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Now he comes for me, thought Olivia with exasperation. The only way to make it up the hill was to loosen her corset and remove her hoops, which meant half undressing. She’d thrown off her jacket, then fought through the tall grass to a gray-and-green-speckled boulder for privacy. After struggling for several minutes, she finally got the back of the dress unbuttoned.
The lavender material puffed around her ankles as she tugged off her petticoats to access her corset strings.
“Olivia!” His voice was much nearer.
Bending down so he wouldn’t see her state of undress, she jerked at the strings. The ability to draw in full breaths was a blessed relief, but she barely got the strings retied and her dress pulled up before he was upon her.
Her husband would eventually be privy to her undressing, but she wasn’t prepared to share everything now.
“Olivia, where are you?”
Drat, the man was practically on top of her.
She rammed her arms into the sleeves and popped up. “I’m here. Go back—” A long black barrel pointed at her. She jerked, bolts of shock zinging through her body, making every fiber tense.
Frozen, she stared. Just beyond the stock his jaw pulsed. After an immeasurable pause his narrowed eyes relaxed. He lowered the gun. His gaze dropped to her petticoats draped over the rock and then rose back to her face.
Her cheeks burned as she held up the unfastened dress. “Could you give me a moment, please,” she said in a prim voice.
“Sorry.” He turned and walked back toward the path. He stopped with his back to her.
Why in heaven’s name had he drawn a gun on her? Shivering with a sudden cold that had nothing to do with the air temperature, Olivia slipped the buttons she could fasten into their holes. She snatched her extra petticoats off the rock, draped them and the excess material of her skirt over her arm and rejoined Jack.
He looped the metal bands of her crinoline around his shoulder. Her jacket was wadded beneath his arm. With the back of her dress half-undone, she needed the jacket to cover the gaping opening.
She hesitated. “Why would you point a gun at me?”
“I thought you might have been attacked,” he said. “Next time answer when I call.”
His tone was matter-of-fact, but she felt scolded all the same. She nodded. Men didn’t carry around guns back in Connecticut. She scanned the tall grass, wondering what vicious animal he’d suspected was lying in wait.
“Do you need me to carry you?” he asked.
“I can walk.”
He swiveled toward her. He looked at her as if she’d told him she could fly or some other absurdity.
“I like walking. I walk all the time. I just wasn’t dressed for walking.” Olivia ducked her chin.
“I didn’t realize walking required special attire,” said Jack slowly. He pulled at the collar of his shirt. The garment she’d labored over didn’t suit him.
“This is a carriage dress. It is for sitting and riding in a carr...” Well, a wagon hardly qualified as high transport. “For riding or visiting, not for scaling mountains.” Not for having a gun pointed at her.
His brown gaze slid down her dress.
Her heart did a little jig.
“Do you have dresses for mountain scaling?” he asked.
Good gravy, was her husband an imbecile? Was all that brawny masculinity just a shell around nothing? “No.”
“Mmm.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as if he were about to smile.
Was that all he could say? Or had he been trying not to laugh at her? She was tired of traveling and being stared at as if she were an oddity. Her palm up, Olivia gestured for him to lead.
Jack gave a tiny shake of his head as if rousing himself from a stupor. “I should have told you to change.”
Olivia huffed, a feat she wouldn’t have been able to manage before loosening her corset laces.
“But you looked so pretty in your carriage dress.” He mimicked her gesture as if he expected her to go first, and then looked over his shoulder at the rays that haloed up from the out-of-sight sun.
His compliment was so embedded in criticism, she didn’t feel obliged to acknowledge it. Why call her pretty, then look away? If he thought her pretty he would look at her more often. He was probably just trying to soothe her ruffled feathers. Perhaps he didn’t want a sulky bride on his wedding night.
A cold wash traveled down her spine. Olivia shivered all over.
“We have a lot to do before night falls,” Jack said.
“I’ll be right behind you.”
His forehead furrowed. “You’re not a squaw.”
She had no idea what he meant by that. She stared at his broad shoulders as he transferred his gun to his left hand and reached to put his hand at her back.
She twisted away, not wanting him to discover the open back of her dress.
“You don’t have to walk behind me,” he said.
“I’d rather.”
He shook his head. “Stay with me or I will carry you.” Then he took off up the incline at a fast clip. She trotted to keep pace. He left the road and Olivia waded through the tall grass. Her thin heels sank into the soft ground.
He tossed her clothing into the wagon, peeled back the hides and then pulled out the peeping box. “Watch the chicks while they forage. Don’t let them get away. I’ll see if a stream is in those trees.” He scooped out the half-feathered chicks and set them on the ground. “The fire pit is over there.” He pointed to a patch of bare dirt. “Gather up kindling, too.”
She retrieved her matching jacket and put it on. She couldn’t button it, but at least her exposed laces were hidden.
Jack walked toward the stand of trees in the distance. “I’ll hear you if you shout.”
Why would she need to shout for him?
“If you see a bear, or the horses start acting odd, yell.” With that he strode off.
The hairs on the back of her neck lifted. Were there bears around? Had Jack had the gun ready because he feared a bear had attacked her?
* * *
Bears weren’t what concerned Jack. But warning Olivia that she should be wary of all beasts, four legged or two, had seemed unkind. Blood rushed in his ears. He’d been so sure when he saw her jacket near the road and her petticoats on the rock that he’d find her on the ground being violated by one of the low men who’d come West in search of easy money.
Jack had been ready to kill any man who dared touch her. And it angered him that she attracted attention and couldn’t fend it off.
The horses needed watering and the camp needed setting up. He slowed his breathing, attuning to what was around him.
The breeze shimmied through aspen leaves and pine trees darkened the woods. He slung his rifle strap over his back and walked into the shade. The tinkle of running water floated through the air. He’d been so focused on Olivia that he’d neglected to bring a bucket.
At least she’d finally showed a bit of spunk. Obviously she hadn’t liked him discovering her in the midst of ridding herself of layers of excessive clothing. Perhaps she had been lagging behind for privacy.
A smile tugged at the corners of Jack’s mouth. Taking off those ridiculous hoops may have been the first smart thing she’d done. He gathered up deadwood, then started back.
Olivia chased around in a circle shooing the chicks into a tight cluster. With her skirt and petticoats caught in her arm, her slender ankles were visible. She took off her hat and waved it at the chicks.
She looked young and naive as she valiantly kept the chicks from foraging. They peeped and tumbled over each other. Her back to him, she slowly circled.
Great, he’d acquired a sheepdog instead of a wife.
Olivia stepped sideways and fanned her hat at a chick that dared to stray a couple of feet from his brethren. The instant she saw him, she froze.
She pulled her jacket closed and lowered her skirt, hiding her ankles. She pushed a stray strand off her forehead.
The paleness of her hair struck him. The soft-hued blond mass was twisted and woven into dozens of thin braids in an elaborate confection on the back of her head.
Wetonga had braided her hair in two braids or worn it held back by a leather band around her forehead. The first time he’d met her, she’d entered the tepee where he slept, drawn off her doeskin dress and tossed it on the ground before joining him on his bedroll. He suspected it wouldn’t be so easy with Olivia.
His throat tightened at the idea of seeing her hair down, curtaining her naked body. Picturing Olivia flushed and naked, his blood heated.
His desire for her hit him like an ax, cleaving him down to the bone. He’d spent most of the day thinking her too refined to tempt him, but he’d been wrong. Her cool beauty called like forbidden fruit. Her slender fingers, the blush that swept over her cheeks, and the span of her slender waist in his hands all thickened his blood.
But then he’d promised he wouldn’t pressure her to be his wife in that way.
He sighed. Perhaps he’d been hasty, but she’d cast a longing look toward the stage office. He’d been willing to say anything to keep her here. Which made no sense at all, since she would be more trouble than help.
“They keep trying to get away,” Olivia said.
“They’re trying to eat.” He resumed walking. “Let them roam.”
“Oh.” Her forehead furled and she bit her lip.
Jack dropped the wood near the fire pit. She hadn’t gathered kindling. “I’m taking the horses to drink at the stream.”
“A stream? May I wash?”
“If it is still light enough to see when I get back.” Jack brushed bark off his chest. “You need to watch the chicks.”
“Will you light the fire?”
“The tinderbox is behind the seat.”
Her mouth tightened and her eyes darted nervously from the fire pit to the wagon and back.
“You don’t know how to use it,” he said flatly. Could she do anything beyond look pretty?
Olivia shook her head. She flapped her hat at a chick straying beyond some larger boundary she’d set in her head.
He sighed. “When I get back, I’ll take care of it.”
He moved to the wagon, removed his rifle and set it down. He unbuttoned and stripped off the fancy new shirt.
Olivia gasped.
She studiously looked away, but her cheeks were bright.
He rummaged for his buckskin shirt and drew it over his head. “Might as well change into what you want to sleep in. It’ll be dark soon.” He remembered to gather the bucket, a sling and a hatchet before tossing buffalo hides to the ground.
If Olivia was shocked at seeing him without his shirt, it didn’t bode well for their marital relations. The chances of a lady like her wanting him were slim.
Besides, she didn’t know how to light a fire. She didn’t know how to dress for the wild and she sure didn’t know anything about caring for chickens. “Do you know how to garden?”
She brightened. “We used to have the most lovely roses and irises.”
Merde, what kind of a wife was she?
* * *
Once he was out of sight, Olivia scurried to the wagon and slid out of her lavender jacket. Hurrying, she changed into a nightgown without removing her shift and corset. While he might not have any qualms about undressing in front of her, she wasn’t ready to fling off her garments in his presence.
Chasing the memory of his broad golden-skinned chest from her mind proved impossible. She shivered.
The murky light was dimming by the minute. The shadows of the trees grew black and forbidding. Would Jack be able to find his way back? Were wild animals lurking in the deepening dusk? Or had the stand of trees swallowed him and the horses whole, leaving her all alone in this wilderness?
The chattering trees seemed to warn her this place was not like back East. As if she needed more warning. Hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and her heart beat in irregular jolts. The unseen animals lurking in the shadows, the impending intimacy of her wedding night and the solitude all unnerved her.
What would Jack think if he returned and found her in her nightgown? A shudder racked her body. Sleeping together when they’d barely spoken troubled her. She pulled her heavy brown-twill traveling dress over the top.
The yards of material meant to go over hoops dragged in the grass.
Only a bit warmer, she retrieved the fire-starting implements and carried them over to the pile of wood. He’d wanted her to gather kindling. She glanced toward the copse. She didn’t want to go into the darkness. Instead, she snapped off small branches from the wood he’d gathered.
After making a tight little pile of wood, she got out the flint and the metal ring.
Striking sparks couldn’t be that hard, could it?
She hit the metal against the sharp edge. A cascade of glowing orange sparks landed on her skirt.
She brushed the hot bits from her skirt, singeing her hand.
“What are you doing?” Booted footfalls thudded toward her. “Merde! Are you trying to catch yourself on fire?”
She spun around. She opened her mouth to defend herself but stood mutely. Nothing would have made sense. “I’m fine. I didn’t know how it worked.”
The horses followed him up the incline with neck-bobbing long strides. “Just wait.” Jack set down a bucket near the woodpile. “Let me get the horses staked.”
She looked down to see if she’d burned holes in her brown twill, but she couldn’t see in the dusky half-light.
How much a nuisance he found her was clear in his voice. Contributing to that impression by insisting he take her down to the water could only make things worse.
“It is too dark for me to go to the creek to wash up now.”
“There’s water in the bucket. Just don’t use it all.”
Disappointment curled through her. She’d been looking forward to the chance to thoroughly wash off the dust from the day of travel. Using her cupped palm, she took a drink and used a little of the icy water to wash off her face. Not knowing what else to do, she sank down on the woolly hide.
The chicks peeped happily from their box.
“You put the chicks in their crate?” he asked.
“I didn’t want to lose them in the dark.” Had that been wrong, too? She held very still as she waited for his response.
“Good.”
It was hardly high praise. But at least she’d done one thing right. She breathed out slowly, releasing tension.
Jack groomed the horses and threw blankets across their backs. He walked over and looked down on the wood. “What the hell?”
Olivia winced.
Jack set the broken branches to the side. He threw most of the firewood back on the pile. Obviously her efforts hadn’t been worth a darn.
“I don’t know how to build a fire, but I can learn.”
He grunted, then set about building the fire. Making her efforts look puny, he fired sparks onto a nest of dried grass and the square of black fabric she hadn’t known how to use. He blew on it, then shoved the flaring pile under the three sticks steepled in the center.
He made it look simple.
“What is for supper?” asked Olivia. She hadn’t eaten since a hurried breakfast at a stage stop.
“Use anything you want out of supplies in the wagon.”
Olivia winced.
“There’s flour, butter, oats, beans...” He looked up and his eyes narrowed. “You’ve never cooked over an open fire, either.”
She’d never cooked. She should tell him, but unable to bear the flat look in his eyes at every revelation she made, she bit her tongue. Shaking her head, she looked down.
“Just sit. I’ll get us food in a minute.” He coaxed the fire, adding twigs and larger sticks until lively flames popped and crackled. He settled rocks around the edge. “Fires need lots of air.”
Olivia folded up her knees and put her chin on them. Jack didn’t stop moving until well after the stars were out. He lit a lantern over by the wagon. He gave the chicks water and cracked corn and oats. Then he wrapped the heated rocks and placed them in the crate. When he returned, he held out a couple of things that looked like dried excrement.
Olivia jerked back. “What is that?”
“Jerky.” Jack put one to his mouth, sank his strong white teeth in it and ripped off a piece. He waved the remaining strip in her face. “Try it.”
She reluctantly took the leathery thing from his hand and sniffed. A faint beefy scent made her mouth water.
With his rifle beside him, Jack sat down cross-legged. “Indians smoke and dry venison strips so it doesn’t spoil.”
Not beef, but deer, then. Olivia tried to nibble but found it impossible. She had to rip a bite away and then chewed and chewed.
Her civilized eating habits were already gone. What else would be gone by the end of the day? She surreptitiously cast a glance in Jack’s direction. He stared off into the darkness as he chewed. Was he thinking of lying with her? Was he looking forward to it?
Olivia knew nothing of what actually occurred in the marriage bed. Her curiosity was likely to be satisfied, but Jack was a stranger. He’d said little. If he was eager to bed her, it wasn’t at all clear.
Would Jack be gentle or would he be impatient? Olivia watched him for clues. All she could tell was that he didn’t seem terribly interested. He hadn’t really kissed her after they were wed. Just a peck on her cheek.
Her mind swirled back to the brief exchange following the ceremony.
“What did the minister mean when he said he won’t file the certificate for a month?” she ventured.
“He meant that if the marriage is a mistake, he’ll tear up the certificate rather than officially record the marriage.”
“What?” She felt punched in the gut. “Like a trial period?”
Jack shot her a narrow-eyed look. “Simpler than a divorce if it isn’t going to work.”
“I didn’t know such things were done.” Her hushed voice shook. A coldness crept into her chest and took root. Was she married or not? She sucked in as much air as she could.
“Not everyone is suited for life in the Rockies.”
She bit on her lip until she tasted blood. Would this marriage be as temporary as every situation had been since the deaths of her parents? “D-does that mean it would be like the marriage never happened?”
“Officially, yes. There wouldn’t be a record.”
She’d thought she would finally have a permanent home. The coldness in her chest spread as if she’d been shoved outside naked into a blizzard.
“Did you want him to tell me that?” she squawked.
“No. I didn’t think it would be a good idea to alarm you.” His voice was tight. Jack leaned forward.
Olivia jumped.
He put another pine branch on the fire. The needles flared and snapped, echoing the turmoil inside her. Her stomach quivered, and even if a decent meal had been offered, she didn’t think she could have eaten.
“Don’t fret. It is just a precaution in case you cannot handle life out here.”
Or he didn’t want her. Pulling her knees tighter to her chest, she looked down at the ground. Did he want her to leave?
“Is the jerky that bad?” Jack asked.
Olivia looked at the remaining piece in her hand and forced herself to take another bite. Her stomach protested. Was he waiting for her to finish eating before taking her to bed?
Jack pulled out another strip from a pouch and contentedly ate. The strong line of his stubble-darkened jaw caught her attention. His hair was shorter than when photographed, but the ends curled, defying the neatness of the fresh cut.
She knew so little of him, beyond that he lived in the mountains, trapped and traded with the Indians for furs and wrote of the mountains with reverence. She wanted to learn about him. Perhaps the distance between them could be bridged. “I really want to like it here.”
Jack grunted.
Not exactly encouragement to talk.
Abruptly, Jack stood and brushed his hands on his pants. He looked over his shoulder.
His expression turned determined, as if he had an unpleasant task ahead of him, Jack lifted the lantern. “I’ve made a pallet of sorts in the wagon. We have a long day tomorrow if we’re to make it home.”
Home. The word felt foreign. She had been heading to a new home in Boston when the train wreck had derailed her life. She wanted to go home, but wasn’t sure such a place existed for her. Perhaps sharing the night with him would allow her to feel less like an unwelcome intruder into his world.
Olivia shakily rose to her feet. The stars twinkled in the sky and she couldn’t delay any longer. The jerky sat in her stomach like a lead ball. Jack put his hand on the small of her back. She stumbled forward.
The march across the twenty feet felt like miles, yet they reached the wagon too soon. Her heart tripped. She rubbed her damp palms on her skirt. Jack stood so close she could feel his heat. His hand on her lower back seared through the layers of clothing, and her knees turned to jelly.
Setting the lantern on the seat, he slid his hand to her shoulder and turned her to face him. Her body moved woodenly. He cupped both her shoulders. She felt so strange, floaty and yet tense. She wished he would tell her what to expect, that he would take care of her, that she had nothing to fear, but he was silent. Not knowing where to look, she stared at the V at the neck of his shirt.
He slid his hands across her back and brought her against his body. He was solid, warm and, oh, so strong. She didn’t know what to do, how to respond. So she did nothing, her arms hanging awkwardly at her sides. Tension screamed through her body as strange tingles spread along her skin.
He expelled a breath before pressing his lips to her forehead.
With a quick movement, he scooped her up.
She gasped.
He hoisted her above the wagon bed’s rim and lowered her. A small place behind the seat had been hollowed out, but the space was only enough for one person, unless he intended for them to pile on top of one another as the chicks did. Hot and cold streams ran down her spine.
Setting her down on the pile of skins and blankets, he said, “Good night, Olivia.” He returned to the fire, then settled cross-legged by it.
She sat stunned. “You’re not sleeping here?”
“I’m not sleeping. I’m keeping watch.”
Shadows all around concealed any menace. The strange boulders looked as if they’d been marbles tossed out by the hand of a giant. What lurked in their shadows? Her heart hammered. The wind soughed through the trees. “Watch for what?”
He picked up his gun and laid it across his lap. “Animals.”
Bears? Olivia nodded slowly and turned to burrow into the bedding. He was her husband and protector. She could relinquish her worries to him.
Underneath her relief at not facing the mysteries of the night, disappointment curled in her stomach. She tried to tell herself Jack just had a duty to protect her and the animals. But she suspected she had been such a disappointment he didn’t want to make her his wife.
Chapter Four
I haven’t traveled since my youth, but I have always dreamed of seeing the Rocky Mountains. I was born in New York. In 1853 my family was moving to Boston when the train had an accident. The engineer missed the signal that the drawbridge was open and the cars fell into the water. My parents did not survive and I never made it to Boston. I would like to know more about your home.
The fire burned low. The temperature dropped. Jack pulled a hide over his legs. In a perfect world, his wife would be nestled beside him keeping him warm, and they’d be farther from the road where Kincaid and his ilk could chance upon them. Predators came in all shapes and sizes. He added a branch to the fire. The pine needles flared.
Olivia’s dread of the intimacies couldn’t be clearer. Since leaving town, she’d been unnaturally quiet. Several times she’d jerked away from him. When Jack had hugged her, she’d kept her arms rigidly at her sides.
When she’d allowed him to touch her, she always stared studiously at his chest rather than angle her chin for a kiss.