Trail Blaze Read online

  With Conrad snickering at him the whole time, Greg could only slink back to his own camp and plop down in front of his campfire to stew. He wished that things could have been different. He wished that he was in a position where he could sweep Darcy away from Conrad and away from the life that she kept insisting she wanted. Greg doubted that was really what she wanted, and it certainly wasn’t what she deserved. If only his own plans weren’t so set.

  But they aren’t set, a voice whispered in his head. He hadn’t even decided whether he wanted to grow crops or raise livestock yet. If he hadn’t even made up his mind about that, what was to say he couldn’t change his mind about getting a wife sooner instead of later?

  No, even if he did change his mind, he wasn’t convinced Darcy would change hers. Certainly not for him. It was his fault that she was in the mess she was in. She probably hated him for it. Not even a glorious kiss could erase his guilt in the situation. If he was her, he wouldn’t be able to stand the sight of him right now.

  You’re a damned fool, that voice continued to whisper in his head. Don’t just sit there, do something.

  As powerful as the voice was, his guilt was more powerful. Whether or not he wanted Darcy, he wasn’t sure at this point that he deserved her.

  Chapter Seven

  When it started raining again a day and a half later, Darcy couldn’t help but laugh. Just when it looked like the ground would dry up and the wagons would stop growing mildew on their canvas coverings, the mud was back and her clothes hung on her in heavy, wet folds. It was the very definition of irony. Conrad drove his wagon from a position standing in the wagon bed, under the canvas. That made Darcy giggle too, but at least it meant he didn’t have his eye on her. She was free to hang back and walk beside Greg again, and if she could walk with Greg, the rain didn’t matter.

  “I do believe I’m going to start to grow fins and great, long whiskers, like a catfish,” she laughed, pushing her soaked bonnet off of her head. There was no point in wearing it when there was no sun.

  “Catfish? No, I imagine you as more of a mermaid,” Greg replied. He wore a smile, but for the last few days it had been strained. Something was going on behind those warm eyes of his, something painful.

  Of course, Darcy may not have known what it was, but she certainly knew what had caused it. Greg’s kiss still lived on her lips. She felt his arms around her again every time she closed her eyes. She remembered his scent every time she took in a breath. They never should have given in to their passions. Unless, of course, they were willing to give in all the way. Loving a man did no good when you were attached to someone else as thoroughly as she was.

  She was saved from her thoughts as Mr. Evans rode up beside them.

  “Hey, Pete?” Greg caught him before he could ride on.

  “Yeah?” Mr. Evans answered, slowing his horse to walk alongside them.

  “Why haven’t we stopped?” Greg asked. “This rain is just getting worse. We can hardly see anything up ahead. Why don’t we hunker down for a while so that maybe people could take shelter and get dry?”

  Mr. Evans shrugged and frowned. “Believe me, nothing would make me happier than to hole up at the next fort for as long as it takes for the rain to wear itself out. I don’t like walking through this any more than you do. But if we want to make it through the mountains before the snow buries us, we have to keep moving.”

  “I suppose,” Greg grumbled.

  A hitch caught in Darcy’s heart. She hated to see him so down. She had a feeling deep in her heart that it wasn’t the weather that had his spirits so low, it was her.

  “I don’t mind,” she said as cheerfully as she could, smiling at Mr. Evans. That would improve Greg’s mood. “I was just telling Greg that I think I’ll sprout fins, then I can swim to California. Don’t they say that waterways are the fastest ways to travel?”

  Mr. Evans chuckled and gave her a kind smile. Then he glanced to Greg with a pointed look and a shake of his head. Greg’s expression dropped even further.

  “If you manage that little trick,” Mr. Evans told her, “then you’ll have to teach it to the rest of us.”

  “I will.” Darcy nodded.

  Mr. Evans touched the brim of his hat, then tapped his horse to move forward. Darcy watched him ride up closer to the front of the wagon train.

  “I wonder how many wagon trains full of settlers he’d escorted west as trail boss,” she asked aloud, then sent a sidelong glance to Greg. If she could pull him out of his mood and help him to see that nothing could be done but to accept the situation at hand, she would feel better.

  “I heard him say that he’s been making the trip every year since ’51, and he intends to keep leading them until he can’t get back up on a horse,” Greg answered.

  “Can you imagine that? Always on the move, never staying in one place,” Darcy went on, wiping wet hair out of her face. “It sounds like some sort of Greek myth to me.”

  “I suppose it does,” Greg said, but that was it.

  A silence fell. Darcy’s smile faltered. It was her fault that Greg was in such a mood, her decisions that were dragging him down. He was probably so frustrated with her stubborn insistence on marrying Conrad that in no time he would grow tired of her and push her aside altogether. She couldn’t bear to see it.

  “You know what all this rain means, though,” she said, trying once again to turn things around.

  “What?” Greg glanced up at her, smiling for a fraction of a moment, then dropping back into quiet distress.

  Darcy forced herself to giggle. “It means that you have another option for the land you buy when you reach Oregon.”

  “Oh?” He was curious now. That was a step in the right direction.

  “Yes. You could raise fish,” she said, bursting into a grin. “Why, I’m sure that most of Oregon is underwater at this point anyhow. The fish will jump right in from the ocean, and you’ll have your hands full harvesting them.”

  Greg chuckled. Just a little bit, but it was something. “I know nothing about fishing,” he said. “Other than the kind we did at my grandpa’s farm in the pond.”

  “That’s a start,” Darcy encouraged him. “It can’t be much more difficult than raising cattle.”

  “Fish move a lot faster,” Greg played along, filling Darcy with a thrill of hope. Maybe she’d broken through his gloom at last.

  “But fish are limited to the pond,” she told him. “They may be fast, but they can’t get very far.”

  He stood a little straighter as he walked, his eyes a little brighter. “Cattle can be enclosed too,” he said, “though out here on the frontier they’ve no need to be. The open range is a wonderful thing.”

  “Is that how you intend to keep your cattle? If it is cattle you decide on.” Yes. If she could get him talking about his ranch, he would be happy and at peace again.

  “I’m not sure,” he said, looking far out at the rainy horizon as if he could see all the way into his future. “I have to take a look at the lay of the land and determine how far the money I’ve earned for the purpose will stretch.”

  “And what do you think the land you’ll buy will look like?”

  He shrugged. “Hills maybe? Trees? I’d like to build a small house to start with and then add rooms onto it as my fortunes grow and when….”

  He trailed off, and all over again, his spirits and shoulders sank. Darcy bit her lip, heart racing with the feeling that he would have gone on to say ‘when he had a wife.’

  “What a pretty little house that will be,” she said instead, doing her best to bring the sunshine into her voice. “I can imagine it now, a tidy front porch, curtains in the windows, and a hunting dog to help you with your work. In fact, I—”

  “Darcy,” he stopped her. She flinched at the unexpected anger in his eyes. “Stop.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said in a smaller voice. “I was just imagining.”

  “How can you be so happy all the time?”

  Darcy opened her mou
th to reply, but nothing came out. She wanted to laugh and brush his question off, but it brought the hopelessness of her own situation crashing down around her.

  “I have to be happy,” she said, quieter still. “I have to make the best of things. I always have.”

  “I can’t see how there is a best of things in this situation,” Greg grumbled.

  “There’s always something to look forward to, even if it’s something small,” she countered.

  Greg shook his head. “But you could take your fate in your own hands. I know you have it in you to be bold and brave, Darcy. If any woman could make a way for herself out here in the West, it’s you. You can do so much better.”

  “You think so?” she asked, fighting the bitterness of everything his words implied. He could easily apply those words to himself. He could take his fate in his hands and choose a different path too, if he was willing.

  “I do think so. You shouldn’t have to marry Conrad, one way or another,” he said.

  “Oh? Then how do you propose I pay his money back?” she snapped. “Who else would you propose I marry?”

  She waited, staring at him with relentless energy. She knew what answer she wanted. She knew who she wanted. But if Greg wasn’t willing to stand up for her, then any efforts she made would be for nothing.

  “I….” He started but didn’t continue. His whole body rippled with tension.

  “Is it so hard for you to see past your own plans to glimpse a possibility of something different?” she asked. She thought the question would come out angry, but instead it was soft, pleading.

  He glanced sideways at her. “I wouldn’t want to let you down,” he said at last on a sigh.

  “Let me down?”

  He shook his head, wiping the rain off his face. “What if I buy land and start a farm only to have it fail? What if I can’t figure out the best way to raise cattle? I could handle failing on my own, but if I had a wife and children to support…. I don’t think I could live with myself if I let you down.”

  At last, something that sounded like truth. A wave of calm and warmth spread through Darcy’s chest.

  “You wouldn’t be letting me down,” she said. “If we failed, we would fail together. Besides, the ideas and efforts of two people are better than one and stand more of a chance of succeeding.”

  He swayed closer to her, but his face was pinched with tension. “It’s too risky.”

  “All right, then,” she said, crossing her arms. “I’ll stay with Conrad. The only risk there is the risk of me being treated like a servant, which I’ve already spent part of my life being. At least I’ll have a roof over my head and food to eat.” She send him a sideways look to see if he took her at her word or if he saw she was goading him.

  Greg let out a heavy breath. “I don’t know, Darcy. I just don’t know. I want you to be happy, but I’m not convinced I could be the one to provide enough for you to make you happy.”

  It was the most ridiculous statement she’d ever heard, but she held her tongue. There was no sense arguing with him or trying to prove him wrong now. He’d convinced her to prove herself to Conrad by showing him, bit by bit, that she was as strong as he’d hoped his bride would be. She would have to do the same thing with Greg now by convincing him that she would rather take a risk with a man she could actually love and respect than retreat to the security of a man she would have to work hard not to hate.

  They didn’t say anything else of any real importance as they walked on through the rain. The weather only got worse as they stopped at nightfall. It was impossible to get any sort of a campfire going, and an ominous, rolling thunder echoed on the horizon, letting them know they were in for a rough night.

  “Mr. Huber, it looks like I won’t be able to cook anything new for supper,” Darcy said, heading up to the front of the wagon after the oxen were taken care of for the night.

  “Well, I guess even you can’t help that,” Conrad grumbled from his perch in the back of the wagon, peering down at her through a break in the canvas. Bruce sat in the back with him, a bottle in one hand and a hand of cards in the other. “But I still think you’re bad luck somehow,” Conrad went on.

  Darcy ignored the jab and smiled up at both men. “Could you help me climb up into the wagon?”

  “What?” Bruce balked. “Like that?”

  She glanced down at her sodden, dripping clothes, mud thick around her hem and on her boots, then looked up to Bruce and Conrad. “This is the best I can do. I’m sure I’ll dry off once I’m in the shelter of the wagon.”

  “Not my wagon,” Conrad sniffed, agreeing with his buddy. “You’d drip and get your mud all over my things.”

  “I got cards in here,” Bruce added. “My good cards. ’sides, we don’t need no women in here.”

  Darcy stood where she was, rain pounding down on her, gaping. “You’re not going to let me take shelter in the wagon?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Conrad snorted. “You can sleep under the wagon. Then you’ll be out of the rain.”

  With that, he snapped the canvas covering his wagon bed closed. The sound of him and Bruce laughing competed with the drumming rain. It was as if they’d slammed a door on her, leaving her out in the cold. She studied the space under the wagon. It was a muddy mess with a rivulet of water running through it. Darcy dropped her shoulders and heaved a sigh. She searched around the scattering of stopped wagons, their coverings all laced up tight to provide as much shelter as any of them were going to get. A twist of hopelessness stuck in her gut.

  At least it did until Greg hopped down from his wagon and strode toward her.

  “This is ridiculous,” he said, shaking his head. “Come sleep in my wagon for the night.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, so relieved she was certain it showed, even in the rainy twilight.

  “More than certain,” he said, and she thought she heard him mutter, “Even if I’m too big of a fool to be certain about anything else.”

  He helped her climb up into the back of his wagon and fastened the canvas to keep out the rain. The canvas that covered Greg’s and every other wagon was thick and had been oiled to make it impervious to wet. It wasn’t fool-proof. There were a few patches where the oil had been washed away or where the canvas had thinned from rubbing up against the bows that gave the wagon its shape, but it was a far-sight better than standing out with no shelter at all. Everything was damp from weeks of bad weather, but not soaked through.

  Unlike Darcy.

  “You, uh, you’d better take off your wet things,” Greg said, shifting so that he wasn’t looking directly at her. “You’re like to catch a fever if you don’t.”

  “You’re right,” she agreed, searching around for a place she’d be able to put her skirt and blouse once they were off.

  “I’ve got a blanket you can wrap up in somewhere around here.”

  As Darcy twisted and stretched to undo the buttons and clasps of her wet clothes, Greg searched through his few belongings for a spare blanket. He had already spread his bedroll out in the wagon bed, and since he had only a fraction of the belongings that many of the other pioneers had, it didn’t take him long to find an old plaid blanket. Darcy shed her soaked skirt, petticoat, and blouse, laying them along the front edge of the wagon bed. Greg had his back turned as he handed the plaid to her, and when she was down to her chemise and drawers, she wrapped up in the blanket, then sat in the middle of the wagon.

  “It’s such a strange thing,” she said, hugging the blanket close around her.

  Greg shifted to sit facing her, knees to knees. “What’s strange?”

  Darcy giggled. “Now that I’m out of my wet things, I’m just noticing how cold I am.”

  “You’re cold?” Greg looked both concerned and stricken, as though he was personally responsible.

  “It will pass,” she said. “This blanket is warm.”

  Greg blew out a breath and shook his head, shifting again to tug Darcy into his arms, her back against his ch
est. “I’m a damned fool, Darcy,” he confessed. “The more I try to help, the worse I make things, and the more I back off and try to keep to my own business, the worse I feel about myself as a man.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh at his comment and the energy behind it, especially when he pulled the blanket off of her shoulders, settled her against his chest, and wrapped the blanket around the both of them. At some point when she was undressing he’d taken off his own shoes, and the trousers and shirt he wore were dry. It was a delicious comfort, and she sank back against him with a sigh.

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” she told him. “Things are very nice now.”

  “I deserve to be hard on myself,” he argued. “And you’re far too easy on me. I’m ashamed of the way I’ve been acting.”

  “Ashamed?” She twisted to face him. In the cramped space of the wagon bed, the two of them already close under the blanket, the move brought them into intimate contact. She caught her breath and her pulse raged. Their lips were only a few inches apart.

  “I don’t deserve you, Darcy Howsam,” Greg murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Everything I’ve done so far, I’ve done wrong. I pushed you into something that you shouldn’t have to endure.”

  “No, that was my decision. It always has been. It—”

  He shook his head and pressed his fingertips to her lips to silence her. “You say you want to marry Conrad so that you can be secure and respectable and so you can fulfill your promise, but it won’t make you happy.”

  “Greg.” She lowered her eyes, not sure if what she felt was sorrow or hope.

  Greg caught her chin and tilted it up to meet her eyes. “I love you, Darcy.” She caught her breath. “I’ve been trying hard to tell myself I don’t, that you belong to someone else and I have no right to cross those lines, but it’s no use. I love you.”