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“Five Hearts! This is the first book I have read by author Marion Marshall and I am hooked. All I can say is WOW!! What a great story this is! This is a truly romantic love story and I could not put it down. Cort and Amy were such strong characters that they made the perfect couple and the secondary characters just made the story flow for me. Prairie Passage is defiantly going on my keeper shelf...” The Romance Studio
PRAIRIE PASSAGE
By
Marion Marshall
© Copyright by Linda Slater March 1997
Cover art by Jenny Dixon, © copyright March 1997
ISBN 1-891020-25-0
New Concepts Publishing
4729 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
DEDICATION:
This book is lovingly dedicated to my mother, Elizabeth Stinson, and to my dad, the late Clyde Stinson, for their unconditional love, faith and support.
CHAPTER ONE
INDEPENDENCE, 1850
The festive air in the camp was contagious. Located on the outskirts of Independence, dozens of freshly painted prairie schooners with white canvas tops gleamed in the midday sun. Dozens of people scurried about making last minute preparations, checking a new harness for the hundredth time, tying down water barrels, and checking hubs for that last minute touch of grease.
Amy Ryder glanced about nervously while awaiting her turn to sign up for the wagon train and tried to look mature. She lifted one shaky hand to the pinned up masses of golden hair, hoping the up-swept style would help her appear older than her twenty years.
Her stomach churned anxiously as the man in line ahead of her paid his fare for the trip to Oregon. So much money, she thought uneasily. She gripped her bag tighter and wet her lips. It would leave precious little for the remainder of her journey. What if an emergency arose? What if she ran out of funds before reaching Fort Bridger? Already the wagon, team, and the supplies necessary for such a journey had severely depleted her resources. If the wagon master had any idea how short of money she was, she knew he would never agree to sign her on.
She gave herself a short mental shake and wet her lips again. She would get to Fort Bridger. She would.
Her hands unconsciously smoothed the silk skirt over her rounding stomach. With a less than confident nod, she told herself once more that she would be safely at the army post long before the baby came. A tiny smile curled her expressive lips at the thought of being with Brandon again. He would be so thrilled to see her, so thrilled to learn about the baby. She only wished she'd had some word from him. She had written as soon as she learned about the baby, but that was weeks ago and there had been no word from Brandon yet. Perhaps it was best that he did not know she was coming, she decided with a smile. If Brandon knew she was setting out on this perilous journey alone, he would worry and worrying him was the last thing Amy wanted.
A nudge in the back from the person behind her brought Amy's thoughts back to the present in a flash. She managed an apologetic smile, then hurried forward to the overturned barrel on which Jeremiah Hackett was conducting his business.
Amy swallowed the lump of uneasiness in her throat and put on a brave smile as the wagon master's weathered face froze in surprise when he saw her. She tried to look confident when Jeremiah's heavy brows rose while his deep- set blue eyes swept over her with one quick flash before settling on her face.
"Mr. Hackett," Amy began hurriedly. "My name is Amy Ryder. Mrs. Amy Ryder," she added, emphasizing her married status in hopes it would give her more credibility.
"You want to sign on with this wagon train, miss?" Jeremiah asked, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. "Where you planning on going?"
"Fort Bridger," Amy answered quickly, wetting her lips and pushing back the momentary panic that crowded her voice. "My husband is stationed there."
"I see," Jeremiah mused thoughtfully. He absently rubbed one big hand over his face. "You got any male relatives making this trip with you?"
Amy shook her head as desperation clutched at her throat and squeezed off her breath. "No, sir," she murmured with downcast eyes. "I have no family except my husband."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Ryder. We don't take unaccompanied ladies on a trek like this. I'm afraid it's out of the question."
"Mr. Hackett, I must get to Fort Bridger," Amy persisted, a plea forming in her voice in spite of her resolve not to show her desperation. Her azure blue eyes locked with Jeremiah's with a fierce determination that took him by surprise. "I have purchased the wagon and team and all the necessary supplies for this journey," she hurried on before he could interrupt. "I have money for my passage, Mr. Hackett. I can pay my way. You must take me there!"
Jeremiah looked undecided as he stared at the purse she clutched so tightly. The girl obviously came from money. Her clothes were expensive. Her very manner told him she could afford this trip. Jeremiah Hackett was not a man to pass up a paying customer, if it was possible.
"Well...I don't know," he hedged. "What do you say, Cort?"
A tall man dressed in denims and a dark green shirt turned at the sound of his name and left the group of men he was talking with to approach the barrel where Jeremiah was seated.
"Mrs. Ryder here, wants us to take her to Fort Bridger," Jeremiah explained briefly.
"So?" the tall man said with little more than a glance at Amy.
"She's alone."
Amy's face burned at the way both men had dismissed her from the conversation and continued to discuss her as though she wasn't there. Before she could give voice to her objections, the tall man looked back at her in amazement.
"You're not considering signing her on, are you?" he asked Jeremiah incredulously.
Amy's gaze snapped to his face as she drew herself up ramrod straight. The hair on the base of her scalp rose in anticipation of a fight. The blood rushed to her cheeks at the arrogant dismissal this stranger gave her situation.
"And why not?" she demanded furiously. "I told you I can pay my way. Who are you to say I can't go?"
"My scout, Cort Trevor," Jeremiah said with a slightly amused glance at the tall man by his side. "Cort's made this trip several times. I usually take his advice on these matters."
Amy choked back her fury and tried to think rationally. If this tall, foreboding man had the power to decide whether or not she could make this trip, then she'd just have to convince him. With that thought in mind, she pasted a thin smile on her face and took a deep breath to calm herself.
"Mr. Trevor, I assure you that I'm quite capable of making this trip without causing you any hardship, if that's what you're thinking. I have the fare. I have all the supplies, and I'm ready to start. I fail to see a problem."
Cort Trevor's steel gray gaze swept over her slender frame and paused ever so slightly on the gentle swell of her stomach beneath the silk skirt. Dressed in an ecru white lace blouse with a sheer lace collar and yoke trimmed in lavish three inch ruffles and a deep burgundy silk skirt, the girl did not appear old enough to be out alone. From the top of her regal golden head to the tip of her dainty black shoes, Amy Ryder was without a doubt the most beautiful woman Cort had seen in a very long time.
She was petite and slender with an upturned nose and a spattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose that accented the youth in her defiant face. Staring at her, Cort saw in those great azure eyes just how scared she really was.
Trouble, Cort thought to himself while they stared at each other in those tense silent moments. Scared, alone, and pregnant! That kind of trouble he did not need on this trip.
"Mrs. Ryder, this is no Sunday School picnic we're starting out on," he said after a moment. In spite of a momentary flicker of sympathy for the girl's obvious desperation, his common sense prevailed by reminding him sharply of the trials of the trail. "There's nearly two thousand miles of rough country and Indians between Independence and Fort Bridger. A wagon train is no place for a woman alone. Especially a pregnant woman alone."
Turning his attention from Amy, he glanced back at Jeremiah. "I say no. Taking her would be a mistake."
"My pregnancy need not be of any concern to you, Mr. Trevor," Amy said with her last ounce of calm. Her throat was tight with desperation as she glared at the scout. "I can take care of myself."
"What the hell kind of man lets his pregnant wife make a trip like this alone?" Cort countered with a challenging glance back to her flushed angry face.
"That, sir, is none of your business!" Amy snapped defiantly. At last his insolence buried her anxiety beneath a flood of anger. His unfeeling dismissal of her desperate need to reach Brandon filled her with a fury as she had never known. It renewed her determination.
"You've made your point, Mrs. Ryder," Jeremiah said with a wave to cut off any further discussion. A tiny smile touched his weathered face at the girl's outraged defense of her husband. She had more spunk than he'd imagined. He liked her. "I'll make an exception this time. Sign right here, Mrs. Ryder. Cort will show you where to position your wagon. We'll be heading out at first light tomorrow. I trust you'll be ready."
Amy couldn't resist a triumphant glance at Cort Trevor as she whipped open her bag to pay Jeremiah for her passage before he could change his mind. "You won't be sorry, Mr. Hackett," she said with genuine gratitude. "You won't even know I'm around. I promise."
Cort's steel gray gaze met hers and locked. His lips curled in a disgusted snarl as he shook his head in amazement. "Jeremiah, you're going to regret this," he growled. "Taking her will be nothing but trouble."
Amy smiled sweetly at Jeremiah as she signed the wagon train register. As she wrote her name in the ledger, she stole a glance at the scout from beneath her thick lashes. The scowl on his dark face told her he was unaccustomed to losing any argument with a woman. The challenge in the dark gray eyes made her suspect this confrontation was not over. Cort Trevor did not like to lose. She wondered uneasily how many times on the trail to Fort Bridger she would lock horns with him. And how many times would she be lucky enough to win?
From the disgusted expression on his face, she felt sure he would be prepared for their next confrontation. That was not a comforting thought, she decided as she shook hands with Jeremiah Hackett to seal their agreement. She knew instinctively that Cort Trevor was not the kind of man she wanted for an enemy, but he was wrong about her. Despite her uneasiness about making this journey alone, she would prove to him that she could manage as well as anyone. Then he'd have to soften his opinion of her.
Stealing another glance at him, Amy drew herself up straight and forced a smile as she searched for her voice. The scorn on his face made it difficult to speak. It even made her wonder briefly about the advisability of this crossing, then she quickly reminded herself that she had no choice. She had to be with Brandon before the baby came and one surly wagon train scout was not going to alter her plans.
"Please show me where to put my wagon, Mr. Trevor," she said as pleasantly as she could manage. "I'm sure you have more important duties this afternoon so I'll not take up more of your time than is absolutely necessary."
"I appreciate that," Cort growled sarcastically as he pointed toward the end of the line of forming wagons. "Next to the Bishop wagon, Mrs. Ryder. They seem like nice folks. Should be willing to give you a hand when you need it."
"If I need it," Amy corrected automatically as she fell into step beside him.
"When," Cort replied dryly. "You're going to need lots of help before this is over, Mrs. Ryder. Lots of help."
Amy's fingers clinched into fists at the confidence in his voice. "You're mistaken about me, Mr. Trevor," she said, struggling to keep pace with his longer strides. "I'm stronger than I look."
An amused expression came to Cort's dark face when he glanced down at her. The girl was beautiful all right, he thought to himself as he unconsciously shortened his stride. Beautiful and defiant, but it took more than that to get by on the trail. A lot more.
"Mrs. Ryder, by the time we reach the first outpost, you'll be begging me to put you on the first supply train coming back this way," he predicted dryly.
"Don't hold your breath, mister!" Amy snapped furiously. "I can do anything these other women can do! And better! You'll see! I'm going to Fort Bridger to be with my husband and nothing you can say or do will stop me!"
The proud uplift of her chin and the stubbornness in her deep blue eyes held Cort's attention for a long moment while he paused briefly to look down at her. "It's a long way to Fort Bridger, Mrs. Ryder. A lot can happen along the way, things that might change your mind."
"Nothing will change my mind about this, Mr. Trevor," she vowed as her bright eyes challenged his. She halted beside her wagon and took the bridle of the lead mule in one tightly clinched fist. "I intend to be with my husband before our child is born, come hell or high water."
"Well, lady, you'll see plenty of both before we reach Fort Bridger. I can promise you that."
The stony confidence in his eyes kept Amy from retorting. Instead, she clamped her lips together and glared at his back when he resumed walking. She pulled on the bridle, silently cursing the big mule for taking his sweet time about responding. In the seconds before the mule decided to follow her, she felt the heat from Cort's body as he moved past her and took the bridle.
"Come on, son," he said to the animal and began leading the team away.
Amy glared at the mules as they docilely followed him into the line of forming wagons. "Miserable beasts!" she hissed under her breath as she hurried to catch up.
She stood by, feeling foolish as Cort put the team in position and dropped the reins before turning back to her with a triumphant gleam in his eyes. The arrogance in his face made her grind her teeth. So what if he'd made this trip before? So what if he knew more about mules than her, she fumed silently while they glared at each other. He wasn't God. He could be wrong and he was wrong about her. She would reach Brandon before the baby came. Cort Trevor's infuriating insolence was not going to alter that fact.
"Think it over, Mrs. Ryder," he said at last. "Trying to make this trip alone is not only stupid, it's dangerous. There's two hundred people signed up to go to Oregon. Better than a third of them won't make it. Before we're on the trail a week somebody will be killed in some stupid accident. You don't want to be one of them, do you?"
Lifting her chin defiantly, Amy's eyes glittered with determination. In spite of the man's size and formidable appearance, she was no longer afraid of him. In fact, she was beginning to enjoy the challenge of proving him wrong.
He stood quietly watching her, legs slightly spread, hat pushed back. A lock of coal black hair fell over his forehead in a manner that somehow offset the foreboding impression he cast. He was a big man, well over six feet tall, with wide shoulders and muscular, bronzed forearms visible below the rolled up shirt sleeves. The tucked in shirt was open at the throat, revealing a strong pulse that caught Amy's eye until she realized she was staring and quickly glanced away. He was not a handsome man, not in the way Brandon was handsome, she decided, but there was something rather sensual about him. Perhaps it was the confidence he seemed to have in such unlimited supply, but Cort Trevor at second glance didn't seem quite so dangerous. Her eyes fell to the gunbelt resting on his right hip. Worn, almost faded white by the sun, it seemed natural extension of him, she thought. Understated, yet clearly effective. Amy wondered just how good he was with it, but instinctively knew she never wanted to see it put to the test.
Cort studied her while she stared at him. Lean and muscular with a wide chest and long legs accented by the snug fitting denim trousers that hugged his body, he was the epitome of the frontiersmen Amy had read about, but his disposition clearly left a great deal to be desired, she thought silently. She wondered if he ever smiled, but the granite lines around his mouth made her doubt it.
"Mr. Trevor, it's obvious that you think I'm some addle-brained female incapable of fending for myself," she said finally after swallowing to find her voice. "But you're greatly mistaken. I can take care of myself."
Cort's gaze dropped to the swell of her stomach beneath the silk skirt and the barest hint of a smile came to his lips. "Oh, I can see that," he replied evenly as the smile deepened at the rush of color to Amy's cheeks.
Then the smile disappeared and the coolness came back into his face. "I've seen women like you before, Mrs. Ryder. Young, strong, confident, and I've seen them die. It's not a pleasant thing, but then, this is not a pleasure trip. I'm afraid it takes more than determination to survive on the prairie and you don't have it."
Without giving Amy time to respond, he politely tipped his hat and strode away into the milling crowd of hopeful voyagers. Amy stood open-mouthed, amazed by his rudeness, glaring at his back until he disappeared into the crowd. Tears of anger and despair burned her eyes, but she wiped them away with one tightly clinched fist. Finally she forced out a long breath and swallowed. She knew only that he was the most abrasive man she'd ever met and suspected that much of what he'd said was intended to frighten her into giving up this journey.
Well, she could not afford to be frightened, she told herself firmly. She had the baby to think of now. Brandon's baby. She would be safely at the army post when it was born, with or without Cort Trevor's approval.
Her golden head lifted with determination. Her deep blue eyes glittered at the sight of him moving among the settlers in the distance. One thing she knew with crystal clarity; the stage had been set and there was no changing it. She would prove him wrong. One way or another before this trek across the plains was over, Cort Trevor would eat his words. She'd see to that.
CHAPTER TWO
Sam Bishop proved to be the kind of man Cort Trevor had indicated. Sitting around the campfire that evening after supper, Amy was filled with gratitude for the Bishop family's kindness. She sipped at an after supper cup of coffee and smiled at the antics of the Bishop children to escape bedtime.
Sam and his wife Sarah had four sons, all red-headed duplicates of themselves. Isaac and Isaiah were the six year old twins, followed by brothers Malachi and Zechariah at five and four years of age respectively, and topped off by sister Naomi, a two year old darling with big brown eyes and an infectious smile.
Amy was amazed at the children's manners. Her lack of experience with children had left her with a few misconceptions, but she was quickly learning that the Bishop children were an education all their own.
Watching Sarah Bishop buzz around the campsite readying the boys for bed and putting away the cooking utensils all at the same time, Amy could easily see where the children got their energy. Sarah was a tiny vibrant woman with red hair and deep blue eyes that sparkled with life. From the moment she'd made herself acquainted with Amy early in the afternoon, she'd kept up a steady line of chatter and in no time had made the girl feel like part of the family. Amy knew immediately that she would love this woman forever.
Sam was much quieter; a big rawboned man with thoughtful brown eyes and sandy, graying hair. He seemed comfortable to let Sarah take charge of the boys while he sipped another cup of coffee and watched silently from his perch on a water keg beside the fire. Amy sensed his inner strength, and the raw, yet tranquil, power that lay behind his massive shoulders and barrel chest. He was a plain man without the dash that was Brandon or the fire that was Cort Trevor, she decided in the comfortable silence. However, there was a gentleness in his manner that warmed her and made it easy to see what Sarah had fallen in love with. It also made her a little sad that none of the men in her life had possessed Sam Bishop's finer qualities, not even Brandon, and certainly not her father.
She was so lost in her thoughts that it was several minutes before she realized that a visitor had appeared at the pleasant campfire. Rousing from her gloomy reflections, surprise widened her eyes when she discovered Cort Trevor seated on a keg beside Sam, sipping from a blue enamel cup and making pleasant conversation.
Snapping her mouth closed, she quickly sipped from her own cup and stared at the man over the rim. His forearms rested on his knees, his hands cradled the cup between the palms while he listened to Sam make a comment about the weather, then nodded in agreement. The weather-beaten hat lay on the ground at his feet. His coal black hair fell in deep waves over his forehead until he brushed it out of his eyes absently. As the firelight played across his face, Amy suddenly realized he was not the fire breathing dragon he'd appeared earlier in the day. In fact, he was quite stunning in a dark, untamed sort of way.
Yet, when she realized he was watching her thoughtfully while Sam was talking, she bristled with renewed anger. There was a cold, amused glint in his eyes that brought a rush of fury coursing through her blood. He was so sure she would fail to make this journey, she thought furiously as their gaze locked across the fire. So damned sure of himself! It was infuriating!
"I suppose you've met Amy by now, Cort," Sarah said breezily as she refilled both men's cups from the pot over the fire.
"We met this morning," he replied dryly with a glance in Amy's direction.
"Amy's going to Fort Bridger to live," Sarah continued without noticing the tension between them. "Her husband's stationed there."
"So she told me."
Amy bristled at the insolent tone of his voice as she glared at him across the fire. Some hidden amusement made his eyes sparkle in the flickering light while he returned her heated glance. It made Amy's cheeks fill with color to realize he was laughing at her inwardly, although his tone was pleasant enough to the casual observer.
"Mr. Trevor doesn't think I can manage alone," she said tersely. "He thinks I should change my plans."
"Well, you're not alone now," Sarah assured her with a pat on the shoulder. "Sam and I will make sure of that. Why, we'll have you with that husband of yours before you know it. Don't you pay any mind to Cort's gloomy advice. He's been alone too long. He needs some nice girl to change his wandering ways and make a family man of him."
Amy secretly doubted a nice girl would be of any interest to the man but she kept those thoughts to herself. The smile he flashed Sarah surprised her. It was genuine and warm and Amy was hard pressed to believe the man was capable of either emotion.
While she pondered this side of his nature, he looked back at her and the humor left his face. "I'm glad to hear that you'll be looking out for her, Sarah. Wet-nursing a city girl across the plains doesn't exactly whet my appetite for this trip," he said evenly.
"Mr. Trevor, you are without a doubt the most unpleasant creature I've had the misfortune to encounter!" Amy snapped, rising to her feet with her fists clinched tightly and her face filled with outrage. "I assure you that my welfare need not be of one moment's concern to you! I've told you repeatedly that I am quite capable of making this trip without assistance. Let me further assure you that under no circumstance will I ever inconvenience you!"
Turning to Sarah, she continued, "Thank you for sharing your dinner with me, Sarah, but now if you will excuse me, I'll be retiring for the evening."
Shooting one more scathing glare at Cort, she flounced across the open area toward her own wagon a few feet away. Blinded by angry tears, she failed to see the wagon tongue in her path. With a gasp of surprise, she stumbled in the darkness and would have gone crashing to the ground, but only an instant after she tripped, a strong hand caught her arm and steadied her.
Regaining her balance, she was mortified to look up and discover that her rescuer was the very man who'd caused the incident. The silent amusement in Cort's dark gray eyes only increased her humiliation and made her eyes burn with unshed tears. She yanked her arm from his protective grasp and brushed herself off, being careful to keep her face averted from his sight.
"That was completely unnecessary, Mr. Trevor," she said in a shaky voice. "I would have managed just fine, thank you."
As she turned away to escape into her wagon, Cort caught her arm again to swing her back around. "Mrs. Ryder, why don't you just admit that you're scared?" he asked in a surprisingly gentle tone as Amy stared up at him in the dim light.
"This wagon train is no place for a pregnant woman. It's hard enough on women accustomed to hard work and doing without. It's obvious that you're scared. Hell, you ought to be scared. Why not forget this trip and go back where you belong?"
It occurred to Amy that he actually meant well in the seconds that passed while she stared at him. Then she pulled free of his hand and straightened herself proudly, still resisting the urge to brush back tears despite the prickle beneath her eyelids. To cry now would only prove Cort Trevor right; she had to prove him wrong.
"I belong with my husband, Mr. Trevor," she said bravely. "I assure you that I am one city girl you won't be required to wet-nurse across the plains."
For a brief instant Amy wondered if the flicker in his steel gray eyes was an unspoken apology, but it was gone too quickly to be sure if she'd really seen it at all.
"All right, Mrs. Ryder," Cort said as she moved quickly beyond his reach. He pulled the worn hat down low over his face and let out a weary sigh, shaking his head at her stubbornness. "I've said my piece and since you're so damned determined to go through with this, I guess there ain't much else to say," he said gruffly.
He turned on his heel and walked a couple of paces away, then swung around once more. "Just don't expect me to be around every time you break a nail or stub your toe," he said with an aloofness in his tone that set Amy's teeth on edge, and brought a flood of color to her cheeks. "If you're so damned insistent on getting to your husband, then you better be prepared for the consequences."
"Mr. Trevor, I wouldn't ask for your help if you were the last man on this earth," Amy said through clinched teeth while she glared at him furiously. "You may rest assured of that!"
Cort did not respond to her heated statement but turned to disappear into the shadows beyond the firelight. After a moment Amy let out the pent-up breath she'd been holding, waiting for another of his sarcastic remarks. Then satisfied he was gone, she climbed into the wagon and quickly settled down for the night.
As always, the last thing she did before pulling the covers up and preparing for sleep was to take Brandon's picture from beneath her pillow and stare at it lovingly. But tonight she was happier than she'd been in a long while, for she was one step closer to being with him. There was still a long way to go and chances were that Cort Trevor was right about how difficult the journey would be, but she'd anticipated that.
However, she was getting closer to Brandon every day. Tonight, as always, that was the most important thing in her life.
***
Frustration made Amy's face scarlet early the following morning as she attempted to harness the mules to the wagon. It had been ten minutes since she'd heard Jeremiah Hackett call the wagon train into life. Wagons were passing on their way to form the long line in which they would begin the journey to Oregon.
She sincerely regretted turning down Sam Bishop's offer to harness her team as she struggled with the heavy harness. She had been certain that she could manage alone, but now with the other wagons moving steadily past her, she doubted the wisdom of that decision.
For the fiftieth time she tried to persuade the lead mule to accept the metal bit between his teeth, but once more the animal merely stared at her while lifting his head beyond her reach.
"Damn, damn, damn!" she swore under her breath. Her chest heaved with fury, her long golden hair hung around her face, having come loose from the heavy coil at the back of her neck. Perspiration dampened her forehead and underarms and desperation made her breath catch in her throat.
"You stupid beast!" she said grimly to the big mule, trying again to force the bridle upon him.
As the animal watched her warily, Amy could have sworn he was laughing at her feeble attempts to harness him. He stamped his feet, switched his tail at a fly and looked around at his companions as if to tell them how hilarious he found her antics.
"If I had a club I'd fix you...you big, stupid, miserable..." she threatened him. Her voice was bordering on hysteria now for her wagon was one of only a few remaining in camp. If she didn't get in line soon, she'd be left behind. That thought brought tears to her eyes.
"Now, Mrs. Ryder, it'd be a shame to injure such a fine team," a resonant male voice said behind her. Whirling, Amy was horrified to see Cort Trevor sitting on a blaze-faced sorrel a few feet away, grinning openly at her predicament. "Why, those mules must have cost a pretty penny," he went on in that same amused tone.
"It's not often you find such a perfectly matched team of mules," he observed, moving his horse closer. "Whoever picked them out for you did a good job. They're fine looking animals."
"Thank you," Amy snapped furiously, glaring at him with glittering eyes and a heaving chest. "I picked them out myself. I'm beginning to think it was one of the biggest mistakes of my life."
"I suppose you've named them."
Amy stared at the man curiously. He sat on the big horse in a relaxed manner as though he had not a care in the world. He pushed his hat back and rested both forearms across the saddle horn while he waited for her reply.
Amy looked from Cort to the mules and back again, obviously bewildered by his question. "W-why yes," she answered after a moment. Turning to the team, she pointed to each one as she told him their names. "They're Mean, Ugly, Nasty, and Rotten. The names fit the beasts perfectly."
To her astonishment, Cort laughed. Not just a chuckle, but a real laugh that came from deep inside him. Amy stared at him incredulously, unable to believe his good mood. In place of the stern, half-angry expression she'd always seen on his face before was a real smile that revealed perfect ivory teeth and a sparkle in the depths of his dark gray eyes that transformed his features. What she saw amazed her for he was really very attractive when he smiled. She would not have believed that to be possible.
"Mules do have a mind of their own all right," Cort agreed, swinging down from the saddle and walking toward her. "Somebody should've warned you about that."
"They did," Amy said in a quiet little voice. He moved past her to begin to harness the team quickly and efficiently, pausing now and then to glance in her direction.
"But in spite of their stubborn disposition, mules are better suited for this type of travel and they're less likely to be stolen by Indians than horses. They're also more intelligent than oxen. Although right now that's debatable."
"That's true enough. There's nothing more stupid than an ox."
"Even a city girl?" Amy couldn't resist asking.
Cort shot her a glance from the corner of his eyes, then resumed the task of harnessing the team. "You're not stupid, Mrs. Ryder. Just foolish. Sounds like you did a bit of research before you planned this trip."
Amy nodded. Her nerves began to relax in view of his obvious attempt to be pleasant. She allowed a smile to crease her lips while she watched him complete the task.
"Yes, I did. I read all I could about the Oregon Trail and asked questions of everyone I could find who has been there. I feel it helped me make the right decisions about not only the mules but the wagon and the supplies needed and...and..."
Her voice trailed off in mid-sentence as she realized she was babbling and was afraid he'd think worse of her than he did already, but when she ventured a glance up at him, she was surprised to see a new element of respect in his eyes.
Cort had paused and was leaning against Nasty's broad back while he listened to her. She was exceptionally beautiful in the early light, he thought warily.
Amy was wearing a white ruffled cape blouse with a delicate cut-out floral design in the front and lavish ruffles encasing the cape yoke tucked into a flounced denim skirt edged with white lace. On her feet were a pair of mid-calf boots made of soft leather with a sunburst cut-out design with silver-tone studs.
Beautiful but totally unrealistic, Cort thought after a swift glance at her. Only the gentle swell beneath the skirt revealed her pregnancy, and it was yet so minute the casual observer would miss it altogether. But who could look at this girl casually, he asked himself, then dismissed the thought as foolish.
His eyes fell on the wide golden band on her left hand which Amy twisted nervously while she waited for him to speak. How many beautiful young women had he seen start out on this journey only to end up in an unmarked grave somewhere along the way? How many hopeful pregnant women had he seen die in childbirth on the trail because of inadequate medical care?
Realizing that Amy had stopped talking and was staring at him curiously, Cort shook those gloomy thoughts from his mind and put the finishing touches on Ugly's harness.
"This husband of yours...he must be something special...I mean, for you to make such a dangerous trip by yourself," he said after a pause, cursing himself for the way he stammered like a schoolboy.
Amy's face softened. Her deep blue eyes took on a glow while she smiled. "He is very special," she said softly. "He's the most special man in the world."
"He better be," Cort grunted sourly as he turned from the team to face her, legs spread tensely, thumbs hooked in the wide belt. "I hope he's worth maybe getting yourself killed for."
The grim tone of his voice took Amy by surprise. It was several seconds before she could answer. Seconds in which she stared at him blankly and wet her lips while she tried to understand his sudden change of mood.
"I...I...I guess if I have to die for something I would hope it would be for Brandon," she said at last, still blinking at the scowl on his face. "I love him. He's the most important thing in my whole life...except for the baby, of course. Is that so hard to understand?"
Cort did not answer her soft spoken question. Instead, he strode past her, swung onto the sorrel, and pulled his hat down against the sun's warming rays before speaking at all.
"I'll talk to Sam about making sure you're harnessed up mornings," he said in a crisp, business-like voice. "At least until you've shown the mules who's boss, and frankly, I think they already know. Get in line, Mrs. Ryder, unless you want to be left behind. You can drive the team?"
Amy's face colored with quick anger at the insolence in his tone. She whirled to climb into the wagon seat and picked up the reins. "Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Trevor, but I can manage quite nicely from this point. I certainly don't want to inconvenience you any further," she said fiercely.
Flapping the reins against the mules' broad backs, she let out a sigh of relief when they lunged into the harness and the wagon began to move. She shot Cort a savage glare as she moved abreast of him, lifting her head defiantly. Behind her, Cort reined the sorrel around and put his heels to the animal's flanks to disappear in a cloud of dust toward the head of the column.
"Brandon," he mimicked aloud. "What the hell kind of name is Brandon, for God's sake. Sounds like a sissy."
CHAPTER THREE
Amy glanced into the noon-day sun with a grimace. They had been camped on the banks of the South Platte since the previous evening to give Jeremiah Hackett and Cort time to inspect each one before attempting to cross the wide expanse of water. For the past ten minutes she had listened to Jed Harper list a hundred reasons why he was not going to dump any portion of his cargo on the river bank before crossing. It was obvious that Cort Trevor had just about reached the limit of his patience.
"Have it your way, Harper," she heard Cort say in that crisp authoritative manner she had come to recognize so well during the first three weeks of the journey. "Leave the damned forge in the wagon but when it starts sinking halfway across, don't expect any sympathy from me!"
She watched Cort spin around and walk away, his lean jaws clinched in subdued fury at the burly blacksmith's smugness. For days now he had been telling Harper to dump the heavy blacksmith equipment but the man was determined. It was obvious now that Cort had decided to let him learn the hard way.
One thing Amy had learned about Cort Trevor in the past three weeks was that the man, surly and arrogant as he was, knew his business. She had wondered on occasion when he slept for he was up before dawn hunting for fresh game, scouting the trail ahead, and he prowled the campsite at all hours of the night, making sure the night sentries were awake and that all was well. There were moments she even grudgingly admired him.
The glamour of the trail had worn off quickly for the settlers. Less than a week from Independence, Cort had begun telling them to unload unnecessary items to lighten the wagons.
Most people had complied and left household items and even extra supplies on the trail to be picked up and used by the wagon trains that would follow until the trail was littered with boxes and cartons and furniture, even a half dozen cook stoves. And those who had refused to follow his advice had been left to keep up as best they could until they admitted the advisability of following his advice.
Amy climbed down from the wagon seat as Cort approached and hurried to the rear to loosen the canvas. Her wagon was in line behind the Harper's so it was next to be inspected, but she was not worried. In fact, she suppressed a giggle at the wary expression on Cort's face when he halted beside her. It was obvious he expected a fight from the tenseness in his shoulders and the scowl that made his eyes narrow and his lips thin into grim lines.
"I suppose you're going to give me an argument too," he said to her with a growl.
"Not at all, Mr. Trevor," Amy replied as she whipped open the canvas with a flourish so he could look inside the wagon.
His dark head disappeared into the wagon for a moment. Amy couldn't resist a triumphant smirk at the surprise on his face when it reappeared a moment later.
"Do you see a problem, Mr. Trevor?" she asked pertly, looking up at him with the smile still in place.
"You did your research well, Mrs. Ryder," he said grudgingly. "Yours is the most streamlined wagon I've seen yet."
Amy looked away from the curiosity that made his dark gray eyes gleam. She felt suddenly nervous and backed a step further away from him. Her gaze fell to his hands as they quickly relatched the canvas into place. His hands were strong and brown with long fingers and closely clipped nails that were surprisingly clean. She wondered why that surprised her.
"Thank you," she murmured with an averted gaze. She felt foolish and wished he'd move away, put as much distance as possible between her and the strange overwhelming effect being this close to him had on her.
"You're not bringing much with you," he observed without noticing her uneasiness. "I figured a rich city girl like you would have a wagon full of clothes and such."
"Well, you're wrong again, aren't you, Mr. Trevor?" Amy replied hastily in an effort to ward off any more insightful comments. It was painful enough that she had left everything behind without having to explain it to him.
Cort studied her silently for a few moments while she twisted her wedding ring, avoiding his gaze. He'd had the feeling almost since the trip began that Mrs. Amy Ryder was not quite what she appeared. That feeling had grown stronger since looking into her wagon. Where most of the wagons were stuffed to overflowing with personal belongings, Amy's wagon was all but bare.
Aside from the meager stash of supplies, there was only a brightly covered cot for sleeping and one well-worn chest to contain her clothing. Other than that the wagon was empty.
"Looks like you left home in quite a hurry," he said curiously, looking down at her flushed face.
"Does my wagon pass your inspection?" Amy asked defensively as her eyes met his. Following his nod, she swallowed and backed away another step. "Then I'll thank you to keep your observations to yourself, Mr. Trevor. If I need your opinion, I'll ask for it."
The snap in her voice brought a faint grin to Cort's lips. He stared at her flushed, up-turned face silently for a second, then tipped the faded hat to her with an exaggerated flourish.
"Yes, ma'am," he said dryly.
Amy stood glaring at his broad shoulders after he'd moved on to the Bishop wagon, fighting back the sudden rush of tears that burned her eyes. That insolent creature would get a good laugh if he knew just how desperate her situation really was, she thought anxiously as she hurried back to the wagon seat. With only a few dollars left in her purse and fifteen hundred miles still to go, he'd leave her at the first stopping-off point without a second thought.
She adjusted her skirt comfortably and absently touched her burgeoning stomach. In just the short time she'd been on the trail, her pregnancy had blossomed to obvious proportions. Time was running short. Every delay brought on renewed anxiety that she would not reach Brandon in time.
Rubbing at her brimming eyes, she resolved not to think about that. She would reach Fort Bridger. She would be with Brandon again. Things would work out just the way she'd planned. She could not allow herself to think of the alternative.
The Harper wagon creaked into the muddy waters of the Platte so Amy forced her attention on that. The reins felt clammy in her hands and a knot of fear formed in the pit of her stomach. Over the past weeks she'd learned to handle the team fairly well, but driving it across the wide, fast flowing currents of the Platte unnerved her. The mules snorted and slung their heads, filling Amy with even greater fear. What if they got halfway across and refused to go any further? She could just picture the glee on Cort Trevor's face if he had to come to her rescue.
The Harper wagon lurched into the swift current, then suddenly stopped dead in the water. As Amy watched, horrified, the wagon tipped at a crazy angle and began to tilt. She heard a scream, then a splash as the Harper's eight month old baby slipped from its mother's arms into the water.
Without stopping to consider the danger, Amy leaped down from the wagon seat and charged into the river. From the corner of her eye she saw Cort and Sam Bishop run into the swiftly flowing water and grab the sides of the wagon.
Chest deep in the muddy water, Cort caught the rear end of the wagon bed and heaved upward. At the front corner, Sam did the same. For an endless moment the wagon hung suspended in space.
Amy's breath was frozen in her throat while she stood waist deep in the frigid river, unmindful of the cold and the wet. She plunged into the river's current, half-running, half swimming as she struggled to reach the wagon. Amy struggled through the water toward the Harper baby, who was bobbing up and down on the surface of the river. Her long gown had caught on the lantern hanging on the side of the wagon. Her tiny arms flailed the water while she screamed at the top of her lungs. As Amy grabbed the edge of the wagon to stay afloat, working her way closer to the baby, the gown began to tear, allowing the child's face to submerge then resurface, then submerge again as the waves slapped violently against her.
Amy's hands slipped from the wagon and she went under. She struggled to surface, gasping for breath as her clothes threatened to drag her under, straining to reach the baby before the gown ripped loose and threw her into the current. She reached desperately once more. This time her fingers landed on the child's clothing and she snatched it into her arms.
She reached the surface coughing, spitting out mouthfuls of the muddy water, but with the baby safely clutched against her chest. Putting out one hand to grab the edge of the wagon, she held on tightly to the baby with the other and looked up into Cort's pale face only inches away. Over Mrs. Harper's anguished screams, she heard Cort groan as he strained to keep the rear of the wagon from over-turning.
His face was pale with exertion. The veins in his neck stood out like cords. The muscles in his back and shoulders were strained to the limit but he grimly held on while trying to find more secure footing on the river's rocky bottom. Amy gasped in terror when the wagon suddenly tilted further. Then she saw a broken tree limb slide beneath the wagon after hitting Cort as the force of the current carried it downstream. Blood gushed from a jagged gash in his shoulder. For an instant he lost his footing. As she neared it, Cort's dark head reappeared above the surface. Seconds later he dug himself into the river bottom and the wagon began to right itself.
The water was over Amy's head. She held onto the wagon, paddling with her feet to remain afloat as others began coming to their rescue. In the seconds before help arrived, she looked at Cort. Standing up to his chest in the river, his shoulder against the wagon to keep it from tipping over, with blood pouring from the wound in his shoulder, it was obvious even to Amy that he was furious.
"Are you crazy?" he shouted at her. "You could've been killed!"
"You're hurt," Amy said foolishly with a glance at the bloody gash in his shoulder. She looked from the wound back to his pale face, wondering why he was so angry. The baby was screaming at the top of its lungs. Mrs. Harper was screaming too, and all he could do was yell at her? The entire matter was hilarious, she thought almost hysterically.
"You're insane!" Cort shouted above the noise.
"So are you!" Amy shouted back, furious with his attitude.
"I'm getting paid for this! You're not!"
"So what?" Amy fired back, pausing briefly to spit out a mouthful of muddy water. "We saved the baby, didn't we? The least you could do is be grateful!"
"Grateful? Grateful! Woman, if I wasn't holding this wagon up, I'd turn you over my knee and blister your fanny!"
"You just try it, you big bully!" Amy challenged wildly. She met his angry glare as evenly as she could manage between keeping the baby's head above the water and hanging onto the wagon herself. "You lay one hand on me and I'll...I'll...I'll scratch your eyes out!"
"Jesus Christ, I knew you'd be nothing but a pain in the ass when we started out!" Cort shouted back. "Why the hell didn't you stay back East where you belonged?"
"That's none of your business! I paid my fare! I'm going to Fort Bridger and you can't stop me! And if I want to help rescue some innocent little baby, you can't stop me from doing that either! So there!"
"I can if it means getting yourself killed!"
"What are you going to do, Mr. Trevor? Tie me in the wagon?" Amy yelled back. "I'd like to see you try it!"
Cort's eyes glittered dangerously. His lips were thin lines of contempt in his pale face as he struggled for a moment to keep his footing in the swift current. "Don't push me, Goddamnit!
"Just shut the hell up!"
"You can't talk to me that way! Who do you think you are?" Amy screeched at the top of her lungs. "You're not God! You can't tell me what to do! You big, dumb lunkhead! My father didn't tell me what to do and you sure can't! I showed him and I'll show you!"
"By getting drowned?" Cort yelled back furiously. "You do what I say, goddamnit, or I'll put you on the first goat cart headed back East. Do you understand?"
Before Amy could reply, a half dozen men had reached them and Cort let go of the wagon. At the same time, he caught Amy's waist, pulling her out of the way as the wagon was righted and began moving slowly toward the bank. Mr. and Mrs. Harper both jumped off the wagon seat and came splashing toward them. Cort held her and the baby afloat until Mrs. Harper could reach them to take the screaming infant. Then, making sure that Amy could reach the river bottom, he yanked Jed Harper off the river floor.
"The next time I tell you to dump shit out, Harper, you dump it...or I'll kick the hell out of you!" he said in a low growl a second before his fist connected with Harper's jaw. The man went down as though he'd been kicked by a mule. It was several moments before his head reappeared above the river's surface, but Cort had already dismissed him and turned back to Amy.
She let out a gasp of alarm when he caught her against him, lifting her off the river bottom. Instead of swimming for shore, he swam further into the river until Amy's eyes were wide with fear. She clutched at his shirt and coughed out a mouthful of water when he caught both her arms and held her away. She grabbed his wrists, struggling frantically to hold on. The river was over Cort's head at that point and she was not a good swimmer. She was suddenly terrified of what he intended to do.
His eyes had narrowed and turned to a dangerous gun metal glitter in those few seconds. Paddling with his legs to stay afloat, he stared into her wet frightened face with a sadistic gleam of satisfaction.
"What are you going to do...drown me?" Amy spluttered bravely.
"I just might unless you promise to do what I tell you," Cort answered grimly.
"I'll do what I please..." Amy began. Then her words became splutters when he let go of her. She went under. A second later he lifted her above the surface again with a savage smile.
"Now you listen to me, goddamnit! Across this river is Indian country. I don't suppose you know what that means, but unless you do exactly what you're told, you won't make it across. The Sioux have a real fondness for women with blonde hair." The warning in his voice froze the angry retort on Amy's lips. Something about the glitter in those cold gray eyes choked off her breath as she felt her heart skip a beat.
"There's over two hundred people on this train, Mrs. Ryder, that I'm responsible for. I don't have the time to baby-sit your imbecilic impulses day and night. Most of the time you'll be on your own and I don't intend for you to get yourself or somebody else killed because of your stupidity.
"Now you promise to do what I say right now or by God, I'll leave you out here in the middle of this river. What's it going to be?"
Amy could only nod foolishly and stare at him. There was no mistaking his seriousness. The big bully would let her drown if she did not agree so she had no choice. After a moment, she found her voice and said coldly, "I'll do as you say, Mr. Trevor, but you may rest assured that when I tell Brandon how despicably you've treated me, you'll be very sorry. That's a promise too."
With a snort, Cort tucked her under his arm and began swimming toward shore. Glancing down at her wet golden head and defiant face so close to his, he wondered how he could so intensely dislike a man he'd never met. Brandon, he mimicked silently as his strong arms propelled them through the icy water. Brandon must be some kind of fool to pair up with a little spitfire like this beautiful girl.
***
Dusk was gently falling when the river crossing was finally over. A small fire blazed pleasantly as the aroma of roasting antelope wafted to Amy's senses where she sat on a keg wrapped in a warm blanket sipping a hot cup of Sarah Bishop's tea.
She watched Sarah clean the gash in Cort's shoulder. Even with the children's noisy distractions and the stir of the livestock inside the circle of wagons, it was impossible to keep her eyes off him.
He sat on a barrel with his shirt off to let Sarah cleanse the wound while he and Sam kept up a steady conversation. Amy's gaze drifted over him once more while she realized that since she had set out on this pilgrimage she'd seen as many men without a shirt as with one. Her sheltered upbringing in New York had not prepared her for such things, but she admitted silently that the sigh of Cort Trevor's muscular body was not unpleasant.
Burned by exposure to the prairie sun, Cort's chest and shoulders were a warm, even bronze. She could almost feel the muscles ripple beneath the skin when he moved. She had known he was a big man but it wasn't until she saw him shirtless that she realized just how strong and masculine he really was. It was unnerving, she thought as she wriggled uneasily on the keg. It seemed somehow indecent to sit there staring at him, but she could not keep her attention focused anywhere else.
The biceps in his arms seemed to strain the skin, she thought as her gaze traveled down his shoulders. Even the dark hair on his forearms seemed to accent the strength in his body. Amy looked at his hands, remembering how they'd held her life between them in the middle of the icy river. That thought sent a shiver running through her as she quickly took a sip of tea.
Letting her gaze travel over him again, she thought how different he was from Sam. They were about the same height, but where Sam had the build of an ox, Cort was more slender in spite of the legions of powerful muscle that corded his shoulders and arms. The covering of dark hair that ran from his throat across his chest to form a heavy line before disappearing beneath the gunbelt gave him a primitive, almost sensual quality. Amy wondered how it would feel sliding through her fingers.
Shame brought a bright flush to her cheeks at those unbidden thoughts. She gave herself a mental shake to dispel them. He was a bully, she reminded herself firmly, despite the graceful virility she was seeing now. An arrogant beast who had scared her silly today and loved every moment of it.
Still, her mind would not keep silent. She felt flushed again. As she did every time she thought about Brandon and the heated physical aspect of their relationship, she felt the stir of intense longing deep inside her. It was that very thing that had caused the trouble, she told herself, but it did not go away. She needed Brandon, physically as well as emotionally, and she knew those feelings would not be quenched until they were together again. The sight of Cort Trevor's raw masculine power only intensified that need.
"You were pretty hard on Amy today, Cort," Sarah pointed out softly while she bandaged his wound. "She was just trying to help."
"She could've gotten herself killed," he growled in a subdued tone. One glance at the girl's flushed face made outrageous thoughts pop into his head. He didn't like that. He'd seen how Amy's gaze had traveled over every inch of him without her even being aware of it, and he had read in those wide blue eyes the need behind them. It was enough to make a man forget she was married if he wasn't careful.
"Perhaps, but she did save the Harper baby," Sarah was saying when he forced his mind back to the conversation.
Cort nodded curtly while his gaze swept back to Amy's defiant expression. She had stiffened in anticipation of another argument, but he didn't have the strength for it. His arm hurt and the hunger in Amy's eyes took all the fight out of him. How could one woman look so belligerent and so damned alluring at the same time? It made his head ache.
"That's not the point, Sarah," he said gruffly. "She had no business out in that river."
"It's everybody's business when someone is in trouble," Amy said defiantly from her perch across the fire.
"It's that kind of attitude that gets people killed."
"It's that kind of attitude that makes us different from animals," Amy snapped back. "Perhaps that's why you don't understand it."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Cort demanded.
Amy stared at his heaving chest and wet her lips. She rose to her feet, her empty stomach forgotten, and pulled the blanket closer around her. Looking down at him still seated on the barrel, she felt a shudder run through her again. She wanted to escape the heat coursing through her blood.
"You figure it out, Mr. Trevor, if you can," she replied haughtily as she spun about and hurried to her wagon.
Sam and Sarah exchanged glances behind her back, then both looked at Cort. "Cort, she's just a little girl," Sam pointed out carefully. "She don't know anything about this country. She don't understand a lot of things."
"Including you," Sarah joined in with a grin over his dark head as she finished the bandage. "Can't the two of you at least be civil to one another?"
Cort stood up to pick up his shirt from the wagon seat. He yanked it on, quickly buttoned it, and tucked it into his trousers. "Thanks for fixing me up, Sarah, and thanks for mending my shirt. But my personal feelings are my own business. I'd appreciate it if you'd keep out of them."
There was no ill-feeling in Sarah's pleasant face as she smoothed his shirt collar into place with a pat. "Why not give her a chance, Cort? She's a sweet little girl who's having a hard time right now, being pregnant and so far from her man. I'm sure you can understand that."
Cort impatiently brushed back a curly lock of ebony hair as he looked at her incredulously. "Sweet little girl? That woman would try the patience of Job. If she's having a hard time she can turn right around and go home where she belongs."
"She can't go home, Cort," Sarah said quietly.
Cort halted at the unusual tone in her voice as his eyes narrowed. "What do you mean she can't go home?"
"Her father disowned her, threw her out of his house. She has no place to go but to her husband. That's why she's so desperate to get there."
"What kind of man does a thing like that to his own kid?" Cort demanded.
"Her father is a very rich man, Cort, and very influential in New York." Sam's deep voice was soft as he reached to pour himself and Cort a cup of coffee from the enamel pot on the fire. He indicated that Cort sit back down and waited until he had before continuing. "Her mother died when Amy was a child. Her father raised her in a very sheltered environment. He had her whole life planned, even who she would marry.
"So when Brandon Ryder came along and Amy fell head over heels in love with him, her father ordered her to stop seeing him. She refused and they ran off and got married. When Brandon got sent to Fort Bridger, her father thought it was all over until he found out Amy was going to have a baby. That's when he kicked her out with just the clothes on her back. She sold her jewelry to buy the team and wagon for this trip."
In the silence after Sam finished, Cort sat staring into the fire. That certainly explained her hell-bent determination to make this crossing, he thought. And it explained the fear that sometimes flashed into her eyes. He let out a long breath as he turned the coffee cup idly in his fingers. It also explained the hunger in her eyes.
She had been swept off her feet by some dashing young soldier, had she? Probably the first taste of physical desire she'd ever known. It had evidently been strong enough to make her throw away her security. "Brandon Ryder must be one hell of a man," he said scornfully.
"Amy thinks so," Sarah remarked quietly. "You had those feelings once, Cort. Surely you haven't forgotten how powerful they can be."
Cort snorted as he rose to his feet and plunked the cup down on the barrel where he'd sat. "Yeah, and I know how they tear your guts out," he grunted before striding into the darkness to escape the reminders of a past he'd tried to forget.
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