosy cheeks. Her dress lay around her ankles and now her underwear followed. “I’m amazed that any man would be interested in a woman who’s carrying another man’s child,” she said quietly, catching her breath as she skimmed her stockings off. She bent to tuck them into the bundle she’d made of her dress and petticoat, and then straightened, glancing over her shoulder to where tall figures were shadows in the moonlight.

Naked but for her shift, Jessica felt the evening breeze flutter the soft cotton of her brief garment and she shivered. The women were vulnerable, almost nude as they shed their clothing. Another look eased her mind, for two of the men faced west, three looked toward the east, long guns in their hands as they guarded the place where their womenfolk enjoyed this rare treat. Finn was the farthest from her, Jessica realized, but if he should turn, he would be able to see her, would no doubt recognize her outlined form in the shadows, a shape heavy with pregnancy.

Her hands quickly removed the simple ribbon from her braid and as she untangled the three strands, running her fingers through her hair, she recalled Finn’s words. I like your hair that way, hanging loose down your back. She smiled, allowing the length of it to fall almost to her hips once it was free from its confinement.

It was her only concession to feminine pride, this heavy mass of waving hair that proclaimed her a woman in the most primitive fashion. Falling around her like a mantle, it hid much of her from view until she gathered it in one hand, pulling it over her shoulder as she entered the river.

Carefully she stepped from the bank into knee-deep water, her precious bar of soap in hand, and sank beneath the surface, settling on the sandy bottom. The current was slow, and in the shallows where she bathed, the water held but a trace of the day’s heat. Cooler than her body by a long shot, it was a welcome relief to her parched skin. After long moments, she rose to her knees and bent over, allowing her hair to float on the surface, then began working up suds in her hands. Even a sunbonnet couldn’t keep the dust of the trail from settling on her head, and she used her nails to scrub the soap into the surface of her scalp, and then squeezed the suds through the length of hair.

The women, almost as one, washed, soft murmurs of pleasure rising from their throats as they enjoyed the luxury of soap and water, then rising from the shallows to splash away the residue. Whispers floated above the surface of the moving stream as they laughed among themselves, and for those precious moments, Jessica delighted in the camaraderie of their kinship as women.

A call from one of the men broke the air, interrupting the soft chatter, and they hushed as a male voice bespoke impatience at keeping watch.

“That’s my David,” Arlois confided. “I think he’s getting anxious to crawl under the wagon with me. I told him last night he smelled like a warthog.”

Jessica joined in the wash of laughter, and with the others completed her ablutions in haste. Another such occasion might not present itself for several days, possibly not even before they arrived in Council Grove, and they would not ruin another opportunity by lingering overlong in the water.

Quickly they donned their nightwear and together they trooped up the rise to where two of the men waited. David Bates motioned them to walk ahead, ready to escort them back to the circle of wagons. The other men hastened to the water, and within seconds Jessica heard the splashing of bodies in the stream as the men sought the depths at the middle of the expanse in which to bathe.

David whispered a quick word in Arlois’s ear before he loped back to the stream, and she laughed aloud, leading the way between two wagons into the light of the campfires. Seeking their wagons, the women were the object of male eyes from every corner, the men obviously enjoying the sight of females in various styles of robes and wrappers, their hair falling damply down their backs.

Jessica sat on her chunk of wood beside her dying fire, toweling her hair, then drawing her comb through its length, a process that involved long moments of unsnarling the waves that resisted her attempts to curb their tendency to corkscrew. Her fingers tamed it finally, and she worked hastily to form a long braid, aware of watching eyes. Then, with awkward movements, she arose and began the process of climbing into her wagon bed.

Her knee became tangled in her gown and she teetered for a few seconds, almost falling before she managed to gain the inside. Her wrapper slid off and she folded it, then tugged her feather tick to the floor, where it covered almost half the available space. Four feet wide, the wagon held all she owned, most of her belongings stacked along the sides, only leaving enough room for her to make her way from one end to the other.

Even with the chairs Lyle had tied on the outside and the heavy objects dangling beneath, the contents would barely make enough furnishings for one room once she arrived in Colorado.

Her quilt sailed wide and settled on the feather tick, and once more she was thankful she’d dug in her heels and insisted on bringing it along, even over Lyle’s protests. It was her only luxury, comforting her body each night. From the river, she could still hear the men’s voices, raised in laughter. Perhaps another night one of them might make his way to her wagon, might climb in to join her on her bed.

The stark memory of Lyle sharing her bed caused her to tremble, and for a moment she wondered if ever she would welcome a male presence beside her. The blessing was that she no longer had to fear a cuff from a closed fist or a slap from his narrow, gambler’s hand. The sound of Dave’s low voice, speaking teasingly in masculine tones caught her ear and she thought of Arlois, waiting for him to join her beneath their wagon.

The thought that she might one day welcome a man lured her beyond her fear and she envisioned golden hair and blue eyes that smiled on her with approval.

Without a moment’s regret for the loss of the husband she’d buried only yesterday, she recognized the depth of the attraction to Finn Carson that had gripped her so quickly. Refusing to allow the burden of guilt to weigh on her shoulders, she thumped her pillow and nestled it beneath her head as she spread a sheet over herself.

She’d done her best to be a good wife to Lyle, and had only years of neglect and abuse to show for it. The blame for her unhappiness rested on the gambler she’d spent four years trying to please, and now she was free from the millstone her marriage had become. Her sigh was deep as she settled herself to sleep.

But in only moments she heard her name spoken in an undertone, and at the sound her eyelids flew open. “Jessica? Are you awake?”

“Yes.” It was all she could manage to whisper as she crawled from beneath the sheet and made her way to where he stood, the wooden rear panel of the wagon rising between them. She knelt, leaning her forearms on the barrier, and looked up at him. He was in the shadow of the wagon, but his hair glimmered silver, and she could barely resist the urge to touch its damp length as he looked down at her.

“What do you want?” Her voice was a hushed whisper, and Finn swallowed the answer that begged to be spoken aloud.

You. Just you. Instead, he murmured quiet words of concern. Did she need anything? Was she all right?

His hand brushed against strands of hair waving about her face, and he rued the braid she’d formed to tame the heavy fall, wishing with all his heart that he might see it undone in the moonlight, might wrap his fingers in its length. He watched as her slender hands moved to settle on the piece of wood that separated them, noted how she clutched at it, and dropped his own hand to rest beside hers.

If he bent just a little, he thought…if she tilted her head just so…if only there weren’t others nearby.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, drawing him from his fanciful meandering. “Thank you for planning the jaunt to the stream. The women were all so pleased, and I haven’t been clean all over at the same time for longer than I want to think about.”

It was silent for a moment, only the sound of fractured breathing apparent as Jessica inhaled and then allowed her breath to pass through soft lips that opened as if she would speak again.

And then she tilted her head—just so—and he bent, just a bit.

Without a twinge of regret, his lips touched hers, lingered for a moment and then retreated. “Good night,” he said, aware that his voice was rough, his breathing rapid, and his arousal apparent. He turned aside to walk in the darkness outside the circle of wagons. His horse was tied to the wagon he normally slept beneath, and he quickly exchanged halter for bridle and reins, and then with one leap was astride the animal.

He wouldn’t be gone more than twenty minutes or so, he figured—just long enough for his body to resume its usual condition—before he sought his bed. Although his normal condition these days was one of longing for a woman who was patently still off-limits to him, at least until he could get a ring on her finger.

A woman who held a deed to property he’d vowed to retrieve the day he’d stood by his brother’s grave. A woman whose husband had fired a bullet into Aaron Carson and then set off to claim his gold strike and the property surrounding it.

A woman who was unaware of Finn’s dual purpose in courting her.

Jessica Beaumont. The woman he intended to claim as his own.




Chapter Four


Laundry was the order of the day, with rope lines strung between wagons, where a motley assortment of clothing was hung to dry in the hot sun. Men carried baskets of trousers and shirts, dresses and undergarments up from the stream, and their womenfolk reached high to drape them higgledy-piggledy over the lines. Those men without wives did their own or paid out good cash money to willing ladies who were not averse to accepting their coins.

The children ran wild, as if it were a holiday, and even though they were ever under the watchful eyes of their parents, they splashed downstream in the water and played tag beneath the trees. The noon meal was taken together, the womenfolk carrying food from their individual campfires to where quilts were spread beneath the willows near the water. Upstream, several of the men had cast lines into the water, and their catch lay on the stream bank.

“It feels like Fourth of July, doesn’t it?” Arlois asked Jessica as she settled her youngest boy with a pewter plate on his lap.

Jessica nodded, remembering picnics from her childhood, and for a moment she was lonesome for the company of her parents, who were lost to her now. She would write them, she determined, before they arrived at Council Grove, and send the letter back to Saint Louis. By that time she would be able to tell them her news, of Lyle’s death and the man who would be her husband from this time on.

“You’d think we were celebrating July fourth early, wouldn’t you?” Finn picked up a drumstick from his plate and bit into it with gusto.

“That’s almost the same thing Arlois said,” Jessica told him, enjoying the smile he tossed so casually in her direction. She watched him eat, noting the manners he exhibited with unconscious ease. His upbringing had obviously contained the presence of a mother who taught her son well the everyday courtesies, judging from his ability to make himself at home with any company.

“I think these folks will take any opportunity to have a good time,” he said, waving his drumstick in the general direction of the men and women sitting in small groups beneath the shade of the willow trees. He looked down at his plate. “I’m glad the ladies were able to come up with picnic food. I saw some of them picking berries at daybreak. Must’ve been for this cobbler.”

“Hazel O’Shea contributed three eggs to make that,” Jessica said. “They’re about worth their weight in gold. Her husband had a fit when she insisted on bringing along her hens in a cage, but I’ll bet he’s happy now that she won that fight. He’s about the only man on the train who eats eggs for breakfast a couple of times a week.”

“How about seeing if we can pick up a couple of hens for you once we get to Council Grove?” Finn asked. “I can make a cage for them if there’s wood available.”

“Would you?” she asked. “I thought of it in Independence, but Lyle said it would be too much trouble turning them loose to scratch every evening, and they’d probably get eaten by hawks once we let them run free a bit.”

“You just have to keep a close eye on them,” Finn told her. “We could manage if it’s something you’d like. We’ll have a chance to buy some supplies at the general store there, too. The prices are high, but you’ll know better now what things you need to fill in the gaps in your supplies.”

“Your hunting expedition is what made this such a good meal, you know,” Jessica told him. Finn had headed up the group of hunters early in the morning while the women did their washing, and the wild turkeys and rabbits they’d shot and prepared for roasting over the fires formed the basis of the meal they shared. Along with the berry cobbler, another of the women had generously used her store of dried apples to make fried turnovers, then cut them in pieces for the children to share.

It was almost like being a part of a family, Jessica decided, and though the group would split off into different directions in a few weeks, she knew she would never forget the unexpected delights of this day.

The laundry hanging on the makeshift lines was ready to be tended by the time their picnic was finished, and the women turned back to their mundane chores as the menfolk watered the stock and carried quilts and weary children back to the circle of wagons.

It had been a joyous day, Jessica thought as she folded Finn’s shirts. She inhaled the fresh scent of the prairie breeze that seemed caught up in the very fabric of each garment, then stacked them neatly on a box. As she turned from the chore with the last of his shirts in her hands she caught sight of him, striding with long, firm steps toward her wagon, her quilt across one arm, a basket of her belongings from the picnic swinging from his other hand.

“I’ll take care of your clothesline,” Finn said after he deposited her things inside the wagon. He reached up to unfasten the length of rope from a hook on the rear bow, and walked slowly toward the next wagon in line, looping the coils over his elbow and hand as he went.

She watched, enamored by the idea of a man doing chores for her. She’d been so long without tenderness in her days and nights. And now Finn provided that quality in abundant measure. He twisted and turned the rope, forming it into a neat figure eight, and then leaned past her to hang it on the nail where she stored it.

Her fingers faltered as she smoothed the fabric of his blue work shirt, and she tugged the collar, straightening it a bit. “You do that so nicely,” he told her. “Reminds me of the way my mother used to handle the washing when I was a boy.” He watched as she tucked the sleeves inside and smoothed the placket down, then lifted the stack of his belongings into his arms, inspecting the top item more closely.

“Thanks for sewing on a new button for me,” he said. His brow lifted and a grin curved his lips. “I’ll be spoiled with you taking such good care of me.”

“It was an odd one I had and it doesn’t really match the others, but it’s better than nothing, I figured. And if that’s all it takes to keep you happy, who am I to complain?” she teased, and then felt her stomach clench as his gaze narrowed on her face. His eyes darkened with a look she recognized as a yearning—a yearning probably for the easing of his masculine need. Just such a look from Lyle had meant harsh hands that groped and demanded her compliance to his wants.

Not so, it seemed, with this man, for his fingers against her shoulders were soothing, and his lips formed words of promise against her skin. “You’ll find me easy to please, Jessica,” he said. “In fact, just being with you makes me happy.” He bent close to claim the softness of her cheek, and his breath was warm against her ear. His mouth formed a caress, his lips pressing against her flesh. And then she felt the dampness of open lips, as his murmur offered assurance. “All you have to do is smile in my direction.”

Such foolishness. She turned her head sharply and looked into eyes that seemed not to consider such flattery as nonsense. “A smile will do it?” she asked.

“Just looking at you gives me pleasure,” he told her, and she laughed, a quick, harsh sound.

“I’d put some stock in that if I didn’t know how I look these days, Finn. Those sweet words would be more credible if you aimed them toward a pretty young girl, or whispered them to a woman who’s been a success at pleasing a husband.” She set her jaw, deliberately acknowledging her own shortcomings.

He laughed at her. The man had the audacity to touch his fingers to her cheek and then bent to kiss the tip of her nose. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Jessica,” he said. His blue eyes lowered slowly, touching the bit of skin exposed at her throat, where her collar was undone, and then settled seductively on the fullness of her breasts.

Heat rose to color her cheeks as his gaze measured the rounding curves of her bosom, and her lungs expanded as if they required an inordinate amount of air. His smile was slow, as her breasts lifted with each indrawn breath, and his murmur was low, words she strained to hear. He leaned toward her, brushing their bodies together, and she felt the distinct swelling of his male arousal against her belly.

“Finn?” Her voice was choked, her throat too dry to swallow, and the fire from her rosy cheeks descended to diffuse its heat throughout her body, as if a fever had taken hold and spread languor the length of her limbs. She leaned against him, unable to remain upright without his support.

“I suppose I should apologize Jess,” he told her, his smile a bit crooked, as if he were embarrassed. “I don’t mean to offend you, but I can’t seem to help the way you affect me. Surely you’re not surprised.”

“Well, I can’t imagine that you—”

He laughed, the sound muffling her words as he took her lips with a kiss that left her question answered beyond the shadow of a doubt. Then he was laughing no longer, his mouth taking hers fiercely, his need so powerful, so elemental, she could not fail to understand the message. And then they lurched, almost in unison, as the baby made its presence known to them both, a tiny hand or foot poking indiscriminately in protest.

Finn recovered first, setting her away from him. “Enough of that for tonight, I’d say,” he told her, his chuckle soft against her ear. “I’ll see you in the morning, sweetheart.” His smile returned, quirking one corner of his mouth. “And yes, whether you believe it or not, I have a need for you, Jess. I said I’d wait, and I will, but don’t think for one minute that you carrying a baby is enough to turn me away.”



The creek crossing was accomplished early on the next day, and by noontime the train snaked out across the prairie, heading almost due west. The morning breeze carried the perfume of wildflowers directly to the wagon seat where Jessica was perched. One of the men, a miner, walked beside her lead ox this morning, having made the offer, probably at Finn’s instigation she thought. And it was an offer she could not afford to refuse, although she would soon climb down and take her place there, walking the trail for the early hours of the afternoon.

Her lungs filled as she inhaled deeply of the fresh air. Flowers bloomed on all sides, and mixed with their soft scent was the riper, richer aroma of soil, blessed by an overnight rain. It had been a dry spring, McMasters said, but this morning the trail held damp spots.

There’d been no sign of Finn after the crossing. Once the wagons rolled through the shallowest part of the stream, listing first to one side, then the other, men walking beside them, watchful lest one should tilt and threaten to overturn, he’d ridden off. With a jaunty wave in her direction he’d turned his horse to the southwest and had soon been gone from sight.

The crossing left them vulnerable, and though the Indian tribes had been peaceful, Jonas was alert for trouble. Finn, she suspected, had been sent ahead to scout out the trail.

The day passed quickly, Jessica taking over the duty of walking by the team for a couple of hours during the afternoon, and then retiring to rest when Arlois sent her son to relieve her. The feather tick in her wagon served her well, and she spent an hour there, her body weary, her legs aching. She was less than two months from delivery of her child, if she had it figured right, and the hardest part was yet to come. It was no wonder a woman was considered unfit to travel without a man’s company on a wagon train.

By nightfall, her back ached and her feet were swollen. Even with the afternoon nap giving her a burst of energy she was aware that her strength was lessening day by day. Sitting by the fire, she held her journal on her lap, scribbled a recital of the day, and then thumbed through the pages. Notes of the miles traveled, the meals she’d cooked and the sights she’d seen made up the entries of those early days of this trek, and she read them over by the flickering campfire.

There seemed to be a total absence of joy in her early postings and she could not help but compare them to the few lines she’d written of today’s happenings. Names of women and children appeared there, and prominent among them was Finn’s, the lone male she’d mentioned, but for the miner and Arlois’s eldest son, who had given of their time for her comfort.

She closed the book, and leaned back against a keg, allowing the sounds of children and animals to lull her. The sun was below the horizon, and the shrill cry of some wild animal blended in with the protesting howl of an angry child. A chill settled down upon her, and Jessica shivered, wrapping her arms around her middle, viewing the campfire through lowered eyelids.

And then he came to her in the half darkness, his boots silent against the hard ground. Crouching next to her, he spoke her name, and she opened her eyes, welcoming the sight of a smile that warmed her. She motioned to the kettle that still hung over the fire, and he nodded, settling beside her to eat. Dipping into the contents of her stew pot, he savored each bite, then spoke quietly of the trail he’d scouted out.

“I didn’t find anything to worry about,” he said. “Jonas heard some rumors about one of the tribes stealing horses from a train that went through here a couple of weeks ago, but everything looks quiet up ahead to me. The Indians don’t take much stock in oxen anyway. I think we’re pretty safe.”

Jessica nodded, content to watch him and listen to the quiet drone of his words, lulling her in the darkness. Finn poked at the buffalo chips with a stick, his attention never straying from her. It was as if they were already married, she thought, already forming a life together. Except for bedtime, when, as the camp settled down for the night, he stood beside her, offering his help. She rose and made ready to climb into the wagon.

His kiss was not unexpected, the slow, gentle mating of their lips that sent a shiver down the length of her spine. His mouth coaxed hers to open and her lips softened beneath his, allowing the patient exploration of her lips with the edge of his tongue. She’d hated such kisses from Lyle, dreaded the poking and prodding that invaded her privacy. Yet with Finn’s delicate touches, she knew a different sensation, felt the rush of sweet, awakening passion his kisses brought into being.

He left her then, after lifting her with ease over the tailgate, touching her hand in a silent farewell before he lowered himself to crawl into his bedroll beneath the wagon. A sense of rightness, of well-being, surrounded her with the knowledge that he slept so near, and she closed her eyes, weariness creeping over her.

Sunshine greeted them each morning as they made their way toward Council Grove. Water again became scarce and they took a detour, stopping by a stream bank one afternoon, then spent the night there at the women’s request. The animals were allowed to graze overnight and then led to the stream to drink deeply before they set off the next morning. The water wagon carried barrels for filling and Jessica was relieved to have hers delivered back to her wagon, the lid firmly in place, the contents making it heavy and cumbersome.

Finn was at hand, watching over her, appearing every morning to ready her oxen for the day’s travel, ever present at her fire each night. She accepted him as a friend, welcomed the warm touches of his lips against her mouth and forehead, leaned into his muscular form as his arms enclosed her in the darkness each evening—growing accustomed to his presence in her life.

They spoke little of the decision she must make before reaching Council Grove, only of the trail ahead, of the lives they’d left behind. And if Finn seemed reticent at times, skimming the surface of his early years, she simply put it down to the usual inclination of men not to discuss themselves.

And then, just two days out of Council Grove, he made the offer she’d been expecting, issuing a formal declaration of his intent. They had finished supper, and Jessica was putting away her bowls and spoons into the keg where she stored them. Beside her, Finn lifted it into the wagon bed, and then turned to face her, both of them hidden in the shadows between two wagons, where their last moments together each day were spent, speaking quietly before separating to sleep apart.

“I thought I’d better remind you that I’m planning to marry you once we reach Council Grove,” he said, smiling as he reached for her hand. He held it against his chest and felt the trembling of her fingers against his palm. The inclination to touch his lips to her cool flesh was almost automatic, so slowly and easily had their relationship developed, and he lifted her hand, then bent to press a kiss against her knuckles.

“I wondered if you’d changed your mind,” she said, looking up at him quizzically. “You haven’t mentioned it again, only that once. I hadn’t planned to hold you to it, Finn.”

“I don’t change my mind once it’s made up to something, Jess. I figured you knew that.”

“You know Gage Morgan asked me to consider his suit,” she told him quietly. “I suspect he’ll ask again before we get to Council Grove.”

“And what will you tell him?” He heard the harsh tones he uttered that spoke of his anger, and saw her brows raise as he clasped her hand more tightly.

“What do you think?” she asked. “You’ve been looking after me, Finn. I’ve fed you supper every night, and you’ve slept beneath my wagon. I told you before that it seemed to me you were staking a claim. The rest of the men stayed clear of me. All but Morgan.”

“Did he come around when I was riding out ahead?” Finn asked.

She nodded. “He was pleasant, but I don’t feel comfortable around him.”

“After we leave Council Grove, he’ll leave you alone,” Finn promised. “Once you’re wearing my ring, you won’t be fair game for any other man.”

“I’ll let you know right now, I’m not about to settle for a secondhand ring, Finn Carson. I’d rather do without.” Her chin lifted as she followed her assertion with an explanation that surprised him. “Morgan offered to buy one from one of the other women for me if I’d marry him.”

Finn shook his head in disbelief. The thought of Jessica’s hand being graced by some other female’s bit of gold was beyond consideration. “You’ll be wearing a brand new ring when we leave Council Grove,” he told her. “I understand there’s a jeweler there, and we’ll see what he has to offer.”

“Really? You mean that?” she asked. “I’ve never had a wedding ring.”

“Did you think I’d do any less for you, Jess?” He lifted her hand again, and this time his mouth lingered there. He looked up into her eyes and whispered words he’d considered long and hard. “I won’t demand anything of you. You’ll let me know when I can sleep inside the wagon with you. All right?” And within him blossomed the hope that his careful wooing, his small seductions each night might bear fruit.

Jessica was silent for a long moment, and he thought she held her breath. And then she nodded. “All right. That sounds agreeable to me.”

“I spoke to the preacher and he agreed to marry us in Council Grove. And if there’s a church we can use, I thought you might like to be wed in front of an altar.”

He watched as her eyes glistened, and two tears fell to roll down her cheeks. “Thank you, Finn. I didn’t expect you to think of that, but it would please me no end.”

“I’ve asked Dave Bates to be witness for me, and I thought maybe you’d ask Arlois to stand beside you.” He’d been jumping the gun a little when he presented his plan to Dave, but the other man didn’t have any qualms about agreeing to the notion, only teased him about planning his wedding night.

“I’ll ask her tomorrow,” Jessica said. And then she stood on tiptoe and leaned forward a bit, capturing their clasped hands between his chest and hers. Her face tilted upward and she smiled. “If I say yes nicely to your proposal, will you kiss me?”

“I’ve kissed you most every night, Jess,” he said quietly. “And I’ve waited two long weeks to do it properly,” he whispered. “I didn’t want to push you, sweetheart.”

He bent and his lips touched hers, at first a familiar, undemanding whisper of lips pressing together, of warmth and soft caresses that soon were not enough. His mouth opened over hers and he allowed his tongue and teeth the freedom to invade her mouth in the same way he ached to claim her woman’s warmth. She leaned against him and he rejoiced that his hands were to be allowed the freedom of touching her ripe, fruitful body.

Held tenderly in his hand, her breast was firm, the crest hardening against his palm and he lifted it with care, measuring its weight and squeezing it with a gentle touch. His other arm circled her, holding her close, aware of the burden of her pregnancy between them. The fact that an unborn babe was her gift to him in this marriage was uppermost in his mind, and he spoke the words that begged to be said.

“Once you’re my wife, this will be my child,” he said. “I want you to forget that Lyle ever had any claim to your baby.”

She bent her head and pressed her cheek to his chest. “I don’t know how easy that will be,” she murmured. “I’ll have a hard time forgetting—” She inhaled sharply, and he felt compassion for the memories she carried within her.

His palm lifted her chin and he looked down into her eyes, rued the tears that again swam on their surface and fell to stain her cheeks. “One day, I’ll make you put all that behind you,” he promised. “I’ll never hurt you, Jess.”

“I may not be able to be the wife you want.” As if the words were torn from her, she shuddered in his grasp. “I’m not very good at that part of marriage, I fear.”

And how much of that fear could be laid at Lyle Beaumont’s feet, Finn wondered? The man had much to answer for. A woman should not be made to dread the touch of her husband. Should Jessica be apprehensive about the coming days when she would become Finn Carson’s wife, he alone would suffer for it, would pay the price for Lyle’s cruelty.

And yet, none of that would make him change his mind. His arms hugged her close, swaying a bit, as if he would comfort her. “You’ll do fine,” he said quietly. “I’m not a harsh man, Jess.”

She nodded, her head moving against his chest. “I’m counting on that.”



Council Grove was a small town, one street running its length, storefronts on either side, with a primitive sidewalk of sorts to keep the ladies’ skirts out of the mud. This morning there was no sign of the recent rain, only a rutted road that held both wagons and men on horseback. The wagons were circled on the edge of town, positioned on a piece of land apparently used before for the same purpose, if the remains of campfires and ruts from other wagons were anything to go by.

“Mrs. Beaumont.” The voice speaking her name was familiar, and Jessica looked out the back of her wagon to see Morgan awaiting her attention. “Could I speak with you for just a minute?”

“Certainly,” she told him, unwilling to climb down in front of him, knowing how awkward her descent would be. She settled instead on the floor and met his gaze.

He walked closer, accepting her unspoken invitation to approach, and took off his hat. The man was good-looking. There was no getting around it, she thought. His gray eyes were dark, bold and searching as he paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. And then, as if he knew it was his last chance to speak his piece, he began.

“I’ve asked you to consider me as your husband, ma’am. I couldn’t help but notice you seem to have an understanding with Carson, but I want you to know the offer still stands.” A smile touched his firm lips and his fingers gripped his hat brim. “I made a mistake when I spoke of a wedding ring, about perhaps buying one from one of the ladies. Now I’ve heard that there’s a store in Council Grove where one may be bought.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that, too,” she said, her smile genuine. “In fact, that’s where Mr. Carson plans on purchasing one for me.”

“Is there anything I can say to make you reconsider my offer?” he asked. “I’m willing to go wherever you like, find a homestead and settle anyplace that suits you. I’ve got money enough to outfit us nicely in Council Grove, if you don’t have enough supplies to go with mine to make the trip.”

“And will you accept my child as your own?” she asked. And then saw the hesitation he could not mask.

“I’d certainly try,” he countered. His mouth firmed and his eyes became shuttered against her, and once more she thought that he was a man with secrets, and perhaps a plan that did not bode well for her. “I understood from talk around the campfires that your husband bragged of a deed to land near Pike’s Peak, ma’am. If you’ll share it with me, I’d be willing to work the land and make a home for you there.”

Jessica’s skin felt chilled, and pebbled at his offer. “I don’t have possession of such a deed,” she said, hedging the truth a bit. “I fear I will go to my new husband with nothing but the contents of my wagon and the child I carry.”

His gaze grew sharp and a disbelieving smile turned his mouth into a travesty of humor. “You don’t have a piece of paper that gives you the rights to a piece of land?”

“I have no such deed,” she said again stubbornly. Where Lyle put it is a secret he took with him into his grave. She’d tussled with that knowledge almost daily for the past two weeks, and looked forward to turning the search over to Finn’s capable hands.

“I see.” Morgan appeared thoughtful. “I’m still willing to marry you,” he said. “I’ll need a wife once I get a place to live.”

“Perhaps you’ll find a willing woman somewhere between here and Santa Fe,” she told him.

“But it won’t be you?”

She shook her head. “No, it won’t be me. I’m marrying Finn Carson this morning in Council Grove.” She watched as he clapped his hat on his head, offered her a nod and walked away.

“That was well-done,” Finn said from the front of the wagon. He climbed up onto the seat and made his way between the stacks of her belongings to where she sat. “I told you he’d make another stab at it before we got here, didn’t I? There’s nothing like leaving things till the last minute.”

And then he bowed his head to her in a solemn gesture. “You handled him nicely, Jessica.”

“Did I?” She thought of the hidden anger that had firmed the man’s jaw, the dark shadows in his eyes, and the determination that hovered over him as he stalked from her presence. “I fear I’ve only made him angry. But I didn’t lie to him.”

“It couldn’t be helped, sweetheart,” Finn told her. He was bent over beneath the canvas top, too tall to stand upright. “You look pretty today, Jess.” He offered his hand. “Are you ready to go to the store for your ring? Arlois and David are waiting for us.”



Her ring shimmered in the sunlight, a simple band given to her with solemn vows accompanying its placement on her finger. “With this ring…” She repeated them over in her mind as she turned her hand to catch the gleam of gold. The wagon seat was padded with Finn’s own bedroll, for her comfort, he’d said. Ahead of her, he walked beside the oxen as they leaned into their yoke.

Behind her, within the canvas walls, five new boxes of supplies vied for space with her remaining foodstuffs, and tied securely to the north side of the wagon was a cage carrying four laying hens, plus a rooster, who was a bit frustrated with the crowded conditions. Finn’s plans included building the lone male a cage of his own at the first opportunity.

His bargaining skills had made her smile as the farmer outside of Council Grove fought for the best deal he could get. Finn had made him throw in the cage and a large sack-ful of feed, to be used on those days when the chickens couldn’t be turned loose to forage. The bed of the cage held a nest in one corner, and even now, the biddies were jostling for their turn to settle there.

He’d bought canned fruit, a real treat, to be used sparingly, and then told her they would stand the empty cans up on a tree limb for her to aim at during a session of target practice, assuring her that she should learn to use a gun. Stubbornly he’d convinced her of the need, and she’d agreed to give it a try.

All in all, it had been a most satisfactory day, she decided, waving as Geraldine came into sight, waiting up ahead beside the trail for Jessica’s wagon to roll past. As it reached her, Jessica held out her hand and Geraldine climbed up to join her on the seat.

“I wanted to talk to you back in Council Grove and didn’t get a chance,” she said. She looked ahead to where Finn walked beside the oxen and then leaned closer to Jessica.

“I’m so glad you chose Mr. Carson. I was afraid that Gage Morgan’s good looks would sway you. The man is persistent, I’ll give him that, but I think you got the better of the two. The rest of the bachelors didn’t stand a chance with you. We all figured that out, and I think they all knew it, too, once Finn set his sights on you.”

“Morgan’s a good-looking man, but he doesn’t hold a candle to Finn,” Jessica told her. Her gaze dwelt for a long moment on the tall, slim-hipped figure who walked before them. “He’s as good-looking as Morgan, just in a different way. More importantly, he’s kind and generous.” She waved a hand at the extra supplies behind her, tied in place inside the wagon. “You wouldn’t believe the stuff he bought for us in Council Grove. I agree with you. I know I made the right choice.”

“Well, he’s getting a bargain, too,” Geraldine said, lifting an eyebrow with good humor. “He’s got a ready-made family, and chances are you’ll have a boy. First babies usually are boys, you know,” she said confidentially. “And besides that, you’re far and away one of the prettiest women I’ve ever known, Jessica. I’d say he got himself quite a good deal.”

“I hope he thinks so,” Jessica answered, even as she wondered what Finn’s thoughts were. He’d been quiet after the return to the wagons, working in silence as he sorted out their new supplies and packed them amid the wagon’s contents. But even though they spoke little, he was all that was kind and considerate as he readied Jessica’s seat for the afternoon’s journey and saw to her comfort.





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