Always and Forever (13 page)

“When I told Aunt Dahlia and Aunt Tulip about this trip, they said the same thing. I’m blessed to have people who love me so.”

Since her parents’ death, the love of Martin and the aunts had done much to ease her pain.

“You’re very special, Gracie. Folks can’t help but love you.”

Grace gave him a watery smile. Then, because she knew Martin would understand, she let the tears fill her eyes as she whispered, “I miss Papa so much, Uncle Marty—so much…”

He came over, eased her against his big barrel chest, and held her tight. “I do too, baby girl, more than I ever thought I could. He was a good friend. A
damn good
friend.”

She cried for a few moments longer and they consoled each other silently. Grace had no reason to hide her misery, Martin had loved her father too; so when Grace glanced up and saw Jackson Blake mounted atop a big black stallion positioned behind them, the pain she felt was vividly portrayed on her face.

Before she could speak or move, he drew out the longest gun Grace had ever seen and then called out in a low, sinister voice, “Let her go, mister!”

Grace’s eyes widened as Martin, still holding her, instinctively spun to the commanding voice. When he came face to face with the armed and mounted stranger, his eyes widened, too, then he barked, “Who the hell are you?”

Jackson’s eyes were wintry. “Back away from the lady, old man. Grace, are you hurt?”

“Old man!” Martin shouted, and thrust Grace from him with such force, she almost lost her balance. Fire in
his eyes, Martin bore down on Jackson like a maddened grizzly.

Jackson calmly raised the Colt, hoping the man would have the sense to stop before he put a bullet in his leg, but Martin kept coming, saying, “You’d better put that peacemaker to good use, boy, because once I get my hands on you, you’ll be having it for supper.”

Grace stared at them as if they’d suddenly grown cow’s heads, then shouted, “Dammit, stop this now!”

Both men froze.

She wheeled on the Texan first. “Jackson Blake, put that gun away. Have you lost your Texas mind?”

“I thought you were in trouble!” he snapped.

A stunned Martin asked her, “You know this outlaw?”

Too angry to answer questions, Grace turned on her godfather. “And
you
. He has a gun, for heaven’s sake, and you don’t have the sense the good Lord gave a rock to worry about being killed. I’ve already buried Papa. Are you trying to make sure I bury you, too?”

The men looked chastened.

“Now,” Grace huffed, as she attempted to calm herself. “Martin Abbott, this is the wagon master, Jackson Blake. Mr. Blake, this is my
godfather
, Martin Abbott. Both of you, say hello.”

Grumbles were exchanged.

“Good. Now, if you two will excuse me, I have a camp to set up.” And she stormed off. She was so mad with them both she couldn’t see straight.

Watching her retreat, Martin said, “She’s something else, isn’t she?”

Jackson was watching her too. “Yes, sir, she is that.”

“Her mother, Vanessa, had that fire, too, and that red hair. She raised Grace to be strong and brave and to speak her mind. She learned well, I think. Most men don’t appreciate it, though.”

Jackson nodded. He appreciated her, but had no idea how much until now. Seeing her with Abbott and thinking the man was assaulting her had filled Jackson with both dread and rage.

“Grace’s daddy and I grew up together, escaped from Maryland together, and when he died last year, I swore to him I’d take his daughter on as my own. It wasn’t necessary though because I’d walk through hell’s fires for that girl. Loved her since the day she was born. Did you know that her great-great-granddaddy was a pirate?”

Jackson was watching her too. “No, but it explains a lot.”

Martin chuckled.

Jackson supposed he owed the man an apology. “Sorry I drew on you, I thought she was in trouble.”

“Reasonable mistake, I suppose,” Martin offered. “Would you really have pulled the trigger?”

“If I thought you were harming her? Yes.”

Martin then looked Jackson straight in the eye and said, “When she first came up with this cockamamie idea about this wagon train, and going to Kansas, I was worried about her being out on the road. Now, I won’t have to, will I?”

Jackson told the truth. “No, sir. You won’t.”

Martin gave a short nod of approval, then walked over and stuck out his hand. “Glad to meet you.”

Jackson leaned down and returned the shake firmly. “Same here.”

The brides began arriving late that same evening in all manner of conveyances, bringing with them trunks, crates, and furniture. What had been a deserted glade was turned into a valley bustling with people, supply wagons, and belongings. Many of the women came alone, while a few were escorted to the camp by parents
or other family members. Most of the families were friendly and as excited about the journey as their daughters and were helping the women with the unloading of their things. When Grace explained to the family members that she would not allow them to stay at the camp with their daughters, most saw no problem with her stance. They understood the bonds she was trying to forge amongst the brides and thought the idea a sound one.

The Deetses, however, were an exception. Mr. and Mrs. Deets were the parents of hairdresser Wilma Deets, and were not pleased when Grace told them no, they could not stay on site with their daughter until departure for Kansas.

“But we insist,” her mutton-chopped father insisted. Dressed in a fine gray suit, he appeared to be someone accustomed to having his orders followed without question, but Grace had been dealing with men like him most of her life.

“Mr. Deets, I understand your concern, but the women will not become the strong, cohesive unit they will need to become if there are outside influences.”

Deets sputtered, “Outside influences! I’m her father, for heaven’s sake.”

The fashionably dressed Mrs. Deets stood silently at his side. The way in which her eyes were darting back and forth between her husband and Grace made Grace wonder if she’d ever seen him challenged before.

“Who’s in charge here?” Deets demanded, looking around, presumably for a man.

“I am,” Grace told him, “so unless you’re planning on taking Wilma back with you, I suggest you leave us and let us get on with things.”

“Impertinent young woman, how dare you talk to me that way!”

Grace turned on her heel and walked away.

“Damn you, don’t you dare walk away from me!”

Holding onto her temper, Grace spun back and said, “Mr. Deets, this is private property, and in a few moments you will be trespassing. Either get, or I will have you removed.”

He looked on the verge of choking. Mrs. Deets’s eyes were wide as saucers. Wilma stood behind her parents with a secretive smile on her thin brown face. She seemed to be enjoying her father being bested.

Grace continued tersely, “If you and your wife wish to stay and see Wilma tonight before you leave, I’ve no quarrel with that, but tomorrow will be the last day for visits. There is a boardinghouse in the town nearby. I’m sure they can offer you accommodations.”

Grace then turned her attention to the now openly smiling Wilma. “You should come with me so we can get you set up.”

The words seemed to be the only encouragement Wilma needed. She gave each parent a quick peck on the cheek, then fell in beside Grace. As they headed toward the women gathering in the clearing, Grace could feel Deets’s eyes boring into her back. She ignored him and hoped none of the other relatives would be as bull-headed and boorish as the ill-mannered Mr. Deets.

Grace didn’t see much of Jackson Blake. He and Martin spent most of the day overseeing the unloading of the supplies along with Martin’s small army of men, then checking everything against Grace’s inventory list. She still couldn’t believe this morning’s incident, but it pleased her to see they’d worked out their earlier problems and seemed to be getting along.

The now emptied wagons would serve as the women’s sleeping quarters tonight, but tomorrow they’d all get a chance to learn how to properly pitch a tent. Those same
tents would be their homes until Blake deemed them ready to head the wagons to Kansas.

By nightfall there were almost thirty women in camp, and when the work for the day was done, family members headed for the town’s boardinghouses, Martin bedded his men down on the far side of the valley (they’d be heading back to Chicago in the morning), and the brides picked out their wagons, then said goodnight.

After offering her goodnights to them in turn, a tired Grace decided she was still too wound up to seek sleep, so she grabbed a blanket from her wagon, draped it around her shoulders to ward off the night’s chill, then headed for the fire the men had built earlier in a cleared area. Bathed in its red and orange glow, she sat down on the big felled log that served as a seat and pulled the blanket closer.

It had been a long day, and she knew tomorrow would be just as long, if not longer. Quiet had settled over the camp. Grace could see the glow of lanterns shining softly inside the canvas of some of the wagons as the women prepared for bed, and over on the far end of the valley she could see another small fire around which some of Martin’s men sat, but there was no one else close by to intrude on her solitude. She’d done it, she congratulated herself, she’d gotten Price’s brides, ordered the supplies and the first day had been completed. Grace couldn’t think of anything else she needed to make the day more winning.

She sensed his presence behind her the moment he walked up. There was no need to turn and visually verify what her senses already knew. She felt him there as real as she felt her heartbeat. “Good evening, Mr. Blake.”

“Miss Atwood,” he voiced quietly.

For a moment, Grace felt a bit awkward and tongue-tied. The last time they’d been alone together, his kisses
had made her melt, and even though she’d vowed to keep their relationship focused on the business at hand, her mind kept reliving being in his arms. “Thank you for coming to my aid this morning. Even though it wasn’t needed, I appreciate your concern for my safety.”

“Martin and I sorted it out.”

The silence resettled, broken only by the sharp crackling sounds of the wood in the fire.

Grace gathered her courage. “Please, sit if you’d like,” she offered, turning so their gazes could meet.

“Nice night, nice fire, beautiful woman. I probably shouldn’t come any closer—”

Feeling her heart begin to pound, Grace turned back to the calming effects of the blaze. “We’re both adults, Jackson. Surely we can talk without—”

“Kissing?” he asked, finishing her thought. It pleased him having her address him by his given name.

“Kissing, yes.”

“I don’t know,” he replied softly. “Something about you makes me want to do that more and more.”

His every word affected her like a stroke from his hand. She nervously clasped her hands together. “You’re a lot more forward than I’m accustomed to.”

“I understand that, but my daddy raised me to speak what’s on my mind…and you are, Grace Atwood. When we get to Kansas, I’m going to head down to Texas and you’ll be coming back here. We’ll probably never see each other again, but you’re not a woman easily put out of a man’s mind.”

Grace turned back and looked up at him again. He was pretty vivid himself, came the thought. “I’ll not forget you easily, either.”

Then she confessed softly, “I don’t really mind the kissing, you know, but I think if I were better prepared for them, I wouldn’t be so—so woozy afterward.”

“You think so?” he asked, both amused and fascinated by her innocent assessment.

She nodded. “Yes. Don’t you?”

Jackson shook his head. “No.”

She studied his dark presence. “Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t have anything to do with being prepared, it has to do with passion and sparks between two people.”

“And is that what you think we have—passion and sparks?”

He nodded. “It’s starting to look that way.”

Grace pondered that for a moment, then said, “Well, I think you’re wrong. Kiss me again, and I’ll prove it.”

Jackson went still. “Excuse me?”

Grace couldn’t believe she’d asked that. It was as if she’d somehow been transformed into one of her outrageous aunts, but the cat was out of the bag now, and it was too late to do anything but row. “It’s the only way I know to prove to you that my theory is correct.”

Jackson looked down into her fire-flecked face. “This theory being, that if you know a kiss is coming, you won’t be woozy afterward.”

“Yes,” she concurred quietly.

“I can’t just kiss you out here in the open like this. Folks’ll talk, and your godfather would have my hide.”

Grace scanned the darkness. “How about those trees over there? If anybody asks what we were doing, I’ll say we were scouting for a place to rig up a shower.”

He laughed softly. “A shower?”

“Do you have a better lie?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

“Not off the top of my head, no.”

“Then mine will have to do. Besides, everyone’s so tired, they’re probably asleep.”

He reached out a hand. “Come, then.”

Grace placed her hand in his and he gently assisted her to her feet.

They walked away from the camp and into the moonlight darkness of the trees. Once they were alone, hidden from prying eyes, they stopped.

He looked down at her and asked, “How’s this?”

Grace had never done anything like this before and a part of herself demanded to know if she’d lost her mind. But another part knew this had nothing to do with theories; being in his arms took her to a realm so tantalizing and tempting, she wanted to enter it again, if only for a few moments.

Savoring the heat of her closeness, the faint scent of her perfume, Jackson stood unmoving a moment. He then used a guiding finger to gently raise her chin so he could feast his eyes on the lush dark bow of her mouth. “Are you ready?” he whispered.

“Yes,” she managed to reply with more bravado than she felt. The nearness of him was already making her woozy; her inner bells were chiming like Easter morning, her heart racing like a rabbit in full flight.