Carolyn Davidson - Colorado Courtship

It was almost like being a part of a family, Jessica decided, and though the group would split off into different directions in a few weeks, she knew she would never forget the unexpected delights of this day.

The laundry hanging on the makeshift lines was ready to be tended by the time their picnic was finished, and the women turned back to their mundane chores as the menfolk watered the stock and carried quilts and weary children back to the circle of wagons.

It had been a joyous day, Jessica thought as she folded Finn’s shirts. She inhaled the fresh scent of the prairie breeze that seemed caught up in the very fabric of each garment, then stacked them neatly on a box. As she turned from the chore with the last of his shirts in her hands she caught sight of him, striding with long, firm steps toward her wagon, her quilt across one arm, a basket of her belongings from the picnic swinging from his other hand.

“I’ll take care of your clothesline,” Finn said after he deposited her things inside the wagon. He reached up to unfasten the length of rope from a hook on the rear bow, and walked slowly toward the next wagon in line, looping the coils over his elbow and hand as he went.

She watched, enamored by the idea of a man doing chores for her. She’d been so long without tenderness in her days and nights. And now Finn provided that quality in abundant measure. He twisted and turned the rope, forming it into a neat figure eight, and then leaned past her to hang it on the nail where she stored it.

Her fingers faltered as she smoothed the fabric of his blue work shirt, and she tugged the collar, straightening it a bit. “You do that so nicely,” he told her. “Reminds me of the way my mother used to handle the washing when I was a boy.” He watched as she tucked the sleeves inside and smoothed the placket down, then lifted the stack of his belongings into his arms, inspecting the top item more closely.

“Thanks for sewing on a new button for me,” he said. His brow lifted and a grin curved his lips. “I’ll be spoiled with you taking such good care of me.”

“It was an odd one I had and it doesn’t really match the others, but it’s better than nothing, I figured. And if that’s all it takes to keep you happy, who am I to complain?” she teased, and then felt her stomach clench as his gaze narrowed on her face. His eyes darkened with a look she recognized as a yearning—a yearning probably for the easing of his masculine need. Just such a look from Lyle had meant harsh hands that groped and demanded her compliance to his wants.

Not so, it seemed, with this man, for his fingers against her shoulders were soothing, and his lips formed words of promise against her skin. “You’ll find me easy to please, Jessica,” he said. “In fact, just being with you makes me happy.” He bent close to claim the softness of her cheek, and his breath was warm against her ear. His mouth formed a caress, his lips pressing against her flesh. And then she felt the dampness of open lips, as his murmur offered assurance. “All you have to do is smile in my direction.”

Such foolishness. She turned her head sharply and looked into eyes that seemed not to consider such flattery as nonsense. “A smile will do it?” she asked.

“Just looking at you gives me pleasure,” he told her, and she laughed, a quick, harsh sound.

“I’d put some stock in that if I didn’t know how I look these days, Finn. Those sweet words would be more credible if you aimed them toward a pretty young girl, or whispered them to a woman who’s been a success at pleasing a husband.” She set her jaw, deliberately acknowledging her own shortcomings.

He laughed at her. The man had the audacity to touch his fingers to her cheek and then bent to kiss the tip of her nose. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Jessica,” he said. His blue eyes lowered slowly, touching the bit of skin exposed at her throat, where her collar was undone, and then settled seductively on the fullness of her breasts.

Heat rose to color her cheeks as his gaze measured the rounding curves of her bosom, and her lungs expanded as if they required an inordinate amount of air. His smile was slow, as her breasts lifted with each indrawn breath, and his murmur was low, words she strained to hear. He leaned toward her, brushing their bodies together, and she felt the distinct swelling of his male arousal against her belly.

“Finn?” Her voice was choked, her throat too dry to swallow, and the fire from her rosy cheeks descended to diffuse its heat throughout her body, as if a fever had taken hold and spread languor the length of her limbs. She leaned against him, unable to remain upright without his support.

“I suppose I should apologize Jess,” he told her, his smile a bit crooked, as if he were embarrassed. “I don’t mean to offend you, but I can’t seem to help the way you affect me. Surely you’re not surprised.”

“Well, I can’t imagine that you—”

He laughed, the sound muffling her words as he took her lips with a kiss that left her question answered beyond the shadow of a doubt. Then he was laughing no longer, his mouth taking hers fiercely, his need so powerful, so elemental, she could not fail to understand the message. And then they lurched, almost in unison, as the baby made its presence known to them both, a tiny hand or foot poking indiscriminately in protest.

Finn recovered first, setting her away from him. “Enough of that for tonight, I’d say,” he told her, his chuckle soft against her ear. “I’ll see you in the morning, sweetheart.” His smile returned, quirking one corner of his mouth. “And yes, whether you believe it or not, I have a need for you, Jess. I said I’d wait, and I will, but don’t think for one minute that you carrying a baby is enough to turn me away.”

The creek crossing was accomplished early on the next day, and by noontime the train snaked out across the prairie, heading almost due west. The morning breeze carried the perfume of wildflowers directly to the wagon seat where Jessica was perched. One of the men, a miner, walked beside her lead ox this morning, having made the offer, probably at Finn’s instigation she thought. And it was an offer she could not afford to refuse, although she would soon climb down and take her place there, walking the trail for the early hours of the afternoon.

Her lungs filled as she inhaled deeply of the fresh air. Flowers bloomed on all sides, and mixed with their soft scent was the riper, richer aroma of soil, blessed by an overnight rain. It had been a dry spring, McMasters said, but this morning the trail held damp spots.

There’d been no sign of Finn after the crossing. Once the wagons rolled through the shallowest part of the stream, listing first to one side, then the other, men walking beside them, watchful lest one should tilt and threaten to overturn, he’d ridden off. With a jaunty wave in her direction he’d turned his horse to the southwest and had soon been gone from sight.

The crossing left them vulnerable, and though the Indian tribes had been peaceful, Jonas was alert for trouble. Finn, she suspected, had been sent ahead to scout out the trail.

The day passed quickly, Jessica taking over the duty of walking by the team for a couple of hours during the afternoon, and then retiring to rest when Arlois sent her son to relieve her. The feather tick in her wagon served her well, and she spent an hour there, her body weary, her legs aching. She was less than two months from delivery of her child, if she had it figured right, and the hardest part was yet to come. It was no wonder a woman was considered unfit to travel without a man’s company on a wagon train.

By nightfall, her back ached and her feet were swollen. Even with the afternoon nap giving her a burst of energy she was aware that her strength was lessening day by day. Sitting by the fire, she held her journal on her lap, scribbled a recital of the day, and then thumbed through the pages. Notes of the miles traveled, the meals she’d cooked and the sights she’d seen made up the entries of those early days of this trek, and she read them over by the flickering campfire.