Emma's Journey (4 page)

Ezra squinted against the sun and met her in front of her wagon as she returned. The empty travois sat outside her wagon, where she assumed Mr. Davis was now settled.

“Miz Thorpe,” he began “I have Davis’s saddlebags here. I’d like to put them in the wagon with him, but I wanted you to know about it.”

Emma drew herself up, her chin in the air as she viewed the worn brown leather bags with distaste. “If those saddlebags
contain any spirits, I’m telling you right now I’m dumping it out before we leave today. I will not have drinking going on in my wagon.”

Ezra’s lips twitched. “Ma’am, from what I’ve seen, Davis is not a drinking man, but you’re free to look for yourself.”

“And so I will.” Emma nodded at Ezra and turned back to her work. It was time to load the things she had used for breakfast. After gathering everything up, she tossed it in the back of the wagon at the sound of Ezra’s retreating footsteps.

She stopped and watched her unwelcome guest lying in the wagon, his eyes still closed. He needed a shave and his clothes were none too clean. She wrinkled her nose, and shifted her gaze. That wasn’t her problem. She’d agreed to nurse him, but nothing else.

Emma cautiously slid the saddlebags toward her and pushed open the flap with one finger. She viewed some clothes, a knife, and a jar of some type of ointment. After moving them aside, she turned up gloves, a banged up canteen, some jerky, a shaving razor, a little bit of money, a cup, some eating utensils, and a jacket. No bottles of spirits.

“Find what y’all are looking for?” The raspy voice caused her to jump.

Emma dropped the saddlebag with a thud. The most beautiful crystal blue eyes she’d ever seen stared back at her. They glowed with either anger or humor, not knowing the man well enough to be sure. She straightened her shoulders. “My goodness, Mr. Davis, you scared me half to death. I thought you were asleep.” Annoyance flooded her at the sound of her breathless voice. She had every right to examine what her wagon carried.

“Cooper,” the tired voice responded.

“Excuse me?”

“Cooper. My name is Mr. Cooper.” His voice was low and deep. From pain, or anger?

“Then why do they call you Davis?”

“Because my name
is
Davis. Davis Cooper. I hate to bother you, ma’am, but can I have a drink of water?” He dropped his head back onto the pallet and closed his eyes. That little bit of effort apparently wearing him out.

Emma scooped water out of the barrel with his cup and returned to the back of the wagon. She climbed in, spilling some of the water on her and her patient. She put the cup to his lips, but there was no way he could drink it unless she lifted his head.

Hating that she had to touch him, she gingerly put her hand under his head and raised him. Not opening his eyes, he drank greedily of the water and turned his head when he finished. Within minutes his deep breathing suggested the man now slept, so Emma returned his belongings to the saddlebags.

The sound of scouts riding alongside the string of wagons, yelling, and slapping their hats to get the animals moving forward warned her she still had a lot of work to do. She tied her bonnet under her chin, left the wagon, and approached the oxen that one of the men who had carried Davis over had hitched to her wagon. She grabbed the heavy rope and pulled, grunting.

Sweat trickled down Emma’s face, running into her eyes, burning them. Every muscle in her body ached from constantly yanking on the rope to keep the dumb animals moving forward. The front and back of her dress was soaked through, her teeth coated with road dust. She fought tears, and finally gave up and let them come. They ran down her face, mingling with the sweat.

Over the course of the morning she’d checked on Davis several times, but he remained asleep. Right around twelve o’clock a bugle called a halt to the wagons to stop for the noon meal. Emma dropped to her backside right where they stopped. She pulled her bonnet off, and fanned herself.

In the long line ahead of her, men filled pans with water for the animals, while the women pulled out the makings of a meal from the wagon. Children too young to walk alongside their mothers ran in circles, laughing and shouting, finally free from the restriction of the wagon.

She really should get something to eat, but too weary to move, she remained where she’d fallen. A shadow fell over her as one of the scouts pulled back on his horse’s reins and slid to the ground alongside her.

“Ma’am.” He touched the brim of his hat. “My name’s Joshua Williams, and Ezra sent me to help with the animals.” He nodded and moved past Emma, then began examining the oxen. With every muscle screaming at her, she climbed to her feet and staggered to the back of the wagon.

Chapter Four

Emma rattled around in the wagon, too tired to think about a meal, but knowing if she didn’t eat, she’d never make it through the afternoon. She glanced at Davis to see him quietly staring at her. Startled, Emma put her hand to her stomach to quiet the butterflies that seemed to have taken up residence there.

“Oh, Mr. Cooper, I thought you were still asleep.” Once again her voice sounded breathless to her ears.

“Well, did you?” Davis studied her with a slight grin and a twinkle in those strange blue eyes.

“Did I what?”

One bow arched as he regarded her intently. “Find what you were looking for?”

“Mr. Cooper.” She raised her chin up. “I was merely making sure there was nothing in your saddlebags that might endanger our trip.” Heat rose from her stomach, burning her face. She quickly looked down, her stiff fingers fumbling with two tin cups.

“Well, ma’am, since my gun is here beside me, what could be in my saddle bags that would endanger our trip?” His voice hitched like he swallowed laughter.

She glowered with narrowed eyes. “Never mind, Mr. Cooper, everything seemed to be in order, so there’s no reason to continue this discussion. Would you like something to eat? I have some biscuits and leftover bacon from breakfast.”

He grinned and shifted his position, wincing with pain. “That would be just fine, ma’am. I’m sorry, but I don’t reckon I know your name. Ezra just told me they were taking me to a wagon to travel in until I could ride again.” He attempted to prop himself up on one elbow, but re-settled himself instead.

Blowing out her breath, she answered. “My name is Emma Thorpe, Mr. Cooper.”

As she fixed a sandwich of bacon and biscuits for both of them, she studied Davis Cooper under half closed eyelids. Even though stretched out, she noted his long frame, and powerful thighs. His strong jaw had a slight cleft in the center, below a pleasing face. Curly brown hair fell over his collar in the back, and dusted his broad forehead. The buttons of his brown wool shirt pulled tightly over a muscular chest, the bandages causing extra bulk. For the first time she wondered what his injuries were.

Afraid of being caught staring, Emma shook her head, and continued to busy herself with the meal preparations.

Davis closed his eyes briefly. “I’m sorry, ma’am, it was your husband that got killed by the horses, wasn’t it?” He again attempted to raise himself up on one elbow and succeeded.

“Yes, Mr. Cooper, I am–was–Peter’s wife.” Tears welled in her eyes again. Before they could spill over, she moved away. “Now we better get us some food before the wagons start up again.”

Joshua poked his head into the back of the wagon, and after conferring with her patient, helped him up and out of the wagon. Sweat beaded Davis’s forehead as he climbed out, his face riddled with pain. Emma placed her palms on her heated cheeks when she realized they were going off into the bushes. How was she ever going to continue this trip with a total stranger doing personal things practically in front of her eyes?

The sound of female voices caught her attention. Sarah, with Stephen settled securely on her hip, walked alongside Elizabeth as they moved down the line, heading in Emma’s direction. The little boy rested his head on his mother’s shoulder, and slipped a small thumb into his rosebud mouth. Sarah slid the baby down and handed him a biscuit. They all settled on the soft grass alongside Emma’s wagon, the women tucking their skirts under them.

“How are things going?” Sarah pulled Stephen toward her, and sat him on her lap. “Is Mr. Davis behaving himself?”

“Mr. Cooper hasn’t done much of anything except sleep. It turns out his name is Davis Cooper, not Mr. Davis.” Pulling her knees up, she wrapped her arms around her legs, and leaning her chin on her knees, studied the women. “I don’t know if I can do this. After all, Mr. Cooper will be sleeping right above me, and he’s a stranger! I think Ezra needs to find somewhere else to put him.”

“That’s probably not going to work.” Elizabeth shook her head. “Every other wagon is carrying more than one person, and loaded to the limit. I know because Jeb has been asking around. As much as I hate to say it, yours is the only wagon he can travel in.”

Emma banged her fist on her upraised knee. “It’s not my fault my husband was killed! Why should I be made to take care of the man who wasn’t?”

Sarah and Elizabeth quickly glanced down, suddenly interested in what little Stephen was doing.

Noting their discomfort, she glanced over her shoulder to see Davis hanging onto Joshua, walking slowly as they returned from their visit to the bushes. Emma felt the heat rise once again to her face as she looked at Davis. But instead of appearing angry, he looked at Emma with sympathy.

To cover her embarrassment, Emma stood and left the group for her own visit to the bushes. She grumbled all the way. She didn’t want that man’s sympathy. Truth be known, she wanted to hate him. Hate the fact that he was alive and Peter wasn’t.

When Emma returned, Elizabeth and Sarah had left, and Joshua waited for her.

“Ma’am, Ezra asked me to walk with y’all this afternoon to take some of the burden off you.” Joshua took hold of the oxen and added, “Why don’t y’all climb up into the wagon and ride for a bit this afternoon?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They had barely begun to move when Davis felt the wagon dip with Emma’s entrance. He kept his eyes closed, trying to identify the sounds as she moved around, and eventually settled across from him.

He opened his eyes and studied her as she waved her bonnet slowly in front of her face.

Emma Thorpe would be a pretty woman if she didn’t always look annoyed, scared or embarrassed. She had beautiful light brown curly hair that refused to stay tucked into her bonnet. Her changeable eyes appeared hazel right now, but earlier they had more of a green hue to them. She had a full lower lip, high cheekbones and a smattering of freckles across her nose.

Although of a slim frame, her breasts were full enough to please any man. The apron tied around her small waist gave way to full hips and what he would bet were long, slender legs. In all she made a lovely looking companion for him while he recovered. Too bad she most likely wished he’d been killed instead of her husband.

He cleared his throat. “Can I trouble you for another drink of water? If you’ll fetch the canteen from my saddlebags, there’s some left in there. I know you can’t get to your water barrel with the wagon moving.”

“Certainly.” She flushed as she fumbled with the saddlebag, yanking things out and stuffing them back until she found the canteen.

She unscrewed the top, and handed it to him. When he continued to stare at her, a slight smile on his lips, she sighed and placed her cool hands behind his neck to lift his head so he could drink.

“Thank you, ma’am, I appreciate it.”

“Well, Mr. Cooper, I’ll leave you to get your rest.” She climbed over boxes and barrels and left through the front opening, the wooden seat creaking as she settled there.

Davis swayed with the movement of the wagon. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be troubling this woman for long. Never one to be comfortable lying around, he already felt restless in his first day of recovering from his injuries. He hadn’t been badly hurt, certainly, not as badly as Peter Thorpe had been, but riding a horse was out of the question for a couple more days with his damaged ribs.

He shook his head when he thought about Emma being on her own now. A wagon train was no place for a widowed woman. And this woman’s slight build could never handle the rigors of the trail.

The rumbling of the wagons together with the clanking of pots and pans lulled him. His thoughts turned to his jumpy nurse. He grinned as he realized he obviously was the one who made her anxious. He had seen her talk with Ezra, Joshua and Jeb in a sane, rational manner, but every time she had to look at him she flushed red, stuttered, and began that nervous habit of picking at her clothes.

Davis struggled to get more comfortable. Unfortunately there wasn’t any easier position for him. The doctor with the wagon train who had tended his injuries said his ribs were bruised, along with cuts, scrapes and other slashes all over his body. Peter Thorpe had taken the worst of it when that horse went wild. Davis was damn lucky to be alive, and he knew it.

Thinking about how close he came to dying, he considered Peter and the cute little wife he’d left behind. Although everyone was aware there were plenty of dangers on these trips, it rattled the group to lose someone so soon into the journey.

He smiled to himself when he thought of Emma going through his saddlebags looking for “spirits.” He had been awake and listening to her conversation with Ezra. She may have been embarrassed when he called her on it, but she certainly didn’t back down. The woman had a bit of
spirit
herself.

Now that he knew her identity, he recalled a rumor that Thorpe’s wife was a bit of a princess. She apparently didn’t want to leave her home in Indiana, and her husband had pretty much dragged her along. Talk was she’d been too attached to her parents.

Thinking of Emma’s parents had his mind drifting back to the last time he saw his own mother. She and his little sister, Jenny, dressed in a yellow flowered calico dress with two long braids hanging down her back, had been swinging hands, climbing the stairs to their small farmhouse. Davis had waved as he’d headed to town to take care of bank business.

Stuart Granger had not been just the banker in the small town; he and Davis had been best friends. They had grown up together, wandering the woods near their homes, chasing small animals and each other. They’d swum in the lake, fished in the summer, and skated on the frozen pond in the winter. As the years went by their focus had shifted from chasing small animals to pursuing the pretty young girls in town.

Davis had made the trip to the bank alone because he hadn’t wanted his mother to know about the financial problems that forced him to ask for a loan. If he didn’t get the money from the bank, the farm could go under and he had no idea how to tell his mother the house her husband had built with his own two hands when they were first married would be sold out from under her. She had barely recovered from his death merely six months before.

Located in west North Carolina, the Cooper farm had been small, with all the effort going into growing vegetables for the market, as well as selling eggs from the chickens and milk from a few cows. Two years of bad weather had resulted in poor vegetable crops and the death of one of the cows had added to their losses.

During a heated conversation between the two men over the unlikelihood of Davis securing a loan, a young boy raced past the bank, his hands cupped over his mouth as he shouted “fire.”

The smell of smoke had greeted Stuart and Davis as they stepped through the bank’s doors onto the boardwalk. “That smoke’s coming from my direction,” Davis yelled as he vaulted onto his horse.

He’d raced the distance between town and his home. The dusty road leading up to the farm had already swarmed with neighbors, hauling water in pails from the nearby creek. A line had formed from the creek to the barn, with men, women and children passing buckets. He’d jerked the reins and slid off his horse. Black dense smoke poured out of the barn, and flames shot up into the sky.

Someone shouted to him that his mother and sister were in the barn. Davis pushed his way through, in an attempt to reach the door, but strong arms pulled him back seconds before the roof collapsed. Smoke and debris mushroomed up from the ground, sending sparks raining down on the crowd. Within minutes, two of the four walls had collapsed, and Davis stood staring at the old barn that had become his family’s grave.

After almost two weeks of drinking himself into oblivion every night, Davis received a visit from Stuart. No surprise to Davis, friendship or not, there would be no loan from the bank. Stuart convinced Davis it was in his best interests to sell the farm and start over somewhere else. So Davis handed the deed over to Stuart, placed flowers on his family’s graves for the last time and left.

A year and a half later, he’d grown tired of his life of drifting and hiring out as a cowboy on various ranches. He joined up with Ezra Franklin who took him on as a scout. Looking into the bloodshot eyes of the young man, Ezra told him right off no liquor for scouts on the trail, and Davis agreed. The nightmares had pretty much stopped, so he didn’t need oblivion anymore to sleep.

Good food, no booze, and hard work had cleared Davis’s head. The hours he had spent roping cattle and chasing strays had toned muscles in his arms, legs and back.

Davis had plans for Oregon himself. He’d already told Ezra this would be his last trip scouting. The check tucked securely in his pocket that Stuart had sent him covering the balance on the farm’s sale, Davis had finished running from demons and was ready to settle down and start over in Oregon country.