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“I’m not leaving the train,” she said firmly, her jaw set, as if that alone would convince him of her intent. “My husband has—had, I mean—a deed to property near Pike’s Peak, and that’s where I’m going. It belongs to me now.” Her hand rested in an automatic gesture against the rounding of her belly as she spoke. “It’s all I have, Mr. McMasters, and I’m not walking away from it.”
“Well, it’ll take a man to work the land and build a place for you to live,” he told her bluntly. “A woman alone can’t handle something like that.”
“There’s a cabin there, according to what Lyle heard of the place. Not much, but enough for shelter. And he said there was a chance that gold could be found there.” She lowered her voice, lest the words carry to the adjacent campfire. Gold was a powerful incentive, its presence inciting men to lie and steal. Even to murder.
Lyle’s life’s blood had been shed today, and unless she missed her guess, the claim to land in Colorado had something to do with it. Lyle had bragged one night, after he’d consumed half a bottle of whiskey, telling her of gold to be found, and then left bruises as he threatened her lest she repeat his words to anyone.
Now the land was hers, and sharing it with a man was not her first choice.
“Ma’am, you’ll have to be thinking about accepting one of the available men on the train as your husband,” Jonas said, his dark eyes holding not a shred of doubt as to his ultimatum. “It’s just the way it is, ma’am. I’ll give you till we get to Council Grove to make a choice.”
He looked around the circle to where more than a dozen men watched the drama going on, with Jessica as its focus. “You won’t have any lack of suitors,” he said with a grimace. “There’s already talk about who you’ll pick.” He grinned briefly, shaking his head. “There’s never enough women to go around in the West, and these men are already plottin’ to come courtin’ you.”
Jessica glanced at him, then shot a look at Finn. He returned it with a nod. “Jonas is right, you know,” he said. “Any one of those men—” He tilted his head, lifting an eyebrow for emphasis as he spoke. “Any one of them would be on you like flies on honey if you give them a nod. You’re a good-looking woman, and you’ve got a wagon and a team of oxen, and, as you said yourself, your husband had a deed to a piece of property.”
He smiled, looking into the depths of the fire for a moment. “You’re going to be in demand, Mrs. Beaumont. I’m not the only bachelor who’ll be coming to call. And, as harsh as it sounds to a woman newly widowed, you’re going to have to make up your mind in a hurry.”
Jessica nodded, aware that the truth was staring her in the face, and the man delivering the message was no doubt presenting himself as one of those offering for her hand.
“I expect you’re right, Mr. Carson. But not tonight, please. I can’t think straight right now, and by the time I get my supper mess cleared up, I won’t be fit company for anyone.” If Finn Carson meant to make her an offer, he’d have to wait until her head was clear and she was able to consider all of her options.
An hour later she was settled atop her feather tick on the wagon floor, her mind racing with the events of the day. And for the first time, tears came to her eyes. Not grief at Lyle’s death, although she supposed she should feel some small amount of remorse, at least, at leaving him by the side of the trail in a poorly marked grave.
But the past years had hardened her heart to his cunning smiles, and she’d long since lost any love she’d ever harbored in her heart for the man. He’d been mean. There was no other word for it. The man had been uncaring at times, harsh when she didn’t oblige him to his specifications, and too handy with hands that hurt and bruised her on occasion.
No, she didn’t mourn him, only the loss of those long years she’d spent trying to hold together a marriage that was doomed from the beginning. Her father had been right. Lyle Beaumont was a taker, a man without scruples. And Jessica had been blind to that side of him…until it was too late.
She curled on her side beneath a quilt, and a succession of faces appeared behind her closed eyelids. Miners, both young and in their middle years, at least half a dozen that she knew of, who had offered their condolences today as they eyed her with narrowed gazes, as if they considered her ripe for the taking.
She shivered. There were only two unattached men on the train she would even consider if push came to shove and she was forced by circumstances to choose a husband. Finn Carson, one of the guides, was one of them. The other, a miner named Gage Morgan, was a tall, husky man, older than Finn by few years. He was quiet, a good-looking specimen with dark hair and smoky-gray eyes. He’d offered his hand and had engulfed her own in his palm, just for a moment as he passed by the open grave this afternoon.
“Ma’am,” he’d said quietly, and his piercing eyes had darkened, taking her measure, a hint of admiration in their depths as he offered silent condolences. On the surface, he was all that a woman could ask for, she thought, and wondered what there was about him that made her stomach clench. Not that he had offered any disrespect. Never had he been anything but courteous the few times she’d nodded in his direction during the weeks they’d been following the trail.
Now she wondered at him, her fists clenching as she thought of what it would mean, should she take either of those two men as her husband. Eventually they would want to claim their rights, and she would be obliged to comply.
Shivering, she pushed aside the memories of nights filled with fear. Sleepless hours when she dreaded Lyle’s home-coming, those times when he was out at a saloon or gambling at a poker table.
Taking a man into her bed was a daunting prospect. Offering her body before the baby was born was out of the question. She was misshapen, her body swollen with the babe she carried. Not that she cared—in fact, she gloried in the heavy weight of the child within her. But to a man, especially one who’d had his share of voluptuous women, she might be more than a bit off-putting. But then, most of these men were hungry for female companionship, and that fact alone would probably make her more appealing to them.
She smothered a giggle under the quilt, and then felt a stab of shame that she could lie in her bed less than a dozen hours since Lyle’s body had turned cold in death and laugh at the prospect of another man climbing into her wagon and taking his place at her side. She needn’t fear turning a man’s head, she decided, punching her pillow as she tucked it beneath her head.
The deed to land near Pike’s Peak was another matter. It was enough to lure any man into her clutches, given the steady stream of miners heading west, hoping to find just such a claim to work. If Lyle was right, if the land were indeed worth—
She sat upright. If the deed was worth what Lyle had claimed, perhaps someone had killed him in order to lay hands on it. Shivering, she pulled the quilt up around herself and leaned against a trunk. Someone might be, this very moment, planning on finding the deed.
And she didn’t even know herself where it was. Only that Lyle had hidden it and laughed when she’d asked its location. “You don’t need to know,” he’d said harshly.
“Mrs. Beaumont? Jessica?” The voice was low, its tones pitched so as not to carry beyond her hearing, and she caught her breath sharply as she saw the shadow of a man standing at the back of her wagon. Standing head and shoulders above most of the men on the train, he was easy enough to recognize. Finn Carson, himself, come to call. She drew the quilt closer about her shoulders and felt the beating of her heart like a bass drum in her ears.
“Yes, Mr. Carson,” she answered, her whisper carrying to where he stood.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” he asked. “I’m going to crawl under your wagon to sleep tonight, and I wanted to know if you need anything before I settle down.”
“Are you by chance staking a claim, Mr. Carson?” she wanted to know, aware that her voice held a brittle note. He might as well put up a sign, she thought. This woman taken.
And then his words verified her thoughts, and she heard amusement color the syllables. “You might say that, ma’am.” He was unmoving and she shifted, rising to her knees, the better to catch the expression on his face.
“I hope you know that Jonas wasn’t pulling your leg, Mrs. Beaumont,” Finn said. “You don’t have a choice. Either you marry one of us, or you get sent back East when we reach Council Grove.” He stood without moving, as if he awaited a reply, and then he held out a hand to her.
“Will you come over here and talk to me?”
“No.” She didn’t believe in mincing words, could not countenance a clandestine meeting on the very day she’d buried her husband, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she wondered that he would expect it of her.
“Will you take a word of advice, then?” he asked quietly.
“Talk to me tomorrow,” she said sharply. “I’m a newly widowed woman, Mr. Carson. At least give me tonight to mourn before you make your bid for me.”
He was silent for a moment, and then he propped his forearms on the side of the wagon and leaned forward a bit. “I saw you in Saint Louis, Jessica.” As though he owned the right to it, he used her name deliberately. “I watched the way the bastard treated you that day when the first wagons loaded up and pulled out toward Independence. You can’t know how badly I wanted to knock him flat on his back.”
“You saw me? In Saint Louis?” She was stunned by his words, not that he’d seen her, but that his reaction to Lyle’s behaviour had been so strong. “Why should you care about the way Lyle treated me?”
“I’ve watched your wagon, him especially, for the past weeks, ever since we left Independence, and he did nothing to impress me with his…his ability to perform as a man.” He chose his words carefully, and Jessica heard the bitter tinge they carried.
“Who are you?” she asked, whispering the words as a shiver of apprehension swept over her. “Have you been keeping an eye on me all along?”
“No.” It was one syllable, one word, muttered harshly, and she knew it for a lie.
“Good night, Mr. Carson,” she said, drawing the quilt over her shoulder again as she placed her head carefully on her pillow. She heard him move after a moment, heard the muffled rattle of a metal bucket beneath the wagon as he found his place on the ground. And knew that Finn Carson was a man to be reckoned with.
He’d botched it. He’d pushed her too hard, said too much. He’d backtrack, let her stew a bit and then choose his time. The ground was hard beneath him, but Finn was used to sleeping wherever darkness found him. He’d shared feather ticks in his time, slept on cotton mattresses more times than he could count, and spent more nights under the stars than he could shake a stick at.
Sleeping beneath Jessica’s wagon was, after all, akin to staking a claim, as the lady herself had said. And somewhere in that wagon was the deed to a claim that Aaron Carson had died for. Finn’s mouth flattened as he thought of his older brother.
Aaron’s mercantile had held the man captive as surely as if it had wrapped chains around him for almost ten years. He’d been tied to making a living, when his heart had yearned for adventure, and his feet had itched to travel toward the goldfields. Aaron’s letter to Finn in April had been filled to the edges of each page with his excitement.
A customer, a man Aaron had outfitted and sent on his way four years before, was dying and had sent the deed to his claim back to Saint Louis, addressed to Aaron, the storekeeper, with a description of the location of Carson’s Retail Establishment.
Becuz you give me a hand when I needed it, the letter had said. Now I’m dying and here’s yer payback. The miner had signed it with a shaky hand, and sent the letter, the deed, and the assayer’s report with it to Saint Louis. Aaron’s life had changed forever.
It was a rich claim, according to the assayer’s report that had been included in the envelope, and the deed had been proclaimed valid by a lawyer. Aaron’s soul had thrilled to the news. He’d written to Finn, inviting his brother to join in the trek to the goldfields, offering to share the gold they would mine together.
And then he had been killed for a piece of paper, one that promised riches beyond belief. Standing by Aaron’s grave, Finn had sworn to avenge his death and set off to find Lyle Beaumont, the man he’d been told was the thief and murderer who’d pulled the trigger and stolen the deed.
Only to find that Lyle Beaumont had something infinitely more precious than the deed to a piece of land.
A woman—a heavily pregnant, defenseless female named Jessica Beaumont. A woman who had, from the first, touched a chord in Finn’s heart. A woman who even now held the deed he’d vowed to regain.
He would have them—Jessica Beaumont and the deed to the piece of land Aaron had died for. No matter the price, Finn would possess both.
The woman didn’t stand a chance.
Chapter Two
“Good morning, Mrs. Beaumont.” Jessica knew without looking from the back of the wagon that her visitor was Gage Morgan. His voice was distinctive, deep, and with a touch of the South in each syllable. Hastily she fastened the remaining buttons on her dress and snatched up her brush, bending as she reached the opening where he stood.
“I’m not ready for company this morning,” she said quietly, looking out on the circle of wagons, and then to the man who watched her. Close enough to see within, yet far enough distant to appear discreet to the passersby, he smiled as she glanced in his direction.
“Can I help you from your wagon?” he asked, extending a hand as she considered the ungainly chore of climbing over the rear opening.
It was too good an offer to pass up, she decided, having found over the past couple of weeks that her balance was decidedly off center. His palm was broad, his hands callused and strong, and he gripped her firmly, long fingers at her elbows as she carefully climbed to the ground.
“Thank you, Mr. Morgan,” she murmured, feeling at a distinct disadvantage, off balance with the added weight of the baby and her hair disheveled from a restless night’s sleep. Her face was still unwashed, and it was embarrassing to have a stranger see her without the benefit of time alone to put herself together for the day. On top of that, she felt other eyes watching her, probably making her the topic of gossip over every campfire.
“My pleasure, ma’am,” Gage said, smiling lazily, his gaze fastened on her as she wobbled a bit, unwillingly thankful for his steadying hands, hands that caressed her arms lightly before he released his grip. “I brought you warm water from the campfire by our wagon,” he said. “I thought it might be welcome.”
And it was, she realized. Yet, there was a degree of hesitance as she nodded her thanks, and the obligation she felt to the man made her uneasy. If Finn had done the good deed, she’d have no doubt welcomed his help. But coming from Gage Morgan, it didn’t sit well, and she had to force the smile he no doubt expected.
“I’ll leave you to it, ma’am,” Morgan said, tipping his hat, his gaze narrowing as his eyes took a survey of her face and form. “If there’s anything at all I can do for you, just give me a wave and I’ll be here. I hope you realize you can depend on me to lend a hand when you need it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Morgan.” Turning from him, she reached inside the wagon and found the towel she’d left on a box, handy for her morning ablutions. When she looked back to where he’d placed the bucket of water, she found he’d filled the basin for her use, and she felt her mouth tighten. It smacked of intimacy, tending to her needs this way, and she felt he’d ventured too close for comfort.
But the water was warm, refreshing against her skin and she used it lavishly, appreciating the luxury of the early-morning wash without having to first light a fire. Her hair required daily brushing before she braided it, and it didn’t seem she would have the time available this morning to perform the task. A quick swipe of the brush through the dark waves would suffice, she decided, as she reached for her sunbonnet.
More than one man spoke as she made her way to a secluded area that had been set aside for the women’s use last evening, and assessing eyes took note of her, much to her discomfort. It seemed that marriage had, before today, provided a barrier, protecting her from the attentions of other men, and now that Lyle was no longer in the picture, she was open game for the available men on the train. Jonas had warned her it would be so, but the reality was almost overwhelming.
In a few minutes, she returned to her wagon and found Finn there, tending a small blaze, her skillet in his hand, bacon waiting on its surface for the burning wood to heat sufficiently. He glanced up at her and grinned. His hair looked like morning sunshine, she thought, and his eyes were warm. It was unfair to compare men, one to another. It was like apples and oranges, her mother had always said. Yet, the difference between Finn and the darkly handsome Morgan was a night-and-day variation.
Finn watched her, his good mood apparent, and she found herself returning his smile as he welcomed her back to her own campfire. “Good morning,” he said with a hint of teasing edging the greeting. “I didn’t mean to neglect you this morning, but I had to leave early on, just before sunrise. Jonas asked me to ride out and take a gander at the trail up ahead. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to lend a hand, but I promise you I’ll have a real treat in store for you tonight when we circle the wagons.”
“A treat?” she asked, and he shook his head.
“I’ll say no more till tonight,” he said.
The man was clean shaven this morning, his clothing neat, his hair showing the line where his hat had perched as he rode. An altogether presentable appearance, one she could envision taking pleasure in viewing in the days to come. And with an indrawn breath, she recognized that she was very near to making her choice, no matter the suitability of Gage Morgan.
“I missed you earlier,” she said in answer to his apology. “I was about to set a match to my fire and fix some breakfast.”
“I beat you to it, and saved you a bit of time,” he told her. “Now, I expect some food for my trouble. But I’ll bet you’ve already figured that out.”
He was crowding her, and she recognized his methods, knew he meant to gain a foothold, but she was onto his shenanigans. Her smile came easily as she nodded, waving a hand at the skillet he held. “I’ll do that. Give me a few minutes and I’ll mix together some biscuits and get them baking in the coals, then I’ll tend to the bacon.”
Turning back to the opening, she lifted the wooden box, settling it in place so that she could climb into the wagon bed, only to find him at her side. “Here, you take this,” he said, giving her no choice as he pressed the skillet into her hands. “I’ll climb up and get you a measure of flour from your barrel.”
Flustered, she took the iron pan and then watched as he made short work of what would have taken considerable time and effort on her part. In moments, he had the bowl of flour handed out to her, and she took it in her free hand and placed it on a precious chunk of wood by the fire. The lard can and her jars of salt and soda clutched to his chest, he climbed down and placed the bits and pieces next to the bowl of flour.
“All right. I’ll switch with you,” he said cheerfully, spreading the coals a bit as the wood burned down to permit the skillet’s placement atop the heat. “We’re going to have to resort to buffalo chips soon,” he said. “There won’t be much more wood available until we reach Council Grove.”
Jessica nodded. “I thought I might gather some during the day and fill a burlap sack full while I’m walking by the oxen.”
“Probably be a good idea,” Finn agreed, placing the bacon to fry atop the coals.
With deft movements, Jessica mixed lard into the flour, added salt and soda and then formed the biscuits while Finn turned the bacon as it cooked. The shallow stone she used for baking was already hot beneath the coals and Finn poked it from the fire, then wiped it clean with swift movements, readying it for her use.
The biscuits sizzled in a bit of lard and within ten minutes the small, flat bits of bread were ready to eat. “These don’t look like what I made back home in Saint Louis,” she said, placing bacon between two layers of the makeshift bread. “But they don’t taste half bad when you’re hungry.”
“It’s enough to keep us going till nooning,” Finn told her as he gingerly lifted two more from the stone, tossing them from hand to hand to cool them down. She smiled at his antics, aware that his actions were designed to amuse her. Hers were not the only eyes focused on Finn, but he seemed oblivious to the frankly envious looks from several men aimed in his direction.
And then he settled down to finish his breakfast and sat cross-legged on the ground, his gaze assessing Jessica, lingering on her face as if he gauged her well-being by the color of her skin, the circles she knew lingered beneath her eyes.
“Thank you for sleeping under my wagon last night,” she said as she brushed the crumbs from her fingers. “I know I was less than gracious to you, and I apologize.”
“When I consider the day you lived through, I’m surprised you didn’t reach out and toss me on my—” He grinned suddenly. “Sorry. I forgot myself for a moment there.”
He was a scamp, she decided, his eyes twinkling, his mouth curving in a smile. And she was responding to him as might a young girl faced by her first suitor, enjoying the company he offered. Companionship she’d lacked with Lyle. She looked down at her hands, clenching her fingers in her lap, and felt a moment’s shame that she should so quickly set aside the memory of her marriage.
But Lyle was gone and buried, she thought, gritting her teeth. Still, she supposed she should feel some small bit of remorse, perhaps even grief at his passing. Yet, when all was said and done, she could only be relieved that he was no longer here to berate her and make her life miserable. Her sigh was audible as she faced her own lack of caring for the man she’d married.
“What is it, Jessica?” Finn rose from the ground and moved toward her, then crouched, one knee on the ground, his big frame dwarfing her. “You look like a shadow just passed over and left you in the shade.”
“I suspect I’m feeling guilty,” she murmured, unable to look up at him. “Lyle’s been dead less than a full day, and I can’t find it in me to regret his death.” Her voice caught on the words and she felt the warmth of a tear as it slid the length of her cheek to fall against her breast.
“Jessica.” Finn spoke her name, almost as a sigh, and she lifted a hand, as if she rejected his comfort. “Surely you don’t have regrets,” he said quietly. “The man was not worthy of you. Everyone in the wagon train recognized that as the truth. He didn’t have a friend among the family men, only a handful of lowlifes who liked to gamble as much as he did. And the whole bunch of them aren’t worth the powder it would take to blow them away.”
Jessica nodded, aware that his assessment of Lyle and his cronies was on target. “He used to get angry with me,” she began quietly, “when he’d been playing poker late at night and then was too tired to get up in the morning. He said I should take my turn and walk by the ox team and let him sleep in the wagon.” She looked up as she spoke, as if she sought comfort in the gentle smile Finn offered. His features were blurred by her tears, and she brushed them away with her palms.
Finn’s mouth tightened as he watched her futile gesture, for the tears would not be halted now that they had begun. “Don’t cry for him,” he said harshly. “He wasn’t worth your tears, Jess.”
“I suppose that’s why it saddens me so,” she said haltingly. “I loved him once—or at least I thought I did. When he came courting, he was a gentleman, mannerly and polite. It wasn’t until we were married for a few months that he began drinking more. I suppose he’d hidden his vices well, early on.”
“Why on earth did he marry you?” Finn asked bluntly. “He didn’t seem cut out to be a family man to my way of thinking. Surely he didn’t have an overwhelming love for you. At least it didn’t seem so.”
She shrugged. “He thought he would be well-fixed. My parents have a bit of money. We always lived nicely, and my father had his own business. I think Lyle had visions of coming into an inheritance one day. My parents had me very late in life, and I was their only child. He thought they’d support all of his schemes. And if that didn’t work, he figured he’d inherit a nice amount when they passed on.”
“And then it didn’t work out the way he thought it would, I expect.”
She shook her head. “No, it didn’t. My father gave him a job, and Lyle stole from the company.” She felt the blush of shame sweep over her countenance. “He was let go, and then no one else would hire him when it became known that he wasn’t trustworthy. My folks wanted me to leave him and come back home.”
“But you didn’t.” Finn’s words were touched with anger, and she watched as his hands formed fists and his eyes narrowed with the force of his emotion.
“No, I couldn’t.” She looked up at him, remembering the day she’d made that foolish choice. “I couldn’t admit I’d been wrong to marry him. But I changed my mind later, after I found I was carrying a child. Then, one day—”
Her words came to a halt as she remembered the day when Lyle had struck her down and she’d fallen the full flight of stairs in the boardinghouse where they lived.
“What happened?” Finn asked, rising to stand before her.
She looked up at him. “There was an accident and I lost my child. She was born too early and didn’t live.”
“And Lyle? Did he feel any remorse?” His jaw taut, Finn looked away, as if unwilling to allow Jessica to see the depths of his disgust with the man.
