Preacher turned to Moran. “How about you?”
The big man just grunted. Evidently, he wasn’t overly fond of talking.
Preacher let it go. They were approaching the wagons now, and he saw lots of curious looks directed his way. These folks had to wonder if there was some sort of problem. He saw fear on many of the faces. Fear of Indians, fear of the wilderness, just fear of the unknown in general . . .
But the desire to make a new start in life had overcome those fears, or else these people wouldn’t be here, a long way west of where civilization came to an end.
Donnelly raised his voice and called out, “We’ll go ahead and make camp! Pass the word! These gentlemen have some things to tell us!”
Uncle Dan leaned closer to Preacher and asked quietly, “What gentlemen?”
“He means us.”
“Oh. Been a long time since anybody called me a gentleman. Ain’t sure I fit the description no more . . . if I ever did.”
Donnelly rode along the line of wagons, instructing the drivers to pull the vehicles into a circle. Preacher wondered if they had been doing that all along. From the awkwardness with which the drivers handled the maneuver, he would have guessed that they hadn’t.
He looked around for Buckhalter but didn’t see the man. He was beginning to think that Buckhalter was a fraud, that the man had taken the job as wagon master but didn’t really know what he was doing. These pilgrims should have been circling the wagons every night since they left St. Louis.
The same thought must have occurred to Uncle Dan, because the old-timer said, “These folks need help, Preacher. Somethin’ ain’t right about that fella Buckhalter. That must be why he acted like he had a burr under his saddle right off. He didn’t want anybody comin’ around tellin’ these folks that he’s a damn fool.”
“I expect you’re right . . . but we can’t take over and guide this wagon train all the way to Oregon Territory. We got business of our own waitin’ for us downriver.”
“Yeah, I know.” Uncle Dan sighed. “Still, though, you can’t blame a fella for thinkin’ about it.” He gazed past Preacher. “Especially when he’s feastin’ his eyes on what I’m lookin’ at right now.”
Preacher was curious enough at the comment that he had to glance around. When he did, he saw immediately what Uncle Dan meant.
Because the woman coming toward them was pretty enough to make any man think about spending more time with her.
Chapter 4
The woman wore a long skirt and long-sleeved shirt, like most of the women from the wagon train, but unlike them, she wasn’t wearing a bonnet at the moment. The late afternoon sunlight shone brilliantly on the reddish-gold curls that fell around her lovely face. The drab attire wasn’t enough to completely conceal the womanly curves of her body.
Preacher and Uncle Dan still sat on their horses. The woman came to a stop a few yards away, smiled up at them, and said, “Hello. Welcome to our little community on wheels. Ned tells me that you’re going to be staying with us tonight.”
Preacher recovered his wits with a little start, hurriedly swung down from the saddle, and motioned for Uncle Dan to do likewise. He plucked the wide-brimmed brown felt hat from his head and gave the woman a polite nod.
“Yes, ma’am, I reckon that’s right, although I don’t rightly know who this fella Ned is.”
“My husband, Ned Donnelly,” she said.
“Oh.” Preacher tried not to appear too crestfallen at the discovery that this fine beauty was married. “Yes, ma’am, we’re acquainted. Seems like a right nice fella.”
“He is.” The woman extended her hand. “I’m Lorraine Donnelly.”
Preacher gripped her hand. He could tell from the calluses on her palm that she must be handling the team attached to one of the wagons. Reins left marks like that on a person’s hands when you used them all day, day after day. Despite that, her touch had a womanliness to it that affected him, as it would any man who spent most of his time on the frontier, far from the presence of any female.
“They call me Preacher. This is Uncle Dan Sanderson.”
Lorraine Donnelly smiled again. “Oh, you’re uncle and nephew.”
“No, ma’am,” Uncle Dan said as he shook hands with her, too. “I ain’t related to this here tall drink o’ water. Folks just call me Uncle Dan ’cause I was trap-pin’ partners with my nephew Pete. He got hisself kilt a while back, though.”
Lorraine’s smile went away. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
Looking slightly uncomfortable now, Lorraine changed the subject by saying, “Ned tells me there may be hostile Indians close by.”
Preacher nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you know what Mr. Buckhalter intends to do about it?”
Preacher and Uncle Dan exchanged a glance, then Preacher said, “I ain’t sure Mr. Buckhalter believed us. He seems to think this ain’t Pawnee territory.”
