Rexanne Becnel (7 page)

Tanner.
Abby swallowed hard. Why did she always act like such a ninny around him? But she didn’t even try to look away from his mesmerizing gaze.

The saddle creaked as he shifted slightly, leaning toward her. “I’ve signed on with your company. I’ll be riding ahead today, doing some hunting. I came to see how you were provisioned for fresh meat.”

“I, ah … I’d be grateful for anything extra you have,” she said, determinedly ignoring the wet strip of cloth dangling just beside her head.

He nodded. “Well, I’ll just have to see what I can do.”

“Abigail?” Her father came up alongside the wagon, but before he could say anything, Abby spoke up.

“Father, Captain Peters has hired Tan—Mr. McKnight. He … he’ll be hunting today. He was just inquiring—”

“I’ll be bringing fresh game in later,” Tanner broke in on her babbling, facing her father. “I’ll be certain you get your share.”

Abby watched apprehensively as her father glared at Tanner. Why had he taken such a dislike to the man? But to her relief her father was, if not polite, at least not rude.

“Fresh meat.” He nodded once, then, as if in dismissal, looked up at Abby. “Have you completed your chores? The call to leave will come any minute.”

“Yes, Father.” She gave him a fleeting smile, then turned back toward Tanner. “Good luck with your hunting.”

He touched the brim of his hat with one hand, the most circumspect of gestures. But as he wheeled his eager horse around, Abby could have sworn that he winked at her.

She bent down to retrieve the remaining wet cloths, though every fiber in her being wanted to stare after him. To gape like some schoolgirl, she admitted to herself. But her father was there, and she was not about to give him any more fuel for the righteous fire that always burned inside him. Still, it was awfully hard. Tanner had winked at her. That was twice now, and both times her father was present.

Though she knew she should not read more into it than was there, Abby couldn’t prevent the rush of heightened color to her cheeks. It was that which must have alerted her father.

“Keep your distance from him, Abigail.”

She looked up from her task, struggling to keep any show of resentment from her face.

“He works for the company, Father. It’s his job to provide fresh meat for us.”

“Yes, well, that may be so. But just you remember everything else that he is. He’s a hired gun. While I’ll not deny every wagon train requires such men, it still does not make him suitable for a young girl like you.”

She couldn’t help it. Abby slapped the last strip of cloth over the makeshift clothesline, then leaped down from the high wagon back, not mindful in the least of ladylike decorum.

“Just because he’s not a preacher doesn’t mean he’s a terrible person. For your information he’s read the classics.”

His eyes narrowed until they were almost lost beneath his heavy brows. “The classics? Which classics? And how would you know that about him anyway?”

“The Roman classics. And the Greek,” she added, though that was pure speculation. “We were discussing the mythological characters yesterday when you so rudely interrupted us.”

If she hadn’t stretched the truth so far, Abby would have taken more pleasure from the expression on her father’s face. He was shocked, she saw. It was not often that she surprised him, and she knew he hated more than anything to be proven wrong. But he was also a fair man, and as she watched him, she could see that fairness struggle with his natural caution.

“The classics.” The wind tugged at his hat, and he clamped it down tighter on his head. “Does he perchance also read his Bible?”

Abby pursed her lips. “I’ll ask him about that when he brings the meat,” she replied tartly.

To Abby’s relief the call to break camp came rolling up just then, a cry taken from wagon to wagon all the way around the circle of wagons. Her father passed it on, then coughed at the effort before turning to the team.

At that wracking sound Abby suddenly felt ashamed of herself. She hadn’t meant to contradict her father. She hadn’t meant to sound so flip either. She just wanted the chance to get to know Tanner McKnight, and that would be impossible if her father forbade it. But if they could just find some common ground…

She lifted up the tailgate of the wagon and slid the two bolts home. Maybe she’d better find out just how much of the classics Tanner knew.

“What exactly did he do to her?” someone asked in a hushed tone.

Abby shot Sarah a wary look but kept on walking. They were a good-sized group of women this morning with a rowdy gang of little children loosely trailing them. But the women were not paying much mind to the children today. They were all straining to hear Doris Crenshaw’s answer.

“Mr. Crenshaw had struck up a friendship with Mr. Godwin, you know. And being as how our own Charlotte is only a year younger than poor Rebecca, Mr. Crenshaw was practically distraught when he heard.”

“But what exactly did he
hear
?” Martha McCurdle demanded in the loud, insensitive tones Abby had come to associate with the woman. A blowzy, overfed blonde, she was a vain, gossipy creature, and it hadn’t taken Abby long to figure that out. But today at least, everyone was just as interested in Doris’s answer, for no woman could feel safe if young women were being attacked.

“Well, I attended her myself, at Mr. Crenshaw’s insistence. Not that I wouldn’t have done it anyway, being a good Christian and all—”

“But what did he
do
to her?” Martha interrupted impatiently.

Doris sent her an irritated look. “Well.” Her voice dropped a level, and everyone leaned in a little closer, even Abby. “It was very odd. He kept asking her name, like he wanted to be sure who she was, or something. But he didn’t, you know, have his way with her—though God knows he tried. Her skirt was ripped—so was her petticoat. She’s all scraped up on her knees and her thighs—”

“How can you be so sure he didn’t do it?” Martha broke in again. “She wouldn’t admit it if he did. I heard he hit her and knocked her out. How could she even remember what he did to her?”

Doris glared at the other woman, then indignantly drew herself up. “I was there when the doctor examined her, Martha McCurdle, and he said the brute did not ruin her, so don’t you try to imply that he did.”

Sarah smirked at Abby. Neither of them liked Martha and her malicious bent, and they enjoyed seeing her taken down a peg.

“Is she all right now?” Abby asked.

“Physically she will heal,” Doris replied. “I saw her just this morning and persuaded her to take some oatmeal and coffee. But she’s hurting inside. Afraid he’ll come back. Afraid what people will think,” she added, shooting Martha a warning look.

The group of women slowly drifted apart, breaking into twos and threes to wonder and worry about the new fear added to their burden. Bad enough that every day brought new dangers—accidents, illness. Snakes, Indian sightings. Did they now have to worry about some threat from within their own midst?

“It was probably some man at the fort,” Sarah said, giving voice to Abby’s own hopeful thoughts.

“Yes,” Abby agreed. “But we still must be careful.”

“Do you really think any of the men of our company would do such a thing?”

Abby shrugged. “I don’t know them all. My father holds all the single men in suspicion, but there are also a few married ones that have the most unpleasant way of staring at a woman.”

Sarah nodded, and the two of them walked in silence for a while. To the left the wagons rolled in a long, tedious line. To the right and a little ahead four children gamboled, happy and unaware of the worries that weighed so heavily on the adults around them.

Oh, to be that carefree again, Abby thought. She pulled her everyday shawl close against the biting wind. It was mid-May, yet with the overcast sky and the gusting wind it felt more like February. At least it wasn’t raining.

“There’s a new man on the train,” Sarah said after a while.

“We seem to have gained a few and lost a few at Fort Kearney.”

“Yes, but you’d remember this fellow if you saw him,” Sarah replied, an odd note in her voice.

Abby sent her a sidelong glance, then when she spied Sarah’s merry expression, began to redden.

“I knew it!” Sarah crowed. “It’s the fellow you’re so interested in.”

“I’m not
interested
in anyone,” Abby protested, albeit weakly.

“Not even a tall, dark, and handsome anybody?”

“You know, you’re getting almost as nosy as Martha.”

But Sarah only laughed. “Maybe if you knew what I know, you’d be nosy too.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing,” Sarah answered nonchalantly. She turned toward the group of children. “Come over this way, Estelle! And bring the rest of the little ones closer to us.”

“Sarah Lewis, don’t you be that way. What is it you know that I don’t?” Abby demanded, catching her friend by the sleeve. “Tell me right this minute.”

Sarah sent her a triumphant grin. “We might not even be speaking of the same man. Let me see, what was his name? Tom. Tommy … Tommy McNeal …”

“Tanner McKnight. His name is Tanner McKnight and you know that just as well as I do.”

“Oh, yes. Tanner McKnight. How could I forget?”

“Sarah, if you don’t get to the point—”

“My, my. How impatient you are. But all right, I’ll tell you.” She gave Abby a conspiratorial grin. “It seems he was at that saloon last night. You know, that noisy place right outside the fort?”

“Yes, yes. So?”

“Well, Victor was there too.”

“And?” Abby prodded. She was breathless with anticipation. Why was Sarah dragging it out so?

“And he asked Victor about you.”

Abby stopped in her tracks. They’d been walking along, keeping a steady pace with the slow-moving wagons. But at Sarah’s surprising words Abby was suddenly unable to do two things at once. She could not both walk and examine this astounding bit of news.

Sarah stopped also, turning to study her friend with a knowing smile. “Still not interested in anyone?”

“He … he inquired about
me
?” Abby asked, ignoring Sarah’s friendly taunt.

“He did. He wanted to know how serious you and the Reverend Harrison were.”

“We’re not serious at all! I hope Victor told him that.”

“He did,” Sarah answered patiently.

After that the day passed in a bit of a blur. Abby positively brimmed with boundless energy. She could have flown all the way to Oregon on the sheer strength of her soaring emotions. Tanner McKnight was interested in her! Abigail Bliss, spinsterish schoolteacher, the object of such a man’s attentions. It was too good to be true.

Though Sarah laughed knowingly at her foolish antics, Abby could not restrain herself. She played with the children, singing them songs, teaching them their letters and their numbers with the clever tunes she led them in.

“A
my name is Abigail; I’m gonna marry Abraham; we’re gonna raise apples and live in Alabama.”

“B
my name is Betty; I’m gonna marry Bobby; we’re gonna raise
bumblebees and live in … in Babylonia.”

And so the day went. They stopped for the noon rest, and she prepared a substantial meal of biscuits and milk and leftover ham from last night’s meal. Then they picked up the interminable trail. The day alternately dragged on, then seemed to fly by. By the time the sun neared the horizon before them, she was a bundle of nerves.

Where was he? Would he bring them a portion from today’s hunt? Would it be too forward of her to invite him to sup with them?

She was still debating that subject when the call to make camp echoed down the line. Saying her good-byes to Sarah and the ragtag group of children, she turned toward the wagons, eager, for once, to begin the supper preparations. But first she would make herself presentable.

While her father unhitched the oxen, she rummaged in her box for her comb and a bit of ribbon. She should speak to her father about inviting Tanner, she told herself as with deft fingers she unwound her hair. But that would only give him the chance to say no. On the other hand, if she extended the invitation without her father’s approval, he’d be extremely angry. He might even be rude to Tanner. Of course her father hadn’t hesitated to invite Reverend Harrison without discussing it with her, she reminded herself. Still, it might be the most politic thing for her to extend the invitation in her father’s presence. She could turn to him innocently and ask his permission.

Abby grimaced, then thrust the horn comb repeatedly down the long length of her hair. How devious she was becoming. First willful, now devious. What would her mother think?

She was just freeing the last of her tangles when the tattoo hoofbeat of an approaching horse alerted her.

“Not yet. I’m not ready,” she muttered, grabbing up the ribbon. She hadn’t rebraided her hair or anything. Panicked, she pulled the ribbon under her hair and tied it so that the thick mass at least stayed out of her face. Then, with heart pounding and palms sweating, she poked her head outside the back of the wagon.

A
S TANNER RODE UP
to the Morgans’ wagon, all he could think was that he didn’t want her to be Willard Hogan’s granddaughter. But the field was narrowing down. Today he’d learned enough to rule out the Hardwick girl—her father couldn’t read or write. The Callahan girl and her father were Black Irish, not Bliss’s coloring at all. That left a field of five, and Abby was at the top of the pack.

Only he didn’t want it to be her.

That unsettling realization brought a frown to Tanner’s brow. But he covered it by touching the wide brim of his felt hat with one hand. “I brought you a haunch of antelope.”

“Antelope?”

He watched the expressions that flitted over Abby’s face. Curiosity. Doubt. Then, when her long lashes lifted and she met his watchful gaze, embarrassment.

Embarrassment. That was an emotion he didn’t usually associate with women. But then, she was not really his type of woman, as he’d told himself over and over again. He’d take a buxom blonde over a slender brunette, and a lady of the evening over a Sunday-go-to-meeting type any day of the week. Yet here he was, shifting uncomfortably in his saddle at the very sight of the proper Miss Abigail Morgan.