White Nights (4 page)

Eirica closed her eyes, unable to face the prospect of sorting through the ruined clothing. She thought of Coralie’s offer of material and just as quickly rejected it. Even if she paid for it—not that she could afford to do so—she wouldn’t take it. Coralie would need her supply for her own dresses and baby things in Oregon. Eirica would just have to cut up one of her woolen blankets for nappies and infant-size blankets. As for clothing, she’d have to do the same with one of her old dresses or use Birk’s old shirts, which she’d saved to reuse the material.

With frustration coursing through her, she slammed the trunk lid closed and stood. She’d deal with this later. She just couldn’t think about it now.

Alone once again, she faced the enormity of her situation. Anxiety churned in her stomach and a chill ran through her. Her palms were slick with sweat. She wiped her hands on her apron, then wiped the moisture from her eyes, feeling scared and overwhelmed by the knowledge that the survival of her children rested squarely on her slim shoulders.

How could she do this? She had some money stashed away in a hidden compartment beneath the floor of the wagon—not nearly enough, though. Birk had dug into it, spending a good amount of it on the trail to purchase liquor from anyone willing to sell it to him.

Now she was glad she’d risked Birk’s fury by taking some of that money herself every time he got into it, tucking it into her sewing basket. She’d also kept a portion of the payments she received for doing laundry for some of the single men in her wagon party. She would really be in desperate straits if she hadn’t. Luckily for her, Birk had believed he’d spent more on his drink than he truly had, which kept him from depleting their resources further.

But even by adding the two stashes of cash together, the funds wouldn’t last long setting up a farm in Oregon. Things would be tight until the first harvest. By her calculations, there wouldn’t be anything to spare.

So what was she going to do? A hard knot of dread formed in her throat. She swallowed, fighting panic. No. She would not give in to her fears. Closing her eyes, she slowed her breathing by taking a deep breath, feeling the air flow clear down to her toes. Then she released it, imagining all her fears and worries leaving her as she exhaled slowly and completely. She continued to breathe consciously until she felt her heartbeat calm and the tightness in her throat ease.

“Life goes on,” she whispered under her breath. She thought of Sofia and the woman’s determination to carry out her husband’s dreams. Then she thought of Jessie. Nothing stopped her young friend from going after what she wanted.

Eirica struggled to her feet, determined to prove to herself and everyone else that she was strong and in control. She’d survived this far: she’d taken the steps to free herself and her children from Birk’s violent nature before he’d drowned. Love for her children had given her the courage then, and that same love and determination to give them a better life would give her the courage to make it to Oregon and find a way to survive once there. Her babies would have what she hadn’t had as a child: happiness and laughter and all the love they could ever want.

A gentle rolling movement came from inside her womb, as if her unborn child was trying to reassure her that everything would be all right. It made Eirica smile. She patted her stomach. This infant, helpless at birth, would be dependent on her for warmth, nourishment and love. This child would grow, learn and someday be ready to face life on its own.

And like her unborn child, Eirica was a babe in the woods when it came to survival. She’d been thrust into a harsh situation, an unfriendly world, but she’d learn. She’d grow. She’d survive. And like those baby clothes she had yet to go through, she’d salvage what she could from her life and start anew.

Doling out cold bacon and slabs of hot, buttered bread, she sat down with Alison and Lara. As they ate, she asked her daughters about what they’d seen that day. Each night for the last two weeks, she’d gone through the same ritual and slowly, her girls had started to talk openly and voice their thoughts.

But tonight brought forth a wondrous milestone and tears to Eirica’s eyes when her girls’ shy, hesitant giggles turned to uncontrollable laughter.

White Wolf rode into the wagon circle, tired, dusty and hungry. But it wasn’t food that led him to where Rook, his longtime friend, prepared supper. No, he hungered for the sight of his wife.

His wife.

Would he ever get used to those two words? He hoped not. The thrill that filled him each time he saw Jessie, thought of her and realized they were husband and wife, partners in life, made him feel alive as never before. No other man could be so lucky or happy as he was. He dismounted and tied his black stallion to the back of a supply wagon.

Jessie, with both hands immersed in a sack of flour, smiled when he approached. “You’re early. Supper won’t be ready for a while yet.”

Her eyes sparkled with joy and humor—and as her gaze slid over him, lingering on the golden expanse of chest showing through the open buckskin vest he wore with no shirt beneath it, they darkened. And when her gaze slid lower to the front of his buckskin breeches, her tongue snaked out to wet her lips. Recognizing her hunger, her need for him, sent his blood racing through his veins.

He scooped her up into his arms. “Supper can wait. Your husband cannot.”

Jessie giggled and tried to shake the flour from her hands. Fingerprint-size spots of flour dotted her cheeks and nose. She shoved her hair out of her eyes, leaving a wide streak of flour across her forehead. She finally gave up trying to rid herself of the flour and circled her arms around his neck, leaving him coated with the powdery stuff. “Wolf, put me down.”

“You have flour all over your face,” he teased. Her attempts to brush it off made it worse, hiding the tiny brown freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. He laughed, low and private. “Leave it. I’ll wash it off later. I’m getting used to seeing my wife covered with either mud or flour.”

Her eyes darkened to forest green, reminding him of their first meeting, when she’d been wet with mud from her head down to the toes of her boots. Jessie mistook the reason for his humor. “Watch it or you’ll be wearing some as well. Now put me down. I’ve got work to do.”

“Nope. It’s our first-month anniversary and I’m taking you away. Rook will have to do without you tonight.” He glanced around and spotted Jessie’s sister-in-law. Wolf’s smile turned wicked. “He has Coralie to assist him tonight and in the morning.”

Jessie’s brows rose with full understanding. “You rat. You purposely assigned Jordan first watch knowing if she didn’t have to cook for Jordan, she’d help me and Rook.”

Wolf affected a look of innocence. She knew him well but that didn’t mean he’d admit as much to her. “You wound me, Jessica. It was his turn.”

Her eyes narrowed and she reached up to tug none-too-gently on a strand of long, flowing, golden-brown hair. “You, my husband, are devious. Simply devious.” She grinned, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled his lips to hers in a long, ravenous kiss.

Behind them, Rook snorted in disgust. “Git yerselves outta here. I has a meal ta fix and the pair of you are in my way.”

Wolf didn’t hesitate. He strode away, eager to have some private time alone with his wife. The one aspect of trail life he disliked was the lack of privacy. No matter where he turned, there were people. Lots of them. But not tonight. While out hunting for fresh meat, he’d found the perfect spot an hour’s ride from Independence Rock.

“Wait, Wolf, put me down.”

“Why?”

Exasperated, she twisted out of his arms and landed on her feet. “Knowing you, you’ve probably found some nice, romantic, out-of-the-way place to spend the night. I need to grab some clothes.” Her gaze turned dreamy and, without giving him time to argue, she sprinted away, hopping into the back of a wagon.

Wolf returned to his horse and pulled down the antelope he’d killed for the evening meal. At his feet, Wahoska—his companion for the last seven years—eyed the carcass with gleaming eyes. “You’ll have to wait, old man,” he told the wolf. The animal growled low in its throat but shuffled off.

Wolf grabbed the hind legs of the antelope and hefted the dead animal over his shoulder and took it to Rook. “Figured the men might be getting sick of your beans and bacon.”

Rook whistled and rubbed his hands together. He wagged his bushy white brows. “Nice of you to think of us while you go off to celebrate.” He ambled toward one of the wagons and returned with a canvas sack. “Here’s some grub. Figured ya would take the lass away t’night, seein’ as it’s been a month since ye was hitched.”

The old man didn’t miss anything. Rook knew him too well. But before he could thank his friend, the crusty cook stalked away, muttering beneath his breath about the foolishness of youth.

Wolf loaded up the supplies and paced. What was taking Jessie so long? Impatient to be off, he spun around, ready to go haul his wife out of her wagon. He came to an abrupt halt. His jaw dropped. For the second time since he’d known her, Jessica Jones had discarded her normal male garb—for a dress in pale blue calico. She’d also piled her dark curls on top of her head—revealing her long slender neck kissed to a golden brown by the sun—instead of leaving it to frame her face or blow wildly in the wind. Standing with the setting sun behind her, she took his breath away.

Growling, he swept her into his arms, set her sideways in his saddle and leaped up behind her. He pulled her across his lap and wrapped his arms around her. “Vixen. I give you no guarantees that we’ll make it to the spot I found for us.”

Jessie’s eyes glowed with mischief. She reached up and threaded her fingers through his long, golden-brown hair. “You’re the one who showed me there are definite advantages to wearing a dress,” she whispered, licking her lips teasingly while wiggling in his lap.

Wolf groaned and spurred his horse into a full gallop.

Rook chewed on the end of his pipe and watched the newlyweds ride off. Grumbling, he scowled at Coralie who stared after her sister-in-law with a contented smile. “Quit ya grinnin’! They’s leavin’ all the work to us.”

Coralie giggled and wrapped her arms around him. “Poor Rook, you have me. I won’t abandon you.”

Heat crept up his whisker-covered cheeks. He waved his hands helplessly at his side. Just as quick as the impulsive hug began, it ended. Coralie twirled away from him, leaving him torn between relief and regret. His own daughter, had she lived, would have been about the same age.

He shook his pipe at her, thrusting away old pain and bitterness. “If’n yer young man rode in here right now, you’d leave this old man without a second thought and don’t tell me different, lass. I’m surrounded by a bunch of swarmy-headed, lovestruck young folk.” His momentary regret at how Lady Fate had cheated him of a family faded for the moment when the young woman before him crossed her hands across her chest, her baby-blue eyes narrowed.

“That isn’t true.” She lifted a hand, ready to denounce his accusation then, realizing Rook had baited her, Coralie grinned impishly. “I’d at least think
twice
before abandoning you.”

Rook eyed the carcass at his feet, hiding his smile. “Sassy and impertinent, too,” he muttered, peeping up at her.

Coralie slanted him an arched-brow look. “Oh, quit your griping. You don’t fool me, Rook. All bluster and a heart bigger than that rock everyone went to see.” She walked around the antelope, holding her skirts well away from it. “We shall have a fine meal tonight. Should I go tell the others? There’s more than enough for everyone to have some.”

“Good idea, lass. I’ll dry what don’t git eaten.” He pulled a long hunting knife from a sheath around his waist and knelt beside the carcass, laughing beneath his breath when Coralie shuddered and practically ran from his cook area.

Rook set to work. He stuck his pipe back between his lips, chewed the stem and shook his head in bemusement. He’d broken one of his steadfast rules on this trip. He’d allowed himself to care for the folk he was traveling with, particularly Coralie and Jessie. He’d come to regard the two young ladies as his adopted daughters. Each made him think of the family he’d lost so long ago.

Hot coals of emotion burned in his gut and brought painful memories to his mind. Once more, he found himself standing on the edge of a familiar dark, bottomless pit. He teetered, fighting waves of despair. Standing abruptly, he shoved the past back into the hollow shell of his heart.

But it was too late to stop the flow of need, of longing. Being around Jessie and Coralie made him realize just what had been taken from him. Hell, he might have been a grandfather by now if Lady Fate had looked kinder upon him and his. Though it was pointless, he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of woman his own daughter would have become had she lived. And his other child. Would it have been a son or another daughter?

No one had known Annabelle had been with child, not even Wolf. And he had been with him that fateful day when they’d returned to Rook’s cabin and found his wife and daughter dead, murdered. It was cold consolation that he and Wolf had tracked the bandits responsible and taken care of them. Nothing could bring back his family.

Ah, he’d missed out on so much. Regret for what he had no control over bowed his shoulders. He stabbed a hunk of meat and added it to the growing mound on the cut board. For years, he’d closed himself off from as much contact with humanity as he could get away with, never allowing himself to care or be cared for—with the exception of Wolf. And he’d succeeded—until now.

Hell, he’d done it this time all right. He glanced around the camp, his gaze lingering on each and every person. There wasn’t a single person in this wagon party he hadn’t come to care for. They were family, this group of emigrants. Across the way, Alison and Lara Macauley chased one another, their childish giggles wresting a smile from his gruff features and intensifying his anguish. He shook his head. “Must be gittin’ old and senile.” He attacked the antelope carcass with a vengeance born of desperation.

A soft nose pressed into his side. He glanced down to see a black-and-tan dog staring up at him, her soulful brown eyes soft, intent on him, as if sensing the sadness in his heart. “Ah, Sadie, lass, what’s come over me? Past is past.”

The dog belonged to Jessie and her brothers. She whined, then stuck her nose in the air, sniffing. Rook grinned, the gloom in his heart lifting. “Hungry, are ya?” He eyed her swollen belly. “I expect so seein’ how that rascal wolf got you pregnant.” On cue, a large white wolf joined them. Wahoska licked Sadie’s muzzle, then growled low in his throat, as if demanding food for his hungry mate.

Grumbling about randy young men, newlyweds and old wolves who had nothing better to do than make more work for him, Rook grabbed two fresh, meaty bones he’d set aside. “Here, this ought to hold the pair of you until after supper’s fixed.” The dog and wolf grabbed their treats and ran beneath the wagon to gnaw in delight.

Behind him he heard steps, then Coralie’s voice. “I’m back. Lars will be by shortly and so will Eirica. Mrs. De Santis—”

Without looking at her, afraid she’d see the inner turmoil he battled, Rook growled low in his throat at the mention of that woman’s name. He sliced off a large slab. “Take this ta her. Don’t want her coming ’ro—” His voice faltered when he saw two pair of legs encased in baggy trousers come to a halt before him. He straightened, embarrassed to see the woman in question standing beside Coralie along with her elder grandson, Dante. She smiled smugly.

“This should do for ya, Mrs. De Santis.”

“Si.”
She took it and passed it to Dante who carried it back to their wagon.

Coralie cleared her throat and glanced nervously from Sofia to Rook. “Sofia, uh, has offered to help us tonight.”

Rook sat back on his heels, pulled on his white beard and glared at Sofia from beneath lowered white brows. He took stock of her glittering brown eyes, the haughty tilt of her nose and a bulging sack of God knew what foreign spices and food she clutched in her right hand. His hackles rose.

“Help? Hah.” He graced her with his best don’t-mess-with-me frown. It sent grown men running but had no effect on this woman. He set the knife down and jabbed a finger toward her, but he addressed his comments to Coralie. “Ya tell that woman we don’t need her help nor her fancy spices. We’s got it covered between us.”

He glowered when Coralie shifted on her feet. “An extra pair of hands might be nice.”

“Bah!” This was his domain and as far as he was concerned, there could only be one cook—and it wasn’t going to be her. The woman could find another way to repay Wolf.

The wagon master had insisted she and her grandchildren join his group when he’d learned that she’d been left behind to nurse her sick family. He’d come across her, a month after she’d lost most of her family, fighting a group of rough-looking men who were trying to rob her and rape her granddaughter. The thieves had gotten away with her money, leaving her unable to offer any payment for Wolf’s assistance, not that his friend would have taken the woman’s money. Still, Rook couldn’t blame the woman for wanting to offer recompense, but he didn’t need or want her help, and he especially didn’t want her around him.

Undaunted by Rook’s blatant dismissal, Sofia lifted a thick black brow then glanced around, noting that the slab of pork needed to be sliced, the pieces already frying were quickly turning brown and two pots of water were boiling away. She indicated the hunks of fresh meat he’d set on a wooden board next to the pots. A sack of dried beans sat on the ground.

“You would ruin perfectly good meat by cooking it with beans and pork? No. I will make
agnoletti.
It will be delicious.” She kissed her fingers with a loud smack.

Rook had no idea what kind of meal she was thinking to fix and didn’t care to find out. “
My
boys don’t need some fancy foreign dish they can’t even say. My grub sticks ta their ribs. Tha’s what they need: food that’ll stay with them.” He pursed his lips and added, “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with beans.”

“Nothing unless that’s all you eat,” Coralie muttered beneath her breath, eyeing Sofia’s bag of spices with interest.

“What was that, lass?” He shoved his hands down onto his hips and stood.

Coralie jumped. “Ah, nothing, Rook. Nothing at all.” She glanced around, then smiled. “While Sofia cooks whatever she’s planning and you cut up the meat, I’ll start the bread.”

Both Rook and Sofia protested at the same time, for once in agreement. Repressing a shudder, Rook jammed his pipe into the pocket of his buckskin shirt. “No, lass. I’ll do it.” The men would skin him alive if he let Coralie make the bread. “Add the beans and rice to the water and finish cookin’ the pork.” He turned to glare at Sofia. “I’m still in charge around here and I says we’s having a nice stew of beans, pork and antelope meat.”

Coralie folded her arms across her chest and tapped an impatient foot. “You don’t trust me to make the bread.” Her big blue eyes filled with tears. “How am I supposed to learn if no one lets me practice?” She sniffed and glanced first at him, then Sofia from beneath golden lashes darkened by tears.

Rook knew Coralie too well, had seen her produce tears at will without even blinking an eye. The lass had perfected that pout long ago; it had got her whatever she wanted before she could walk! But Sofia fell for it.

“Now look what you’ve done. You’ve made the child cry.” She glared at him and shook her finger. “She’s right. I’ll teach her to make bread so light, it floats.”

“No,” Rook bellowed, taking a step forward. “I’m in charge of cookin’ and I say who fixes what.” He glared at Coralie who had the audacity to blink her innocent blues at him. Despite her penchant for complaining, the lass really tried. The spoiled-little-girl demeanor she adopted hid a tender, sensitive soul.

As if sensing his weakness, Coralie sniffed and turned away, shoulders hunched for good measure. Rook ignored Sofia who stood with her arms crossed, her eyes challenging him. Unwilling to allow this dark-eyed woman to worm her way further into his territory, he hacked another chunk of meat from the carcass, using more force than needed. He sent Coralie a fierce frown from over his shoulder.

Had he seen real dejection in her eyes before she’d turned away? Working with her so closely since he’d volunteered to teach her to cook, he knew it was a sore spot with her that she hadn’t managed to master bread-baking and had to endure a goodly amount of teasing with each failure.

“Well, what’re ya waitin’ fer? That bread ain’t gonna bake itself.” Coralie was his protégée and he’d be damned if he’d allow that
woman
to teach the lass how to bake bread—not when his trail bread was the best.

With a cry of happiness, Coralie spun around and hugged him again. “Thanks, Rook. I won’t burn it this time, I promise.”

After Coralie released him, Rook stuck his pipe between his lips and moved back to his work area, keeping Coralie close so he could keep an eye on the bread making. Chopping up bits of meat to add to the boiling pot of beans, he refrained from watching Sofia. He was cooking his stew, no matter what.

But as he hovered over Coralie, repressing his shudders as she spilled flour and made a gummy mess of the dough, loneliness assailed him. The love surrounding him brought home just how empty his life had become. At his age, wandering from place to place no longer appealed. He longed to put the past behind him and settle in one spot to live out the remainder of his years. He slid his gaze to the black-haired widowed woman working not more than five feet from him.

Sofia glanced up from a frying pan of sizzling meat and lifted her eyebrow as if she read his mind and knew the unrest in his heart.

The tantalizing scent of spices reached him and made his mouth water. He sent her a disgruntled glare, gave his attention to Coralie and started telling her one of his tales to keep his mind from wandering down forbidden paths. There was no other woman for him. He was destined to roam alone until he met his maker.

For the women traversing the trail, their day commenced before night released its grip on the world to the light of the sun. No matter how tired or how far they traveled the day before, the women left their tents to prepare for the new day long before the sun peeped over the eastern horizon.

Eirica, snuggled between her quilts, woke to the sounds of muffled chatter outside her tent. She wanted to open her eyes but they refused to cooperate. Surely it couldn’t be time to rise already. She felt as though she’d only just gone to bed. Between the hard, rocky ground and her heavy, cumbersome womb, sleep usually came in fitful bouts, leaving her feeling tired and achy in the mornings. What she wouldn’t give for a soft feather bed.

She huddled deeper into the warmth surrounding her, dozing lightly. Outside, noise continued to disperse the fog shrouding her senses. Somewhere on the other side of the canvas walls, the sounds of clanking pans and the harsh whirl of a coffee grinder made her wince. Groaning, she ran her hand through her disheveled hair and rubbed her gritty eyes. Precious time was wasting. There was much to be done before the signal sounded to hit the trail.

Slowly, she worked the stiffness from her back, shoulders and neck and thought of the decision she’d made during the long night while sleep eluded her. It troubled her greatly that she had to rely on others so much. Each person traveling west had their own load to carry—it didn’t seem fair that she added to it.

So this day, her eighty-first of traveling, marked her first step toward independence. Anne and Lars, Jessie and Coralie, Wolf and Rook, and all the others had been there for her and her children while her ribs healed and she came to terms with what Birk’s death meant to her life. They’d all been so wonderful, but good conscience deemed it time—past time, in fact—for her to stand on her own two feet. After all, when she reached Oregon, they’d all be spread apart and she’d truly be on her own.

Alone. On her own. Those words sent frissons of fear darting through her. Knowing if she dwelled on it, she’d take the easy way and continue as she had for the last month, she put it from her mind. Quickly, she unbraided her hair, combed her fingers through the long golden-red ripples that fell to her waist then twisted the strands into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. As much as she’d like to dally, to put off starting the new day, certain bodily functions couldn’t be ignored a moment longer. She left the tent.