Silver Hearts. Jackie Manning

his horse, untied his bedroll, then ran to shelter beneath the wagon.

      Luke spread the buffalo hide in the dry space under the wagon when Noelle appeared. She grabbed the coal oil lantern, hooked on the trail box and carried the lamp inside the wagon. A few minutes later, a flickering glow slanted through the floorboards above his head.

      Over the wind and rain, he heard her while she readied for bed. She must be near dead from exhaustion, he thought, remembering how she endured the storm without complaint.

      After positioning the horse blanket on top of the buffalo skin, Luke laid down and rested his head on the horse’s saddle. “I’m right within a holler if you need something, miss.”

      The bustling noise above his head stopped. “You can’t sleep beneath my wagon.” Her words barely carried above the storm. “It’s simply not... proper.”

      “Just where do you expect me to sleep?”

      Noelle climbed down from the back of the wagon and leaned toward him. The wind and rain plastered the loose hair from around her face, but she made no move to pull it back. “I-I would think you’d be gentlemanly and find a dry spot under a bush, or something.” She flicked her hand in a pointless gesture.

      Luke angled the flat-crowned Stetson low on his head and squinted back at her. “Not this gentlemanly cowboy!”

      “You must find other shelter. It’s simply not decent—”

      “Decent?” Luke sat up. “Is it decent to ask me to spend the night out in the rain?” He shook his head. “Sorry, lady. I’m quite comfortable just where I am.” He leaned back and settled his hat over his face, again.

      He heard an indignant sniff. In his mind, he could imagine those morning glory eyes sparkle with outrage. He knew the only thing that kept him from Noelle’s tongue-lashing was that proper Eastern upbringing of hers. And he’d bet a grubstake that she could really let loose, if she wanted.

      Suddenly, he wondered what that volatile passion that flared beneath her Goody Two-shoes facade might be like in bed.

      His bed.

      Relieved that she couldn’t see how quickly she affected him, Luke rolled over on his back and pulled the brim of his hat over his eyes. Through the cracks between the floorboards, he could see her, if he was so low-down rotten as to take advantage of the situation. He grinned, wondering when she’d notice, and notice she would.

      He heard the clatter of her boot steps above his head, then the wagon jarred as she jumped from the tailgate. He muttered to himself as he lifted his hat and saw her leaning down, staring at him.

      “Get out from under there, or so help me, I’ll shoot you.”

      Luke sat up and stared at her. A shawl covered her head, and she aimed that antique of a rifle on him.

      “Is this how you thank me for fixing your wagon?” He scowled back at her. In the lantern’s glow, he noticed a wide black smudge extending from her left eyebrow to her chin. Noelle must have gotten soot on her hands when she touched the blackened campfire rods, then wiped her face.

      As self-righteous as a new preacher in a town full of sinners, Noelle studied him, her one blackened eyebrow lifted with superiority. He couldn’t help but grin.

      Noelle motioned with the rifle barrel. “And what’s so amusing?”

      Luke forced his most practiced poker face. “Tell me, Miss Bellencourt. How does one tell a refined city lady like yourself that she has soot all over her face?”

      Noelle relaxed the rifle. “I beg your pardon!” Luke smiled. “My my, little lady. The last time I saw a face like yours was at a minstrel show in Kansas City.”

      She moved the weapon to one side and glanced at her hands. She gasped, and Luke knew that she finally realized that her face was covered with soot.

      “You don’t look like a cactus blossom, yourself.” Noelle lifted her smudged chin in that defiant way that was becoming all too familiar.

      Luke scratched his three-day growth of beard and shook his head. “Won’t argue with you there, Miss.” He shot her a side glance.

      As serious as a preacher scrubbing away the devil’s footprints, Noelle furiously wiped her face with her drenched apron, all to no avail. The sight of her jaw clenched in steely pursuit as she wiped at the black circles, which now spread across her nose and cheeks, caused Luke to chuckle.

      “You’re despicable!”

      “I-I’m sorry, but—” A round of helpless laughter overtook him. “I’m not laughing at you, it’s just that I can’t remember when I’ve been so damned tired, so damned wet and so damned miserable.” He gasped before laughing again. “Go ahead, Sunshine. Shoot and put me out of my misery.” Another fit of hilarity overtook him.

      Noelle’s mouth tilted with a hint of a smile. “I guess I do look rather... disheveled.”

      “Rath-er.” He pronounced the word in two exaggerated syllables, then fell back, laughing.

      Noelle’s smile deepened. “I’ve never been so utterly miserable, myself.” Her lips parted, revealing perfect, pearl white teeth. She laughed, and the light tinkling sound reminded him of his summers during the family picnics along the Delaware River. The image gave him a start. He hadn’t thought of his childhood since his brother, Chad, died.

      “Good night, Mr. Savage.” Noelle retreated inside the wagon.

      Jarred for a moment, Luke muttered, “G’night.” After Noelle had washed and prepared for bed, she listened to the rain pounding the canvas ceiling above her head. She eyed the covering warily. This was the first rain she’d endured since Nebraska, while she and Mr. Douglas traveled with the main wagon train over six weeks ago. What would she do if the priceless objects she had brought all the way from New York became ruined with water?

      As though to assure herself that her things were safe, Noelle opened the creaky lid and peeked inside the metal trunk. Cocooned in paper lay the blue satin gown and feathered bonnet that she planned to wear when she finally met her uncle. How she wanted him to be proud of her.

      Despite all the upsetting events, ending with Mr. Douglas’s death, she knew that her troubles would be over once she found her uncle. Tomorrow. She would have a family again.

      Noelle hummed softly as she covered the hat with paper and straightened the blue satin hair ribbons before closing the trunk lid.

      If only she could wash her hair, but she knew better than to waste precious water with such frivolity.

      Raindrops hammered a steady rhythm as she towel-dried her wet hair. Suddenly, she had an idea. Noelle rose, wrapped a blanket around herself and stepped from the shelter of the wagon into the storm.

      Luke’s hat lifted from his face when he heard her steps on the tailgate. “Where are you headed?”

      “I’m going to collect rainwater.”

      He raised his head and watched her. “Why?”

      She sniffed. “I need to wash my hair, if it’s any of your business.”

      Luke shoved his hat over his face and laid back. “No need to gussy yourself up for me, miss. You look as pretty as a filly.”

      She knew he was teasing, and she refused to take the bait. “I care nothing for what you think,” she huffed, but she knew that wasn’t true. As if to validate the lie, she added, “My uncle would expect a Bellencourt to arrive looking respectable, Mr. Savage. I shall not let these primitive surroundings affect my personal standards, but I wouldn’t expect someone with your sensibilities, or lack of them, to understand.”

      Luke watched her unhook several enamel wash basins from the side of the tail box and place them along the ground. “We’ve got another hard day of travel ahead of us, lady. You’re going to get all dusty again. You can clean up at the public bathhouse in Crooked Creek.