~ Wildflowers ~

by

Catherine Greenfeder

Softening toward him, Johanna gently added, “I’d like to trust you, Mr. Majors.”

“Ryan.”

“Ryan.” She smiled tentatively. “Well, we do have a long journey ahead of us, and I’d rather not spend it quarrelling.”

“Neither would I.”

Johanna sighed with relief, inhaling his scent of leather and soap. Soap? “Mr. Majors...”

“Ryan,” he corrected.

“Have you bathed since we arrived?”

“I scouted the area and found a stream to bathe in. I’d be happy to show it to you before we leave.”

Johanna longed for a good hot bath. “I’d appreciate that.”

When Ryan stepped closer, she stepped back, feeling the urge to escape his strong, masculine presence and its magnetic hold on her. “In the morning, that is.”

She glanced sideways, admiring his strong features--the broad cheekbones, the aquiline nose, and the jut of his chin. His dark coloring, no doubt, came from his Nez Perce mother. “What do you remember about your mother?”

Ryan gazed at her in surprise. “Little. A few lullabies she sang and the blackness of her eyes. She died givin’ birth to my brother. We grew up among her people. The Indians got a respect for life white folk don’t. I don’t kill nothin’ I won’t use. My granddaddy was a tribal leader. He taught me to respect the animals, even goin’ so far as to ask for its forgiveness ’fore we kill one.” He stared hard at her. “I don’t believe in killin’ for no reason.”

Spirals of warmth went through her hands where he caressed her calloused palms with his fingers. His eyes, unfathomable pools of darkness, gazed through to her soul and she shivered, unable to move from the spot. She had to find her voice or be lost in his magic. At last, she asked, “Was that man that killed your brother arrested?”

He dropped her hands abruptly. His jaw muscle twitched as he spat, “Heck, that rotten, no-good snake-in-the-grass ain’t been found. But he will be! Sure as I got breath left in my body, he’ll pay for murderin’ my brother.”

“Ryan, what do you plan to do to him?”

“Miss Wade,” Ryan snapped, “this doesn’t concern you.”

Johanna stiffened. “I beg to differ, Mr. Majors. It most certainly does concern me if it involves this missionary party. My father spent years planning the mission in Oregon. I traveled hundreds of miles to be part of his mission. The last thing we need is a trail guide who’ll run out on us.”

“I’ve no intention of running out on you.” Ryan’s gaze softened a little. “Ever see a grizzly, Johanna?”

She glanced at him in surprise. What did grizzlies have to do with the matter? “No,” she replied flatly, “but I read about bears in a book.”

“Grizzlies are the meanest bears alive, with teeth as long as butchers’ knives and claws to match. One clawed at my brother Chet until I shot it dead.”

“Good Lord!”

“But there’s something meaner than a den of grizzlies.”

“What’s that?”

“Man. He kills for no damn good reason.”

“Is that why you prefer the mountains?”

“Hell yes! The white man came with his religions and his diseases and killed off half the Indians.”

They continued on in silence, skirting the rear of wagons whose occupants were either asleep or too preoccupied with their own private conversations to notice the couple. Johanna stopped beneath a thick cottonwood tree. Not since Robert’s death had she talked so much to a man. What was it about Ryan Majors, she wondered, that made him easy to talk to? With the exception of Stephen Green, she had no other male acquaintance. Her lonely hours as a governess had been filled with reading books or her father’s occasional letter. “I often wish I knew my mother,” she sighed sadly. “She died when I was born.”

“So, you lived with your pa?”

“Oh, no. Father had to go off to his missionary work. He couldn’t take a helpless baby with him. Aunt Mabel raised me.”

Ryan scowled. “Hell, it sours my milk to think a man of God, or any man, would haul off and leave his child. If a man has a family, he ought to stay put.”

“And what about your brother’s children? You left them. Why?”

Johanna sensed his anger as he tensed a moment. Then sadness crossed his gaze.

“I wanted to take ’em with me, but they had other plans. It’s better this way. Sara and me... well, we’re good friends.”

The look in his eyes when he mentioned his sister-in-law’s name convinced Johanna that Ryan held more than brotherly feelings for Sara Majors. “Maybe you should have stayed with them. I’m sure my father could have found someone else to lead our wagons.”

“Yes, but no one as good as me.”

“I can see you like pounding your own drums.”

“No reason not to. Why hide ’em under a bush? Besides, I’m honest, and I need the money. So that’s why I’m here.”

“For money?”

“Sure, why else would I put my butt on the line for a bunch of greenhorns?”

“I thought you did this for the adventure,” she said, strangely miffed that he was only interested in the money.

“Yeah--that, too. Tell me, were you lonely growing up?” he asked, smoothly changing the topic and stepping closer. She backed into a tree trunk. The wide branches overhead cast them in its shadow.

“Sometimes, but the Captain had a way of making me laugh, and I made friends at boarding school.” He was so close she could see gold flecks in his eyes, despite the darkness surrounding them.

“The Captain?” He braced a hand next to her head upon the tree. Her heart jerked in her chest.

“Mabel’s husband. He died in a violent storm at sea--waves swept him over the starboard. He... um... told the best pirate stories and couldn’t have been a better father to me.” Each breath she took was filled with his clean scent.

“I see.” Ryan nodded. “Guess folks have a way of finding what they need.” He leaned closer and touched the side of her face. “You had been happy once?”

She gazed everywhere but at him, afraid of showing him how much his touch was affecting her. She had, indeed, been happy with her aunt and uncle. Robert McEntee’s entry into her life had only made that small world more perfect. His death had shattered that world and her illusions of a perfect existence. “I’m getting tired.” She glanced up at him, afraid of what she’d read in his eyes. She found understanding in his smile as he stepped out of her way. For some strange reason that endeared him to her.

“Auntie?” she called. Mabel waved from the nearby campsite.

“I’ll be coming home later. Seamus and Sally will walk me.”

“How strange,” Johanna said. “Mabel usually doesn’t form such quick friendships with men like this.”

“Maybe there’s more to it than friendship,” Ryan said with a grin. “Out here, things happen a lot faster.”

Perhaps too fast, Johanna thought, conscious of Ryan’s shoulder brushing against hers as they walked. “I must turn in.” She faked a yawn.

“Must you?” Ryan whispered, leaning toward her.

A streak of moonlight bathed his head and shoulders, outlining the tight muscles beneath his buckskin jacket. His solid, perfect shape reminded her of a Greek statue. Oh, he’s all too real. She shut her eyes as he touched her face once more, caressing the curve of her chin and cheekbones. His mustached mouth moved as he whispered her name against her neck, “Johanna.”

She looked at him. “Yes?”

“You didn’t answer my question? Will you sing for me?” His pleading tone reminded her of a child begging for a sweet.

He stood apart from her, staring into her eyes as if plumbing the depths of her soul. It made her shiver. “Please, Johanna, sing that tune you hummed earlier.”

“No, not now--it’s too late.”

They reached the wagon, the campfire a glimmer above gray ashes and the lantern glowing by the wagon wheels.

In the quiet of the moment, Ryan reached for her and pulled her to him. “Johanna,” he whispered, brushing back the stray strands of hair which fell from her bun; then he unloosened the fasteners in her hair, letting it cascade in a soft flow of red tendrils down her shoulders.

Johanna pulled away. “Ryan, don’t!”

“Why not?” He smoothed her hair. “Your hair has the glow of a sunset and feels as soft as the morning dew. Johanna,” he said meeting her questioning gaze, “you are prettier than any wildflower bloomin’ on the prairie in spring.”

Her pulse raced, and she pushed her hair back into some kind of neat array, fearful lest someone should spy them together. Ryan remained oblivious of all else, save her, as he captured her hands. He turned them palm-upward then gently touched the sores. “To heal your wounds,” he murmured, kissing one palm and then the other. The pressure of his lips heated her from her fingertips upward.