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Authors: Peggy L Henderson

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BOOK: Come Home to Me
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Jake’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. In the brief moment he walked past, he quickly assessed the girl. She was the same height as her mother, but not quite as round. She did have curves in all the right places, but she couldn’t be more than fourteen or fifteen years old. To be polite, he returned her smile and tipped his fingers against his temple. Her smile widened.

Jake groaned. Hopefully he hadn’t done the wrong thing and led this girl to believe he was interested. He lengthened his stride and hurried along through the encampment.  Up ahead, Rachel’s boys, Billy and Tommy, ran around, their arms outstretched and fingers pointing pretend guns at each other. The little toddler, David, looked like the monkey in the middle, trying to keep up with his older brothers. Jake smiled. He played like that with Tom when they were young, chasing each other through the barns and fields at the family ranch. He clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to remember. Tom embraced the ranching, the old west lifestyle. Jake had wanted out. He scoffed. Tom should be the one here, leading this group of emigrants. Not him.

Rachel’s soft voice snapped him out of his thoughts. His eyes roamed the camp in front of him. A fire burned low some ten feet from the wagon, but she wasn’t there. Neither was Thomas. Jake approached slowly, the delicious smell of something he couldn’t identify cooking in the Dutch oven sitting in the coals. His mouth watered. Rachel spoke again, and this time he honed in to where her voice was coming from. He still couldn’t see her, but he was sure she stood on the other side of the wagon. 

“When are you going to start living your life again, Thomas? Your sons need their father. You’ve barely acknowledged David since he’s been born. It’s been nearly two years.”

“How can I look at him . . . when . . .” Thomas’ gruff voice cut her off.

“You’re his father. He needs you. Billy and Tommy need you. I can’t continue to be both mother and father to them. They are growing up.” Rachel implored in a pleading tone.

Jake listened, guilt flooding him for eavesdropping. He wondered about the argument. What had happened two years ago? There was one thing she wasn’t saying. Jake waited for it, but the words he expected from a woman never came. She spoke of her kids needing their father. What she didn’t say was
I need you
.

 
”Mr. Owens, Mr. Owens, you came.” Tommy ran up to him at that moment. Jake turned and plastered a wide smile on his face. The boys surrounded him. The tot waddled up to him and grabbed hold of the fringes on his buckskins, babbling words that Jake didn’t understand.

“Tell us how you saved Mr. Holland,” Billy demanded. Jake knelt down until he was at eye level with the boys.

“First, I don’t go by Mr. Owens. Call me Jake,” he said. Billy and Tommy’s mouths dropped. The hero worship in their eyes grew exponentially.

“You’re right on time for supper, Mr. Owens.” Rachel’s frigid and formal voice from behind him surprised him for a fleeting second. Jake’s lips rose at the corners of his mouth before he stood and turned to face her. The vulnerability in her pleading words to her husband a minute ago was gone. Jake raised his eyes to meet her stare, and the smile faded from his face. The unshed tears that shimmered in those blue pools hit him like a sucker punch to the gut, and tugged mercilessly at his heart. The urge to pull her to him, wrap her in his arms and take away her pain pulled at him unlike anything ever had. Jake clenched his jaw. What the hell was happening to him?

 

 

Chapter 7

 

 

Rachel fumbled with the ribbons of her bonnet, trying to retie the knot that had come loose from under her chin. She ducked her head low to keep the dust from blowing into her face. A strong gust of wind caught her unawares, and her bonnet went flying out of her grasp. Her skirt flapped wildly around her legs. She lunged for her head covering, and nearly stumbled on a rock on the uneven ground.  The strong wind picked up her bonnet like a kite, carrying it across the grassland. Her skirt snagged in the branches of a sagebrush, and she gritted her teeth, carefully extracting the fabric from the unyielding bush. She only owned three dresses, and couldn’t afford to have this one rip.

 Tommy raced after the precious hat, yelling loudly, “I’ll get it. I’ll get it.” Rachel sighed, and her shoulders slumped. She envied the boy’s enthusiasm and endurance. She’d walked all day, and had no energy left to chase after her bonnet.  If Tommy hadn’t dashed after it, she would have had to give chase herself.

Today marked the third day on the trail, and already all the days seemed to blend into one. Mr. Wilson usually called an end to travel an hour before sunset, and rang the morning bell before sunup. The wagon train followed a course heading north toward what she’d overheard was the Platte River Valley. From there, they would head west. The landscape hadn’t changed at all, and was a mixture of sandy soil, rolling hills and tall windswept bluffs. Gazing far into the endless distance brought dizziness to her head. They were truly in the wilderness. There was no sign of civilization anywhere. The only indication that other people had come before them was the wagon ruts they followed. Whenever they were near water, the danger of the wagons and animals sinking into quicksand was a constant concern.

Thomas was as sullen as ever. Rachel hadn’t realized he had brought along several flasks of corn liquor, which he kept hidden under the wagon seat, and he drank heavily each night after supper. The liquor couldn’t last forever, she kept telling herself. At some point, he would run out, and then he would have to come to his senses. She was sorely tempted to grab all the bottles and smash them to the ground. 

Rarely did Thomas speak to anyone, and during the long days driving the team, he seemed to sink deep within his own mind. None of the other men spoke to him. Thomas’ demeanor didn’t make him an approachable man. As a result, the women didn’t pay much attention to Rachel. She’d caught more than one woman casting glances of pity her way. Although usually cordial, none of the women sought her out for company. Even Mary had been unusually evasive, and stopped talking to her. Rachel took the hint and kept her distance. How much more unbearable would the situation become in the weeks ahead? They all had to rely on each other, and cooperate as one unit, even if they were fourteen individual families.

Squinting into the wind, Rachel wasn’t sure if the tears that rolled down her cheeks were due to the dust, or if she’d finally succumbed to homesickness. She missed the company of her neighbors back home in Ohio, familiar faces of people she’d known all her life. Bracing against the sensation of someone crushing her chest, she mindlessly set one foot in front of the other, her worn leather shoes sinking into the loose soil. She couldn’t think about home anymore, or the friends she’d left behind.

She was the one who suggested to Thomas that they move out west so they could make a new start. She had really hoped the idea would brighten his spirits. He’d gone along with her suggestion at first, seemed almost eager at the idea, but it hadn’t taken long for his broodiness to return. She glanced up, squinting into the sun that slowly descended into the far off horizon, and tried to envision the Oregon territory she’d heard so much about.  Perhaps when Thomas saw the lush green valleys of Oregon, and laid claim to the 320 acres of land that would be theirs to farm, he would finally return to the man she’d known before . . .

Loud giggles penetrated her mind, and she held her hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the wind and sun. A rider on a buckskin horse galloped toward the line of wagons, heading directly for her. Jake Owens. Rachel’s heart fluttered in her chest. The man sat his horse as if he were one with the animal. She hadn’t seen him much over the last three days, after that first night when he ate supper at her wagon.

Rachel scoffed. Thomas had probably scared him off, just like he scared off all the other people in their group. She shook her head. On second thought, it was a ridiculous notion. She couldn’t imagine Jake Owens being afraid of anything. Quiet throughout the meal, Thomas had nevertheless offered him a cup of his corn liquor, which the scout declined to Rachel’s great surprise. When Mr. Owens had casually mentioned that Thomas might feel better and see to his family more effectively if he didn’t drink so heavily, Thomas had shouted loud enough to be heard throughout the camp for Mr. Owens to mind his own business. Rachel had never wanted to sink into quicksand as badly as she did at that moment. She remembered the scowl of disapproval Mr. Owens had cast her way, just before he excused himself from their campsite. His eyes were filled with contempt and anger, but when he darted a final glance her way, there was something else written there, something she couldn’t name, or perhaps was afraid to acknowledge. 

“We caught your bonnet,” Tommy yelled from behind the man approaching her on horseback. Rachel blinked to get a better look. Mr. Owens’ broad body hid Tommy’s slight form until he reined his horse in right next to her. Tommy sat behind the scout, his arms wrapped tightly around the man’s middle. The boy purely glowed from happiness. The scene reminded her of how much Billy and Tommy needed their father. Each time Mr. Owens came around, the boys buzzed to him like bees to honey. And the scout didn’t seem to mind.

The horse stopped in front of Rachel, and Jake held Tommy’s arm while the boy scrambled off the mare’s back. Tommy ran for their wagon, shouting excitedly for his brother. It was Billy’s turn to watch little David inside the wagon.

“You shouldn’t be out in the sun without your hat, Rachel,” Mr. Owens said, leaning over the saddle and holding the bonnet out to her. The leather of the saddle creaked. He rested his forearm on the saddle horn, his hand dangling over his mare’s neck. “It would be a shame if you burned that pretty face of yours.”

Heat crept up Rachel’s neck and into her cheeks, heat that had nothing to do with the sun. She opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again. No words came to mind. With a trembling hand, she reached for her hat. Mr. Owens didn’t release his hold on the fabric. In fact, he tugged it toward him, causing Rachel to take an involuntary step closer to the horse.  He leaned down further.

“How’s that husband of yours holding up?” Jake didn’t disguise the dislike in his voice when he whispered to her in a low tone. His penetrating eyes locked onto hers, and Rachel swallowed. She sensed he wasn’t asking out of concern for Thomas.

“We manage,” she said, tearing her eyes away from him. “Please, let me have my bonnet. I need to catch up with our wagon.” She glanced at the line of rigs moving past. Annabelle Edwards and her mother shot her a disapproving look from atop their wagon as it rolled by.

“Wilson’s about to call a halt,” Mr. Owens said. “There’s a grove of trees up ahead, and water. I suggest you get out of the sun for a while.”

“Thank you for your concern,” she said in a firm voice, and raised her chin. “But it isn’t necessary.”

His grin widened. “Someone’s gotta look out for you.” He released her bonnet, and simultaneously reached his hand toward her. “Grab hold. I’ll give you a ride.”

Rachel stared at the hand he offered, obviously intent on pulling her onto the horse. She backed away. “No. I couldn’t,” she said quickly, shaking her head. Was he out of his mind? Did this man have no sense of propriety? She cast a quick glance at the wagons moving slowly further ahead. Anger at Thomas consumed her all of a sudden. All the sacrifices she’d made for him, and now he didn’t have the decency to protect her from . . . from what?

Rachel turned and walked as fast as her legs would move over the uneven ground. She had to put some distance between herself and Jake Owens. Thoughts of him consumed her during those long miles each day, and his smile and penetrating eyes haunted her in her dreams at night.

The buckskin horse fell in step beside her, and Rachel clenched her jaw. Why didn’t he just leave her alone?

“You couldn’t, or you don’t want to ride with me?” Jake’s deep voice seeped into her mind. “You’ve walked all day. In fact, you’ve walked every day since we left the Missouri.”

Rachel’s head shot up, and she squinted at him. Thankfully his body blocked out the sun’s bright rays.

“Are you keeping watch over me, Mr. Owens?” she asked heatedly. “I’m sure you have much more important things to do that need your attention. Whether I choose to walk is none of your concern.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said. Rachel braced herself when he landed close beside her on the ground. He’d dismounted his horse while the animal was in mid-stride. “I’ve made it my business to keep an eye on you.”

Rachel stopped. She turned to stare at him as the last wagon rolled past them. She swallowed back the apprehension in her throat. She inhaled a deep breath. If she didn’t stand up to this man now and set some boundaries, he would assume she was interested in his advances.
Which you’re not, Rachel. Think of his reputation. Think of your own reputation.
  The man before her was a relentless predator, and she’d apparently become his prey. Rachel sidestepped around him and followed the wagon, coughing as a cloud of dust enveloped her.

“Please keep your distance, Mr. Owens. I have no desire to become your latest conquest.” She raised her chin and stared straight ahead. He was beside her again in the next instant.

Jake laughed. She ventured a glance at him. How dare he mock her? His devilish smile, and those expressive eyes fueled her annoyance even more. With exaggerated haste, she pulled her bonnet onto her head, trying to steady her trembling hands as she tied the ribbons under her chin. Why did his presence turn her into a complete weak ninny?

“When are you going to call me Jake?” he asked, apparently unperturbed by her remark. She stared straight ahead, keeping her eye on the line of wagons that had reached a large grove of trees.

“You’re even prettier when you’re mad, you know that?” His hand clamped around her upper arm. Rachel spun to face him. Before she could protest, his face turned serious. “I only meant I was looking out for you,” he said softly. “You’ve got your hands full with your boys, and I don’t see you getting any help from your husband. Can’t we just be friends?”

Rachel swallowed. Her eyes narrowed. Since when did a man ask to be friends with a woman? She could only imagine what kind of
friendship
he was looking for.

“I’m sure you have enough lady friends where you’re from, Mr. Owens. I don’t believe I would want to be counted among them.”
Then why is his smile the last thing on your mind each night, Rachel?

His jaw visibly clenched, and his eyes hardened.  “Fine,” he said, the word clipped. “Believe what you want. Maybe someday you’ll see that I’m not the guy you seem to think I am.”

He turned to his horse, and vaulted easily onto the mare’s back. Without a backwards glance, he galloped off toward the front of the line of wagons. Rachel inhaled a deep breath, and picked up the pace, gritting her teeth against the ache in her blistered feet. Why did she feel the need to act so disagreeable around him? He had been nothing but helpful to her since the day they met. If only he wasn’t so forward and brazen.

“Jake,” she said softly, liking the sound of his name. A smile formed on her lips. It would certainly give Mrs. Edwards something to talk about if she overheard Rachel calling the scout by his given name.

****

 

Jake knelt by the creek. He splashed water on his face and ran his hand over the sandpaper roughness of his jaw. Perhaps he ought to try shaving, but the idea of using a sharp knife blade on his face wasn’t too enticing. His lips widened in a slow smile. Maybe Rachel would like him better if he was clean-shaven. Or, maybe she preferred men with a full beard. Most of the men here sported some sort of facial hair, be it a full beard or a moustache. Her husband certainly didn’t bother shaving most days.

Damn! He’d tried to stay away. For three days he avoided Rachel’s wagon. He watched her from afar, unable to keep his eyes and mind off of her. She walked tirelessly beside her wagon every day. Her boys took turns riding in the bed or up in the jockey seat.  She had to be worn out. Thomas Parker drove their team, and he managed to hitch and unhitch the mules every day, but that was about all he did. Two nights ago, it had been Thomas’ turn at midnight watch. Unable to sleep, visions of Rachel kept Jake tossing and turning in his bedroll. He’d gone to check on his mare, and found Thomas snoring under a bush. Jake had sat up for the remainder of the night, waking Thomas when his shift was over. Barely aware, Rachel’s husband had shuffled off to his wagon.

BOOK: Come Home to Me
7.92Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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