“Another day lost!” Bartlett exclaimed. “My God, does everything out here in this wilderness conspire to cause trouble for a man and ruin his plans?”
“Sometimes it seems like it,” Preacher admitted. “But your plans ain’t ruined, just delayed a mite. We’ll get across sooner or later. It’s still possible we won’t have to ford that creek at all.”
That much luck was not with them, however. Less than an hour later, Preacher spotted the dark, muddy line of the flooded creek stretching across the trail in front of them. He reined in and pointed it out to Bartlett.
“Should we stop the wagons?”
Preacher shook his head. “No, there’s no reason not to push on until we get to the creek. That way we’ll be ready to ford it as soon as we’re able to. I’ll ride ahead and take a look.”
He had barely pulled out ahead of the others with Horse moving at an easy lope when he heard hoofbeats right behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Casey following him. She came up even with him.
“No need for you to come along,” he told her. “You can go back with Roland and his pa if you want to.”
“But I don’t want to,” Casey snapped. “I want to talk to you, Preacher.”
He bit back an exasperated curse. If she wanted to have that conversation, then maybe it was time. They could clear the air instead of having the future hanging over them all the way to Santa Fe.
“All right,” he said. “Go ahead and talk.”
“You’ve made it clear over the past few days that you don’t want to have anything to do with me.”
“Now that just ain’t true,” he said. “I think you’re a fine gal, and I like havin’ you around.”
“So if I come to your bedroll tonight, you won’t turn me away?”
“I didn’t say that. Just because I like you don’t mean I think it’s a good idea for the two of us to, well, you know . . .”
“Is it because I was a whore? Because you can’t stop thinking about all the other men who have been with me?”
Preacher snorted. “Hell, no. You know better’n that, Casey. If there’s one thing the frontier’s taught me, it’s that yesterday’s dead and gone. What we did then don’t matter anymore. Since nobody knows if he’ll be around to see the sun come up the next mornin’, tomorrow don’t mean a whole hell of a lot, neither. What we do today, that’s what counts the most.”
“That’s what I think, too,” she said. “I just don’t understand why you don’t like me as much anymore.”
They had reached the rain-swollen creek. As they sat on their horses beside it, Preacher said, “Likin’ you don’t have anything to do with it. I just figure you’d be better off with somebody besides a shiftless old goat like me.”
“I keep telling you, you’re not that old. Anyway, that’s not your decision to make.”
“I reckon I’ve got a say in it, though.”
Casey laughed. “You know a lot about a lot of things, Preacher, but evidently not that much about women.”
He frowned and said, “I don’t mean to hurt you, Casey, and I reckon we’ll be travelin’ together until we get to Santa Fe, for sure, but after that I don’t know yet where I’ll be goin’ or what I’ll be doin’.”
She looked out over the churning water. “You want to abandon me in Santa Fe, is that it?”
“I’d never abandon you,” Preacher said.
“Well, that’s what it sounds like to me.”
With that, she wheeled her horse around and rode back toward the wagons. Preacher shook his head and muttered a curse. That hadn’t gone the way he wanted it to, but that was pretty much the story of his life where gals were concerned. Casey was right about one thing. Despite his experience, women were mostly a mystery to him and probably always would be.
He forced his mind onto a more pressing problem, namely the flooded creek. The stream was wider there, so the water level wasn’t as deep as it was farther upstream, but it was still deep enough and flowing fast enough that Preacher didn’t think it would be a good idea to take the wagons into it just yet. He had a hunch that by morning, the creek would have gone down enough they could ford it without too much difficulty.
When the wagons arrived, he gave that bit of good news to Leeman Bartlett. The man nodded and said, “Thank goodness. We’ll only lose a few hours that way.”
“Yeah. We’ll make camp right here and wait it out.”
The wagons were arranged in a circle with the livestock in the middle, and the men searched the surrounding prairie for buffalo dung that was dry enough to burn. By the time dusk began to settle over the landscape they had gathered enough to make a decent fire. They could have hot food and coffee again, and that would make everybody feel better.
As they were tending to their horses, Lorenzo said quietly to Preacher, “I saw Casey cryin’ a while back, after she talked to you. What’d you say to the gal, Preacher?”
“Dadgum it! I tried to get her to see that there ain’t no real future for her and me. Sooner or later she’s gonna want to settle down, and I ain’t cut out for that.”
“Has she said anything to you about settlin’ down, Preacher?” Lorenzo asked.
Preacher frowned. “Well . . . no, now that you mention it, she ain’t.”
“Then maybe you done jumped the gun a mite. Maybe you should’a just let things stay like they were until we get to Santa Fe. You coulda worried about it then.”
“Yeah, could be you’re right,” Preacher muttered. “Would’ve been simpler that way, that’s for damn sure. I don’t know how well it would’ve gone over with young Bartlett, though.”
“Roland ain’t a bad sort, but he ain’t near man enough for a gal like Casey. He’s got a heap of growin’ up to do first.”
“Maybe I’ll go talk to her. Try to set things right for a while, anyway.”
Lorenzo nodded. “Be a good idea, I’m thinkin’.”
The sun had gone down, and the night shadows were gathering. Preacher walked toward the fire, looking for Casey as he approached it. He didn’t see her, but Leeman Bartlett was there.
“Did you happen to notice where Casey got off to?” Preacher asked the older man.
“She was over by that wagon with Roland.” Bartlett pointed to one of the big, canvas-covered vehicles. He frowned worriedly. “Preacher, what sort of woman is Miss Casey? I’m afraid that Roland has, ah, developed an affection for her.”
“She’s one of the finest gals I ever met,” Preacher answered honestly.
“Are the two of you . . . I mean, I hope you’ll bear no ill will toward Roland because of what I just said.”
Preacher shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Bartlett. I ain’t lookin’ for trouble. Not woman trouble, nor any other kind.”
Leaving Bartlett by the fire, he walked toward the wagon the man had pointed out. He didn’t see Casey and Bartlett at first, but then he glanced underneath the vehicle and spotted their feet. They were on the far side of the wagon, inside the circle with the oxen and the horses.
Preacher was about to step over the wagon tongue when he heard sobbing. That made him move even quicker. He came around the wagon and saw Casey and Roland standing there. Roland had his arms around her, but he wasn’t actually hugging her. His arms just sort of encircled her, and he patted her awkwardly on the back with one hand as he said, “Casey, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”
She had her hands to her face. She sagged a little against Roland.
“Casey,” Preacher said. “There ain’t no need to carry on so. I didn’t mean—”
“You!” Roland said as he looked past Casey at Preacher. He put his hands on her shoulders and moved her gently aside. He came toward Preacher, saying, “Leave her alone. You’re the reason she’s crying, you—”
“Careful there, boy,” Preacher warned in a low rumble. “I don’t cotton to bein’ called names.”