More Than She Bargained For (The Widow Wagon Book 2) Read online

  He held up the switch and swished it through the air menacingly, making Clara start to cry all over again. Daisy took a step backwards, deciding there was no need to rile him up further. She’d have to find a way to quickly whisk Noah away from Angus when she finally met him. She didn’t want Noah getting any ideas — and she’d definitely not be submitting to discipline from a complete stranger.

  Angus leaned forward and whispered something to Clara. She nodded and put the material back in her mouth, her spine stiffening slightly as if in expectation of what was to come.

  Angus lightly tapped the limber twig on her bottom. “I’m going to do these fast and hard. We’ll get this over with quick, and make sure the lesson is learned.”

  The switch swung out and connected with the red, abused flesh, Clara’s scream muffled by the cloth. Daisy clenched her own bottom in sympathy. No doubt by the woman’s reaction he’d kept his word and made it harder than the past few lashes. The branch became a blur then, and Clara, unable to contain her reactions, started dancing from one foot to the other. “No one here fights, punches, pulls hair, beats, or switches another woman. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, Sir!” Clara screeched through the wad of material in her mouth, squeezing her skirts so tightly in her small fists that her knuckles had turned white.

  But, thankfully, as promised, it was over almost as fast as it started. Realizing that the green, whippy shoot wasn’t whipping her rear any longer, Clara’s legs wobbled and she fell to her knees, heart-wrenching sobs wracking her body.

  Daisy, along with Angus, came forward to provide comfort.

  Angus helped Clara stand, pulling her skirts down. “C’mon, girl. Let’s get you to bed. It’s all over.” Daisy held Clara around the waist, and Angus led them to over to the bed roll and blankets spread over the ground. “You two go on and lie down. We’ll finish the rest of your chores. You’ve both had enough for one day.”

  He turned to the crowd that had gathered to watch, raising his voice. “All right folks. It’s all over. Everyone get back to your own campfires. Everyone keep this in mind though. When required, all the wagon masters here will administer discipline in this fashion. Y’all mind your manners!”

  Daisy settled Clara down on her bedroll, covering her with a light blanket then rubbing her back. “I’m sorry, Clara. I shouldn’t have done that. I got us all in trouble and it was just… unnecessary. I don ‘t know what gets into me some days, and I’m not sure you even want to. Can you forgive me?”

  “Of course. I shouldn’t have switched you -- I’d been warned. Angus told me clearly how he’d react to something like this. And I know better, I know to not attack another woman.” Clara swiped at more unbidden tears and then shook her head. “And my girls know better than to snoop through someone’s private belongings. They won’t be playing or attending the campfires for a while. They won’t go through any of your stuff again — or anyone else’s, for that matter.”

  “They were just being kids. They didn’t hurt anything, and they even put it back neatly.” Daisy felt embarrassed. She’d behaved like a child herself today and now the four of them would be suffering the consequences of their actions for days.

  “Do you think it’ll feel better if we lift our skirts and just let the light blanket touch it? Maybe our skirts and underthings are too much?” Daisy struggled to lift her skirts under the blanket and still preserve what dignity she still had left — which was like closing the barn door after the horse got out. But she didn’t want her backside peeking out from under the blanket.

  “You’ve never experienced a switching, have you?” Clara waited for her answer.

  “No.”

  “There ain’t nothing that’s going to help with the sting and burn — for days. The only thing that’ll help is if he decides to put some liniment on it for us. But, judging by how angry he was, I’m thinking he won’t.”

  “Well, that’s not encouraging.” Ruefully, Daisy lightly rubbed the itchy, stinging welts. “I know it helped when I was whipped with the buggy whip our first day.”

  Surely, this couldn’t last for days. How would a person survive?

  “You have no idea,” Clara said. “You’re going to have to learn how to behave. For a grown woman, you’re getting spanked quite a bit.”

  “I know. I’m not good at holding back my feelings very well — good or bad.”

  Those were the last words Daisy remembered hearing, sleep overtaking her almost instantly.

  Later, she awoke, in the dark. She looked around, finding everyone asleep in their bedrolls.

  “Be quiet and still, girl.” Angus’ rumbling voice whispered above her. He’d pulled the blanket off her back — just enough to expose her still stinging bottom. “I’m going to put some of this liniment on your tanned backside. It’ll help with the sting, as you know. But this sting is worse — at least, I think so.”

  “Y-you mean you know?”

  Angus spun the metal cap off of a small, wide glass bottle, dipping two fingers into the thick ointment. “Know about whippings versus switchings, you mean?”

  Daisy nodded.

  Angus chuckled, rubbing the medication into her welts, making her suck air through her teeth. “Hell, yeah. Let’s just say I never learned easy as a kid — hell, as a teenager neither — and found myself in the woodshed many a day.”

  “I wasn’t spanked until I got older and even then it was rare,” Daisy whispered between pained groans. “And I’ve been whipped and switched now twice in a month.”

  “Yeah, you haven’t had a good experience on the Widow Wagon. I’m serious, girl. Your future husband and I are gonna talk. You need a firm hand. There’s a good woman in there somewhere, but it’s gonna take a firm hand and consistency to bring her out.”

  She looked over her shoulder at him, giving him a frown.

  He raised a brow at her. “Careful. I know you don’t want me to do it, but you ain’t got a choice. He needs to know.”

  Daisy laid her cheek down on her arms, resigned to yet another thing she didn’t want to happen.

  Angus growled low in his throat. “I just can’t believe you women did this — forcing me to whip you. I’m actually not a bad guy, not that you’d know it. Christ!” He patted her hip lightly. “Well, this’ll make it better.”

  Then he went over to Clara to do the same for her.

  In the quiet of the night, she heard Clara’s startled gasp, then Angus’ deep rumble.

  “Sh-sh-sh. Easy, girl. It’s just me, I’m going to put some liniment on your sore bottom.” He pulled the blanket lightly off of her, Clara’s round, inflamed bottom clearly visible in the dying, flickering firelight.

  “I didn’t think you would… do that,” Clara murmured, sounding half-asleep. “You were so mad. You whipped us… so hard.”

  Angus loudly sighed, taking the cap off the bottle and scooping a dollop of the ointment onto his forefinger, lightly massaging it into the abused skin. “I wasn’t as much mad as I was frustrated. As wagon master it’s my job to keep order, and y’all had been warned. I just couldn’t believe that you, of all people — being a mother and such — had the nerve to defy me like that. I can’t cotton to misbehaving like that, not with everyone else watching. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  Clara whined, covering her face with her hands.

  He continued working the liniment into her skin — slowly and gently. After covering all the welts, he patted her bottom. “Keep yourself out of trouble, and please tell your girls to stay out of other people’s things.” He stood up, spinning the lid back on. “I know they didn’t mean to cause trouble, and were just being children. But this could’ve been bad for them, if you hadn’t come back when you did. And I don’t want to have a run in with any of ya again.” He covered her body, tucking the blanket around her to keep the evening chill away and lightly patting her hip. “You’re all set, girl. Sleep well.”

  Chapter 5

  Willie walked up the dusty wooden steps
to the Mercantile in Independence, Missouri, asking the storekeeper, “Do you know where someone would sign up for the Widow Wagon?”

  “You walk around the corner here.” The storekeeper pointed out the window. “There’s a window that says ‘Tickets’ — they’re for the train and the Widow Wagon.” He looked Willie up and down. “You don’t look like a widow to me.” He chuckled. “You looking to find a widow? Or are you trying to purchase tickets for a widow? By the way, the name is Joe.”

  Willie wanted to give the man more than a sarcastic remark, but there was no time. He needed to be quick and gather all the information he could about Daisy Anderson. He needed that damn ring. “Funny. No, I’m not a widow. Good catch. I suppose the lack of a long, black dress tipped ya off? I’m Willie.” He’d wanted to keep the comment light-hearted, but the sarcasm had come through anyway. “I’m looking for a cousin of mine who recently got on the Widow Wagon after her husband’s death. I need to find her so I can give her something her husband left for her.”

  Joe narrowed his eyes. “You don’t sound like us here in Missouri. Where’re you from?”

  “I’m from Louisiana. My cousin married Daisy — Daisy Anderson was her married name. I’ve been told by her family in Boston that she came to live in Independence when her husband Jesse died.”

  Joe’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “You went from Louisiana, up to Boston, then back here to Missouri?”

  Willie knew he’d need to be careful, keeping the “facts” of his story right. “Yep. It’s been a long few months for me. But it’s that important. She needs to receive what’s rightfully hers.”

  Just like he needed to get what was rightfully his. It didn’t belong to Daisy. It belonged to him.

  And he’d be getting it back soon.

  “Well, I appreciate a man with morals,” Joe said. “What makes you think she got on the Widow Wagon?”

  “I already talked to the aunt she lived with after Jesse died. Mae was her name.” Will leaned up against the counter, wiping the sweat off his brow with his gloved hand. “She told me Daisy had purchased a ticket for the wagon about a month ago, and by this time she should’ve met up with her future husband as a mail-order bride. Probably somewhere in Nebraska.”

  “Well, if that’s what May told ya, then it’s the truth. That’s the nicest woman in Independence. I didn’t get to meet Miss Daisy, but I heard tales that she’s a spitfire — the complete opposite of her Aunt May. I heard more’n one person say she needed a good whippin’ too. Glad I’d never tangled with her. You ever meet her, son?”

  Willie hadn’t heard from either her parents or Aunt May about her disposition, but he supposed that wasn’t something you openly offered when first meeting someone. They couldn’t very well say: “Hey, be careful. Daisy would fight a rattlesnake and give it the first two bites.”

  That’s just not what you told people about your daughter or niece. Just his luck. Now, he’d have to wrestle with a spoiled brat on top of everything else.

  “No. Never met her,” Willie said. “She married my cousin right before the war, and he got himself killed before he could come home.”

  “Her husband was a Yankee from Boston, you said?”

  Willie hated having to pretend this complete stranger had been related to him. It bothered him more though that he lied about a soldier who died in the War Between the States. And to admit to people that he’d been related to a damn Yankee on top of it all just… galled him.

  But a man had to do what a man had to do. “Yes, Sir. His pa and my pa were cousins. Our grandfather just died, and her now-deceased husband — my cousin — has been left an inheritance. Since she’s his wife, it’s my duty to get it to her.”

  Joe clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s mighty kind of you to do that. We’re told in the Good Book to care for the widows and the children. God’ll bless you, son. You go talk to Charles at the window that says ‘Tickets.’ Tell him what you just told me, and he’ll let you know where you can find Miss Daisy Anderson.”

  Willie tipped his hat to Joe. “Thank you, Joe. I’ll do just that. Appreciate all your help.”

  * * *

  Willie exhaled as soon as he hit the wooden sidewalk in front of the Mercantile. It looked like this would be harder than he’d expected. He hadn’t anticipated feeling this bad about lying to the friendly people he met along the way. He rounded the corner into a narrow alley, and just as Joe had told him, the ticket window was a few feet away.

  “ Howdy. Is Charles here? Joe at the Mercantile told me to ask for him.” Willie leaned on the small ledge outside the window.

  “That’d be me.” Charles appeared to be in his mid-to-late forties with a full black beard, and long hair to his shoulders. “Why’d Joe send you my way?”

  “It’s a long story. My cousin married right before the war to a woman in Boston. Before he could come home from the war and introduce her to his distant family in Louisiana — of which I’m one — he done got himself killed by a Yankee soldier. My grandfather just passed recently too, and as it turns out, my cousin inherited some money. Since he’s gone on to be with the Lord, it now rightfully passes on to his wife.”

  “That all makes sense. Sorry about your loss.” Charles rubbed his forehead looking confused. “But what would my station have to do with a Yankee woman from Boston?”

  “Well, I went to Boston to get it to her, and found out that she’d gone to live with her Aunt May in Independence, Missouri. And Aunt May said she purchased a ticket for the Widow Wagon to meet her future husband in Nebraska. I’m hoping you can help me figure out where she stopped in Nebraska, so that I can find her and give her the inheritance she’s due.”

  Charles eyebrows lowered slightly. “How’d you say you’re related?”

  “She was married to my cousin. Her Aunt May told me to see the Widow Wagon so I can find out where she went in Nebraska. I need to meet with her.” Willie tried his best to look nonchalant, but his heart felt as if it might pound its way out of his chest.

  He needed to find Daisy, or his dream would fall apart.

  Charles regarded Willie for a moment. “Well, you look honest enough. And God knows, enough soldiers died in that damned war. I know we’ve had more than what is a decent amount of widows going out west to start their lives over again.” He stopped and looked intently at Willie, as if to size him up. “Yep, it’s time at least one of them gets some good news. Lemme get my records and we’ll see where Miss Daisy got off on the Oregon Trail.”

  Adrenalin pumped through his veins, and his heart raced the rush making him almost dizzy. It was working! Another three to four weeks, and he’d find her.

  Charles came back with his large leather ledger, pulling it open to reveal hundreds of green, lined pages with scrawled signatures, presumably of the passengers. “By any chance did Miss May say when Daisy boarded the Widow Wagon?”

  “She couldn’t remember the exact date, but thought it was about a month ago.” Willie tried to read upside down, but the signatures were almost impossible to decipher at that angle.

  “Here it is!” Charles tapped the page, turning the book so Willie could see her signature. “I remember her now. I put a mark here.” He pointed to an asterisk and next to it were the words “extra bag, no perm.”

  Confused, Willie looked up at Charles. “What does that mean?”

  “Every one of the women were told ahead of time how many bags they were allowed on the Widow Wagon. We adhere strictly to these rules because oxen are mighty important on the Oregon Trail, and we don’t want to tax them with too much weight. It’s a long journey.”

  Charles dropped his head, chuckling to himself. “Miss Daisy decided to sneak a carpet bag onto the wagon and one of the other women tattletaled on her. She put up such a fight that Angus, the wagon driver, told her she’d be getting a whippin’ next time they stopped. I’m pretty sure he meant to buggy whip her too. She’s some trouble. I’ll bet she gave your cousin hell, son. Makes me feel bad for her new
husband.”

  Willie shook his head. He couldn’t believe the stories he’d been hearing about this woman. “Lord, it’s the second time I’ve heard about her bad behavior. Joe said the same thing.”

  “Well, there’s only one thing I’m sure of — Angus gave her a good thrashing somewhere off the trail. If she continued, he’s the sort who’d tan her hide every day until she met her new husband.” Charlie cleared his throat. “God bless his soul.”

  Willie leaned forward, tapping the line with Daisy’s signature. “Where did she get off to meet this husband? And does it say his name?”

  Charles grabbed his spectacles, adjusting them over his ears. “It says here… that she went to Courthouse Rock, Nebraska — to meet someone named Noah. That’s all there is — no last name.” He scratched his forehead. “Odd. Usually I put the last name. Something must’ve caught my attention and I forgot. Probably her and that damn bag. Took everything I had to talk Angus out of using his buggy whip for other purposes right there in front of the mercantile. I’d never get a widow to board the Widow Wagon again!”

  “I’d think not. This Angus you’re talking about. He wouldn’t hurt or maim her... or any other widow, would he?”

  Charles let out a belly laugh. “Oh, hell no! That man is like a burly bear. Just loud and noisy. He’s all heart though, once you get to know him. Now, don’t go gettin’ me wrong — a woman breaks a rule and she’ll feel a buggy whip, strip of leather, or a switch. But overall, he’s the safest and sweetest guy I could pick for the Widow Wagon. And that, my friend, is the exact reason he was hired. I can’t think of anyone else I would trust with six to eight women for four months. Lord!”

  Charles shook his head with a mock shiver and continued. “Can you imagine having all those women together on the Oregon Trail? Makes me want to run to the hills.”