Silver Hearts. Jackie Manning

smile. He stood up and drained the last of his coffee. “We’ll leave as soon as I finish fixing the wagon. In the meantime, why don’t you pack away your gear and throw out all the broken crockery.” He glanced up at the growing clouds in the west. “We might be in for a storm.”

      Luke put the cup on the empty tin plate. “Before nightfall tomorrow, you’ll be safe with your uncle, God willing.”

      The thought brought a soft glow to her face. She smiled and leaned back against the buckboard. “My uncle is all the family I have left,” she said wistfully.

      A ripple of uneasiness coursed over Luke. He’d wager all of the money Blackjack owed him that Marcel Bellencourt wasn’t a wealthy miner living in Crooked Creek. But there wasn’t anything he could say to a woman as stubborn as Noelle. She’d have to learn from her mistakes, like all the other tenderfeet. But she sure made a doozie of a mistake when she decided to come West.

      Luke cleared his throat. “Miss, I’m afraid you’ll have to part with some of your things. The wagon should be relieved of as much weight as possible. That mirror of yours is heavy and cumbersome—”

      “No!” She looked as shocked as if he’d asked to kiss her.

      He groaned. “Besides the mirror, those trunks and boxes—”

      “Mr. Savage?” she said, her eyes glittered with determination. “I’ll walk alongside the wagon, but what I have left that’s intact remains aboard.”

      “Miss, that cottonwood dragging along the ground isn’t as strong as a wheel. The stretch of dust up ahead has no trees, in case another wheel breaks—”

      “We’ll just have to chance it.”

      Luke swore under his breath as he pulled his hat low on his head. No need wasting a man’s breath on a stubborn woman. “Then help me shift the load to the side of the wagon with the two good wheels.”

      “A fine idea, Mr. Savage.”

      Noelle smiled in such a heartfelt way that he almost forgot his anger. He mumbled to himself as he stepped up on the trail box and pushed one of the trunks to the opposite side of the wagon.

      Damn, Luke thought. Why couldn’t he have just kept on riding?

      

      Noelle listened to the slow, steady pounding of Luke’s makeshift hammer while she dried the last frying pan and tied down the equipment with ropes.

      Tomorrow. How she dreamed of the day she would finally arrive in Crooked Creek. But after the tragic experience with poor Mr. Douglas, then Little Henry and his band, she felt nothing but relief to finally end the long, perilous journey.

      This rugged country was full of wild, savage encounters, and she prayed she’d seen the last of them. She stole a glance at Luke Savage.

      Wild, larger than life, almost as savage as his name.

      No, she decided, after a thoughtful pause. Beneath his rough exterior, Luke Savage could be dangerous, she was certain. But he held to the Code of the West. She felt safe with him. She sensed he was a decent, good man, despite a certain reluctance.

      The man was fascinating. Beneath the rough manners were intelligence, keen insight and strong hands that had once had held a scalpel. She sensed that he was hiding something. A dark past, no doubt. I wonder how he came by that dimpled scar below his cheekbone? A knife fight, no doubt.

      Noelle bit her lip. She stood motionless, her arms clasped over her midriff as she watched him work. His large, steady hands drew the timbers into place. He then began lashing the log to each axle. A few minutes later, Luke tested the log by applying his weight to it between the wagon and where it touched the ground some ten feet behind the wagon bed.

      Luke Savage was a genius. Self-consciously, she straightened the folds of her apron. Her gaze met his. “Please forgive my earlier bad manners. I was quite rude. I hope you accept my sincere thanks.”

      He lifted a dark brow. “You’re not under your uncle’s roof, yet, miss. Best hold your thanks until we get there.”

      A flash of her earlier pique ignited. Why couldn’t he say, you’re welcome, instead of adding another dose of his cynicism?

      “You should be more optimistic, Mr. Savage. Those who dwell on the misfortunes of the world often receive what they expect.”

      “That’s because the pessimists are so busy helping the optimists out of one fix after another.” His dark eyes glittered with amusement. “You’re just lucky this pessimist happened along when I did.”

      She couldn’t help but smile when she saw the teasing light in his eyes. “I don’t believe you’re as cynical as you pretend, Mr. Savage. After all, you’ve fixed the wagon wheel, my load is intact, and we’ll be in Crooked Creek by tomorrow night.”

      He strode to the oxen. “We’ve got to be there by tomorrow noon. Night will be too late if I’m going to catch Blackjack.”

      “But we can’t travel that fast—”

      “It’s a fifteen-mile walk to town from here, Miss. If we leave now, we’ll have ample time before the afternoon stage leaves Crooked Creek.” A muscle in his cheek twitched.

      “I won’t have my oxen driven into the ground because you have to meet a stagecoach.” Noelle straightened her shoulders and tilted her chin. “You said yourself, without a fourth wheel, the animals will have to pull harder. They can’t plod that far without resting.”

      “You’re forgetting the Indians. The sooner we get to town, the safer we are.”

      Her eyes glittered with disbelief. “I’ve heard that Indians don’t attack at night.”

      “Some do.”

      She said nothing while she ran her fingers along the curly foreheads of the oxen. By the way they closed their eyes and stretched their necks in pleasure, Luke guessed the beasts were used to the attention.

      “Miss Bellencourt, if you care so much for the animals, remember that they’re food on the hoof to anybody who decides to shoot them.” He felt guilty as the horrifying reaction reflected on her face.

      “We’ll get a few miles behind us before dark. After we rest a few hours, we’ll start up before dawn. It won’t be too much for the beasts, I promise.” Luke felt relieved when the tight mask of worry faded from her face.

      Luke’s spurs jangled as he walked to his horse, but before he put his boot in the stirrup, he paused. “What the hell is this?” He yanked out the white linen cloth from under the buckskin’s saddle and held it at arm’s length like it might bite.

      “That’s a tallow cloth.” Noelle bustled around the wagon. “It’s prevents animals’ hides from chafing during long rides.”

      Luke frowned. “Tallow cloth?” He scratched his beard.

      “Yes, Mr. Savage. I wrap them around my oxen’s necks under their yoke. Once your horse becomes accustomed to it, you’ll never want to be without one. It’s very simple to make. Just a linen square dipped in melted tallow.”

      He took a deep breath. “Miss, I hardly think...” He paused, as though considering. He muttered under his breath and tucked the cloth back under the saddle blanket where he found it. He remained silent while he mounted the horse, then cut out for the expanse of prairie grass outside the wagon’s circle.

      Noelle watched him leave, then quickly scanned the low rise of sand and mesquite for any sign of movement. Despite the early evening beauty, she knew that wolves, coyotes, snakes and scorpions were there along with Paiutes and desperadoes.

      Luke was right. The sooner they left here, the better.

      Chapter Three

      

      

      Darkness