Frontier Courtship

Seeing his quizzical expression, Faith adjusted the fabric of her dress and gave him a half smile as she took up the reins. “I was raised riding mules like old Ben without the benefit of a saddle. A body tended to wind up in the brambles if she didn’t sit her mount sensibly.”

Without comment, Connell climbed back aboard the wagon and called to the team to move out. Nothing Faith Beal did or said should surprise him, yet it kept happening. She was an enigma: a frail-looking beauty with the strength and stubbornness of a mule and more than a few useful skills many men didn’t possess.

Connell smiled to himself. Looking at her, he’d never have guessed just how capable she was; nor did he think it wise to tell her what he thought for the present. Something inside him kept suggesting that Faith was the key to finding Irene and he tended to trust his gut feelings. Besides, she made an interesting traveling companion.

He looked over at her astride his horse and sighed. It had taken him months to acclimate himself to life among the Arapaho but he’d eventually adjusted, thanks to the love of Little Rabbit Woman. A Pawnee raid had ended her short life. He hadn’t let himself care for a woman that way since. Nor had he wanted to.

Connell cast another sidelong glance at his new boss. No God-fearing Christian woman would submit herself the way Little Rabbit Woman had when they’d been married in the Indian tradition. That was as it should be. So why was he suddenly feeling let down?

Ab and another outrider were the first to notice Faith astride a horse while someone else managed her team. She saw Ab’s shocked, nervous expression as the two men wheeled their mounts and rode rapidly away.

Pulling abreast of Connell, she called out, “I think we’re about to have trouble.”

“I saw. Ab, I recognize. Who’s the other man?”

“Calls himself Indiana. That’s all I know.”

Connell nodded. “When Tucker gets here, let me do the talking.”

“In a pig’s eye. That’s my rig. You work for me, remember?”

With a grin, Connell cocked one eyebrow and pulled his hat lower over his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And you needn’t pretend to be subservient, either. We both know you don’t feel that way, so stop taunting me.”

His resultant laugh was deep and mellow. “You’re a hard one to please, Miss Beal. Do you want me to be your equal or your slave? Make up your mind.”

Faith had only a few moments in which to send Connell a warning glance before Ramsey Tucker reined his lathered horse up beside the wagon. It made no difference whether or not her new driver had permission to speak for her. As far as Tucker was concerned, she may as well have been invisible.

He glared at Connell. “Who the blazes are you?”

Deferring, Connell nodded toward Faith. “Miss Beal has engaged me as her driver. Seems all her usual assistance is unavailable.”

Tucker snorted and spit. “You talk pretty fancy for a drover. Where you from?”

“Around.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, you’re not welcome here. Get on your horse and scat.”

“Nope.”

“What’d you say?” Shouting, Tucker was reaching for the coiled bullwhip tied to his saddle by a leather thong.

Connell’s eyes met Faith’s, their message clear. While Tucker was distracted, she let the canelo fall back a bit, quietly slid the plainsman’s heavy Hawken rifle out of its scabbard and held it ready in both hands. At Connell’s nod, she tossed it to him.

His left hand closed around the barrel. He swung the long gun around in one fluid motion, laying it across his knees with the business end pointed toward Ramsey Tucker.

“No,” Connell repeated. “I’m staying.”

Faith saw terrible anger in Tucker’s face, vitriol in his eyes. She also sensed raw fear. He’d met his match in the rough-edged stranger and he knew it.

The captain’s nervous mount danced beneath him and he jerked hard on its bridle. “What’d you say your name was?”

“Folks call me Hawk,” Connell offered. “I rode night hawk for Fremont out in California. The moniker stuck.”

“We could use a good hand with the stock.” Tucker’s voice was filled with false bravado. “You take your turn as a wrangler with the other single men and you can stay.”

“Mighty neighborly of you.” Connell smiled over at him, his steady regard a warning he’d not be deterred. It wasn’t until Tucker had ridden off that the smile became truly genuine.

Faith was grinning broadly. “You’ll do.”

“I thank you, ma’am.”

“And quit with that false politeness, will you? If I’m going to call you Hawk, you’d just as well call me Faith.”

“The other respectable ladies would have my hide if I did that, and you know it. Think of all the loose talk that kind of familiarity would cause.”

“Let them talk. It’s gotten so I don’t give a fig what they say.” Faith was warming to her subject. “Every one of them has stood by while Ramsey Tucker abused my animals and ordered me around like some worthless chattel. The way I see it, you’ve earned the right to call me anything you like.” She giggled. “Did you see the look on his despicable face when I tossed you that rifle?”

“That, I did.” Connell sobered. “I should have thought to strap on my forty-four again once I left town. Did it hurt you to lift the Hawken?”

“Honestly? A bit. But it was worth every twinge to see Tucker running off like a mangy cur with his tail twixt his legs.”

“Do you have a pistol of your own?”

“Papa’s Colt Walker. Why?”

“Because I intend to drive, eat and sleep with my revolver. I want you to begin wearing yours, too, right out where everybody can see it.” With a grin he added, “I assume you have extra cap, ball and powder and know how to shoot.”

“Of course I do. What’s so funny? Did you figure I couldn’t handle a gun?”

“Not at all. I was just marveling at the fact I knew you’d say you could. I assume you’re a good shot, too.”

“You’d better believe it!”

She nudged her heels against the horse’s side to keep him in line with the front of the wagon. Whether Hawk McClain was teasing her or was dead serious, at least he’d quit assuming she was totally helpless. For a man like him, that was pretty good progress, considering they barely knew each other.

“I never shoot animals for sport,” she warned. “Only when we need food.”

There was genuine admiration in his tone when he said, “You’d make a good Indian. Little Rabbit Woman would have liked you a lot.”

“Who?”

“Little Rabbit Woman. She was my Arapaho wife,” Connell said quietly. “In another life. She died a long time ago.”

Empathy flooded Faith’s heart. “I’m so sorry.”

“I believe you actually mean that.”