Prairie Courtship. Dorothy Clark

was dismissed. Rudely and summarily dismissed. Emma clenched her jaw, stared at the backs of the men who had all faced away from her then turned and strode toward her wagon. A problem! You would think she wanted—

      Emma stopped, gathered her long, full skirt close, stepped around a small pile of manure and hurried on. Why was she so discomposed? Her demeaning treatment by the men was nothing new. She had become accustomed to such supercilious attitudes in her quest to be a doctor. Thank goodness Papa Doc did not share such narrow vision! Not that it mattered now. Her dream was not to be. Instead she was on this wagon train of unwelcoming men, headed toward an unknown future in an unknown, unwelcoming country.

      Bogs, marshes and quicksand…swift, turbulent rivers…high, steep, rocky mountains… Emma shuddered, looked at her wagon. Her home. It was all she had. The reality of her situation struck her as never before. She sank down on the wagon tongue and buried her face in her hands to compose herself. Not for anything would she let Mr. Zachary Thatcher and those other men see her dismay.

      Zach looked at the grazing stock spread out over the fields and shook his head. The men on first watch were taking their duties lightly, in spite of his instructions. But one stampede, one horse or ox or cow stolen by Indians, one morning spent tracking down stock that had wandered off during the night would take care of that. They would learn to listen. Experience was a harsh but effective teacher. So were empty stomachs. A few missed breakfasts would focus their attention on their duties. As for the camp guards—they, too, would learn to take advice and stay alert. Most likely when one of them was found dead from a knife wielded by a silent enemy. His gut tightened. He’d seen enough of that in the army.

      He frowned, rode Comanche to the rise he had chosen for his camp and dismounted. He stripped off saddle and bridle, stroked the strong, arched neck and scratched beneath the throat latch. “Good work today, boy. If it weren’t for you, those emigrants would have lost stock while swimming them across the river for sure. But they’ll learn. And your work will get easier.”

      The horse snorted, tossed his head. Zach laughed, rubbed the saddle blanket over Comanche’s back. “I know, they’re green as grass, but there’s hope.” He slapped the spots decorating Comanche’s rump and stepped back. “All right, boy—dismissed!” He braced himself. Comanche whickered softly, stretched out his neck, nudged him in the chest with his head then trotted off.

      “Stay close, boy!” He called the words, though the command was unnecessary. Comanche never ranged far, and he always returned before dawn. And there wasn’t an Indian born who could get his hands on him.

      Zach smiled, then sobered. They were safe from hostiles for now, but once they moved beyond the army’s area of protection it could be a very different story. Sooner, if one of these greenhorn emigrants pulled a stupid stunt that riled the friendlies. “Lord, these people are as unsuspecting of the dangers they’re heading into as a newborn lamb walking into a pack of wolves. I sure would appreciate it if You would help me whip them into shape and grant them Your protection meanwhile.”

      He looked toward the red-and-gold sunset in the west, took off his hat, ran his fingers through his hair, settled his hat back in place and headed for the wagons. There was one more piece of business to attend to before he turned in.

      The small dose of laudanum she had finally convinced Anne to swallow had eased the pain. She would sleep through the night now. Emma pulled the quilt close under Anne’s chin, climbed from the wagon and secured the flaps. It would be a comfort if Anne would consent to share a wagon, but she insisted on being alone. Not that it was surprising. She had resisted all physical contact, all gestures of comfort since Phillip and little Grace had died.

      Emma sighed and looked around the center ground of the circled wagons, now dotted with tents. It was so quiet she could hear the murmurings of the few men and women who still sat working around cooking fires that had died to piles of coals. Traveler, Lady and a few other personal mounts were grazing in the center of the makeshift corral, their silhouettes dark against the caliginous light.

      She walked to her wagon, lifted a lantern off its hook on the side but could find no means to light it. She heaved another sigh and looked up at the darkening sky. She should probably retire as others were doing, even if sleep eluded her. But to be alone in the wagon without light—

      “Good evening.”

      Emma gasped and whirled about, the lantern dangling from her hands. “You startled me, Mr. Thatcher!” She pressed one hand over her racing heart and frowned at him. “Is there something you wanted?”

      “I need to know why you and your sister have joined this wagon train. What purpose takes you to Oregon country?”

      His eyes were hidden by the darkness below his hat’s wide brim, but she was sure he was scowling. She brushed back a wisp of hair that had fallen onto her forehead at her quick turn, then, again, gripped the lantern with both hands. “And how is that your concern, Mr. Thatcher?”

      He tilted his hat up, stared down at her. “I am responsible for getting this wagon train to Oregon before winter, Miss Allen. Everything that can endanger that mission is my concern.”

      First he called her a “problem” and now he named her an endangerment! Emma lifted her chin, gave him her haughtiest look. “And how does our presence imperil your mission?”

      “If you want me to name all the ways, you’d best let me light that lantern. We will be a while.” He held out his hand.

      Emma tightened her grip. “I think it would be best for you if I continue to hold the lantern, Mr. Thatcher. At this moment, you would not want my hands to be free.”

      Laughter burst from him, deep and full. Surprising. She had thought him quite without humor. Of course he was laughing at her.

      “Now that erased one of the reasons on my list, Miss Allen. Seems you might not need quite as much protecting as I figured you would. All the same, I’ll take my chances on freeing up your hands.” He reached for the lantern.

      This time she let him take it. She needed that lantern lit. Even more, she needed to know how he would light it. She watched as he walked to a nearby fire, squatted down and held a twig to one of the dying embers then blew on it. The twig burst into flame. Of course! She should have thought of that. He lit the lantern, tossed the twig on the embers and returned to her.

      “Easy enough when you know how, Miss Allen. And that is my first reason.” All trace of amusement was gone from his voice. His expression was dead serious. “If you do not know how to light a lantern out here in the wilderness, how will you manage all the other things you do not know how to do? You are a pampered woman, Miss Allen. Because of that pampering—and without a husband or brother to care for you—you are a burden and an endangerment to all the others traveling with you. And I assume it is the same with your sister. Only worse, because she is ill.”

      “My sister is not a burden, Mr. Thatcher! And she is my responsibility to care for, not yours or any other man’s!” Emma snatched the lantern from his hand, held her breath and counted to ten as she adjusted the wick to stop the smoking. When her anger was under control she looked up at him. “What you say about me was true, Mr. Thatcher—until a moment ago. But I now know how to light a lantern here in the wilderness. And I will learn how to do all the other things I must know the same way. I will observe, or I will ask. I may be a pampered woman, but I am not unintelligent, only untaught in these matters. And I will rectify that very quickly. As for my needing protection—do not concern yourself with my safety. I am an excellent shot with rifle or pistol. As is my sister. We will look to our own safety.”

      “And your wagons and stock?”

      “We have drivers to care for them—as the rules permit.”

      His face darkened. “Accidents happen, Miss Allen! Your drivers can be injured or killed. And then—”

      “And then I would be no worse off than a wife who has lost her husband.” Emma lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eyes. “We have paid our money, and you yourself said we have met the rules and regulations