Cora's Pride (Wilderness Brides Book 1) (2 page)

Cora suppressed a scoff. “Not without husbands.”

Anna stared at her, wide-eyed. “We’re going to have to find husbands?”

Cora glanced at Josie, whose eyes glistened with tears. Her chest tightened. With a determined lift of her chin, her gaze returned to Anna.

“No. We’re going to follow the wagon train. There’s nothing Mr. Brown can do to stop us. Come hell or high water, we’re getting to Oregon, and we’ll do it without being at the mercy of that buffoon, or any other man.”

D
roplets
of frigid water from the mountain stream splashed his face every time his feet hit the ground. Nathaniel Wilder didn’t stop to enjoy the refreshing reprieve. Rays of the early afternoon sun beat hot against his back, making the sweat trickle uncomfortably along his skin. He ran through the water, sending up more spray. The water only came up to his ankles, but the rocky bottom slowed him down considerably.

He glanced over his shoulder while continuing his course through the stream. This was his best chance to lose his pursuers. Other than the loud splashes he created, all was quiet behind him. No galloping horses or shrill war whoops followed him.

Nathaniel grinned and lengthened his strides. It would be a cold day in hell before a band of Crow was going to get the better of him, even if he was on foot and without his rifle. He squinted against the bright shimmers of the sun as it reflected off the water in front of him.

He kept to the middle of the creek, following its course downstream until it forked, the two channels creating an island as the water flowed around a rocky embankment. Several dead trees had washed up on the berm, remnants from the spring snowmelt when the water flowed stronger and deeper.

Nathaniel stopped to catch his breath. After a quick glance in both directions of the fork, he stumbled for the bank to his right. He kicked a rock loose from its resting place in the dirt and touched the heel of his moccasin into the damp earth. Wheeling around in the water, he changed direction to continue downstream, following the fork to the left. His false tracks might fool his pursuers long enough to put greater distance between him and them.

While he didn’t relish being hunted like some animal, his heart beat faster with the thrill of the chase. Outwitting an opponent was a favorite game among his brothers and their friends, and this pursuit certainly broke up the monotony of his journey so far.

He scrambled from the water under some willow branches hanging over the edge, taking care not to bend any of the twigs. Following the creek close to shore, he entered the water again another mile downstream, crossed, and finally headed toward the dense woods ahead. With any luck, the Crow would search in the wrong direction long enough for him to get away.

His lungs burned by the time he slowed his pace. Sweat ran down his face and he swiped a hasty hand over his eyes. He stood, staring off into the distance, and listened. Other than the soft breeze swishing through the canopies of the trees and various birds chirping overhead among the branches, all was quiet.

Six Crow on horseback would make at least some noise, unless they had abandoned their horses to pursue him on foot, which was highly unlikely. They knew he was without a rifle and would feel fairly confident in their pursuit. Hopefully, it would work to his advantage.

Nathaniel’s grin returned. All he had to do now was backtrack and find his horse and pack animal, then he could be on his way home. If his brothers or old Harley ever found out that he’d been careless enough to let a band of Crow steal his animals, he’d never hear the end of it.

He’d already stolen his horses back from the Crow once after a careless night camping out in the open. He’d foolishly mocked the Indians for his success, and they'd taken after him again. If it hadn't been for his saddle horse stumbling and tossing him to the ground, he wouldn’t be in this predicament right now.

Returning home from Fort Hall with wounded pride was one thing, but he couldn’t come back without the provisions for which he’d traded. An entire season of hunting and trapping was not going to go to waste.

Nathaniel pushed away from the tree he rested against, and set out for the sunny clearing ahead. If he traveled a few miles west of the creek, then headed east again, maybe he’d find his horses before the Crow did. He cursed his dumb luck for the hundredth time.

His older brother, Ethan, would love nothing better than to call him irresponsible and reckless if he returned without their winter supplies. His younger brothers, Trevor and Travis would gloat while silently wishing they could have been with him to give the Crow a good run for their money. Old man Harley would take him aside and tell him that a man always learned the most valuable lessons the hard way.

Nathaniel picked up the pace. He wasn’t irresponsible like his brother seemed to think. Reckless perhaps, but it had always gotten him out of harried situations before. Unlike Ethan, he wasn’t averse to taking chances when necessary. It wouldn’t be any different this time. If he didn’t find his horses, no doubt the Crow would, and then he’d simply have to steal them back a second time.

The sun was slowly creeping toward the western horizon by the time he changed course and made his way further east. He’d climbed the rise of a gently sloping hill blooming with yellow flowers when he stopped and sniffed the air. The scent of wood smoke was unmistakable.

Nathaniel slowly scanned the valley below. Had the Crow made camp somewhere? He shook his head at the unlikely notion. Stands of spruce and cottonwoods obscured his vision, but there was a definite thin wisp of smoke rising from beyond the trees. Who’d made a campfire in the middle of the day? Other than Crow, and perhaps some Shoshone, there weren’t any other Indians in this area.

He hurried down the slope into the valley and cut through the tall grasses at a fast run. Losing his pursuers should be his main focus, but he couldn’t leave without finding out if there were other dangers nearby. By the time he reached the woods, the smell of smoke grew stronger, and faint women’s laughter reached his ears.

A Crow or Shoshone woman would never make this much noise unless she was secure in a large camp. Nathaniel frowned. He moved quietly through the trees until the light-colored canvas of a wagon cover stood out against the landscape. He stepped lightly through the underbrush, keeping to the trees so he wouldn’t be seen. He tilted his head to the side to listen for any surprise movement, while his eyes scanned the small clearing. One hand remained close to his hip, near the hilt of the knife strapped to his belt. At least he wasn’t completely without a weapon.

Clearly, there were no other wagons, and the one that was stopped here had a broken wheel. What was a lone emigrant wagon doing in this area? The last wagon train he’d seen roll through had pulled into Fort Hall nearly a week ago as he was leaving the outpost.

The sound of women’s laughter and talking grew louder. The small figure of a young boy darted between a group of four mules that were picketed between two trees. Nathaniel’s eyes fell to the lone horse tethered a short distance away from the mules. He glanced over his shoulders. If those Crow were anywhere near here, they’d smell the smoke, too.

Nathaniel studied the camp, his eyes taking in everything. It appeared as if these people had been camped here for at least a night. Trunks had been unloaded from the wagon, and several dresses and women’s unmentionables fluttered in the breeze from a line strung between a couple of saplings.

The fire was beyond his line of sight on the other side of the wagon. Two women were talking, but he was too far away to make out what they were saying. He glanced at the saddle horse again. Were there others? There were no men in camp, that much was certain. Perhaps he - or they - had left the camp to go hunting.

Regardless of where the men of this camp were, it didn’t matter. Nathaniel was wasting time. His Crow pursuers could be close. He moved through the trees and entered the clearing, making a wide arc around the wagon so that he’d be seen. The young boy spotted him first.

“Hey, mister,” he yelled. Nathaniel faced him and smiled. The women’s chatter quieted instantly, and someone even gasped. Nathaniel suppressed his own surprised reaction when he strode toward the camp, spotting four women sitting around the fire. He blinked, then frowned. Who in their right mind had left these women unattended in the middle of nowhere?

Before he could contemplate his question, two of the women, who looked to be just girls, darted for the wagon and disappeared inside. A third stood, staring at him from her place by the fire, while the fourth jumped up and moved quickly toward him, pointing a rifle at his chest. Nathaniel stopped and slowly lifted his hands away from his sides.

“I ain’t armed,” he called. “And I don’t mean any harm.” He plastered his best smile on his face. The woman holding the rifle straightened and raised her chin. Her gaze didn’t waver from his.

“That’s close enough,” she warned and raised her weapon.

Nathaniel stopped. His jaw muscles twitched. That female might just be crazy enough to take a shot at him. He rubbed at the back of his neck while his gaze darted to the horse tied to the tree. He cocked his head to the side to listen for any sign of his pursuers.

He eyed the woman again. She stood tall and proud, glaring at him suspiciously. The slight trembling of the rifle in her hands gave away her fear. Damn, she was pretty, even from a distance of twenty paces. She would no doubt be even prettier if she didn’t look like she was thinking of putting a bullet into him. Where were the menfolk?

“Looks like you ladies could use some help.” Nathaniel pointed at the broken wagon wheel.

“We’ve got it handled,” the pretty woman retorted, her voice firm and as cold as her eyes.

Nathaniel took a slow step closer, his eyes locked on the girl. She instantly stiffened and adjusted the rifle to point toward his head.

“What’s a man doing out here without a horse?” Her question was laced with mistrust.

“What are a bunch of women doing out here without men?” Nathaniel countered. Her reaction was instant. The distinct sound of the rifle’s hammer being cocked resonated in his ears. He’d obviously asked the wrong question.

“Go and be on your way, mister,” the woman called out.

Her eyes blazed daggers at him, as if the rifle she had pointing at his head wasn’t enough. Her hair fluttered in the breeze. Strands had come loose from the single braid that hung down her back. The rest of it was concealed under a scarf she’d tied around her head. All it did was frame her pretty face.

Nathaniel cursed silently. He was wasting time if he didn’t want that band of Crow to come swooping into this camp. The woman and her rifle would be useless against a half dozen warriors.

“Didn’t mean no disrespect, ma’am. It’s unusual to see a lone wagon out here. Just wondering where you’re heading.”

She seemed to hesitate before answering. “Fort Bridger.”

Nathaniel’s brows rose. He leaned forward slightly, as if he hadn’t heard correctly. “Fort Bridger?” he repeated, then frowned. “Where’d you come from?” Telling her that she was lost was probably not the smart thing to say.

“We came from Fort Laramie. We’re trying to catch up with our wagon company.”

Nathaniel’s brows rose. “Left you here alone, did they? With a broken wagon wheel?”

“I said we can manage just fine on our own.” The slight hitch in her voice was unmistakable. He’d eat one of his moccasins if he wasn't correct in the assumption that these women and the boy were out here alone, defenseless. Something close to anger brewed under his skin. Memories he’d buried long ago pushed to the surface.

“I’m sure you can, ma’am, but I hate to be the bringer of bad news. Fort Bridger is about a hundred miles southeast of here. You must have taken a wrong turn.”

Her eyes widened and a fleeting moment of panic flashed across her face.

“At this point, you’d be better off heading to Fort Hall. It’s about a week’s travel away.” He turned slightly, pointing to the west. “That way.”

The other woman who’d stood silently by the fire stepped up to the one with the rifle. She leaned forward and whispered something. The girl pointing the gun at him shook her head.

“We can’t trust a complete stranger,” she said, loud enough for Nathaniel to hear.

“He’s offered to help, Cora. And he seems to know where we are,” the other one said adamantly.

Cora

Nathaniel flashed a smile when she stared in his direction.

“Why can’t he stay and help?” the boy chimed in, appearing from around the other side of the wagon.

Nathaniel nodded in silent agreement, although staying in this camp was the last thing on his mind at the moment.

“Looks to me like you could use my help,” he offered again.

“He doesn’t even have a gun, Cora. We need help fixing the wagon.” The more sensible woman placed her hand on top of the rifle, and smiled at her companion. Cora’s lips tightened in disapproval. Slowly, she lowered her weapon, then eased her finger off the hammer.

“Fine, you can stay and help fix the wagon in exchange for a meal,” she conceded. “But you can’t go with us, and I’ll be keeping an eye on you.” Judging from the suspicious look on her face, she’d made her offer begrudgingly.

Nathaniel’s smile widened. “Much obliged, ma’am.”

He lowered his hands and strode toward the wagon. He chuckled softly. Damned if he hadn’t escaped a snake pit just to fall into a hornet’s nest. The woman standing next to Cora came up to him. She squared her shoulders and held out her hand.

“Anna Porter,” she said with a hesitant smile, her eyes shooting to the woman with the rifle.

Cora simply glared at him suspiciously. Nathaniel grinned and shook Anna Porter’s hand, then stuck his hand out to the hostile one.

“Nathaniel Wilder. Pleasure to meet you all.”

Cora whatever-her-last-name was didn’t shake his hand, but turned away from him and moved toward the wagon, pushing the young boy in front of her.

“Is she always this friendly?” Nathaniel stared after her.

Miss Porter eyed him with a slight disapproving look. “Her name is Cora Miller, and the girls in the wagon are her sisters, Caroline and Josephine. The boy is Patrick.”

Nathaniel studied Anna Porter. Her features were soft and delicate, matching her quiet demeanor. She clutched at the scarf covering her own head and pushed some strands of her dark hair out of her face.

“Where are your men?” Nathaniel couldn’t hold back the question.

Anna’s lips tightened. She seemed to hesitate with an answer.