Glory (27 page)

“You should be in the wagon,” he scolded as he approached.

“I wanted to check on you—I saw your light. . . .”

Taking her forearm, he steered her beneath the makeshift awning strung near the fire. Wood chunks blazed brightly in the midst of red-hot coals. The air was warmer here, sheltered from the blowing wind.

Retrieving the coffeepot, Jackson poured two cups, the fragrant aroma pleasantly mingling with the arctic air. Taking both her hands, he closed them around the steaming cup. “You should be in the wagon. It’s not a fit night for man or beast.”

She nodded, meeting the warmth of his eyes. “Is Marshall McCall comfortable?”

“Comfortable as anyone can be in this kind of weather.” They edged closer to the fire, standing shoulder to shoulder. She noticed he wasn’t eager to seek shelter, and she could only hope it was because of her company. They shared the silence, taking sips of coffee. After the next two days there’d be no more sharing coffee or late-night conversations. She wondered how she’d pass the hours, with no friends, no more Jackson Lincoln to argue with or hash over the day’s events.

Jackson broke the stillness. “Were you frightened this afternoon?”

“No.” She was never scared when he was around; only scared when he wasn’t. A wagon hanging over the side of a mountain was nothing. She doubted there was anything that he couldn’t fix or mend or make work, and she told him so.

He chuckled, a low male resonance that stirred the pit of
her stomach. “Your trust could be misplaced. There are a lot of things I can’t do or wouldn’t attempt without the help of a higher source.”

“You mean without the Lord?” She didn’t know why folks found the source so hard to identify.

He nodded, taking another sip from his cup. “Been doing a lot of bargaining with God about that pass.”

“Were you honestly worried that we wouldn’t make it?” She couldn’t imagine that he’d fear anything. He seemed in control of every aspect of his life.

His expression sobering, he focused on the crackling fire. “I was concerned. Even a day’s delay could have meant that we wouldn’t have made it through until spring. That spot is prone to sudden and severe changes in weather. One of the worst snowstorms I’ve heard of happened here in May of ’58. We’re coming through it at the end of October, but with this weather. . . .”

Glory was smart enough to know what he hadn’t said, that death would have been almost certain if a blizzard had set in.

She sidled closer to him, slipping the coffee cup into one hand and her other hand into his. The act felt as natural as rain. His large hand tightened around hers protectively. They were both foolish, standing out in a cold sleeting rain, but she wasn’t inclined to leave, and neither was he, she noticed.

She looked up at him. “Guess you were happy to have Marshall McCall along to help.”

Jackson nodded. “Seems to be a good man.” He glanced at her and smiled. “What’s between Ruth and him?”

“You noticed, too?”

Their soft laughter mingled with the popping fire; they kept their voices low so they wouldn’t disturb the others. Ruth wouldn’t appreciate them talking about her, but it was plain to see Ruth had gotten downright flustered around the handsome marshall.

Suddenly aware of the proximity of the others, Glory gently removed her hand from his and wrapped both hands around her cup. She moved closer to the fire and sat down. Jackson came and sat next to her. They took another sip of coffee, huddling deeper into their jackets. Sleet hit the canvas, icy pellets dancing lightly in the air. Wind shrieked through the pass, howling like a banshee.

“Two more days to Denver City?” she asked wistfully.

“Two more days,” he verified.

“Guess you’ll be glad to be relieved of your responsibilities.”

“Not necessarily.”

She took a deep breath, dreading to ask the next question but knowing that she must if she were to sleep a wink tonight. “Then what?”

He glanced at her, then back to the fire. “I’ll make sure you ladies are settled, and, depending on the weather, I’ll either stay around for a few weeks, or I’ll start back to Illinois.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.” The admission simply slipped out. She’d meant to thank him for his care and safe passage. Instead, she’d spoken her thoughts aloud. Did he think she was being forward?

If he thought anything of it, he didn’t show it. “You thought about what you’ll do?”

She shrugged. “Begin my new life.”

“And that will be?”

“I don’t know. Guess I’ll have to see if there’s work available in Denver City.” She found it hard to look at him now, her emotions close to the surface. “Thanks to you, I’m a sight more capable of finding employment now than I would have been earlier.”

“No thanks to me,” he corrected softly. “Lily taught you to sew. Harper taught you to cook. And Ruth taught you to read and write.” He turned to meet her eyes. “You were a good student; you learned your lessons well.” A teasing light entered his eyes. “Do you realize that I am close to eating one of your pies without choking or dipping dough out of the water bucket?”

She accepted his good-natured ribbing gracefully and tossed a measure of it back at him. “And you can shoot a squirrel at thirty feet and still have enough meat to put on the table. Aren’t we amazing?”

“Thanks to you,” he conceded. They shared a smile. “We make a good team,” he said softly.

“We sure do.” She wished it were a permanent team, like man and wife. . . . She stopped her train of thought. She didn’t need a man or a husband. What was she thinking? She was sad only because she knew how little time they had left together.

He picked up a stick and stirred the fire. “Haven’t changed your mind about marriage, have you?”

She shook her head, her chin firming. “Going to make it on my own. Well, I’ll need the Lord’s favor, but he’s the only one going to tell me what to do.”

“I understand.” He watched the flames. “Feel the same way about taking a wife. Don’t need a woman around, making life miserable.”

“Like your mother?” she supplied.

“Like my mother.”

They fell into a companionable silence.

“Not all women nag and complain,” she reminded him.

“How would you know?”

“Don’t for certain. Just know I wouldn’t be like that.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“No. When I marry, I’ll make sure I don’t nag or complain. And if I do, I’ll give myself a sound talking to, like I do when I get in your way. Remind myself that I’m lucky to have a good man, and he’s lucky to have a good woman, and folks are just folks. Never met a perfect person, and seems more likely every day that I won’t. So when a man and a woman marry, they ought naturally to expect there’ll be times when they get on each other’s nerves. Considering no one’s perfect, they ought to make up their minds right off to forgive and go on.” She took another sip of coffee, avoiding his gaze. “Don’t you think?”

He sat for a long moment, apparently considering the likelihood. “I suppose so . . . if a man and woman love each other.”

“And if they don’t,” she said simply, “then it’s not likely they’ll overlook a thing. They’ll always be getting in each other’s hair, looking for a way out, in which case, no one can help because it’s up to the person whether he chooses to overlook fault or find fault. If anyone’s looking for fault, he’s going to find it; and if he’s looking for good, he’s likely to find that, too. Poppy used to say, ‘Be happy with what you got before you get a whole lot worse.’” She studied Jackson out of the corner of her eye. “Can I ask you something?”

“Is it one of those things you’re bursting at the seams to ask?”

“Might be.” She dropped her gaze, cradling the coffee in her hands.

“What’s the question?”

“Are you sweet on Ruth—are you going to marry her?”

His jaw dropped. “What?”

“I see the way you two look at each other, all soft and caring. You never look at the other girls that way, so I think that maybe you’ve fallen in love with her and you’re hoping to marry her once we reach Denver City.”

Strained silence closed over them. A twig snapped, shooting up a shower of sparks. Glory lifted her cup for another sip. Finally she couldn’t stand the awful suspense. “Well?”

“Where would you ever get the crazy idea that I’m in love with Ruth?”

“I told you . . . the way you look at her, the way you talk to her—”

“I look and talk to Patience the same way.”

“No, you don’t.”

He took a sip of coffee. “Your imagination is working overtime, Glory.”

“You don’t look at Lily or Mary that way, either.”

“You don’t look at me like you looked at Dylan this afternoon. Does that mean you’re in love with the marshall and you dislike me?”

“Of course not. I didn’t look at Dylan in an unladylike way.”

He turned to face her, lifting a brow. “Every single
one
of you has looked at him in an improper way. All day long.”

They turned back to study the fire.

She held her ground. “You’re avoiding my question.”

“How can I answer when the question doesn’t make sense?”

He understood the question only too well, and he didn’t want to answer. His reticence confirmed her worst fear: What he felt for Ruth was personal, and he didn’t care to discuss it with her.

“Okay. I don’t believe you,” Glory said.

“Fine,” Jackson answered.

“Fine with me, too.”

They sat for a few more moments.

“If I married Ruth,” he said teasingly, “I’d have to borrow the money from you to pay back Wyatt.”

“That’s not true and you know it.”

The hour grew late. Sleet pelted the overhang, and wind rattled the canvas. The coffee warmed her insides, but the long day finally claimed her. Slumping against Jackson’s broad shoulder, she realized that Ruth would say she was being too forward, but his shoulder was too tempting. Although he didn’t look at her the way he looked at Ruth, tonight he had talked to her the way he talked to Ruth.

Jackson glanced over, smiling when he saw her nodding off. In the past few months, she’d gone from a dirty, orphaned waif to a lovely, desirable woman. She had no idea how lovely or how desirable. There were times lately he’d had to remind himself that she was his charge, not his soul mate. She matched his zest for life where no other woman had ever come close. Was he in love with Ruth? The thought amused him. Ruth, like the other girls, claimed a part of his affection, but the girl whom—he was startled by his thoughts and surprised by their intensity. What was he about to think? That walking away from Glory wasn’t going to be easy? He shook the thought away. The cold was numbing his brain.

Dumping the remains of his coffee, he turned and removed the cup from her small hand. She stirred slightly, snuggling closer to the warmth of his body. He carefully eased her back into a sitting position. Then he stood up, bent down, and lifted her tiny frame into his arms.

Pausing at the back of the wagon, he tapped on the closed canvas. A moment later, Patience poked her sleepy head out. When she saw Glory in his arms, she spread the opening wider, and he laid the drowsy girl on her pallet. Settling the blanket over her sleeping form, he gently tucked her between the soft covers. What did he feel for this woman-child?

Lord, help me—what do I feel?

“Good night,” he whispered.

“Good night,” Patience whispered back. She quickly secured the back canvas against the whistling wind as he turned to leave.

Turning his collar up, he adjusted the brim of his hat. By morning, the ground would be a solid sheet of ice. That meant no traveling tomorrow.

It also meant one more day in the company of a woman who was about to cost him a night’s sleep.

Chapter Fifteen

Storm clouds built overhead as Jackson led the prairie schooner along Cherry Creek to the main street of Denver City on the first day of November. Six expectant faces peered out of the wagon.

Marshall Dylan McCall, riding behind the wagon all day, nudged his horse into a trot to catch up with Jackson at the front of the wagon. They rode beside each other in silence until Dylan pointed toward the sheriff’s office. “Here’s my stop, friend. I leave you now to meet my new traveling partner, and I’m sure he won’t match the pleasant company I’ve recently enjoyed.”

The two men reined to a halt and shook hands, and the wagon stopped behind them. Jackson met the marshall’s even gaze. “I appreciate your help this past week, Dylan. Don’t know how we could have gotten through the high divide without you.”

“Would prefer present company to my next companion, I assure you.” Dylan circled his horse to face the wagon. His gaze met Ruth’s as she sat straight and stiff on the wagon seat, watching him. “Farewell, ladies.”

When Jackson moved on, Ruth paused a moment. “Farewell,” she finally replied. She lifted her chin and shook the reins. Grinning, Dylan tipped his hat as the wagon passed him for the last time. The girls leaned out from under the canvas to wave and call good-bye, a soft sadness filling their eyes.

Excitement broke out as the party traveled the remaining distance to a house several miles outside Denver City. Chatter faded as their eyes scanned the crudely built structure.