Alarm spread across John’s face. “What’s got you two so riled up?”
“Indians.”
He pulled the girls into his arms. “Nothing a’tall to be scared of. Indians around these parts are friendly.”
Elizabeth wrapped an arm around her pa’s neck. “Are you sure?”
“Yep.”
“Have you seen Indians before, Mrs. MacKlenna?” Frances asked, nestled against her father.
Kit caught Tabor’s bottom half just as the cat slipped from the child’s hold. ”I've seen Indians, but to be correct, we should call them by either their tribal name or Native Americans.”
John tapped his teeth with his pipe. “That’s an odd name to be calling ‘em.”
Kit gulped. “That’s… ah…that’s what my father used to say.”
“No matter what you call ‘em, they're still Indians, and I hope none of ‘em tries to steal that stallion of yours.”
“He’s a magnificent horse. Take a special mare to be bred to the likes of him.” Cullen brushed her thigh again as he stretched his legs.
She didn’t think it was intentional, but it was disconcerting, and her leg tingled. When Sarah stood and gathered up a handful of dishes, Kit snagged two pots and ran from Cullen’s errant leg, but she couldn’t run from what his touch did to her insides.
AN HOUR LATER, with the dishes scraped and scoured, and the beans put on to soak for the next day’s meal, Kit took a moment to stir some thoughts. What an exhausting day, the first of seventy-three. Could she—
“Folks will be dancing tonight at the Camerons,” Sarah said.
“I’m sorry. What’d you say?”
Sarah poured out the dirty dishwater. “Dancing at the Camerons.”
Dancing?
Even if she had the energy, she didn’t have a partner. “What time?” Kit asked, trying to show some enthusiasm.
“Young folks will gather soon as the old ones start yawning.”
“Don’t think I’m up for dancing, but I’d enjoy listening to the music.”
Sarah dried her hands on her apron and gave Kit a sympathetic look. “You can mourn that man you lost, but you can’t quit living. Music fills up inside of you and spills out all cool and bubbly. Makes folks feel good. Saw that today. Saw joy on the girls’ faces. Saw joy on yours.”
“Well…”
“You get yourself up there to the Camerons. One of those young men will ask you to dance, and you say yes. And don’t give a thought to what your husband would say. He’s gone now, and you need to get on with your life.”
“Are you going, or are you sending me off by myself?”
“John and I’ll be there soon enough. You run along. You’ll be welcome as family. Now, git.”
Kit wiped her hands down her skirt to smooth away the wrinkles. “Speaking of family, I hope Tate and Tabor won’t be a bother. They seem to have attached themselves to the children.”
Sarah’s laugh rolled into the small fine lines around her mouth. “I don’t see you sitting still and petting animals for hours on end. Those girls have begged their Pa for two years to get a cat or a dog. He’s never been inclined. Those critters are good for them. Teach them to care for something other than themselves.”
“Tate and Tabor are very demanding. The girls might decide they don’t want the responsibility.”
“I don’t think that will happen. Now stop dilly-dallying. Maybe Mr. Montgomery will ask you to dance. He’s the favored partner, even though all the young girls know he’s thinking of marrying a woman named Abigail when he reaches San Francisco.”
Marriage? Abigail? That didn’t fit him any better than wagon train guide. The news stung for a moment, but why should it matter to her? In a few weeks, she’d be on her way home. She had no time for complications, and no time for a Highlander.
Chapter Seven
AS KIT WALKED toward the Cameron’s wagon, a cannon-sounding rumble rattled the sky, and her feet literally left the ground. Was she tense or what? She hurried toward the music, passing a screen of willows. Her breath hitched at the sight of a man’s silhouette lingering between the trees and the river. When she reached the other side of the willows, he was gone. She glanced back to be sure she wasn’t followed.
Yes, she was tense. No doubt about it. Why would anyone follow her? No reason she could think of. It wasn’t like she was out walking in a dark and dangerous part of town. She tied her shawl around her shoulders and walked faster. She wanted to stop by her wagon first and change from boots to moccasins. Not that she intended to dance, but just in case.
If she had made a list of rules to follow, no fraternization would be number one. The Barretts were an exception, but they were the
only
exception. She screwed up last night when she invited Cullen to share a glass of wine, but she was curious about the man who resembled her ghost.
Another rumble, another shudder.
Close behind her, a growling voice demanded, “What are you doing?”
A double shot of adrenalin surged through her. She responded to the threat defensively with a donkey kick to the man’s chest. Then she turned and prepared for a palm-heel strike to the nose, but her hand froze inches from his face.
“Cullen Montgomery.”
She took a deep breath to control her breathing. “That’s twice today you’ve snuck up on me.”
He groaned as if he’d been mortally wounded. “Why’d you kick me?”
“You scared me.”
“Why didn’t you scream?”
“If you intended to hurt me, a scream wouldn’t stop you.”
He poked at his chest. “I think you broke my ribs.”
“Your chest is like a brick wall, and I didn’t kick you
that
hard.”
“I’ve seen Japanese warriors do that move.”
“It’s called Karate.”
He looped his thumbs through his suspenders. “Mrs. MacKlenna, I find you perplexing.”
Was he hitting on her? Surely not. “Will you please call me Kit? Or is that improper?”
He laughed. “I don’t believe you’ve ever been governed by propriety.”
She feigned a gasp. “Why would you think that? Because you’ve seen me drink, curse, and walk off unescorted? I’ll have you know, I’m fully cognizant of socially appropriate behavior.”
“Maybe you are, but from now on, walk closer to the wagons.”
“Guards are posted.”
“It still isn’t safe.”
“I’ll bring Tate or Tabor next time. They’ve been known to bite and scratch.”
He shook his head. “You’ve lost your animals to the Barrett girls.”
Kit laughed and it shocked her. How long had it been since she’d had anything to laugh about? Weeks? And now twice in one day. “I don’t think even Stormy is safe. It wouldn’t surprise me to find Frances sneaking him out for a ride.”
When she was Frances’s age, she’d mounted a horse in the pasture for a leisurely ride. Normally, that wouldn’t have been a problem, but the horse she rode was a multi-million-dollar Derby winner. Her punishment was no riding for two months, which for an eight-year-old, lasted
forever.
She never knew if her father’s consternation arose from his concern about her safety or the horse’s. The remembrance was bittersweet.
Neither Kit nor Cullen said anything for a few moments while her laugher faded into the soft breeze blowing through the leaves.
The sound of a fiddler playing
My Dark Hair’d Girl
broke through the silence. “I told Sarah I’d meet her at the Cameron’s. I need to hurry, or she’ll worry.”
“I’m going there, too. I’ll walk with you.”
She wanted to say no, but what harm would there be in a short walk? It would give her a chance to tell him what she didn’t tell him the night before. “You followed me after dinner last night. I didn’t say anything, but you needn’t watch over me. I—”
“Can take care of yourself.”
“Yes.”
“When you prove you can, I’ll stop watching.” He hooked her elbow, turned her toward the Camerons, and began to whistle.
“Violin Concerto in D Minor,”
she said.
His eyebrows shot up. “Put your lips to work and join me.”
She caught a glimpse of his dimples. His remark was a double entendre. He
was
hitting on her.
Watch out. He’s probably a nineteenth-century version of a player.
They arrived at the Camerons where a crowd had already gathered. Firelight from pine resin torches unfurled and flickered, bathing the dark corners of the prairie’s dance floor in warm rose-gold shadows. One quadrille set was dancing to the music of a fiddle and flute. Three other couples stood by clapping, waiting for a fourth couple to join them to make another set.
“There’s Mr. Montgomery,” someone yelled. “He’ll be our fourth.”
Cullen turned to Kit “Do you know the Quadrille?”
“Yes, but—”
“May I have this dance?” He whisked her onto the dance floor, ignoring her protests.
They formed a square with the other three couples.
The caller announced the steps, and they crossed over and started back to their original places. She missed a step, and he smiled. They returned to their starting position facing each other. She gazed into his eyes, soft and warm.
“Swing your partners, swing them around, swing them clear up off the ground.”
Cullen did as prompted, and she laughed, feeling her skirt swish through the air. The fragrance of wild flowers wafted through the air and the spongy buffalo grass cushioned her steps.
“Gents to the center, then back to your wall,” the caller yelled.
She’d never danced with a man over six feet tall. He had a light step and natural rhythm, and his warm hand on her back held steady and firm.
“Do-si-do and on you go. Promenade home. ”
The figure repeated four times before the caller called, “All
chassez
.”
Sweat dripped from her forehead, but she couldn’t stop dancing long enough to wipe it away. When she glanced at Cullen, a warm sensation passed through her. She was hot—inside and out.
They faced each other again then crossed over four times. He passed to her outside and back, then they finished with a bow and courtesy. He led her off the dance floor into the shadows of the sputtering light. “You have music in your soul.”
She panted, pulling more air into her lungs. “Music is my life.” His hand was gone now, but the heat of his touch lingered on her back.
“Bach must be the favorite part of it.” He pulled a handkerchief from his vest pocket and wiped his forehead.
“I do love Bach, but my taste in music is very eclectic.”
A young man wearing a sheepish grin approached Cullen. “My sister,” he pointed his thumb over his shoulder, “she’s standing back there, would like you to join our set.”
Kit wrapped a loose strand of hair around her finger, an annoying habit she thought she’d outgrown as a teenager.
Cullen glanced at a giggling, pug-nosed girl. “Will you excuse me?” he said to Kit. “I need to do this.” He wore a pinched expression of one who’d eaten a sourball. When he offered his arm to his new partner, Kit's insides tightened, but she stayed rooted where he'd left her at the edge of the dance floor, watching. When he swirled the giggling girl, Kit wiped the feel of his warm, lingering touch from her back. But she was unable to erase the touch from her memory.
Stay away from him. He is a player—predictable and dangerous.
Chapter Eight
A HORN BLASTED, pulling Kit from the fog of sleep. Where was she? Heavy weights pressed against her making movement impossible. Her scratchy eyes refused to open, but her nose was fully alert to the smell of frying bacon and burnt coffee. Slowly, her wayward cognition returned, but too late to give her more than half a second to cover her ears with her pillow before the second blast of Henry’s horn invaded camp with a sound as terrifying as a screeching herd of horses. Three times every morning, he blew the damn horn. He was either deaf or a sadist. The only way to stop the racket was to either shoot Henry or steal the bugle. Both options were under consideration.
Tate stood and stretched, and then without bothering to bark good morning, jumped out of the wagon. Tabor stuck around for hugs. She pulled him to her and buried her face in his fur. “At least one of you still appreciates me.”
During the three days they’d been on the trail, the animals stayed with the children most of the time, but during the night, they always found Kit’s bed. She wanted to believe they came to protect her, but she knew her bed was probably the most comfortable place they’d found to sleep.
She rubbed Tabor’s neck. “Let’s get up. Sarah’s waiting.” The cat just stared at her, purring, and she hugged him again. She was sleeping well. Something she hadn’t done since the crash, and she resented waking up, especially to Henry’s noise pollution.
She grabbed a Therowox pre-moistened cloth from her trunk, and began her first of two full-body baths of the day. The lack of sanitation and bathing topped the long list of concerns she had about traveling to the past and the cloths were the next best thing to a hot shower. Actually, she realized, a hot shower had no
next best thing
.
Outside her wagon, camp quickly filled with the sounds of clanking pans, whispers, and footfalls of the men and boys heading off to the woods for their morning constitutions. Well, at least she and Sarah had solved their sanitation concern by insisting the men erect a latrine tent for the women. During the day, nature’s call occurred
al fresco
behind billowing skirts, but at least at night and in the early morning, they had privacy.
She finished bathing, dressed, and climbed down from the wagon. The sun was barely up, throwing long shadows on the ground. She headed in the direction of the Barretts’ wagon located on the other side of the circle. Sarah would already be at the cook stove frying bacon.
When she reached the Barrett campfire, Sarah was dropping more bacon onto the skillet. Sizzling fat popped and splattered. “What can I do?” Kit asked.