The Trail Master's Bride Read online

  His announcement was met with mostly groans from the children, although the adults nodded and started toward shore. After wringing out her sodden skirts as best she could, Mina seated herself in the thick grass to put on her stockings and shoes. A prickling sensation on the back of her neck made her still. She looked around, knowing for certain she was being watched.

  Weston, though dripping wet, was set to rights by then and pulled her up beside him as her eyes kept scanning the area. Something was amiss.

  “You’re frowning. What’s wrong?” His gaze rose to the horizon and began scanning too.

  “Nothing. Just a funny feeling.”

  “Too much fizzy bathing, maybe?” he suggested, hooking his arm around her neck and drawing her near for a quick, chaste kiss. “Or is it the five pairs of eyes on your back?” He tipped his head to the side and sure enough, there stood Bessie’s five children, all girls except one, and every one of them, even the boy, was giggling and gaping at them until their mother called them to hurry along.

  “Four girls.” Weston shuddered as he walked her back toward the train. “Can you imagine?”

  “Yes, I had four sisters, remember?” She frowned, a shadow of life with her father cast over her heart. “You wouldn’t mind having girls, would you?”

  “Certainly not. I have a younger sister, myself. But I demand at least two of each. If the girls look anything like their mother, I’ll need the two boys as reinforcements.”

  Relief swept over her and she laughed outright. “Thank you for the compliment, honey, but you know you can’t just order them up like a bauble from Tiffany’s Blue Book. You take what you get.”

  He stopped, his head tipping down.

  “What?” she asked, looking down at her clothing to make sure she was wholly covered.

  “You called me honey. You’ve never done that before. Mr. Carr, my given name, and big stupid oaf, but not honey.”

  “I can go back to that last one if you’d prefer.”

  He grinned, starting them back along the path they’d made by tramping through the tall grass on the way down. “Nope. I like ‘honey’ and since I can’t command the gender of my children, I demand you call me honey at least once a day.”

  “Um, I don’t think honey can be ordered up that way either, husband. A honey can’t be commanded; the spirit needs to move me first.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, you wouldn’t want an insincere honey, now would you,” glancing up at him, she grinned impishly and added, “honey?”

  “Beautiful. But I have to correct a misperception. It will work that way in our marriage. And, if you need some persuading to get your spirit moving, I’ll happily see to that too.”

  Her hands went to her behind as her mouth fell open. “You wouldn’t? Would you? I was only teasing.”

  “As was I.” He quickly pulled her behind a wide nearby tree. “I had something entirely different in mind.” He then demonstrated precisely how he would see to it. Well out of sight of the curious children’s eyes, and their overly nosy parents, he laid a hot, wet, and very thorough kiss on her lips. He earned himself another honey when his hands found her behind and squeezed. This one came out without hesitation, sounding more like a breathy moan.

  “Oh, honey…” she repeated as he nudged his hips against hers.

  “That’s it, darlin,” he murmured against her lips. “No sweeter music to my ears.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The next week went by without incident, which was a blessing, as the wagon train continued on its northwesterly course toward Fort Hall and a three-day stop for much needed rest and replenishing of supplies. While there, several of the pioneers received treatment for minor ailments from the army physician stationed there. Though Mina wasn’t sick, she met with the doctor for advice on replenishing Weston’s depleted medicine kit. In addition to the whiskey, peppermint oil, and tincture of camphor that he already carried, the doctor recommended adding hartshorn for snakebite, citric acid for scurvy, and quinine for malaria. The last made sense to Mina after suffering through their first night and being subjected to the thick swarms of mosquitos that inundated the area due to the boggy shores of the nearby river. They were so bad that they left the fort one full day early with Mina scratching at her welt-covered arms and legs and having gone back for a second bottle of camphor.

  Not long after leaving the fort, they had to cross the swift and dangerous Snake River to its north side where the trail had more plentiful grazing grass and drinking water than the treacherous high-walled south side. Weston told tales of a previous trip when he and forty travelers had found themselves short on water as they stared down a one-hundred-foot cliff to the river below. They’d sweltered in the hot drought-like conditions for days on end, the whole time looking on the tempting life-sustaining waters that were hopelessly out of reach.

  As for crossing the river, Mina had never been more terrified in her life. First, while crossing the swift waters, which rose over the wheels and at times was so deep that the wagon actually floated, and later while watching from shore while Weston and Jeremy made the trip again and again as they guided the other wagons across. The livestock were left for last, with the men returning to swim them across. Because of the many widows left after the smallpox tragedy, her husband and Jeremy made multiple trips back and forth across the river. By the time the last of the cattle were brought to the northern banks, Mina had bitten nearly all of her nails to the quick.

  Seeing Wes wet and exhausted when he’d dragged himself out of the river for the final time, she ran to him and threw herself into his arms, uncaring what the others thought or said.

  “Please tell me there are no more rivers to cross,” she whispered as she hugged him tight. “My heart couldn’t stand it.”

  He bent over her, holding her close. “Can’t make that promise, darlin’, except to say this was the last of the worst.” She felt his lips pressed against the top of her head. “C’mon. I need grub, dry clothes, and a breather, but not necessarily in that order.”

  As they traversed the Snake River valley, the days were long and hot, although nowhere near as the extreme heat of the prairie, and the nights were blessedly cool. Weston was often up late, doubling up and taking extra watches due to reports of Indian troubles from the Shoshone tribes. Those were restless nights for Mina and the others, who slept with loaded firearms within reach. In her case, she was thankful Weston had been so tenacious with her shooting lessons, having gotten fairly proficient with the ten-gauge shotgun she kept by their bedroll under the wagon.

  Thankfully, they neared Fort Boise without incident, having spotted only a few small groups of Indians hunting and fishing. Once, when a few rode much too close for Weston’s liking, he’d ridden out to speak with them, which had nearly sent Mina into apoplexy. They were merely interested in a trade for medicine, it turned out, which he quickly transacted, a bottle of hartshorn and peppermint oil in exchange for buffalo hides and a pair of moccasins.

  All in all, they considered themselves fortunate with the Snake River country crossing, and they were even pleased with the weather, which held clear until late one afternoon.

  Hunkered down beneath the wagon, she watched as Weston hung cloth flaps, waterproofed with linseed oil like the bonnet, from hooks she’d never noticed before on the underside of the wagon. He then staked them into the ground to keep them in place against the wind and driving rain that whipped ferociously through the valley. When he was finished, he spread another flap out on the ground that was already saturated and held his arms out to Mina.

  “Come here, darlin’. Sitting on this will be better than the wet ground.”

  “Why not weather the storm inside the wagon, instead?” she asked as she crawled over to him.

  “We’re better protected here against lightning and hailstones, which often accompany a gully washer of this sort.”

  “And here I expected the Indians would be the dangerous part of Snake Country.”

/>   Thunder clapped directly above them, making her jump. Already on hands and knees, for once, she didn’t crack her head open. Moving faster, when she had crawled close enough, he pulled her against him and wrapped them both up in the newly acquired buffalo hide that would serve as a blanket and protect against the dampness in the air.

  “Get cozy. This could last a while. If you get hungry, I brought in a basket of cold staples and the canteen is full. “

  A huge gust of wind shook the wagon above them and tore at the flaps. Mina held her breath, expecting both to be torn asunder, but they held true. She sighed with relief, pressing closer to Weston.

  “I’m starting to think I prefer sweltering heat and drought to this.”

  “Agreed, but this will fill our rain barrels and keep the dust down a bit, let’s hope.”

  “I feel bad for the livestock. What if it hails?”

  “They’ll huddle together and be just fine. Their hide is suited for harsh conditions. Another reason we use oxen, not skittish, high-maintenance horses.”

  “The wagon master is always so practical,” she murmured, huddling closer as another crack of thunder boomed overhead.

  He gathered her more tightly in his arms. “This is true. He’s also a practical husband and not one to waste an opportunity with complete privacy when it presents itself.”

  She felt a warm hand on her breast as he began to explore under the cover. Tilting her head back, she saw in the dim light that his eyes were dark and gleaming with what she had quickly come to know as desire. While the storm raged around them, a tempest also began to build inside Mina. Willing him to kiss her, her attention locked onto his full lips. Then she realized that as his wife, she didn’t need to wait; she lifted her face and tentatively touched her lips to his. He certainly didn’t object, but didn’t take over the kiss either. Taking that as approval, she began to explore. Her tongue slipped out to taste him. As he so often did to her, Mina licked along his bottom lip. On the next pass, the tip boldly pressed between his lips and entered tentatively, exploring the warm depths of his mouth, which tasted of mint. Further emboldened, she began teasingly touching the tip of her tongue to his, at which point he growled and flipped her over on her back.

  Coming over her, he nudged her thighs apart and settled between them. When he spoke, his voice had become a rough husky bass. “While I thoroughly enjoy your kisses, Mina, I’m afraid you’ve stirred the beast in me and I can’t wait. This is too new. I’ll let you explore another time. Maybe a year from now, or five, maybe ten, when I have some control.”

  His mouth opened over hers as he took control of the kiss, his tongue plunging inside and sweeping her up in his urgency. Lost in the moment, she didn’t feel his fingers make quick work of her buttons until he spread her blouse wide, pushed up her camisole, and the humid air wafted over her bare breasts. Weston’s mouth left her then, moving lower to capture a nipple. While he sucked voraciously, his other hand found the hem of her skirts and swept them up to her waist. Eagerly, and quite shamelessly, she had to admit, she spread her legs as he sought the damp seam at the center of her drawers.

  “Quite a handy undergarment, darlin’,” he lifted his head a fraction to say, his breath brushing warm over her hard wet nipple, “but I haven’t gotten the chance to have you completely naked, until now.” With that said, his hand slipped under her back and pulled the drawstring. As quickly, he swept her drawers down and all the way off. His hand returned to her splayed thighs and sank two fingers inside her, delving into her wet center while his thumb connected with the achy nub in front.

  “Wes,” she moaned, then bit her lip, attempting to contain her cries.

  “No,” he urged, as the wind roared outside. “Be as loud as you like, sweetheart, no one will hear. I want to hear your moans of pleasure and the sound of my name on your lips as you shudder with pleasure and find release in my arms.”

  “Ye-es…” Halfway through, the single word turned into a long drawn-out groan as he suckled harder on her nipple, and she lost her breath when she felt his teeth bear down firmly. It became a panting, high-pitched whimper in her throat as his long fingers began sliding in and out of her womanly passage. It felt divine. Lifting her hips upward, she met each thrust of his hand. She wasn’t holding back her cries any longer and when he added a third finger, it was enough to send her over the top, calling out his name with a throaty cry.

  “Gorgeous,” he growled as he aligned his hips with hers. With the hard length of him in hand, he rubbed the head of his shaft over her quivering sensitive flesh, taking a long, slow swipe before plunging inside. Once fully seated, his hands slipped under her, palming her bottom cheeks as he began thrusting deep. His hips moved relentlessly against hers, the front of his pelvis grinding into her mound with each downward stroke. Mina felt her passion catching fire again and when he began groaning, his hot breath rushing by her ear, she found herself close to exploding along with him.

  A moment later, they did. This time it was Weston who called out her name, coming out in a low, rolling rumble that rivaled the thunder echoing through the storm-swept valley.

  Replete, they lay in each other’s arms for a long while, lips brushing, damp skin touching, hands stroking as the tempest outside exhausted itself. As their bodies cooled, the heavens quieted and the winds died back. The driving rain waned until all that remained was a gentle drizzle.

  Since it was still early evening, they lay together, talking quietly and eating their cold collation of canned beans, bacon—if Mina never saw another rasher of the salty meat or a can of brown beans in her life, it would be too soon—and day-old biscuits. The best part was the oatmeal cookie squares Mrs. Bishop had brought over the night before.

  Weston told her about growing up in the Oregon Territory on the busy Columbia River. His mother had passed a few years after his younger sister was born. She’d contracted some kind of fever and had gone suddenly, leaving his father to raise two children alone. At the time, he was ten and baby Caroline was only two. A fur trapper for years, Edward Carr wasn’t home much, so he left his children often in the care of their grandparents. It was his Grampa Earl who gave him his love for horses, and taught him everything he knew about their care and how to breed them.

  Mina filled in the missing parts of her past, telling him of her four sisters and their not-so-easy life in Boston. She spoke of their similar upbringing in that her mother had passed when she was five and that even though she’d lived with her father, it was her Nana Rebecca who loved and nurtured her until her passing when Mina was still a young girl.

  “If not for her presence in our lives, memories of our mother’s love would have been lost to Ruth and me.” Misty-eyed, Mina shared her bittersweet remembrances of her time with nana and Ruth, stopping only when the tears overflowed. Weston held her as he kissed them away.

  “It’s ironic. My father was home, though absent from my life, while yours was present, but never at home.”

  “I can’t fathom your situation. In my case, my father saw us and provided for us, but had wandering in his blood. That’s what my mother used to call it. I vowed that my traveling days were over when I took a wife. I want to be both home and present for my family, like my Grampa Earl was.”

  “That makes me happy, Wes. I would have liked to have met your grandfather.”

  “He would have loved you, darlin’. He was rather partial to redheads, having married one. In nature, he was a lot like Ben Jacobs: a family man, patient, kind-hearted, and nurturing, although a determined man who wouldn’t put up with nonsense.”

  She reached up and stroked his chin. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

  “I don’t know about the patient part, but I’ll take that as a compliment, darlin’.” Rolling half on top of her, his work-roughened hands began to move over her body, easily baring her breasts from her only half-done-up blouse. “As a reward,” he said, grinning down at her hardening nipples. “I’ll demonstrate how determined and nurturing I can be.�
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  Weston kissed her deeply. Once she was trembling with need, he rolled them to their sides and loved her breathless. Although this was a sweet, slow joining much different from the urgency of the first, to Mina, it was equally beautiful and satisfying. But there was something extra special about drawing out the pleasure over time while her husband caressed and kissed virtually every square inch of her body that she found even more gratifying. Soon, as the darkness of night settled in, they were lulled by the sound of the rain, the contentment of full bellies, and the wonderfully relaxed state of their well-sated bodies, finding sleep while entwined in each other’s arms.

  Chapter Twelve

  In the morning, the wagons rolled onward. The difference between this day and countless others was they slogged through wet, muddy terrain for a change, instead of the usual dry, dusty conditions that choked their throats and left a thick covering over everything, even themselves. Despite the break from the heat and dryness, the damp and uncomfortable travelers complained. Not unusual; grumbles and cursing over practically everything had become the norm after endless days on the trail. The source of their discontent was different, however, as the drizzle came and went, the gray skies overhead appearing endless.

  Leading them in the head wagon, the owners were the exception to this rule of the day. Neither one seemed to mind the mud, or the rain, or the slippery, less-than-ideal conditions. Mina and Weston took it all as it came, without grousing or nitpicking. Doubtless this came from the hand holding, heated looks, and stolen kisses they shared throughout the long day or it could have been the sense of contentment that lingered in both of them after the stormy, but glorious night they had shared.

  As they trekked some two hundred miles across Snake Country toward Fort Boise, Mina decided the reports of dire conditions in the northwest desert with drought, blistering heat and death for travelers and animals alike were exaggerated. Weston assured her they were not, recalling past trips with over three solid weeks of deadly heat, the dry conditions nearly exhausting their drinking water by the time they made it to the fort. Certainly, the days were hot—it was the middle of the summer, after all—but good fortune saw fit to bless them with a summer squall every few days and once or twice, another good soaking. Not a batten down the hatches storm that forced them to stop and take shelter, but enough to cool things down and wash things off. Practically unheard of according to the stories she’d read.