Lightning streaked across the sky followed by a tremendous boom of thunder. Olive paused beside the wagon watching the display as the first raindrop fell. She was glad Mr. Conner had decided they should make camp here for the night when the storm clouds rolled in. The green rolling hills were beautiful with a few trees dotting the countryside. A sparkling stream, possibly feeding into the great Missouri River, flowed by not far away. Even the parks in Cleveland couldn’t be more pleasing to the sight than this. And now a storm. She released a sigh and watched another jagged streak split the darkening sky. Lightning was a majestic sight. A sure sign of God’s power and design. Although some might disagree with her.
Mrs. Howell had started getting out what they’d need for supper when the first rumble rose from the west. It was still far away, but the woman had shoved everything back and headed toward shelter inside the wagon saying they could eat cold biscuits tonight. She was still hiding.
“Better get inside, Miss Williams.” Mr. Howell trotted across the grass, his stiff left leg creating a limp.
“Jacob!” Mrs. Howell’s panicky shout rode on the tail of the second blast of thunder. “You need to take cover.”
“Yes, Mama, I will.” He shook his head. “She’s scared to death of storms.”
A brisk wind drove the rain into Olive’s face. It’d been hot and sticky all day, and the cool moisture felt wonderful. She lifted her face and held out her hands to catch some of the drops, barely mindful of the dampness soaking her long, full skirt.
Sam plodded past with a team of horses as Mrs. Howell stuck her head out again. “Jacob, are you coming?”
“I’ll be there as soon as we get things secure for the night. Stay inside, and you’ll be all right.”
Mrs. Howell must really be frightened. Olive stopped playing with the rain and patted the older man’s arm. “Go on and take care of your wife. I’ll help Mr. Conner.”
“I can’t let you do that.” He sounded scandalized. “Young lady, you must get in where it’s dry. I’ve still got to get the other horses.”
“I can get them.” Olive looked at the huge beasts standing in the rain patiently waiting for their turn to be unhitched and watered. She had no idea what one did to take care of a horse, especially horses so large, but surely it wouldn’t hurt to try. Maybe Mr. Conner would teach her so she could help more often. “Or I can do whatever else needs done.” She glanced around and saw the two chairs someone had set out. If the wind picked up they’d blow away.
She ran toward them calling over her shoulder. “Go to your wife. I’m not going in anyway. I love the rain.”
“Mr. Howell!” There was insistence in his wife’s call that ended in a squeal when a sudden crack of thunder moved into a rumbling roll that seemed to go on and on.
Olive grabbed the first chair and lifted it to the hook on the end of the wagon. She swung around to get the second chair and ran into a hard wall.
Sam’s strong hands grabbed each of her arms. “Mrs. Williams, you need to get in the wagon before the lightning strikes you.”
“Oh pooh!” She pulled away from him. “As if canvas is any protection from lightning.”
While Sam stood with his mouth open, she lifted her hands and twirled, laughing while rain beat down all around. “I love the rain, and I love watching the majestic storms with lightning and thunder.”
“You’re crazy!” Sam laughed with her then hooked an arm around her waist pulling her to a stop.
Caught in his arm, she couldn’t move and didn’t care. She lifted her gaze to his and smiled.
His face appeared as hard as granite with solemn expression until he nodded toward the wagon. “Go on. I’ll secure this chair then be right there. Now, go before you get struck by lightning.”
Did that mean he was coming inside the wagon? From the corner of her eye she witnessed another streak of light shoot from the sky straight to the earth, and a thrill ran through her. Her heart pounded as she ran to the wagon and climbed in. From the storm or from Sam? How could she tell the difference?
Inside, she reached first for the lantern and matches and adjusted the wick before turning to peek out into the evening darkness. Ignoring the dripping of her clothes she watched Sam pass with the two remaining horses and his riding mount. Leading all three, he tethered them a short distance away. He was strong yet gentle. Intelligent but uneducated. Appealing and totally unavailable. She sighed and let the flap drop back into place. He wasn’t unavailable, she was. Had she stepped ahead of God’s will for her life by accepting what seemed the only thing she could do? Mike Dugan offered when she needed security. It seemed he was her only choice. But was he now? Yes, because she’d promised. Besides, she’d have never met Sam if she hadn’t accepted Mike’s proposal.
“Mr. Conner.” She corrected her wayward thoughts. “And he shall remain Mr. Conner.”
She stood still allowing impossible thoughts to run through her mind until the canvas flap jerked open, and Sam scrambled inside making her jump back.
He grinned. “Were you waiting for me?”
“Oh!” In spite of her efforts to appear nonchalant, the rising warmth into her cheeks betrayed her. “Of course not. I just got here myself a moment ago.”
~*~
“Is that so?” Sam watched Olive carry the lantern and move carefully down the narrow aisle between crates of supplies. After setting the lamp down, she picked up a folded quilt and turned to face him.
He offered the last thing he wanted to do. “I’ll get my bedroll and change into some dry clothes then go back outside.”
“Your bedroll?” She stared at him as if she thought he was crazy. “What do you plan to do with it?”
“Sleep.” He met her gaze. “Under the wagon like I’ve been doing.”
Her laughter told him she thought he was as daft as he felt. She shook her head, a smile still on her lips. “You’ll just get wet again. What you need to do is dry off then wait out the storm inside.”
Before he could think of anything intelligent to say, she handed him a towel. “Here dry what you can. We need to change and get warm.”
Yeah, sure they’d change in the small confines of this wagon. She was intriguing to say the least, but he’d thought she was a true lady. Keeping his imagination to himself, he took the towel and dried his face and hair. Everything else was covered and would have to wait until he removed some clothing.
She took his damp towel and laid it to the side then handed him the quilt she’d first picked up. “Turn around and hold up both your hands. I’ll give you the quilt, and you can hold it behind you high enough so you can’t see me.”
Ah, a practical solution. She was clever as well as beautiful. “All right, I’m ready.”
“Just stay in that position until I tell you I’m decent.”
He reined in his wayward imagination and waited while soft rustling noises drifted to him in spite of the patters of rain against the stretched canvas. Sounded like it might be slowing down. Thunder seemed a bit softer too. No doubt he’d have to sleep under the wagon after all.
“Okay, I’m done. It’s your turn now.”
He lowered the quilt and turned to find her standing behind him wearing a shapeless blue dress. The front had buttons all the way down. The sleeves long and loose to the wrists. The collar snug around her neck. He didn’t care for her dress, but he had no complaint with the golden brown eyes looking into his. No matter what she wore, she seemed to steal his breath without half trying. He really should get under the wagon as soon as possible.
“Give me the quilt, and I’ll hold it for you.” She pulled the quilt from his grasp and slipped past him to take the same position. “Okay, I’m ready. Go ahead and dry off.”
He found his bedroll and a dry shirt and pants then used the towel again and changed as quickly as he could. “I’m done.”
She turned, bringing the quilt together in front of her then moved closer to where he stood in front of her bed. Really just straw-stuffed ticking on crates of storage, but comfortable enough after a hard day on their journey. “I’m afraid we have only biscuits for supper. I hope you aren’t too hungry. I snatched as many as I could from the ones left over this morning.”
“They’ll do.” He was hungry, but wouldn’t complain. There’d been no way to cook, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d gone to bed with his stomach growling.
After a short meal, Olive draped her quilt on the floor by the side of her bed. “The storm brought cool air, and it’s still raining. I’ll share my quilt and read to you from my Bible if you’d like. You can’t go out until the rain stops though, or you’ll get deathly ill.”
Share her quilt? Sam couldn’t think beyond that image. He nodded. “Sounds fine. I guess we didn’t ask for this storm.”
“No, but God’s word says rain falls on both the just and the unjust. It’s part of our sinful existence on this earth, but He has also promised to be with us so we don’t have to go through the bad things alone. Don’t you think that’s wonderful?” Her eyes sparkled in the lamplight.
Sam couldn’t concentrate. She’d said a mouthful that he hadn’t listened to, but he nodded anyway.
“I love the Psalms, don’t you?” She grabbed a pillow then lowered herself to the floor by her bed and placed the pillow behind her against the crates holding the straw mattress. Leaning against it, she held out one side of her quilt. “Here, you can cover up with this, and there’s still enough pillow for you to lean against.”
The gaze she turned toward him appeared innocent. She obviously saw nothing wrong with them cuddling close under one quilt. Why did his heart race as if she’d invited him into some illicit act? She was getting ready to read from the Bible of all things. He sat down, slipped under the quilt, and leaned against half of the pillow. Almost immediately warmth spread through his chest and moved into each limb.
Olive opened her Bible to the middle. “Here’s the first Psalm. Every time I read it, I think of my father. He was a minister, but mostly he was a wonderful man. Here’s what it says: ‘Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful. But his delight is in the law of the Lord; and in his law doth he meditate day and night. And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper.’” She placed her hand on the open pages and sighed. “Isn’t that wonderful? A man like that is truly a man of God.”
Oh, boy! Mike’s image popped into Sam’s mind. She’d just read the opposite of Mike. Did she have any idea what she was getting into? As she read the rest of the chapter Sam couldn’t help but see the contrast. The true man of God and the ungodly. Mike certainly fit the second category. What about himself? The first one didn’t describe him. That was for sure.
He closed his mind to such troubling thoughts and listened to Olive’s voice as she turned the page and continued reading. Her voice was beautiful and smooth bringing music to the verses he’d never taken time to read. He could listen to her all night. A drowsy sense of contentment filled him. He was warm and dry, resting on the floor but more than satisfied with his companion. Maybe she’d read all night. He wouldn’t mind at all.
“Would you like to read some?” Her question caught him by surprise.
He chuckled. “Naw, you wouldn’t want to listen to me stumbling over those words.”
“But you can read, can’t you?” She turned her eyes toward him. “Didn’t you say you finished the third reader?”
“Yeah, by the skin of my teeth.” He shrugged. “I can read and write, but I don’t suppose I do either all that good.”
“I could teach you. I know it wouldn’t be hard. You probably only need some practice.”
He turned from the hope in her open gaze and peeled the cover back. “Maybe someday, but if I’m not mistaken, the rain has stopped. I haven’t heard any thunder in a while now. Time for me to leave before one of our traveling companions discovers I’m here and makes something bad of it.”
She released a long sigh. “You are right, but if people would follow the admonition in Philippians 4:8, there’d be no threat of gossip.”
“Is that so?” He stood and looked down at her. “What does that one say?”
She stood and quoted, “‘Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.’”
“You didn’t even have to look it up. You must know everything in that book.” He shook his head in admiration for the lovely woman before him.
Her smile held amusement. “Not everything, but I’ve memorized some of my favorite scriptures.”
He nodded, more than a little puzzled by this woman. He’d memorized scripture as a child, too, but probably couldn’t remember a one of them now. “I’ll have to agree you’re right. A lot of false stories are started from innocent acts, and knowing that, I’d better go.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Conner.” Olive’s voice followed him to the back flap.
He stepped through with his bedroll tucked under his arm then turned. “Night, Mrs. Williams. Thanks for supper and the use of your towel and quilt.”
He let the flap return to its place and stepped to the ground. It was wet but a good drainage had kept puddles away. Didn’t matter. He’d have a hard time going to sleep tonight. He spread his oilcloth under the wagon, made his bed, and lay on his back holding Olive’s image in his mind. He’d been attracted to a lot of women, but he’d never admired any as he did Mrs. Williams. Olive. Only to himself could he say her given name. She belonged to Mike, and right now he’d give anything he had to take Mike’s place.