Читать книгу Frontier Courtship - Valerie Hansen - Страница 10

The tight bindings around Faith’s midsection were chafing in the heat something fierce by the time the wagons stopped for nooning. Normally, she and Charity shared a cooking fire with the Ledbetters and the Johnsons, but this afternoon the reception she received from the others when she approached was decidedly unfriendly.

In pain and more than a little put out, she returned to the solitude of her wagon.

Connell had finished putting the mules with the other stock being herded out to graze and was about to remove his horse’s saddle. The dejected look on Faith’s face made him stop what he was doing and go to her.

Gently, he touched her shoulder, then quickly stepped away and apologized for the undue familiarity.

“No need to worry,” Faith said with a shrug. “Thanks to the captain’s lies, everybody thinks I’m a soiled dove already.”

“A sporting woman?” Connell laughed aloud. “You?”

“You think I’m not pretty enough? I don’t blame you.”

“Hey. Hold your horses. I never meant anything of the kind. It’s simply obvious to me that you’re one of the most honest, upright women I’ve ever met. I can’t imagine how anyone would believe such idiotic rumors.”

Faith held herself proud in spite of the lingering soreness around her middle. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now that we have that settled, what’s for dinner? I’m starved.”

She sighed and made a disgusted face. “We’ll have to kindle our own fire. I’m afraid I’m no longer welcome at the others’ camps.”

“Their loss,” Connell said. He glanced at the calf-hide “possum belly” strung under the wagon to make sure it contained enough kindling and dry buffalo chips for Faith to start a fire without having to go out gathering. “So, what do you fancy? Rabbit, antelope or sage grouse?”

Raising an eyebrow, she began to smile. “You’re going hunting? Now?”

“Unless you’ve figured out a way to get the critters to jump into the pot on their own.”

“Very funny. Just bring back whatever you see and I’ll cook it, no questions asked.”

“That could be dangerous.”

She laughed. “Not with you eating out of the same kettle. Now, skedaddle. I’m hungry, too.”

Watching him mount up and ride away, she sent a silent prayer of thanks heavenward, adding a postscript plea for his missing bride’s safety. If Tucker was truly involved in the woman’s disappearance, no telling what had become of her. Faith hoped, for Hawk’s sake, that he was wrong about that possibility. Perhaps Irene had simply found herself a husband among the emigrants on her train and gone off to wherever that man was bound.

But what if Tucker had been her choice? Faith thought the idea quite discomfiting. And what of Charity? If there was even the slightest chance that the captain was guilty of purposeful harm, how was she going to protect someone as innocent and gullible—and stubborn—as her sister?

Faith glanced at the communal fire where Charity was assisting in the preparation of the large noon meal. It was no great surprise to see Ramsey Tucker’s horse tied to a nearby wagon.

Angry that she’d been rendered powerless by circumstances beyond her control, Faith began to lay a separate cooking fire. Her mind was whirling and darting like the eddies in a fast-moving mountain stream. Too bad she couldn’t really tie Charity up till they reached their destination, the way Anna had jokingly suggested.

Other than doing exactly that, she had no idea how she was going to save her from herself. None at all.

While her new boon companion was away, Faith managed to bake corn bread in the Dutch oven and also boil a pot of beans using side-pork for flavoring. When Connell returned, they added a spit and roasted the hare he’d bagged. All in all, the meal was as tasty as any she’d eaten in a long time, due in part, she was sure, to the good company.

Hoisting the nearly full bean pot by its wire handle, Connell stored it in a box packed with straw in the rear of the Beal wagon. Thus secured, it would ride safely and continue to cook from its own internal heat for some time, making it easy to fix supper after the long day of travel still ahead of them.

When he saw Faith grimace as she bent to clean their dishes, he went to her and crouched down by her side. “Let me do that.”

Wide-eyed, she looked at him as if he’d handed her a poke full of gold nuggets. “You? Why?”

“Because it pains you.”

“It’s woman’s work,” she said.

“A man learns to do lots of things when he’s on his own in the wilderness. Let’s make a bargain. You go hunting next time and I’ll help with your chores now.”

“Don’t be silly.” She scrubbed harder, her hands flying over the gray surface of the tinware.

“I’m not. You claim you can shoot straight.”

“I can, but…”

“But, what?” Taking the dish from her hand, he looked it over carefully. “If you rub this any cleaner, it’s liable to end up so shiny it’ll start a prairie fire.”

Faith wasn’t about to admit how much his close presence had dithered her. “Cleanliness is next to godliness.”

He drew a hand slowly over his beard, bringing his fingers together at his chin. “While we’re speaking of such things, do you happen to have shears and a looking glass I can borrow?”

“In my trunk in the wagon,” she said. “I’ll get them for you presently.” Hawk had fallen into the rhythm of her work and was relieving her of each piece as she finished with it. Since there had been just the two of them for dinner, there wasn’t much left to clean up. “I can trim your hair for you, if you like,” she offered. “I used to cut Papa’s.”

He eyed her mischievously. “I trust he had hair to cut?”

“Of course, he did!” Straightening stiffly, she batted him with the corner of her apron, then used it to wipe her hands.

With one eyebrow raised, he warned, “Just a trim, mind you. It’s been ten years since I had a city haircut. The back of my neck is real used to the shade.” Seeing her heading for the wagon, he followed, reaching out to stop her. “Let me get the shears for you so you don’t strain.”

Faith halted and wheeled to face him, her hands planted firmly on her hips. “Look, mister. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but you’re being so solicitous you’re driving me crazy. I’ve been hurt before. I’ve healed. And I’ll do it again, with or without you.”

He tried to look chagrined when, in truth, her fortitude pleased him greatly. “Yes, ma’am.”

Catching the wry humor in his reply, she hoisted herself into the wagon and looked down at him with a smirk. “You’d best not tease me, sir. Not when you’re about to turn your barbering over to me.”

“Is that a threat, Miss Beal?”

“Take it as you like,” she offered, slipping the scissors, a wide-toothed comb and a small hand mirror into her apron pocket.

Once again, Connell tentatively held out his arms to her. Situated above him as she was, allowing his help in descending was the sensible thing to do. This time, Faith acquiesced.

“Okay. Easy,” she said, placing one hand on each of his shoulders and leaning forward.

His hands circled her slim waist, almost fully spanning it, and he lifted gently, slowly and with great care, bringing her closer, then lowering her till he felt her feet brush the toes of his boots.

Breathless at his nearness, Faith was loath to let go. She was remembering how marvelous it was to be cradled against this man’s broad chest, to be held the way a loving husband might hold his wife.

Only she and the plainsman weren’t husband and wife, nor would they ever be, she reminded herself. Not only was he betrothed to someone else, he was little more than a stranger to her!

Shocked by the wild thoughts racing through her head, Faith decided they must be sinful. She’d always been taught that no good Christian woman desired a man’s arms around her, so why did this moment seem so right, so meant to be, as if her whole life had been nothing but preparation for her extraordinary encounter with the plainsman?

Connell knew he should let go of her, yet kept granting himself one more breath of the natural fragrance of her hair, another second to plumb the wondrous depths of her dark, expressive eyes. If they had been alone, he knew he might very well have leaned down and kissed her. Then there’d be a fracas for sure, wouldn’t there?

“Did I hurt you?” he finally asked as he released her.

Faith cleared her throat. “Um, no. Not at all.”

“Good. Where do you want me?”

For some reason, her brain seemed as befuddled as it had been immediately following her accident at Fort Laramie. “Want you?”

“To sit. For my haircut.”

“Oh.” She took as deep a breath as her ribs would allow, then gestured toward one of the packing boxes they had used for chairs while they ate. “Over there. Take off your hat.”

Connell seated himself, hat in hand.

“You’d better take your shirt off, too,” she warned. “Papa always complained I got bits of hair down his neck.”

“I’ll be fine the way I am.”

Faith knew she should let him have his way, especially since his reply had sounded so gruff, yet a perverse part of her nature insisted otherwise. “You act as if I’ve never seen the top of a man’s union suit before,” she taunted. “I guess if you’re afraid to remove your shirt in my presence we’ll just have to make do as is. I won’t be responsible, though, if you itch something fierce afterwards.”

Casting her a sidelong glance that was more an irate glare than an expression of admiration for her boldness, he reached down, crossed his arms and drew the soft buckskin hunting shirt off over his head. There’d been times when he’d stripped to breechcloth and leggings while stalking buffalo or antelope, but when among those he considered the polite society of his upbringing, he’d always remained fully clothed. Till now.