Dangerous Heart (13 page)

Kip Caldwell was finally out of the woods. The combination of onion soup and doses of quinine had killed the cholera that threatened to eat away at his insides. In the last few hours, he'd managed to keep a few bites of the soup down and several swallows of water. Not a lot, but infinitely better than before when he became violently ill from the smallest sip of water into his mouth.

Buddy looked down at his pale, sleeping friend and shook his head. “I sure hope he pulls through like I did.” His voice cracked, and Grant suspected it had little to do with adolescent changing and more to do with the weight of responsibility bearing down on the poor lad. Grant's heart went out to him. “This isn't your fault, Buddy.”

Tears shot to his eyes. “I was sick when I got to camp. If it wasn't for me, no one else would have taken sick and died.” Angrily, he swiped away the tears that were making rapid trails down his cheeks.

“You didn't do it on purpose.” Grant slipped the bottle of quinine back into his bag. “No one blames you.”

But he knew that wasn't true. Plenty of folks, mainly those who had lost loved ones, did blame Buddy. Grant had even heard Ginger's name grumbled about, since she and Buddy were kin. Blake had put out a half a dozen fires from people who wanted to send the Freemans packing. Only the fact that Ginger had been such a help to so many people and had brought in so much meat kept the grumbling from escalating into something more.

Buddy jammed his hands into his trouser pockets and shook his head with determination. “I'm going to make it up to him. To all of the folks who've lost family.”

“You're doing a fine job already, Buddy. I don't know what I'd have done without your help over the last couple of days. And you were barely off your own sickbed and still weak as a newborn colt. So you just consider your debt to this wagon train paid in full and be proud of yourself.”

Even though his eyes remained moist and his voice quivered, he seemed to perk up at Grant's words as they headed toward the tent flap.

“You think I could be a doctor?”

Grant slipped outside and held the flap for the boy. “I don't see why not. You'll need some schooling. But you're a bright young man; I'm sure you'd do well.”

Buddy's face clouded. “I don't see how I could ever go to college. I doubt Pa would let me.”

Grant clapped his hand on Buddy's shoulder. “Don't fret about it for now. You have plenty of time. How about if I loan you a couple of my medical books?”

And just like that, the cloud lifted from Buddy's expression, and his eyes lit up. “Yes, sir! I'd like that a lot.”

“All right then. Go and get cleaned up and ready for the service, and I'll pick out a book and bring it with me to the meeting.”

“Yes sir!” Buddy took off at a run. Grant smiled to himself. The boy's skin practically hung on his bones from his illness, but then, he hadn't been that nourished before cholera, if Grant had to guess. He made a mental note to see to it that Buddy received extra food. With Web and Miss Sadie gone, and Ginger leaving again right after the service today, he figured he'd have to appeal to some of the women of the train, such as Mrs. Kane and Toni, to make sure the boy was fed regular and nourishing meals.

“Grant Kelley!” The sound of Ginger's angry voice stopped Grant in his tracks and all thoughts of Buddy's wellbeing fled from his mind. He whipped around, conscious of the way his heartbeat picked up at the sight of her shapely figure filling out a buckskin shirt and trousers. It had been said around camp that Ginger wasn't womanly—folks had gone so far as to say she wanted to look like a man—but never was Grant more aware of her femininity than now as she approached him, her eyes flashing, her braid bouncing with each step.

“Something wrong?” He tensed. When she was angry, and the anger seemed pointed in his direction, it was never good to let down his guard.

“Yes.” Her shoulders squared, and she narrowed her gaze. “Toni says…”

Her hesitation intrigued him. Ginger was rarely at a loss for words. Not that her words always made sense, but she wasn't the type to weigh her thoughts before she expressed them.

“Toni says what?” So help him, he couldn't help finding her adorable even now when her nose was in the air and her lips were pinched like a Boston schoolmarm. And he'd seen his share of those growing up in the East.

His grin seemed to be just the nudge she needed. “Toni says when you asked me if you could sit with me at the service…” She paused again—this time, her face flushed, and she averted her gaze.

He felt his own neck heat up at her words. It wasn't exactly proper for her to bring it up. Besides, he was still feeling a little stung by her nonchalant response to his request.

“What are you trying to say, Ginger?”

She gathered an enormous breath, and he could see by the rise in her chest that she was about to just let him have it. He braced himself as she let the breath go amid an onslaught of words. “Toni said you were asking me if you could come courting. Is that true?” Without awaiting a response, she continued, stepping even closer to him, which made it a little difficult for him to concentrate on what she was spouting. Clearly unaware of this fact, she continued. “Because if it is—and you'd best not call Toni a liar or you'll answer to me—if it is, you can just forget it, because I'm not interested in being courted by you or anyone else. But especially you.” Her expression softened a little, and she hesitated for the merest of seconds. “Well, not
especially
you. Just anyone.”

Even through the knowledge that she didn't want anything to do with him, Grant felt a surge of affection for this little hothead. Especially after she backtracked, as though afraid of hurting his feelings.

How could a woman not understand the rituals associated with courting? He understood that she'd been raised in a camp full of outlaw men, but he'd always just figured women were born knowing how to manipulate romantic situations. Something about this situation just delighted him. That delight, combined with the surge of affection, was the only thing he could attribute his next actions to. Bending forward, he took her hands in his and pressed a kiss to the startled girl's cheek before she could duck away.

She yanked her hands away, and one palm flew to her cheek as she stepped back, staring at him with wild, enormous eyes. “I—how—” Even her sputtering seemed adorable to him.

“How dare you kiss me!”

Outraged, she seemed to be struggling for breath. His fingers gently encircled her upper arm. “Ginger, relax.”

Predictably, she jerked away. “Don't tell me to relax, you…you…”

“Cad?”

“Worse than that! But I won't say it in front of these good, Christian folks.”

Grant glanced about and sure enough, they were beginning to draw a crowd of curious onlookers. Some looked amused, some indignant. Some indifferent. But Grant wasn't about to look like a fool in front of a crowd. He raised his hand. “It's all right, folks,” he said. “We're just going to check on Kip Caldwell.”

He took her by the arm and led her to the tent, away from prying eyes. Surprisingly enough, she didn't protest as
he pulled back the tent flap and hung back for her to duck in ahead of him.

“Now, look,” he said, before she could light into him again. “I'm sorry for giving you a peck on the cheek, okay? It was only because I found it endearing that you didn't know I was trying to court you.”

Her blush deepened. “So you were mocking me?”

“Of course not. Why do you always get offended over the wrong things?”

“I don't.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I only get offended when men kiss me without my permission. Don't I have a right to say who gets that close to me?”

Her chin began to quiver. Grant fought hard against pulling her to him. “Again, I apologize. It wasn't very honorable of me not to ask permission first.”

She narrowed her gaze. “Really?”

Grant supposed since surrender wasn't really within her realm of behavior, she had a hard time accepting an apology. “Really. Now, let's discuss the reason you came to see me in the first place.

Her expression grew blank. “What reason?” Then her eyes lit. “Oh, yeah. You want to court me. Is that true?”

“What if it were true?” Grant's heart slammed against his chest. But he'd already set something into motion, and whatever the outcome, he couldn't back out now. Actually, she'd already said she didn't want anyone courting her. Now he felt foolish.

Ginger seemed just as nervous, as she gathered in a gulp of air and her eyes widened.

“Is it true?” Her tone had dropped, and she didn't seem nearly as defensive.

Grant took heart. Rather than risk spooking her, Grant kept his distances and didn't give into the temptation to take her hands again. “I guess it is.”

Her expression fell. Her soft, brown eyes sought his understanding. “You shouldn't even think about me that way, Grant. It's not possible.”

“It could be, couldn't it?” The fact that she hadn't started yelling bolstered his courage. “Unless Web was right, and you're promised to someone else.”

Shock froze her expression for a split second. “What's Web got to do with this? You been talking to him about me?”

“Not really. I just thought he should have gone with you to make sure you were safe, and he told me to keep my nose out of his business. He seemed to think my interest in you was a little more than casual, so he took it upon himself to tell me you were promised to a man in his gang.”

“Well, I'm not. Lane Conners makes me sick, and I don't know why Web promised him I'd marry him some day, because I'd die first.”

Her impassioned words left no doubt in Grant's mind that she meant exactly what she said. The thought both lifted his spirits and worried him. What if Web pressed the matter with her? Would she feel compelled to give in? Despite the distance she kept from Web, he still seemed to have a hold over her.

“Maybe you shouldn't be the one to take the tent back
to Miss Sadie. What if you stay and let one of the other women—Amanda Kane maybe—take your place?”

She waved away his concern. “Don't worry. Lane hightailed it out of camp night before last. I doubt he'll be back.”

He'd been thinking more of Web, but the way her thoughts went straight to Lane worried him. Plus, even though she'd said the words with seeming conviction, a hint of doubt flashed in her eyes, and Grant wasn't convinced. “Maybe you shouldn't go anyway.”

“I'm going.” Her determination reminded him of the way Fannie had stood up to Blake two nights before so she could be with Jenny Shewmate while she gave birth. Ginger had the same indomitable spirit as the wagon master's bride. The kind of spirit a woman needed to survive out west. Someone who wouldn't run away or shrink back when hardship came. Someone who could smile at a baby and stand loyally beside a friend. Or a husband. The kind of woman he needed for his wife.

“Why are you staring at me?” Ginger's voice yanked him from his thoughts.

Before he could answer, light streamed into the tent as the flap opened and Fannie slipped inside as though his thoughts had summoned her. She looked from Grant to Ginger. “Am I interrupting?”

Ginger shook her head

Fannie turned to Grant. “How's Kip?”

Barely able to concentrate on the patient or Fannie's question, Grant forced himself to focus. “He's getting better. But
he'll need to stay in bed and take the broth. He'll be weak for a while. But I believe he'll pull through.”

Fannie's weary body slumped with relief. “Praise God.”

Ginger smiled and slipped her arm around Fannie's shoulders. “You see, I told you Grant would get him through this.”

Her words rammed Grant, square in the gut.

Fannie grinned. “You sure did. Even when I wasn't being very nice to you.”

A blush stained Ginger's cheeks. “I told you I wasn't going to hold it against you, didn't I?”

Grant took in this exchange between the two women. The fact that Ginger hadn't, at the very least, given Fannie a good piece of her mind indicated what he'd believed for a long time. Ginger Freeman had more potential than anyone gave her credit for. Once a person chipped away to the heart of the matter, she would shine like the northern star. And he had every intention of being the man holding the chisel.

Even the frigid air couldn't diminish the joy Ginger felt at sitting in the Bible meeting with the rest of the camp. They'd been pushing so hard lately, the regular Sunday meetings had been sparse for the few folks that took the time to attend. No one blamed those who stayed away. There was barely time enough for a verse and a prayer before Blake forced them to travel a full day's miles. Even the most devout among them didn't grumble about the pace and traveling on the Lord's Day. Everyone understood what was at stake if they didn't reach the Blue Mountains before the snows were too deep to allow travel. But today, not only was the train still stopped because of illness, but people needed the hope that coming together to worship afforded them.

This was a smaller, more humble crowd than had met last time. Just about every family had either lost a member or a friend. When all was said and done, thirty deaths had occurred within a few days and the entire wagon train seemed at a loss to know how to carry on. That was the main reason, Toni had confided, that Sam decided to hold a formal service this morning.

Ginger tried to ignore the angry looks that a few folks aimed at Buddy. If only they knew her brother. He was the sweetest boy anyone could hope to meet. Although one person didn't seem to blame him. Katie Caldwell sat next to him, happily sharing her Bible as Sam stood tall on the gate of Toni's wagon and delivered a sermon about God's faithfulness.

Ginger divided her attention between the looks of anger toward Buddy, Katie's infatuation, and Sam's sermon. She didn't hear a lot of it, but when he said, “With God all things are possible,” she perked right up and decided to pay attention.

“He's brought us through a twister, Indians, outlaws, and now cholera.” The half-Indian scout and camp preacher's voice never wavered. “We can trust God to help us fight the rest of the giants we have to face and bring us into the promised land.”

Sam's voice rose with passion, igniting Ginger's faith and courage to go the rest of the journey. She fought the urge to holler
amen
with the handful of men and women that spoke out in agreement.

“How can you say he brought us through?” Tension thickened the air as Ralph Crane shot to his feet. “Answer me, half-breed.”

Ginger's ire rose at the man's use of the term. But she knew he was grieving, so she decided not to call him out for it. Besides, Sam appeared to be comfortable dealing with the situation on his own.

“You're still here, aren't you?” he replied, his voice laden with sympathy.

The man's face was awash with tears as he shook his head in what appeared to be a fight for clarity. “What good is it for me
to be here if my boy is gone?” He turned and shoved his finger toward Buddy. Ginger tensed, her hand going instinctively to her revolver. She fingered her pistol and sat forward, poised to take whatever action might become necessary to protect her brother. “How can he still be alive when my boy is gone?”

Buddy's face blanched, and fear shook his voice and hands, but he turned to Sam. “I'd like to know the answer to that, too, preacher.”

His response seemed to throw his accuser off course. The rest of the onlookers remained silent. But Buddy wasn't finished. He stood, still facing Sam. “I never knew much about Jesus and such until I joined this camp. And I'm still a little confused why a man so good would died for someone that ain't been so good.”

“Don't try to bring God into this, boy!” Ralph had recovered his voice and to Ginger's dismay, Buddy's heartfelt speech didn't seem to be having a softening affect on the grieving father. “You and that pa of yours brought the cholera to us.”

That was all Ginger could take. She jumped to her feet. “Ralph, you'd best shut that trap of yours. Now, I know you're mourning your son. It's natural to want to find someone to blame, but there is no one to blame here. My brother fell off his horse from being so sick he couldn't stay in the saddle, and the scouts brought him into camp. And I'm not sorry they did! As much as you're blaming God for taking your son, I'm thanking Him for sparing Buddy.”

“You are, Ginger?” Surprise widened Buddy's eyes.

Irritated, Ginger glared at him. “Don't butt in, Buddy. Of course I'm glad you're alive.”

But, again, he wouldn't be deterred. “Do you really believe in God and Jesus, like these folks?”

Faced with the question, all the fire went out of Ginger. She shrugged and said simply, “Yes, I do believe. In my heart, I know we grew up in a dark place, and this place is light. Even with the troubles and hard times, there's goodness and hope among these God-fearing people. I saw that right off. I figure only someone who knows God can have that.”

“But do you know Him?” Buddy pressed. “Like they do?”

Ginger's palms were dampening at the realization that she and Buddy were at the center of everyone's attention. “Why do you keep asking all these questions?”

“Because I want to know Him like the doctor does, and all these other people. They pray and really believe God is listening.”

Ginger remembered not long ago she'd felt silly for speaking to God. “Well, there's no point in praying to thin air, is there?”

Toni stepped up beside her and placed an arm around her shoulders. “Do you want to answer Buddy's question?”

Ginger swallowed hard to fight back tears and all thoughts of Ralph and his accusations were pushed firmly from her mind. “If I know God?”

Toni nodded.

Yes would be a lie, but it wasn't as thought she didn't know him either. After all, she'd been coming to the meetings for some time now. She'd even prayed. In the end, she gave a shrug and answered, “I don't know.”

“You can be sure today, if you want,” Sam said.

Ginger had seen other people go forward and join the “family of God,” as they called it. She'd silently mocked at times, had been defensive at others and walked away, but now she had no desire to do any of those things.

She glanced at Buddy to ask if he wanted to go with her, but the boy was already headed forward. Amid murmurs of praise from the wagon train members, he knelt at a makeshift altar of wood and pickle barrels and gave his life to God. Before Ginger quite knew what was happening, she started forward on wobbly legs and joined him. When she stood up fifteen minutes later, she felt her insides light up as her lungs took in a fresh breath of clean air.

Soon she was surrounded by women ready to embrace her. “Sister Ginger,” they called her, eliciting an uncertain grin from her lips.

Suddenly, the crowd of women parted, and Grant stood in front of her, his handsome face split into a tender smile, his eyes moist. He didn't make a move toward her, but his arms opened. “May I?” he asked.

A laugh bubbled up from deep inside of her and left her throat as she nodded and stepped into his embrace.

From the corner of her eyes, she saw a man step toward Buddy. She tensed in Grant's arms and pulled back as she realized Ralph was face-to-face with her brother. Her blood ran cold. All she could see was Buddy, dying on the ground. Just like Clem.

Grant followed her gaze. He took her arm. “Wait,” he whispered. “Look at Ralph's face. That's not anger.”

The lined, weathered face was wet with tears. He shoved a book toward Buddy. “My son's Bible.”

A gasp left Buddy's throat. “I don't know what to say, sir. I don't feel right takin' it from you.” And yet he eyed the book like a starving man staring at a venison steak.

Ralph took a deep, broken breath. “I asked why God spared you. And now I know.”

“Sir?” Buddy said, his own eyes filling with tears. He didn't even bother to wipe them away as they ran down his face.

“Samuel had known Jesus all his life. He was ready to go. You weren't. I still don't know why God would take such a good son, but I know why He brought you here and why He didn't let you die. It seems fittin' you take Samuel's Bible. That book was his pride and joy.” A sad, fond smile tipped the corners of his lips. “'Bout wore it out from readin' it so much.”

Finally, Buddy reached out and took the Bible. He hugged it close. “I'll treasure it, sir. I won't let it out of my sight.”

“Treasure the words inside. They'll teach you how to live.”

Awe filled Buddy's face. “Honest?”

“Every word is inspired by God above. I believe that. Even if I forgot it myself for a little while.”

“Thank you, sir! Thank you.”

Ralph sniffed back a fresh onslaught of tears, cleared his throat, clapped Buddy on the shoulder, and then turned without a word. The travelers made an aisle for him.

Ginger lifted her gaze to Grant.

His eyes were on her, and he smiled. Reaching forward, he thumbed away tears she hadn't known were there. Suddenly shy, she averted her gaze. There were still a lot of ques
tions in her mind. Still things to confess. She knew she cared for Grant, but as she read in his eyes how much he cared for her, she couldn't muster up the same kind of optimism plainly written on his face. On the contrary, she was plagued with uncertainty. Despite her new status in the family of God, there were still a lot of secrets between them.

How on earth could they ever move past such obstacles and be together? Sam had said with God all things were possible. But how could that be, with something as impossible as this? Ginger couldn't bear for him to look at her that way. Not now. She gathered a short breath. “I have to go.”

He gave a little laugh of disbelief. “What do you mean?”

“Miss Sadie is waiting for the tent. I'll be back in a few days.”

She left him staring after her, and she knew he was more than likely confused. But if he knew what she did, he'd understand. She'd have to tell him soon. She only hoped he didn't hate her forever when he found out that it was her fault his beloved wife had died.

 

Grant stared after Ginger, shaking his head in disbelief at her abrupt exit. How could she live through such a momentous occasion and walk away as though nothing had happened? Not only that, but she had given him the first real indication that she might possibly share his feelings and might care for him. And she wanted to just leave?

Determination compelled him forward, and he was glad for all the well-wishers who slowed her flight. It gave him a chance to catch up to her before she'd gone more than a few feet.

“Ginger, wait.”

A ragged breath quivered through her body as she continued to walk. “Not now, Grant.”

“I can't just let you go on back, as though nothing has happened.”

She shook her head, her eyes filled with…sadness? How could that be at a time like this? “I have to go. I'll be back as soon as Miss Sadie says the men will make it. Then we'll have to talk, but I can't yet. Please understand.”

“I want to. I truly do. But those men don't deserve your attention, Ginger. They're outlaws, thieves. Murderers.”

She flinched. “You took care of Buddy when you had to have known he was part of the outlaws band that attacked us that day. I know you were pretending to give us the benefit of the doubt, but only a fool wouldn't have figured it out. I imagine Blake's going to kick us right out as soon as the cholera sickness is over, anyway.”

“Well, I don't know about that. But Buddy was different. Buddy's just a boy. Those others are full grown men and they know exactly what they're doing. And they don't care who they hurt.”

“Some of them do, Grant,” she said with earnest appeal. “There's a fellow named Yuley. He's not much older than I am, but in his mind, he's like Alfie Harrison. He and his brother Cal joined Web after their parents were killed in an Indian attack. Cal was shot and killed a few years ago, and Yuley stays because no one has the heart to kick him out. Most of the men are real good to him. And he doesn't know any better. Doesn't remember a different life. He holds the
horses when the men do an inside job. But I don't believe a jury would convict someone like Yuley. So, if for no other reason, I have to go back for him. When I left, he was sick and grieving his best friend, an old timer named Dale.”

As usual, when faced with Ginger's tender side, Grant didn't quite know what to say. They walked along in silence, Ginger leading the way back to her wagon.

Grant knew there was no changing her mind, but that didn't quell the frustration he felt that she was leaving just when they were beginning something important. Or something worth trying, anyway.

She shimmied up to the wagon seat before he could help her. He stood staring up, knowing his eyes reflected the fullness of his heart. “Before you go, I want to tell you something. There's a reason I don't care for outlaws.”

She gave a short laugh. “Only one? There's not much to like about them in general, is there?”

He reached up and placed his hand over hers, though she held tightly to the reins. “I have more than a general reason. My reasons are personal.”

Ginger's throat moved up and down as she swallowed hard. “I know, Grant.”

“No. You couldn't possibly. Something terrible happened to me a few years back.”

“Seven years. Next month, it will be seven years.” She stared down at him, hard. “Listen to me,” she said, never allowing her gaze to leave his. She spoke slowly, intently, as though attempting to reach out to his very soul. “Your wife was killed during an outlaw attack. It happened in Mis
souri while you were traveling by stagecoach. She was shot through the window. It was an accident. Still, she was dead, even before you carried her out of the coach and laid her on the ground.”

A tingle moved up and down Grant's spine as her words played the scene over in his mind with vivid reality.
But…
he opened his mouth to speak, but words were impossible. His brain sought answers. Some sort of logic. He was an educated man, after all. Why couldn't he make sense of how…? Then he remembered the young girl, crying over her brother only a few feet from him that day. One long braid. He heard himself expel a poof of air, as though he'd been punched in the gut. Horror plunged into his chest like a spear.