Chapter 6 Colton

CHAPTER 6

Colton

ALL THE PEOPLE joining the wagon train adventure have congregated in the wagon yard. While Dad goes over details of the trip's itinerary, I take a moment to look over the group.

There are two families with a handful of boys, maybe middle-school age or younger. None of the kids can stand still and I know just by looking at them, they're going to be a handful. One steps on the back of his brother's shoe to pull it off, while another tries to give a kid a wet willie.

There's an older couple dressed as if they're going on safari, with matching khaki outfits and scarves tied around their necks.

Barnaby stands off to the side, polishing his binoculars.

My gaze lands on the Prairie Princess, who stands slightly behind a middle-aged couple who must be her parents. Her mother wraps her arm around the shoulder of the teen boy standing next to her. Her father leans in and whispers something into her mother's ear. Behind them, the Prairie Princess uses the toe of her shoe to scrape a shallow line in the dirt in front ofher.

There are a bunch of adults and younger kids in the group, but there's no one else our age here. Worse for her royal highness, there's not another female under the age of forty. For passengers like her, the trail is a boring stretch of nothingness, devoid of shops, salons, and semi-annual sales. With no one to gripe and commiserate with, she'll be plenty lonely. I sure hope her shopping bags were filled with enough gossip magazines and nail polish to tide her over until we get back.

She glances up and I quickly look away. Heat creeps up my neck and my conscience nags at me. I can't seem to stop making snap judgments about her. I bet she has a real fine opinion of me, too.

I shouldn't care.

There's no reason to care.

But I do.

Dad continues. "While on the trail, we'll have a number of fun activities for you to experience. You'll help us hitch up the teams, set up and break down camp, cook meals, and participate in other pioneer pastimes."

My attention drifts back to the girl. She glances around like she's bored out of her mind and pulls out her phone.

I walk over and find myself saying, "There's no cell service on the trail."

She jumps and focuses her dark brown eyes on me. "Color me surprised." She powers off the phone and shoves it into her backpack.

"I'm sure you'll survive without your phone for the week," Isay. I'm trying to be friendly, but the words come out snarkier than I'd planned.

She manages a fake smile and I find myself wondering what her real smile looks like.

"Okay, folks," Dad says. "Last chance to hit the restrooms before we depart. There will be facilities along the trail and at our overnight locations, but most don't have running water, so I recommend enjoying plumbing now, while you still can."

"Facilities?" she whispers.

"There are latrines or port-o-potties at each campsite. We'll have indoor plumbing again when we reach Fort Bellows," I say.

"I take it you've been on one of these excursions before?"

"Sure have. Plenty of 'em."

She doesn't seem surprised as she looks over my scuffed cowboy boots, faded jeans, and worn flannel.

"Restrooms are that way." I point toward the redbrick office building. "In case you need to…um…powder your nose."

Her spine straightens as if I've said something insulting. I hope she doesn't think I actually expect her to powder her nose. It would be a shame to cover up the smattering of freckles.

"Just so you know, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself," she snaps, crossing her arms over her chest.

I don't know why I decided to go out of my way to talk to her, but it isn't exactly going well. So much for getting past the whole "Prairie Princess" comment and letting bygones be bygones. Since we'll be stuck on the trail together for the next week, I thought it might be nice to set out on the right foot, but that prairie schooner has already sailed. The chip on her shoulder seems to be a permanent fixture. The guilt I felt earlier ebbs.

She's wearing a brand-new shirt, judging from the folding creases that haven't been ironed out. In fact, all of her clothes, down to her pristine canvas sneakers, look like they've never been worn before. My gaze lingers on a sticker on the back of her thigh: relaxed midrise waist, boot cut. Must have come from her Ranch & Rustler shopping spree. Guess she's not used to wearing rugged, outdoorsy clothes in that big, designer world she comes from.

"Clearly," I say, giving her a meaningful nod to the sticker.

Color floods her cheeks as she reaches down to yank the sticker off. She opens her mouth like she's going to light into me, but then her jaw snaps shut with a crack and her shoulders hunch.

A woman who must be her mom walks over, a strained smile on her face. I tip my hat in greeting. "Ma'am."

"Hello." She turns to the Prairie Princess. "Riley, your dad and Caleb just went to the restroom. We should, too, before we board the wagon."

"Whatever." The Prairie Princess—Riley—spins away so fast the end of her ponytail just barely misses swiping over my nose.

"Smooth move, Romeo," Jake Harding says with a chuckle, coming up to stand next to me. "You know you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, right?"

With the Prairie Princess here, I wouldn't be too sure.

"Mind your own damn business," I say, surly at the downward spiral the morning is taking. I hope this isn't a preview of what's to come.

"Ooh, she has gotten under your skin. And I can see why." Jake gives a low whistle. "A girl like that can really drive a guy wild." His eyes fix on her retreating backside.

It takes all my willpower to keep my fisted hands by my sides and not launch toward his face. This kind of crap is why I prefer being alone on the prairie to being around people. "I thought you were set on Carrie Mae," I snarl through gritted teeth.

Jake shrugs. "I like to keep my options open. Why limit yourself?" He slaps me on the back with more force than necessary and then gives me a finger-gun salute complete with a Pow, pow. "See you two when I ride out for my grand entrance on Wednesday," he says. "Everyone just loves when the Pony Express rider shows up out of the blue. So damn heroic-like. By the time I arrive, she'll be ready for a real man." Jake smirks and then does that weird "I'm looking at you" back-and-forth motion with his hand before sauntering off toward the parking lot.

What a dirtbag.

Dad will tell you he's 100 percent wrangler, but there's some showman in him, too. He'll lead the wagon train from his horse, Cisco, but first he'll stir up a bit of excitement before the wagons pull through the gates. He calls down the line for us to confirm that we're ready to roll out. "All clear?"

Behind him in line are the prairie schooners, driven by Felix and Wild Wanda, a good-hearted husband-and-wife duo full of grit. Each is loaded up with our passengers and their cargo, though Barnaby opts for a front-row seat next to Felix. He's been on so many of these excursions, he's practically a paid crew member.

"Alpha clear," Felix and Barnaby call in unison.

"Beta clear," echoes Wild Wanda's raspy voice.

Next, Ty will drive the mule team pulling a slightly smaller supply wagon, loaded with fresh water, food, cooking supplies, camping supplies, and emergency equipment, including shovels, pickaxes, a tranquilizer gun, fire extinguisher, portable defibrillator, and other odds and ends. You can never be too prepared when you're out on the trail, as I'm sure many of the pioneers discovered the hard way. Dysentery, typhoid, and cholera might have been dangers of the past, but broken bones, snakebites, and other accidents are still very real possibilities in the present day.

"Gamma clear," Ty calls with an added whoop at the end. The younger passengers clap with glee.

"Omega clear," I shout.

I'm bringing up the rear on Chance, with two extra pack mules, Sal and Buck, loaded with supplies. They're mostly here to add a feeling of authenticity to the excursion. Plus, trips like this give them a bit of exercise to get them back in shape for future wagon trains, as they've spent most of their time in the corral since last tourist season. Most of what they're carrying in their packs is their own feed rations, although we have loaded them with a few extra emergency MREs—meals ready to eat—and first-aid kits.

Dad lets out a high-pitched whistle and trots Cisco around the caravan all while spinning a lasso over his head. It's mostly for show, because we aren't driving cattle, but being able to rope things comes in handy on occasion. Dad comes up alongside the prairie schooners, guides Cisco into a circular dance, and shouts, "Wagons ho!"

That's Silas's cue to pull open the side gate that leads past the corral and out into a narrow meadow that abuts the south side of Darby. He pulls off his hat and waves it at the passengers in the wagons as they pass through.

"Take it easy out there, kid," he says to me when I ride by on Chance in a working walk.

A full-blown Prairie Princess.

A handful of middle-school boys.

Jake Harding.

I have a feeling nothing about any of this is going to be easy.