Uncle Dan grunted. “Deal.”
Preacher had left his bedroll here at the camp along with his buckskins. He crawled into his blankets now, fully expecting to fall asleep instantly as soon as he stretched out and closed his eyes, which was a knack that most mountain men had picked up.
He didn’t doze off right away, though, because he realized that Jessie was spreading a blanket she had gotten from their supplies on the ground next to him. Not only that, but as Casey brought over another blanket, it appeared that she intended to bed down on his other side. The idea of having a beautiful woman lying within a foot or two of him on either side had a definite effect on Preacher. He was as human as the next fella, and Jessie and Casey were both mighty pretty.
Usually, though, when two gals set their cap for the same man, it was a recipe for trouble. Preacher couldn’t help but wonder if sparks were going to fly before he got the two of them packed off safely to that Mandan village.
But for tonight, at least, there didn’t seem to be any signs of rivalry between them. Casey said, “Good night, Preacher,” and then Jessie added, “Good night,” and damned if both of them didn’t reach over and pat him on the shoulder in a friendly manner.
After all that, it was no wonder that Preacher didn’t doze off right away.
Despite the lack of sleep, when Uncle Dan whispered his name a couple of hours later, Preacher woke instantly and was fully alert. On the frontier, being able to wake up like that was sometimes the difference between life and death. He sat up and looked around the camp. A little silvery starlight penetrated the grove of trees, enough to show him the sleeping shapes of Jessie and Casey next to him. He had halfway expected to wake up with both of those gals cuddled against him. That would have been a pleasant—if somewhat nerve wracking—way to wake up.
Preacher got to his feet quietly and moved several yards away with Uncle Dan so the two of them could talk without disturbing the women.
“Anything been happenin’ since I turned in?” Preacher asked.
“Nope. Ever’thing’s mighty quiet. I reckon when you rode away from St. Looey last night, you give Beaumont the slip. You’ll have to find some way to get him on your trail again if’n you want to lure him away from civilization.”
“I can find a way to do that,” Preacher said. He picked up one of the rifles he had brought with him from Beaumont’s place. Earlier, before turning in, he had made sure they were all loaded, and he had reloaded the pistols he had fired as he burst out of the stable behind Beaumont’s house. Now, as he tucked the rifle under his arm, he went on, “You go get some sleep, Uncle Dan. I’ll wake all three of you in a couple of hours, and you and the gals can get ready to hit the trail.”
“All right,” the old-timer said, “but I don’t know how well I’m gonna sleep without a couple o’ nubile young women to keep me nice an’ warm like somebody else around here.”
Preacher just chuckled.
Uncle Dan rolled up in his blankets, and soon he was snoring loudly. The log-sawing didn’t seem to bother Jessie and Casey. Preacher supposed they were so exhausted they could sleep through the last trump.
After a while, though, Casey stirred. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, then climbed slowly to her feet with the blanket still wrapped around her. She stumbled over to the log where Preacher was sitting and sank down beside him. The sky above the trees had begun to take on a tinge of gray because dawn was approaching, and that provided enough light for Casey to see her way around the camp, Preacher supposed.
“You’re supposed to still be sleepin’,” he told her.
“I know. And Lord knows, I’m still tired enough to sleep. But we’re going our separate ways in the morning, and I wanted to talk to you, Preacher.”
“What about?” he asked warily. In his experience, any time a gal wanted to talk about something, there was a significant chance it wasn’t going to be anything good.
“I just wanted to say thank you.”
Preacher frowned in surprise. “For what? Goin’ after Beaumont?”
“Well, that, too. Whatever you do to him, he’s got it coming . . . in spades.” She paused. “I really wanted to thank you, though, for treating me the way you have.”
Preacher still didn’t understand. “I don’t reckon I’ve done anything all that special.”
“Yes, you did. When we were together . . . not once did you act like I was a . . . a whore. You just treated me like a woman you . . . liked.”
“Well, hell, I do like you,” he burst out. “I think you’re a mighty fine gal.”
“You’re the first man who’s treated me like that in a long time, though. Most of them . . .” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head. “You don’t want to know how most of them treat me.”
Gruffly, he said, “You’re right about that.”
She put a hand up, rested it on his beard-stubbled cheek. “Do you know why I asked you to call me Casey, when no one else in St. Louis does?”
“Nope. I know Jessie’s mighty curious about that, too. I think maybe it hurt her feelin’s a mite that she didn’t know nothin’ about it.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Casey said. “Jessie’s been good to me, as much as she could under the circumstances, anyway. But you’re different, Preacher. You reminded me of . . . a boy back home. A boy who used to . . . call me Casey. The only one who ever did.”
“You were in love with him?” Preacher said softly.
She nodded without saying anything.
“And somethin’ happened to him.” It wasn’t a question.
“He went off to fight in that stupid Black Hawk War a few years ago,” Casey said with a note of bitterness in her voice. “He never came back.”
“Got killed in the fightin’?”
“No. He took sick with the grippe and died. But if he had been home, it wouldn’t have happened. I never told anybody what he called me when we were . . . together. And I never felt the same, until I met you.”
Preacher wasn’t sure what to say. He sat there in silence for a few moments, then finally said, “I’m mighty flattered I made you feel good, Casey, if that’s what I did.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not planning to marry you or anything. Although that might not be so bad. But I’m afraid things have gone beyond that by now. Too far beyond.”
Preacher might have argued with her, but he wasn’t looking to get married, either. He was too fiddle-footed for that, nowhere near ready to settle down. And he wouldn’t try to drag a wife around in the sort of nomadic existence he led. That wouldn’t be fair to any woman.
“I wouldn’t mind sitting here with you for a little while, though, if that would be all right,” Casey went on.
“That’d be just fine,” Preacher said, and a smile touched his lips as Casey leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder.
By the time Preacher roused Jessie and Uncle Dan from their slumber, Casey had built up the fire and gotten the coffee on to boil. Jessie looked at her in surprise and said, “I didn’t know you were so . . . domestic.”
“Just a farm girl at heart, remember?” Casey said lightly.
They had breakfast and then packed up all their gear. Preacher went into the bushes, peeled out of the town clothes, and put on his buckskins. He felt almost like himself for the first time in weeks as he emerged from the brush and settled his hat with its wide, floppy brim on his head. If his beard was longer, everything would be back to normal again.
Or as normal as it could be . . . while Shad Beaumont was still alive.