The Oregon Trail Series Short Stories Read online

Anne wrinkled her nose to mock her mother and went to where the gentleman waited. She turned the corner and saw Dmitri there, holding his hat. Her heart leaped and she knew her mother had been correct. He was whom she wanted to see. “Mr. Romanov! What a pleasant surprise. Have you had breakfast, yet?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “Good. Would you like to come in and have a seat?” She led him to her father’s library. “Now then.” Anne settled in opposite from him. “You don’t strike me as a man who’s keen on spending his time on social calls.”

  “True, I’m not.” He scooted to the edge of his seat. “I’m here to make you a proposal.”

  She held her hands still in her lap. Doing anything else might show how much they trembled. “Oh, that sounds serious. Maybe we should go to my father’s office and present your proposal to him as well.”

  He smiled and stared into her eyes. “I plan to do just that as soon as it’s acceptable to you.”

  Her heart pounded so much she could almost feel the pulse throughout her body. Anne tried to hide his effect on her. “All right, since you insist on telling me first, I’m listening.”

  Dmitri fidgeted for a moment. “I’m aware you have been spoken for already.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “I wish for you to reconsider your alliance with Mr. Granville.”

  She stared down at her hands, both elated and dismayed at his question. Her heart and soul wanted to accept, but her mind and sense of decency? Anne shook her head. “I won’t. Sam is my childhood friend. He and I are a good match.”

  He leaned forward and held her hands. “I believe that you and I will be better. Tell me you don’t feel this between us. How can you marry another, yet feel this with me?”

  The warmth of him, his calluses, and the hint of passion in his grip sent shivers through her body. “No, I can’t. I mean, I don’t feel anything with you.”

  “You lie to me? Here.” He pulled her to her feet. “Look me in the eyes and say you are not interested.”

  She did as he requested. The sky blue of his eyes drew her in and held her. Anne longed to run her hands through his sandy hued hair to smooth his unruly locks. He brought her hands back so her arms encircled him and then he returned her embrace. Holding him was like hugging a tree, solid and grounded. She smiled, thinking of a grounded sailor. “Dmitri, I don’t think this is proper.”

  “Maybe not, but now you can feel how much my heart beats for you.”

  Stone would have been softer than his muscles. Anne shook her head to clear it from the fog of desire. “You’ve met my father, seen his businesses. How do I know it’s your heart and not your bank account that beats for me?”

  He laughed, squeezing her before relaxing a bit. “I have enough, more than I will ever need. What you have is not important to me. I want what you are.”

  Anne shuddered with need when he let his lips brush across her forehead. She felt him sigh. “Dmitri, I can’t just end my relationship with Sam.”

  “No?” He loosened his hold on her long enough to lift her chin up. “How about now?” He leaned into a slight kiss before letting it deepening just a bit and then pulled away. “Do he and I feel the same to you?”

  She shook her head in tiny movements. She and Sam had kissed, of course. Behind the barn, during a hayride, on walks after church, but nothing with him ever matched this. He gazed into her eyes and she smiled at the self-confidence. “No, but what about in twenty or thirty years? Will your kisses still feel as intoxicating?”

  His eyebrows rose. “I like that word. It’s how your touch affects me.” Dmitri reached up and let one of her loose tendrils of hair wind around his finger. “Will it endure though several years, several trials and problems, or several children?” He let the curl fall. “I don’t know. No one can, but I want to find out how long our love will last and can only do that with your approval.”

  Anne knew she needed to send him away. She did mean to do so, but after one last kiss to be certain. His eyes widened when she leaned forward to him and the hunger she saw there were met with her own need for him. Their lips met and squelched the “Oh!” from her at the contact.

  Like falling down a cliff she’d never find the bottom to, their kiss trapped her heart. She tried to resist for a moment before burying her fingers in his hair. He moaned and she returned the sound in agreement. Parts of her she didn’t know existed had pulses from her heartbeat. She’d heard someone’s throat clear once, or maybe imagined it, she thought, until it happened again. Dmitri stepped back, letting go of her and she whimpered a little in protest.

  “We have company,” he said.

  She looked at the doorway to see Sam and their maid standing there, both mouths agape. Sam recovered first while the maid slipped away. He stepped in the room. “So, who is your new friend? I don’t think we’ve met.”

  The Russian stood a little straighter. “Dmitri Romanov, captain of the Igor’s Folly for. Pleasure to meet you, Sam, I assume?”

  “You assume correctly.” He turned to Anne. “I do hope he’s the first and last man you’ve kissed besides me.”

  Dmitri stepped forward. “I am. Anne is not a loose woman.”

  “Oh? Have you known her long enough to be sure? I thought I could be certain of her affections, but obviously not,” retorted Sam.

  “I am sure she loves me.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Sam stepped forward, pushing up his sleeves.

  When Dmitri also began rolling up his sleeves, Anne stepped between them. “Do I need to separate you two?”

  Sam made a sweeping motion toward the other man. “Oh, wonderful, Anne. Please do. You wouldn’t want him to get hurt. I suppose you’ll be marrying him, next.”

  Anne glanced at Dmitri who grinned back at her as she said, “Well, I’d wanted to speak with you first, Sam.”

  His jaw dropped, Sam recovered enough to say, “My God. You are going to marry him.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose between two fingers as if having a headache. “Tell me you’ve set the date before ours. Otherwise, I’d have to forbid him marrying my wife.”

  She crossed her arms. “We’ve not set a date, nor have I accepted.”

  “But?”

  Anne didn’t want to hurt him, and now that she had, she struggled to ease his injured pride. “I was considering how to tell you.”

  “So you are marrying him. Consider me told, dearest.” Sam gave Dmitri a salute. “Mr. Romanov, you’ve found yourself a wonderful fiancée and I should know. Good bye.”

  Dismayed he gave up so easily on her yet happy he did, she watched Sam as he went to the door. He had a hand on the knob when she blurted, “Samuel Granville! We’re not done here just yet. Where are you going?”

  “East. And I don’t think I need to ever come back.”

  Unfortunate

  Daggart Bartlett lay in the cool mud, enjoying the warm sun on his face. Without opening his eyes, he guessed he’d woken up next to the saloon’s horse troughs again. Not his favorite spot to sleep it off, but not the worst in town either. Horses had enough sense not to stomp on him, but some people didn’t. He wasn’t sure if bumping into chairs or kicks from cranky patrons gave him the bruises on his legs and sometimes his face every night. Good thing alcohol kept him numb.

  Squishes in the mud from feet more delicate than the average prospector sounded like some gal passing by, but the squishes didn’t keep going. Sounded like they stopped at his feet. He didn’t want to interrupt his snooze more than it had been already, so he played possum. Or did until hearing the distinct noise of a lady clearing her throat for attention.

  Opening his eyes, he sat up to see a nice looking woman standing there. He liked the pretty little thing he saw and smiled at her while hoping none of his teeth had been knocked out in a fight last night. It’d happened before and he expected it’d happen again.

  “Good morning, sir,” the vision in a blue dress said. “You look like the devil has had a hold of you.”

  “What the hell
?” He squinted up his eyes, remembering why he didn’t like sleeping on this end of the wooden horse tank. With a church on one side and a barbershop on the other, he’d rather be shaved than saved.

  She held up a wagging finger. “No, sir, do not call for your master. Call instead for God.”

  “Oh God.” Daggart let himself fall back down into the comforting mud.

  “That’s a good start, sir.”

  He opened one eye again to look at this demon tormenting him. She was a tall woman, rather pretty in a sour pickle way. A bonnet hid her hair, but a few blond tendrils escaped. He got up on his elbows, trying to shake the whisky from his head. “Don’t you have a church service to be at, ma’am?”

  “If you weren’t such a heathen, you’d know church is tomorrow. Unless you’re going to mass, that is.” Clutching her worn Bible closer to her chest, she lifted her chin and looked down her nose at him. “Then, you’re correct. I probably do have a church service to attend to, and you need to go with me.”

  Daggart laughed. He didn’t need to do anything except find a wall to pee on. “I’m afraid not, ma’am. I have better things to do at the moment.” He glanced over at the saloon, wishing all his day’s prospecting were done so he could buy a drink.

  She tapped the sole of his boot with the tip of her shoe to get his attention. “I don’t see what is better than the Lord’s salvation, young man.”

  The morning sun shown from behind her, so he couldn’t be sure of her age. She’d not seemed like a gal old enough to be bossing him around like this. “Excuse me? You’re younger than I am.”

  “Thank you for saying so, but I may not be. Mud covers a lot of wrinkles. You could be a very young and misguided man underneath all that mess.” She held out a stick. “Take this and pull yourself up and on your feet. I’ll go to the creek with you so the reverend can baptize you.”

  He waved away her offered support. “What makes you think I ain’t been baptized already?” And where did she get that branch, anyway? The woman must wander from creek to town picking up wood and bothering strangers all day. He pushed her stick away from him. “I don’t need no help. I got my prospecting pans, a good mule, and only need enough gold for my next bottle of whisky.”

  “Mister!” She paused in her exclamation. “Mister? What is your name, sir?”

  “Daggart Bartlett, ma’am.” Giving up any hope of more sleep, he got to his feet. “I’d ask yours but ain’t sure I want to know.”

  “I’m Mary O’Brien.”

  “That’s good. Very good. Nice name for a nice lady that has other things to do than pester me.” He backed away, headed for his mule. “Good day, then, Mrs. O’Brien. Good bye.”

  “That’s Miss O’Brien.”

  “Miss, then.” Daggart took a step back and she took a step forward. Both stared at each other, and he didn’t know what else to do short of being disrespectful. When he took yet another step back, she took another forward. Dear God, was the woman going to bother him all day? He had to discourage this gal, so he turned and focused on his animal Muley’s saddle and harness. Pretending to be busy, he took a peek back at the woman. He yelped at seeing her right behind him and at less than an arm’s distance. She still wore that sour expression, made even worse when close up like this. “Ma’am, you best be excusing me. I have work to do at the river.”

  “Mr. Bartlett, the river is a good idea and you certainly need a bath. Cleanliness is next to Godliness, and you also need God.”

  “Ma’am,” he began, with the noble intentions of being kind but firm.

  “Miss.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Miss, remember?”

  “Right, right.” Made no difference to him if there was or wasn’t a mister in her life. He needed to get rid of her and go about his business for the day. “Miss, I’ll jump in for a swim while panning for gold, I promise.” While untying his mule, Daggart nodded at the building in front of him. “I’ll also pray to whatever God is listening that he gives me gold so I can get the water of life from that saloon there.”

  Miss O’Brien clenched her fists as her eyes narrowed to slits. “How dare you! You’ll do no such thing!”

  Now wary that she might deck him, he nudged Muley back a little so he could run if need be. The gal had been blathering on about God and bathing. He didn’t understand her at all. Now that he had promised to do what she wanted, she’d gotten all riled up anyway. An angry woman usually meant a woman who wouldn’t leave him alone, and he had to stop that before it started. “I won’t? Seems like that’s what I’ve been doing, and it’s worked out well so far, miss.”

  She pursed her lips before saying, “I can see you’re as pliable as that mule. Very well. Go on about your business, and I’ll pray for you.”

  Daggart studied her, suspicious. In his experience, women never quit expecting things from a man. “Just like that? You’ll pray so I can get my gold and my whisky?” Her eyes narrowed and she gave him a mean little grin. He shook his head. Nope, he reckoned she had other plans.

  “Yes, just like that. You and I, along with the good reverend, will meet up at the river where you’ll pan for gold.” She held on to the Bible with one hand while clenching and unclenching the other into a fist. “If there happens to be another baptismal and you find the Lord, then that will be a happy accident.”

  The thick mud covering his back was hardening into rock. He needed to get going and rinse his shirt before it was glued to him for the day. Exasperated with her stubbornness, he said, “I might have known you wouldn’t give up. Fine. Bring the reverend. I don’t care. Maybe y’all can pray up enough gold for me to buy a house or something.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he’d stepped in it. Her face crumpled into something less sour and more sympathetic.

  “You don’t have a home? You poor man!” She shook her head while wringing her hands. “This simply won’t do. It’s no wonder you sleep out here, and it’s by God’s grace that I found you.”

  Daggart led Muley out of the mud and down toward the back of the church. “You sure do like to rattle on, don’t ya?”

  She hugged her Bible again, shaking her head. “You’re right, of course you are. I’ve been blathering on about saving your soul when it’s your life that needs saving, first.”

  “My life is fine. I like my life.” He hadn’t told a fib to get rid of her or even exaggerated; Daggart enjoyed his routine: work, drink, sleep—more than enough to keep a man busy. Besides, he already slept behind the church some nights; he didn’t need to add services inside to his list of things to do each day.

  “No, no you don’t like it.” She counted off the facts, one finger at a time. “You have no place to sleep, all you have is whisky to eat and drink, plus prospecting is no kind of living for a good, Godly man.” Miss O’Brien sighed, giving him a sympathetic look. “Don’t you worry. God sent me to you, and I’ll see to it you’re well cared for.”

  Daggart cut his eyes around and didn’t see anyone else but her paying attention to him. Hearing her account of him rattled off like that felt uncomfortable like down in his gut. He rubbed the back of his head with a sigh and met her eyes. Maybe things could stand an improvement. This Mary gal was rather pretty despite her annoying and stubborn ways. Plus, while he didn’t mind a God fearing woman, she seemed to be the God preoccupied type. He’d not heard this much about the Lord and praying since before Lizzy Lou died.

  “Well, sir?”

  The last bit of alcoholic fuzz slipped from him and he groaned. He’d been working hard this past year to avoid clarity. Thinking meant dwelling on his deceased wife and the wretched way he’d treated her surviving sister, Beth. Daggart intended on keeping intoxicated enough so thoughts of them didn’t hurt his heart. “Ma’am?”

  “Miss.”

  Her constant correcting of him pushed his temper button and he stomped. “Damn it, woman, I don’t care.”

  “Mr. Bartlett, how dare you swear in front of me and the Lord God Almighty?” S
he shook a finger at him. “For shame, Mr. Bartlett, for shame!”

  He didn’t feel ashamed. Smacking his lips a couple of times, what he did feel was a dry mouth. Daggart looked at her, with her cheeks flushed and her eyes blazing with righteous fury. This gal was really pretty, a sober part of him realized. Not a bad looking woman at all. She might be fun to take a bath with.

  “Don’t you dare!”

  “What?”

  “I saw the devil in your eyes just now. First, you drink to drunkenness. Next, you call on the Dark One for deliverance.” She paused for a shudder and then continued, “You say a profane word, and then as grand finale, you get evil intentions in your mind.” Mary took a few steps away from him and toward the church’s front steps. “Go about your business, you unfortunate little man, and I’ll pray for you. In fact, I’ll enlist the entire congregation to pray as well, you revolting and malevolent ogre.”

  He frowned, not liking all this, and stared at his muddy boots. It was one thing for the gal to pester him, but to call him such names nagged at him. Good thing he didn’t know what some of the words meant, or he’d have to get another woman to punch her. A little nagging bit of his conscience spoke up about how he’d hit Beth without getting any female help. He glanced up from the mud to see Miss O’Brien hurry into the church. What the woman didn’t know was how good whisky worked to keep his conscience unconscious.

  Reverend Morris sat next to Mary on the pew. “So, Miss O’Brien, whose soul are you trying to save today?”

  Keeping her hands clasped, she peeked open one eye and smiled at him. “Am I so transparent, then?”

  “I’m afraid so, dear.”

  With a silent amen, she loosened her hands and smoothed out her skirt. “There’s a gentleman, or rather a man, whom I seem to trip over every morning on my way here.”

  He nodded. “Daggart Bartlett, I’m assuming.”

  “Yes, how did you know?” Her face heated at the idea the reverend might have heard her argue with the man.

  Chuckling, he shook his head. “I’ve tried a few times to get him in here to sleep. It doesn’t look good for business to have lost sheep sleeping in front of saloons.”