The Wagon Master’s Rescued Bride (Preview)

Chapter One

14^th May 1865

“We’ll have to leave the horses,” he said. “We must go forward on foot.”

She glanced up at him in horror, blinking rainwater out of her eyes. Realization sank in, and she imagined them staggering through the boggy ground, the mud over their ankles, sucking down their feet. She imagined hidden stones and twisted roots, threatening to trip them up and send them sliding down a steep slope.

In a storm like this, a person could fall and break a leg as easy as winking.

“What?” she gasped, voice catching. “You must be joking. We’ll never get away from them without horses!”

He lifted a finger, gesturing for silence.

“Listen,” he breathed, his voice caught by the wind and torn away.

Not that there was anything resembling silence around them at that moment. The wind howled through the trees, and the rain lashed down, creating a deafening, echoing patter of raindrops on the foliage all around them. Every now and then, thunder cracked above them. Lightning zigzagged through the air at the same time, splitting the sky. The storm was only getting worse. It had already swept through half of the state, or so she’d heard, and was not running out of steam. She hardly dared imagine the damage it had left.

She vaguely remembered her brother once teaching her that after lightning, you could count the seconds to find out how far away the storm was from you. The more seconds between the lightning and the thunder, the further away it was. If both came at the same time, it meant that the storm was right overhead, which meant that you were in trouble.

The lightning could be useful, though. It lit up their surroundings, which was pretty helpful. It must be close to midnight now, and with the storm as bad as it was, there wasn’t even a tiny bit of moonlight or starlight in the sky. Often, they plowed forward in pitch black, trusting on their horses’ instincts to lead them forward.

She blinked rainwater out of her eyes and flicked back her sodden hair, staring at his raised finger. In the comparative silence which followed, she could quite clearly hear the distant thunder of horses’ hooves, growing closer.

Fear closed icy fingers around her heart.

“They’re close,” she whispered. “They’ve nearly caught up with us.”

All thoughts of escape vanished. How could she ever have been stupid enough to think they could escape? All this while, through their mad dash away from danger, she’d imagined they were leaving the others far behind. All along, they were closing in. Perhaps they had even gone in circles. It was easy enough to do, in conditions like this, when visibility was low, and rain fell like a curtain. Ordinarily, she was fairly good at navigating her way, but not in the dark. Not in a storm.

The man caught her eye and nodded.

“Time to go on foot,” he said with a sigh, and she let out a shaking breath as she slid down from the horse’s back.

The poor creatures were soaking wet, water dripping off their noses and sliding into their eyes. Her horse, a heavy carthorse which she’d privately named Henry, turned to look at her, his eyes dark and weary.

He must be cold, she thought. Cold and wet and hungry. So am I, Henry. The difference is that I know why we’re out here, and you just think that I’m cruel enough to make you ride in the rain.

She felt her chest constrict, but now wasn’t the time to indulge in too much pity. She needed to keep her pity for herself.

“What will we do?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. The forest floor was slick with mud underneath her feet, and she had to grip the side of Henry’s saddle to keep herself upright. She could barely see anything, relying on the occasional flashes of lightning to light her way. They had stopped in a small clearing, the trees pulling back watchfully.

Anything could hide in those shadows, she thought as she shivered. Her imagination immediately provided clear and crisp ideas of just what, exactly, could be hiding in those shadows. It was a vivid mental image.

“We need to split up,” he said bluntly, head whipping from side to side, blinking rain out of his eyes, and she flinched, eyes widening.

“What?” she managed to say, sure that she must have misheard. “You’re crazy. We can’t split up!”

He shook his head grimly. Water plastered his hair to his head like a seal, running into his eyes so he had to blink constantly.

“They’re closing in on us,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I’m going to release the horses. With any luck, they’ll run straight back to their warm, dry stables. You head that way, following the river, and I’ll cut across the forest. If we split up, it might confuse our trail.”

“How…How can they even track us in this weather? It’s so dark!”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about that. The point is that they are tracking us. So, do as I say. We’ll meet up at that craggy point on the north side of the forest. Do you know where I mean?”

She swallowed thickly, trying to calm herself. “I…I think so.”

“I’ll hide beneath that point, if I can, and wait for you there. Things will be fine, you’ll see.” He reached out, placing a wet hand on hers. “In a little while from now, this will all just be a nasty memory, I promise.”

She let out a shuddering breath. “You don’t know that. We might both be dead before dawn.”

Lightning split the sky, creating enough light for her to see the harrowed, miserable expression on his wet face. He averted his gaze, as if he didn’t quite want to meet her eyes.

“We need to go,” he said firmly. “We’re running out of time.”

There was no arguing with that. She could hear distant shouts now, and the rumble of horses’ hooves seemed to come closer with each passing minute.

Releasing her grip on Henry’s saddle, she nodded, hoping that he could see her.

“The craggy point, north side of the forest,” she repeated. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

“God willing,” he responded, and she heard his voice crack.

On impulse, she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace.

“Be careful,” she whispered. “You must be careful.”

He wound his arms around her. “I will. You too.”

The hoofbeats were almost upon them now. She gave a strangled sob, releasing him. She turned away and plowed forward into the forest, her feet slipping on the mud.

Wet foliage slapped at her face, branches catching at her hair and skirts. She forced herself forward, resisting the urge to twist around. There was no sound from him—no running feet, no voice shouting after her to say that he’d made a mistake and that they should stick together.

The rain started falling more heavily, a gray veil that removed any visibility that was left. A rushing sound began to drown out the rain, and it took her a moment to realize that the rushing sound was the river.

She skidded to a halt just before the tree line pulled back to reveal a slippery bank, the mud sliding straight down to the wide, rushing river.

Generally, the river cutting through the forest was nowhere near as powerful as this, but tonight the storm had swollen it. She could just about make out the milky shadow of the water thundering past, angry and dangerous. It would be twice as deep as usual.

But if she wanted to get out of the forest, she had to follow the river. There were other ways out, of course, but the paths weren’t safe, and it was too dark to navigate any other way.

Keeping a grip on the tree trunk, she carefully stepped around, keeping the river on her right. She moved forward carefully, heart in her mouth every time she put her foot down.

For about fifteen minutes, she moved along like that, her anxiety gradually lessening. There was no sound except the storm, no movement but the rushing water and the trees lurching in the strong wind.

They wouldn’t risk taking their horses this close to the river, she thought with a rush of hope. Not in this weather.

Have I escaped?

At that moment, a gunshot echoed through the trees. She gave a stifled scream, swallowed up by the storm, and spun around reflexively in the direction from which the sound came from.

The movement caused her foot to dislodge from its place. She went skidding sideways, nothing but thin air beneath her foot. She cried out again, even though, of course, nobody was going to help her. Nobody that she wanted to come and help her, at least.

She reached out, grabbing onto a branch to steady herself.

It was the wrong choice. She meditated on just how wrong that choice had been when the branch snapped, sending her flying backward. Her clawing hands only met air.

She hit the water with a splash. It was icy cold, taking her breath away in more ways than one. She kicked out under the water, trying desperately to free her legs from the suffocating constraints of her skirts. Clawing water, she finally managed to bring herself above the surface, drawing in a deep breath.

The current was fast, sweeping her along faster than she might have imagined.

I’m back to where I started. Ten minutes of painstaking progress, undone in a matter of seconds.

No time to think about that. Her priority was to get out of the river, now. She was already wet and cold, which could mean death, but being much longer in this river would drown her. She grabbed at a passing branch, sticking out of the muddy riverbank. It stopped her for a moment, but the branch dislodged quickly. She dug her fingers into the bank, hauling herself upward.

Just a little further. Just a little further…

She reached the top of the bank, the sodden weight of her clothes dragging her down. If she could just get a good grip…

The bank shifted beneath her. She fell backward, more heavily than before. Her head struck something sharp and heavy, a river-wet stone, and darkness closed in.

Chapter Two

May 1865, Big Blue River

Lucas placed his hands on his hips and scowled at the oncoming storm. He reckoned they had barely half an hour before it hit properly. Already, he could see a veil of gray rain in the distance.

Around him, people scurried to tie down their wagons and collect their valuables, bringing them inside. A storm like this was no fun to face in a good, solid house, made of stone or wood, let alone in a flimsy canvas wagon. The timing, too, was terrible. The storm must have been approaching all night, and now, just as the sun was rising, it was here. They’d lose a whole day of travel.

He heard a chuckle behind him and shot a scowl over his shoulder.

“I don’t know what you’re giggling at, Samuel,” he remarked. “That storm is going to cause damage.”

“I’m giggling because you’re glaring at it like it’s going to sense your displeasure and turn aside,” Samuel responded with a grin.

“This storm is bad news,” Lucas added. “It’ll ruin our travel today. The best we can hope for is to just shelter in place and hope that it passes us by. And going forward, the roads will be ruined, and the rivers will have burst their banks. It’ll be slow going. I knew we should have left on the very first day of April. As it was, leaving mid-April…”

“Lucas, Lucas.” Samuel sighed, patting him on the shoulder. “We can’t go back in time and leave earlier, okay? We’re here now, so let’s just focus on what we can do. Now, where’s your wagon?”

Lucas shot him a look. “My wagon is safely battened down. The wheels are locked, the horses and oxen are somewhere safe, and my things, few as they are, are all safely stowed inside. You might want to look to your wagon. Now, is the quartermaster all prepared?”

“I’m not sure.”

Lucas nodded. “I’ll go check. You go find Thomas and Sarah.”

Not that Thomas and Sarah would need much help, of course. Lucas had known Thomas since they were both children, and both he and his wife were sensible, determined people. Lucas was pretty sure they’d be safe, but it wouldn’t hurt to check.

Some of their fellow travelers were still in the process of bringing their wagons off the road to shelter in a clearing where they’d try to weather the storm. Lucas clenched his teeth, watching their progress.

“Cutting it fine, don’t you think?” he called to one of the drivers.

The man didn’t respond, concentrating on navigating the stony lip of the ditch. Getting in was all very well, but if they wanted to continue their journey, they needed to think about getting out again, too.

Movement caught his eye, and Lucas paused, squinting against the wind.

A little girl sat in the middle of the road, the wind whipping her hair around her head. There was a dry patch beside her where a wagon had been, indicating that she’d sat down to play with her doll beside her wagon, only to be left behind. Lucas was conscious of a surge of anger. He broke into a jog, keeping an eye on the approaching black storm cloud. Once he was closer, he recognized the little girl as Lucy, who was Colt and Ruby’s daughter.

“Hey, there, honey,” he said softly, bending down. “Why aren’t you with your ma and pa? Where’s your sister?”

Lucy, who was barely three, only blinked up at him. It was unusual to see her without her twin, but it seemed that her parents were far too easily distracted, and both of the girls wandered away often. Sighing, Lucas scooped her up, grabbed the doll, and set off at a jog.

Colt’s wagon had been carefully placed right in the center of the line of wagons. Ruby was sitting on the lip with her other daughter, Beth, on her knee. She glanced up as Lucas approached, and blanched.

“Forget something?” Lucas snapped. “Watch your daughter, Ruby. Where’s Colt?”

“Tying up the oxen,” Ruby responded, taking her daughter with a nervous smile.  Lucas could sense that she didn’t much like him. Not many people in their caravan did.

He hurried around the wagon, squinting into the gloom of the trees. Sure enough, there was Colt. He gestured, and Colt scurried toward him.

“You got all your things secured, Colt?” Lucas asked, his voice low.

Colt swallowed and nodded. “I double-checked.”

“Okay. I’m glad. I can’t be responsible for all your cargo, you know.”

Colt glanced around, suddenly nervous. “I wouldn’t expect that.”

“Alright. Just so you know. Now, watch your girls, okay? A storm like this can sweep a child away and drown her. Watch them, you got it?”

“I got it.”

Lucas nodded, reassured, and strode along the row of battened-down wagons. People were gathering in groups, whispering urgently and eyeing the oncoming storm with apprehension. At the very end of the row was Clayton Marsh’s massive wagon. As the quartermaster, Clayton’s wagon was possibly the most important one in the row.

Well, Lucas thought with a grim smile. Perhaps the second most important.

Clayton, a heavy, broad-shouldered man of about forty-two, stuck his head out of the wagon and grinned.

“All ready, Boss!” he called.

Lucas gave a curt nod and walked by. Clayton wasn’t his favorite quartermaster, but he did the job, and that was all that mattered.

Thomas and Sarah’s wagon was next to Clayton’s. Thomas stood outside, deep in conversation with his wife.

Thomas was thirty-three, two years older than Lucas. He was as thin as a reed, and rather short. Neither he nor Sarah crested five foot five, which meant that they looked almost silly standing beside Lucas.

Lucas was aware that he was a large man. He was close to a foot taller than his friend, broad-shouldered and grim, where Thomas was bright and smiling. Thomas was blond and cheerful and generally considered pretty good-looking for a man of his age.

Lucas couldn’t remember the last time somebody had called him good-looking.

That’s not true, he thought, with a sickening lurch. I do remember. It was my wife.

That was a painful thought, and Lucas angrily put it aside. Maybe it was the impending danger, the howling of the storm, but he couldn’t quite move on.

She always laughed at how much taller I was than her.

When she’d found the first gray hair amongst his black curls when he was just twenty-five, she’d laughed and laughed. Well, that was six years ago now, and there was definite gray skating along Lucas’s temples. He reached up to touch it almost without thinking and angrily snatched his hand away.

She’s gone. I don’t need to think about my looks anymore.

Thomas and Sarah nodded and smiled at him, and Lucas prowled on. Widow Oakley’s wagon was the very last one. Lucas wasn’t pleased that a woman alone had been put at the end of the row, but it was too late to reshuffle now. The woman herself peered out of her wagon as he passed by, offering a wry smile. Mrs. Oakley was barely thirty-one, two years younger than Samuel and the exact same age as Lucas, but she sometimes appeared older than her years. Lucas paused, checking over her wagon.

“It’s all in order, Boss,” she said, flashing a wry, tired smile. “I’ll be cooking for everyone when this is over, just as I usually do.”

“I imagine at times like this you miss having a man handy,” Lucas commented.

The smile fled from Mrs. Oakley’s face. “I don’t miss my husband, Lucas. I’ll be blunt about that. I can manage just fine.”

Lucas inclined his head. “I beg your pardon, I meant no offense.”

“And I didn’t take any. Do you need any help, Lucas?”

He shook his head. “No, nothing. Let’s just concentrate on getting through these next few hours, okay?”

“Maybe you should get back in your wagon,” Mrs. Oakley said pointedly.

Lucas gave a wry smile. “I will when I need to. Shall I send Samuel along to sit with you? I don’t like the idea of you being all alone here, at the end of the row.”

“I wouldn’t say no to company, but don’t tear the poor man away from his wagon,” Mrs. Oakley answered, a little uncertainly.

Lucas moved on, coming out of the ditch and back onto the road. The storm was much closer now. They’d done all the preparations they could, and now it was a simple case of waiting to see if their best would suffice.

Footsteps came from behind. Lucas knew they were Samuel’s before he even turned around.

“One last sweep, then I’ll go back to my wagon, Sam,” Lucas answered, not bothering to glance around.

Samuel sighed. “Don’t you think you’ve prepared enough? Don’t you think you’ve thought of everything?”

“No,” Lucas answered instantly, turning to face his friend. “Once upon a time, I thought I had done enough. I believed I had thought of everything. My hubris killed my wife and our baby.”

The words seemed to plunge through the air like a cannonball dropped through a paper floor.

“You cannot keep blaming yourself for that,” Samuel managed at last.

Lucas shrugged. “Who should I blame?”

“At the very least,” Samuel rallied, hurrying after him when Lucas began to walk away, “come sit in my wagon.”

“I was going to ask you to sit with Widow Oakley.”

Lucas glanced over his shoulder just in time to watch Samuel blush. Sam was a redhead, with a face full of freckles and pale green eyes, and even at the age of thirty-two, he blushed redder than a schoolgirl. Odd.

“I’m not sure she’s keen for my company,” Samuel mumbled. “I don’t want you to be alone, Lucas.”

Lucas gave him a tight smile. “I’m always alone, Sam. It’s how I like it these days.”

For once, his friend didn’t argue.

***

The storm dissipated as the sun rose, as if the bright daylight had scared it away. Lucas was the first one to venture out. It had been a long, long night.

His wagon had sustained minimal damage, with only a tear to the canvas covering. Other wagons had similar damage—torn canvases, chipped wood, even a smashed cartwheel. Most of them, mercifully, were unharmed. That was something, at least. Widow Oakley’s wagon, however, had sustained the most damage. In fact, her entire canvas covering had been torn off and ripped away. She’d gone running into another wagon—not Clayton’s—and was safe herself, if a little shaken.

One by one, the travelers crept out of their wagons, wide-eyed, pale, and shaky. They were right to be shaky. At times, even Lucas had believed that his wagon was going to be wrenched up from the ground and whipped away.

“We made it, folks,” he said, loudly enough for his voice to carry. “We’ll make repairs today, collect ourselves, and with any luck, set off tomorrow.”

He wasn’t met with much enthusiasm, but three weeks into their journey was enough time to strip away any enthusiasm. Samuel came hurrying up, his face eager.

“I thought you and I could go and see if we can find Mrs. Oakley’s canvas covering,” he whispered. “If it’s mostly whole, we can rig something for her. Otherwise, that wagon is bare.”

She couldn’t travel with a bare wagon. Well, she could, but her things would be exposed to the elements and to theft, to say nothing of providing her with no shelter at all. Lucas nodded in agreement.

“You’re right. Grab a horse, and we’ll go. I’m guessing the storm blew it off the road and down by the river?”

“I reckon so.”

Half an hour later, the two men were gingerly picking their way down a steep, muddy slope that led toward the river.

Of course, what with all the rain, the river was swollen, having burst its banks. What had probably once been a neat, reliable path alongside the bank was now a mire. After the horse slipped for a third time, Lucas got down from the saddle and continued on foot.

Debris of all kinds bobbed along in the river. There was a smashed-open crate, bits of wood, scraps of fabric, coils of rope, everything. An empty tin of pork beans floated past at one point, followed by a lady’s nightdress.

Samuel went on ahead, peering down into the debris in hopes of spotting the canvas sheet.

He sure is determined to help out Widow Oakley, Lucas thought, allowing himself a faint smile.

The river was wide, and since foliage and reeds crowded the banks, it was hard to see anything. When Lucas spotted a colorless edge of fabric peeking out of a bank of reeds, he thought at first that he’d found the canvas sheet.

Then he saw a white hand, half-submerged, tangled in the fabric, and his chest tightened.

“Samuel!” Lucas called, unable to keep the panic out of his voice. “Samuel, there’s a body in the water!”

“A body?” Samuel yelped. He began to pick his way back, but not quickly enough. Moving cautiously, Samuel slid down the bank, pulling aside the reeds.

A woman floated in the water, her dress tangled around her. She floated on her back, her face pale and blank. For a moment, she reminded Lucas of a painting he’d once seen. Well, not a painting exactly, but a picture of one, in a book. It was one of his wife’s books. She liked art and books. This book was full of newer paintings, one done in the last decade or so.

In that painting, a woman had floated along in water just like this, her hair and dress streaming out around her. At first, Lucas had thought it looked peaceful.

“Peaceful?” his wife had chuckled. “It ain’t peaceful. She’s dead. Drowned herself over a man.”

Well, that had been upsetting.

Enough, you fool, Lucas thought angrily. Enough of the paintings.

He slid down a little further, close enough to reach out and wrap his fingers around the woman’s wrist, pulling her closer to the bank. She didn’t resist or move in any way, and her skin was clammy.

She had blonde hair, bleached almost to nothing because of either the water or the sun. Her dress, he noticed, was torn and dirty, but that could have been because of her troubled path through the river. It was hard to judge her age, but he guessed that she was about twenty-two or three. She would have been pretty, too, he reckoned.

“Well, I’ll be darned,” Samuel breathed from behind him. “She could have floated for miles.”

Lucas sat back on his heels, inspecting the woman’s body. Something tightened in his chest.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that she was dead. Had she struggled against the current? Had she fought to live? He noticed that there was dirt deep under her nails, and he imagined the poor girl clawing her way up a slippery bank as the storm raged around her, trying so desperately to live.

“It’s not fair,” he breathed.

“What’s not fair?”

Lucas made a vague, angry gesture. “It’s not fair that she’s dead. It’s not fair that she drowned and then washed up here with nobody to say who she is or what kind of life she had. It’s not fair. At least we can bury her, though. We can do that.”

“Lucas,” Samuel said slowly, “that girl isn’t dead.”

“What?”

“She’s breathing. Look, Lucas, she’s breathing!”

He gave a shuddering breath. “Then we need to get her out of the water, fast. Help me, Samuel!”

Samuel very wisely obeyed.