Come Home to Me (15 page)

“Jake.” She gasped his name in surprise, and grabbed his shoulders. He didn’t give her a chance to tell him to stop. He inhaled a deep breath, the scent of peaches and cinnamon filling his senses, and he brought his lips down on hers. Her body stiffened, and he eased his hold on her slightly. For a split second, he regretted his heated actions. What if he misread her body language from this afternoon? When her grip on his shoulders softened, and her curves pressed against him, the air left his lungs. With a groan, he renewed his kiss, moving his lips against hers, coaxing her to do the same.

A soft whimper escaped her throat. Rachel’s arms reached up and snaked around his neck. Jake was sure his heart would break through the confines of his ribs. Never before had a woman in his arms ignited such an overwhelming rush of emotions as what coursed through his veins at this moment. His hand cupped the back of her head, holding her to him. He couldn’t get her close enough. His lips parted, and his tongue slid along the softness of her mouth.  Her body trembled as she leaned into him, and his arm around her waist molded her up against him.

Out of breath, he eased his head back from hers, and forced air back into his lungs. He cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand, and leaned his forehead against hers.

“I hope you’ll tell me what I’ve done to make you like me all of a sudden,” he breathed against her ear, and dipped his head to run his lips along her neck. Rachel shuddered. Her hands slid up his neck and cupped his face.

“You’ve done nothing different, Jake,” she whispered, her breathing labored. “You’ve simply worn me down like a wolf chasing a deer through the forest.”

Jake pulled his head back. Her words jolted him to the core. She still believed he was after only one thing. His hand gripped her shoulder. “Rachel, you’re not, as you put it, my next conquest. I haven’t thought about, or looked at, another woman since the day I met you. You’re driving me crazy.”

“What do you see in me, Jake?” Her voice held a hint of sadness. “I don’t understand why you’ve singled me out, when I don’t know anything about pleasing a man. You must know that I can’t be the kind of woman you’re used to having where you’re from.”

Jake sucked in a deep breath, and wrapped his arms around her, pressing her cheek against his chest. He kissed the top of her head.  “There are no girls like you where I’m from. That’s what I like about you.”

“You’re not the kind of man to set down roots,” she whispered into his shirt.

Jake squeezed his eyes shut, and clenched his jaw.
And you are the kind of girl who makes a man want to stick around.
If she only knew . . .

A sudden thought entered his mind. These last few weeks had made him realize how much he actually enjoyed the physical demands of working outdoors. Laboring without any of the modern conveniences at his disposal on the ranch back home, it seemed almost easy now in the twenty-first century. It sure beat living in the city.

Reverend Johnson must have known all along that sending Jake on this wagon train would make him see where his true calling was. It wasn’t in the city, as he believed for so long. Montana suddenly called to him. He couldn’t see himself as a nineteenth century farmer, though. He knew horses and cattle, not how to grow crops. What if he asked Rachel to come home with him to the future? She deserved an easier life. He could give her that, with all the modern conveniences the twenty-first century had to offer.

Reverend Johnson must want them to be together. The more he thought about it, the more firmly the idea took root in his mind. He was convinced he and Rachel were meant for each other. Why else would the old man make her his responsibility?

“Rachel, I –”

A soft cry came from inside the wagon, cutting into his thoughts. Rachel jerked out of his embrace. “Billy,” she whispered.

“What’s wrong with him?” Jake stepped away from her, running a hand through his hair. He fought to refocus his attention away from the sweet girl beside him. The intense fire from a moment ago cooled inside his body, but a soft flame remained, flickering softly around his heart.

“He wasn’t feeling well a while ago. He complained that his stomach hurt. I told him to lie down for a while, and it would pass.” Rachel headed for the back of the wagon.

A cold wave of dread washed over him. What was one of the first symptoms of cholera? Stomach pains? Followed by nausea and vomiting. Jake grabbed Rachel’s arm.

“Was Billy anywhere near those graves this afternoon?” His grip on her tightened.

“Yes, he and a few other children were by the river getting water when they found them. Why?”

Jake cursed. “Rachel, I think those people died of cholera. Don’t ask me how I know, but the Indians from a couple of days ago said there was a sickness going through the wagon camps ahead of us. It’s cholera.”

Rachel gasped loudly. “Cholera is deadly, isn’t it? Billy will die.” The panic in her voice was unmistakable.

“Not if we take care of him right away.” Jake gritted his teeth.

“There’s no cure.”

Not in this time
. “There’s treatments, and precautions.” Before going to the Flathead reservation with his mother, Jake had received immunization for cholera. He was fairly convinced there was no threat to him, but what about the rest of the emigrants in the group? If Billy had it, Rachel could be exposed already.  His mind raced. The bacteria that caused this deadly infection spread quicker than a wildfire, and could kill in less than a day.

Billy cried out again inside the wagon, and Rachel yanked her arm out of Jake’s hold. She scrambled onto the tailgate. The wagon swayed and creaked.

“It’s all right, Billy. I’m here. Where does it hurt?”

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” The boy’s strained words jolted Jake into action. He was even more convinced than a moment ago that Billy contracted cholera this afternoon. With those bodies buried so close to the river, the water had to be the source. The symptoms could appear within hours. How many others on the train had it?

Jake rushed into the center of camp. “Listen up everyone,” he called out forcefully. He stuck his thumb and forefinger in his mouth, and whistled loudly. “Listen up,” he yelled, until the camp quieted, and all eyes were on him.

“What burr got under your ass, Owens?” Wilson called, standing with a group of men. Some of them chuckled. Jake ignored the irritating smugness on the man’s face.

“Those graves from this afternoon. Those people died of cholera.” A collective loud uproar came from the people. Jake held his hands up in the air, and called for silence again. When no one quieted, he pulled his pistol from his belt and fired a shot in the air. It worked.

“I need you all to listen, and—”

“What makes you think it was cholera?” Wilson shouted. “You’re just scaring these good folks senseless.”

“I’m only warning you all,” Jake shouted. “I’ll be happy if I’m wrong. But if they died of cholera, we need to take precautions.”

“If there’s cholera in camp, there’s nothing we can do. Ain’t it catching?” Elijah Edwards stepped forward.

“You can’t catch it from another person,” Jake explained. “But those folks were buried close to the river. The water might be contaminated. That’s how you catch it. Ingesting infected water or food.” Jake tried to keep his explanations as simple as possible.

“How do you know all this, Owens? I always heard when one person gets it, someone else can catch it from the sick.”

“That’s not true,” Jake argued.

“So you’re sayin’ we can’t drink the water?” Jeb Miller chimed in.

“Everything you drink, or eat, or otherwise put in your mouth has to be boiled for a good twenty minutes,” Jake answered.

Wilson laughed. “What the hell good is that gonna do?”

Jake ran a frustrated hand over his face.  “Just trust me, okay?” If he started talking about bacteria, he was sure Wilson would run him out of camp and declare him mentally insane. “Suffice to say it kills the bug that makes you sick.” 

People murmured. Others shook their heads, or waved a dismissive hand at him. More than one man stared suspiciously into his cup, apparently looking for the bugs that might cause cholera.

“One other thing,” Jake continued forcefully. “Everyone needs to wash their hands in water that’s been boiled, with the strongest soap you have, and do it as many times a day as you think about it.”

He didn’t wait for a reaction from the group. He rushed back to the Parker wagon. Inside, he could hear Billy retching. Quickly, he hauled himself onto the tailgate.

“Do you have any sugar and salt, Rachel?” The soft light from a lantern illuminated her face as she bent over her nephew. Jake’s chest tightened, seeing the look of panic in her eyes.

“Yes, of course,” she stammered.

Jake glanced at Billy. The boy’s face was covered in sweat. Rachel held a bowl under his chin.

“Listen to me,” Jake said firmly, and waited for her to meet his stare. “I want you to go outside and boil a pot of water. Make sure it’s boiling fast for twenty minutes. Don’t drink anything other than water you’ve boiled. Don’t eat anything other than food that’s been cooked. Right now, don’t touch your hands or anything else to your mouth, until you’ve washed them thoroughly, do you understand?”

She nodded, but the bewildered look in her eyes said she didn’t understand at all. “I’ll tend to the boy. Do what I say, and make sure the other boys do the same. Now go, and get that water boiling.”

Rachel scrambled past him out of the wagon. Jake stared after her. The sheer bliss he felt not a half hour ago sunk in his gut faster than a rock in quicksand. What if she’d been infected already? He wouldn’t let himself think it. Cholera was easy to treat in the twenty-first century. Here, there were no IV’s to combat the severe dehydration that was the cause of death from a cholera infection. He only hoped the simple electrolyte solution he’d learned to make when nothing else was available to treat sick cattle would work on a sick boy as well.

Chapter 15

The morning bell clanged like a distant echo in Rachel’s mind. She slowly lifted her head from the hard surface her cheek rested against. Groaning, she rubbed at the stiffness in her neck. She sighed and forced her eyelids open. Was it morning already? Hadn’t she just closed her eyes? The soft glow of daylight seeped in through the canvas covering the wagon. Memories of the night before crept into her mind, and Rachel bolted upright. Billy!

Her eyes darted around the crammed interior of the wagon and came to rest on the outline of a small body lying on the makeshift bed of flour sacks in the far corner. Rachel pushed away from the wooden trunk she leaned against, and scrambled over burlap sacks and wooden crates. She leaned over Billy’s body, and a sigh of relief escaped her lips. His chest moved rhythmically up and down. She touched the back of her hand to his forehead. He was cool to the touch.

Rachel rubbed at her sleepy eyes, and swept strands of hair from her face. Her coiled braid had come loose of its pins. She would have to re-braid it sometime this morning. Her head turned. Where were Tommy and David?  Then she remembered that Mary had offered to take the two boys to her wagon for the night so Rachel could tend to Billy.

“Aunt Rachel?” Billy’s soft voice croaked. Rachel’s head snapped back to her nephew. His eyelids fluttered open, and he stirred to sit up.

“How are you feeling, Billy?” she asked softly. Running her hand over his forehead to smooth his hair back, she offered a warm smile.

“I don’t feel sick anymore. Jake took care of me.”

Jake! Rachel’s heart sped up like a bullet fired from a shotgun. Memories of the night came flooding back.  He’d been convinced that Billy suffered from cholera. After she boiled a pot of water, Jake mixed several cups of it together with salt and sugar, and sat with the boy, coaxing him to drink the concoction along with plain water all night long. Each time Billy’s nausea forced the liquid back up, Jake made him drink more. Rachel had no idea what the purpose was in asking the boy to swallow all that liquid when his stomach obviously tried to reject it. She’d argued with Jake to let Billy’s stomach rest, but he’d simply told her to trust him.

Heat inched up her neck and into her cheeks. She did trust him. She trusted him, and so much more.
You love him.
She smiled softly at the memories of her forward behavior from the day before. After her talk with Mary Holland, Rachel realized fully that Jake Owens had worked his way into her heart from the moment she first met him.

A man doesn’t look at a woman the way he looks at you with the intention of walking away.
Mary’s words echoed in her mind. Even Peter, during their six-month courtship, had never held her in such an intimate way or kissed her with such passion. And she’d returned Jake’s kiss with equal abandon. Peter certainly hadn’t evoked such an array of intense feelings in her that Jake did. Want, need, joy, even anger. She felt every range of emotion just thinking about the scout.

Was he courting her, in his own unconventional ways? His reputation as a man who’d been with lots of women and never stayed with one nagged at her. She wondered how many other women had fallen in love with Jake Owens, only to discover he had no intentions of staying in one place. Did he plan to ride away when they reached Oregon? He’d said she was unlike any woman he’d met before. She wasn’t sure what he meant by that. Could Jake give up his wandering ways?

“Can I get out of bed?” Billy said behind her, interrupting her contemplations.

“If you feel well enough. But I only want you to sit on the tailgate. No running around yet until I know you’re all better.” Jake seemed convinced that Billy had cholera. The boy appeared to be perfectly fine this morning. Perhaps he’d only had a simple stomach ailment after all.

People’s voices from outside the wagon reminded Rachel that she’d better hurry with her morning chores. She needed to gather buffalo chips for her fire, and set water on to boil for coffee. Mr. Wilson kept to a tight schedule. He only allowed for two hours in the morning for folks to prepare breakfast and get the teams hitched before calling “move out.”

She climbed from the tailgate, and glanced around the center of the wagon circle. Most women busily piled dried buffalo chips for their morning fires, and some already stirred the contents of their Dutch ovens. Someone had set her ovens on the ground by the rear wagon wheel. Both were scraped clean of the cobblers she’d prepared last night. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she never took the time to even eat supper. Since she already had a late start, perhaps Thomas would be satisfied with some simple biscuits and leftover buffalo meat for breakfast.

Her eyes roamed the camp. Where was Jake? She wondered if he would kiss her again today. Her body shuddered as delicious warm shivers coursed through her limbs. The memory of his kiss, and his strong arms wrapped around her in a protective embrace left her feeling almost giddy. The smile she wore froze on her face. She couldn’t openly show her affection for the man. Everyone in camp believed she was married to Thomas. Mr. Wilson couldn’t find out that she was, in fact, a single woman. How could she be with Jake, while pretending to be married to her brother? After what happened last evening, how long could she conceal her feelings in front of everyone and pretend indifference?

The first thing she had to do was talk to Thomas. She had to convince him to allow Jake to court her. Jake had told her yesterday that Thomas warned him to stay away. Rachel knew that Thomas didn’t think Jake was the right man for her. She would have to try and convince him otherwise.

Rachel moved to the fire pit. She’d whip up a batch of biscuits once her fire was lit. A loud moan behind her stopped her in her tracks. A cold chill ran down her spine, and her body turned in the direction of the sound. She didn’t see anyone except Billy by the wagon. The awful retching noises of someone vomiting were quickly followed by another moan.  Rachel sped to the wagon’s side, and peered underneath the bed.

“Thomas?” She shrank back in horror. Her brother writhed on the ground in his sleeping blanket, clutching at his stomach. The skin on his face was of a bluish-gray hue, and soaked in sweat.

“Billy! Run and find Jake,” she called frantically, and dropped to her knees. A terrible stench emanated from her brother, and Rachel held her hand to her mouth, afraid she would be sick from the smell. Vomit was everywhere on the ground. She scooted as close to him as she could without getting the foul liquid on her dress.

“Thomas?” she called quietly, trying to hide the panic in her voice.

“Rachel, get back.” Jake’s forceful voice behind her startled her, just before he grabbed her arms, and not-too gently hauled her out from under the wagon.

“I have to help him,” she cried. “He’s sick.” Wide-eyed, she stared up at Jake. The uncharacteristically fearful look in his eyes as he pulled her away from her brother scared her almost as much as seeing Thomas lying under the wagon in his own vomit.

“He’s got cholera. Go and wash your hands the way I told you last night. I’ll take care of him.”

Terror at Jake’s words made her limbs go weak. “I’ll prepare your salt and sugar concoction. It worked on Billy.” Rachel’s eyes darted to her brother. Jake still held her by the upper arms, his focus shifting from her to Thomas on the ground. “Do something,” she yelled at him. Why was he just standing there?

Jake blinked, then released her. “Go make the solution. I’ll see what I can do. But wash your hands first.”

Rachel scurried on unsteady legs toward the fire pit where she’d left her kettle and a washbasin. Several people had obviously noticed the commotion, and came to see what was going on at her wagon. Mary rushed to her side, and put an arm around her shoulder.

 ”Can you . . . can you keep the children away from here, please,” Rachel said, her voice shaky.

“Of course, Rachel. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of them and get them something to eat.” She peered under the wagon at Thomas.

“Thank you.”

“Henry Granger is sick, too,” Mary said. “But not as bad as Thomas.”

Rachel remembered Henry Granger as the other man who’d gone with Thomas to re-bury the dead emigrants.

“Jake was instructing Henry’s wife to give him a mixture of salt and sugar water when Billy came to find him,” Mary continued. “Henry said he and Thomas both drank water from the river close to the graves.”

Jeb Miller came up beside her, and after offering his sympathies, called to the curious onlookers to get back to their own wagons, and to follow the safety measures Jake had talked about.  Rachel soaked her hands in a pan of water that was left from the night before and scrubbed at them with lye soap. Then she measured out the amount of salt and sugar the way Jake had shown her when he treated Billy, and poured water from the kettle to mix the solution. She rushed back to the side of the wagon, and handed Jake the cup.

Thomas vomited again. Even with Jake forcing the liquid into him, he expelled it minutes later. Relentlessly, Jake forced the fluids down Thomas’ throat. After what seemed like an eternity, Thomas quieted, and fell into a restless sleep.

“Is he getting better?” Rachel’s voice quivered, staring up at Jake who’d just crawled out from under the wagon.

He wore a hard expression on his face, unlike anything she’d seen before. He didn’t answer for a long time.

“Jake? Is he getting better?” Rachel implored, the tears streaming down her face. She reached a hand out to touch his arm. She didn’t want to think about the possibility that her brother would die. Jake had made Billy better. He’d do the same for Thomas.

“I don’t know, Rachel. He’s pretty bad. He won’t keep anything down.” Jake’s jaw clenched, and the solemn look in his eyes sent a jolt of panic through her. “Dammit!” He punched at the wooden wagon bed. “He needs to be in a hospital with IV fluids. I don’t even know if what I’m giving him is the right thing to do.”

Rachel’s eyebrows drew together, and she shook her head slightly. She had no idea what Jake was talking about. The only hospitals she’d ever heard about were in the big cities back east.

“I swear to you I’ll do whatever I can to see him through this,” he added hastily. His hand reached up as if to touch her, but he quickly dropped it again. “The best thing you can do right now is keep the fire going, and the water boiling so we can keep giving him fluids to drink.”

“All right,” she said, too numb to say anything else.

Rachel poured more water into the kettle to set over the fire, when the loud voice of Frank Wilson boomed through camp. “Hitch up! Time to move out!”

Hitch up? What?  Thomas was in no condition to be moved, let alone drive the wagon. Jake emerged from under the rig, and headed straight for Wilson.

“We have a very sick man here. He can’t be moved right now,” Jake barked at the wagon master, his arm pointing in the direction of Rachel’s wagon. Wilson leaned forward, inches from Jake’s face. Rachel stared at the two men who looked like a couple of dogs snarling at each other, ready to go at each other’s throats.

“We ain’t got time to wait around for one person, Owens. His wife can drive the wagon.”

“Thomas Parker is too sick. He won’t be able to handle the jostling of riding in a wagon.”

“Owens.” Mr. Wilson pointed his finger at Jake. “I got thirteen other families here I gotta worry about. Either Parker can move, or he stays put.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jake yelled. “You’re just going to leave him here?”

Wilson shrugged, and turned to walk away. “His wife can stay with him. If he survives, they can catch up, or wait for the next company to come through here.”

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Jake stomped after the wagon master. “You can’t leave a woman here alone in the middle of nowhere to tend to a sick man.”

Wilson shot him a cold stare. “I can, and I will.” He turned his attention back to the people who’d stopped what they were doing to watch the confrontation.

“Then I’m staying here, too,” Jake called after him.