John surveyed the man who planted his bulky frame in front of him. “Just in time for what?” Still holding the wagon master’s gaze, he spoke to his friend. “Billy, find the kid’s rifle. I tossed it out the back of the wagon.”
Duquette’s eyes widened. “You threw my rifle—now look here, mister…”
“Major,” Billy West reminded. At John’s look, he nosed his horse away and headed back down the trail.
Duquette’s breathing sounded wheezy and irregular. “That’s downright peculiar behavior in my book,” he announced. “You come ridin’ up behind us, creepin’ up like Indians and scaring the ladies half to death. I don’t blame Cal here one bit for firing on you.”
“Didn’t you tell him there’d be an escort?”
The wagon master ignored the question. “How’d he know you were military? Neither one of you’s dressed in any kind of uniform. Hell, mister, uh, Major, you’re wearin’ a damn buckskin shirt!” He jabbed his forefinger against John’s chest. “Looks just like an Injun war shirt with all that fringe on it.”
He drew his finger back to poke him again, but John brushed his hand to one side. “You finished?”
Duquette opened his mouth, then closed it with a click.
“Then listen up. Out here on the plains, the army doesn’t dress to regulation, but the insignia on my hat’s plain enough. Not many Indians embroider crossed sabers on their war bonnets.”
Duquette looked away.
John glanced at the wiry young man beside him. “If you want to live to see Oregon, you won’t shoot at something unless you need it for food. And whether it’s a white man or an Indian, you’ll hold your fire until there’s good cause. Understood?”
Cal bobbed his head.
The wagon master made a growling noise in his throat. “We got good cause.”
John swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. “Think about this, Duquette. If you shoot me, you’ll have a small party of cavalry riding after you. You shoot an Indian in these parts, you’ll have a whole band of Sioux or Cheyenne warriors on your neck.”
Duquette spat off to one side. “You know so much, Major, just what’re we supposed to do to keep ’em from stealing our horses?”
“Picket them so close you can smell them and set a watch at night.”
He reached for the rifle Billy had retrieved, removed the firing cap and handed the gun to the wagon master. “Any more questions?
“I haf got a question, mister.” Arvo Ollesen stepped forward from the clot of gathered onlookers and jerked his head toward Billy’s sleek piebald mare in the distance. “Where’d Mr. West get that spotted horse?”
“It was a gift,” John said shortly. “Duquette, you care to parley?”
The two men walked off a short distance from the wagons and faced each other. Constance watched the major spread his long legs and hook both thumbs in his belt. Duquette was doing all the talking, but he avoided looking at Major Montgomery.
Nettie stepped in close to the wagon. “What is he saying, Cissy?”
Constance looked down into her sister’s perfect heart-shaped face, recognized the purposely guileless expression in her eyes. “I don’t know. It’s not polite to eavesdrop, Nettie.”
Nettie shrugged. “Come on, children. Let’s gather some buttercups for your mother, shall we?”
Constance glanced at the two men. The major stood motionless while the wagon leader gestured with one thick hand.
The children fanned out, pouncing on the button-shaped yellow blooms and cramming their fists full as Nettie moved among them, pointing out new patches, bending to admire their bouquets. She sidled closer and closer to Duquette and the tall major, and suddenly Constance guessed her intent.
“Nettie?” She waved to catch her sister’s eye. Nettie merely smiled and turned her back.
Constance looped the reins around the brake lever and climbed down from the bench. She started across the trampled grass toward the circle of children, her skirts brushing the foot-high wildflowers.
“Lookit, Miss Constance.” Jamie Ramsey thrust a handful of buttercups at her.
“Why, they’re lovely, Jamie. Won’t your mother be pleased?”
“Ain’t for Momma, they’re for you! My momma says you’n your sister are brave souls.”
Constance kept moving, and Jamie tagged at her heels. “What’s a brave soul? Is it like a shoe that don’t wear out?”
“Mercy, no. It’s…well, it’s…like a person that doesn’t wear out.”
Oh, Lord, let me truly live up to Mrs. Ramsey’s perception. I cannot afford to wear out. I must be strong for Nettie. I promised Papa.
She took a step forward and Nettie whirled toward her, a triumphant smile on her face. “Cissy, you’ll never guess what they’re saying!”
“You should not be listening,” she said in an undertone. Again her gaze settled on the major and Mr. Duquette, whose face had turned florid.
Nettie linked arms with her. “But it’s so interesting, hearing things you’re not supposed to.”
Constance slid her arm around her sister’s slim waist. “Hush. Don’t let the children hear you, or we’ll never have another moment’s privacy.” She swung Nettie in a half circle and drew her back toward the wagon.
Nettie rested her head briefly against her shoulder. “Don’t be angry, Cissy.”
“I’m not angry. I’m just doing what Papa would want me to.”
“I know,” she said with an aggrieved sigh. “Papa wanted me to grow up respectable.” She kicked the head off a buttercup with the toe of her shoe. “And so do you.”
“I want you to be happy, Nettie.” She squeezed her sister’s arm.
Nettie huffed and then giggled. “Oh, Cissy, just wait until I tell you what I overheard!” She walked on ahead, Ruth and Essie clinging to her hands and trailed by the three Ramsey boys.
With a wry smile, Constance noted her sister’s dainty steps, the way she tossed her head and laughed. Nettie always knew when she was being watched. No one would ever suspect how she wept and complained when she was alone in the wagon at night.
Keeping her eye on Mr. Duquette, Constance unwound the reins from the brake lever and waited for the signal to move forward. When she saw the wagon leader tramping back toward the wagons, his jaw set, she knew something was wrong.
Without saying a word to anyone, he headed for the front of the line. Every time he stomped his boot down, it sent up a little puff of dust.
Gracious, what on earth had passed between Duquette and the major?
Nettie knew. But Nettie would take her time sharing the information. Withholding it made her feel important.
“Excuse me, Miss Weldon.” The voice sounded so close to her elbow she jerked in surprise.
The major stood before her. His jaw looked tight, and he wasn’t smiling.
“Yes?”
The instant her eyes met his the earth seemed to stop turning. All she could think of were how blue they were. Deep, dark blue, the exact shade of the bottle of writing ink Papa had kept on his desk. Her mouth was suddenly dry as an old tea towel.
“Yes?” she said again. “What is it?”
Billy West stepped his horse up on the other side of her wagon. The major gestured, and Billy trotted on after Duquette.
The longer she looked at the tall man before her, the stranger she felt, as if she was desperately treading water to keep from sinking. He had five button loops on his fawn-colored shirt, the top two unfastened.
He said nothing for a long moment. Then, “Miss Weldon, move your wagon up next to the Ramseys’.”
“But Mr. Duquette told me to—”
“Next to the Ramseys’,” he repeated, his voice flat. “And stay in the center position. Other wagons will flank you.”
“But why?”
“It’s just you and your sister, is it not?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “Wagons with unattached women or children will take the center. We’ll spread out, travel side by side in two ranks.”
“Because?”
“Because it’s safer. And there’s less dust that way.”
Instantly she saw the sense of it, and just as quickly wondered why Mr. Duquette had insisted on traveling single file.
The major’s penetrating blue eyes held her gaze. “If you don’t mind my asking, Miss Weldon, what are you and your sister doing out here alone?”
“We are not alone. There are ten other wagons.”
“I meant why are just the two of you undertaking this journey?”
Constance swallowed, letting her gaze settle on Nettie, who was now playing rag-ball catch with Elijah Ramsey.
“My father wanted to settle in Oregon. But when we were all packed up and ready to leave Independence, Papa took sick and died.”
“Why did you not turn back?”
Constance bit her lower lip. How much should she tell him?
“Papa made me promise I would take Nettie and go on to Oregon. It was…he said it was something he had always wanted.”
“You mind telling me what business your father was in?”
The question surprised her. “He was a respected banker. Major Montgomery, why is that important now?”
“I need to know you are adequately provided for.”
“And why is that? Mr. Duquette made no such inquiries when we signed on. He asked nothing of us but his fee.”
“That figures. It’s a long way to Oregon, Miss Weldon. And it’s hard traveling, the worst kind. A month from now you’ll think you’re going to hell, not Oregon. To make it, you need adequate provisions and a good amount of cash money.”
“My father was a very careful man. He provided for us very well on both accounts.”
John studied the blue-painted wagon. It looked well built. Bigger than most. Extrawide canvas in the bonnet. Why would a careful man, a banker, want to pull up roots and head out to the frontier?
“Major Montgomery?”
He shifted his gaze to the young woman perched on the driver’s bench. Shiny brown hair, the color of polished saddle leather, caught in a single thick plait down the back of her plain brown dress. Couldn’t be much older than twenty-two or-three; old enough to have a husband. Children, even. The hands holding the oxen traces were slim and sun browned, and beneath the simple wide-brimmed straw, hat clear hazel eyes regarded him with wary curiosity and something else. Intelligence.
She was not pretty, exactly. More like what you’d call handsome. Something about her was very arresting, the bones of her face, maybe. And those eyes.
“Major?”
“Ma’am?”
“May I ask you a question for a change?”
“If you like.”
She looked straight at him. “Why are you now giving orders instead of Mr. Duquette?”
She was direct, all right. “Army protocol,” he lied. “Military escorts and scouts know more about the trail than most wagon leaders. Sometimes it saves lives.”
He thought it unnecessary to explain that Duquette was so inexperienced he marveled the party had gotten this far. No need to humiliate the man. Besides, a dog that gets kicked usually bites back. He’d just make sure things went smoothly and let Duquette take the credit.
He had started to turn away when her voice stopped him. “Why do we need a military escort in the first place?”
“You’re going into Indian country. Sometimes Indians object to the white man trampling all over his land.”
“Oh.” She cocked her head, a thoughtful look on her face. “Do Indians steal horses?”
“Some do.”
“Why?”
He had to chuckle inside. She sure didn’t give up easy. “Indians prize horses. They’re regarded as wealth, to be traded, given as gifts, even used to buy wives.”
“Buy wives?”
He ignored the comment.
“And they ride them in battle. Are you frightened, Miss Weldon?”
“Not of Indians, Major.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, her gaze steady. “I fear only that we, Nettie and myself, will not reach Oregon, as Papa wanted. But I do not think Indians will be our greatest trial.”
John stared at her. He couldn’t help it. Hell, she talked exactly like Colonel Harry Butterworth when he had his back against the wall. A cooler man under pressure he’d never known.
But a twenty-three-year-old woman fresh from the States? That was unusual. She was unusual.
He turned over in his mind something Billy West had said. “Gonna be females in that train. Pretty ones.”
Now, looking at the slim young woman before him, he heard the knowing voice of his companion in his ear. “Told ya so.”
He lifted two fingers to his hat brim. “My compliments, ma’am.” He strode toward his waiting horse.