New Frontier of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 2) Read online

  Sam didn’t say anything. His insides rolled like the clouds above them. He turned his head slowly to look at Stephen. He felt as if lightning struck him again. He could feel his throat closing up and he found it difficult to even speak. “I…thought she…,” he hesitated, “I thought she wanted Bear.”

  “The way a woman acts is often a poor indicator of what she actually wants—sometimes it’s the opposite of what appears obvious. I know it is confusing and can befuddle a man, believe me I know. Women are just not as plain to figure as men are. Like horses, you have to understand their nature to get them to work with you, not against you. In fact, women can be very much like horses. For instance, they prefer a gentle voice and a soft easy touch. There are many other similarities, but I’m getting side tracked. If Catherine paid attention to Bear, it was just to see if you would rise to the competition, but her real target is you.”

  A warning voice whispered in his head, arousing old fears and uncertainties. “How do you figure that?”

  “Because you two are like two sides of the same coin,” Stephen said. “Don’t be afraid of her. You’re a bigger man than that. Whatever is holding you back is not as important as she is.”

  Stephen was right. Could he tell that warning voice inside him to shut the hell up?

  “Remember what you told all of us once, when we were trying to decide whether we should make this journey—all life involves risk. That is especially true of love. This risk is yours to take, if you have the courage,” Stephen added with emphasis.

  Sam remained quiet for a moment, and then as casually as he could manage said, “I’ll be right back. I need to buy a new razor. I think it’s time for a shave.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Over the next couple of days, the men decided they should assume their legal problems would eventually be resolved, and Sam told them that they should restock their supplies to prepare for their journey further west, towards Nelson County.

  They bought powder and ball, always in short supply, but the shop owner had just received a shipment the day before. They also bought a supply wagon and filled it with saws, augurs, braces, chisels, planes, squares, and other tools and building materials that they would need to establish homesteads once they found land. Lastly, with nearly a dozen horses to care for, they bought a good supply of oats and grain.

  This morning, Sam went with Stephen to patronize several of the town’s other shops. His brother bought Jane a new delicate teacup and saucer made in England, some tea, and two new high-waisted gowns that would more comfortably accommodate her rapidly expanding stomach, one practical and one just because he liked it. He said she would look gorgeous in it. For Martha and Polly, Stephen found new dolls.

  Sam bought himself a new white linen shirt. The weather was really warming up and it would be cooler than the buckskin he was wearing, he rationalized.

  “That shirt will make you look like a proper gentleman,” Stephen teased, after Sam had made the purchase. “Never thought to see you wearing one.”

  Irritated by his brother’s mocking tone, he scowled and wondered if Stephen thought he had bought the new shirt to impress Catherine. Well what if he did? How he dressed was his own business. His mouth twisted with exasperation as he ambled over to the store’s knife display.

  “I’m looking for a small boy’s knife,” he told the man behind the counter.

  The pudgy man wearing spectacles on his long nose pointed to a knife in his display case and said, “That one there once belonged to Daniel Boone when he was a young man.”

  He thought the shopkeeper might be capitalizing on Boone’s reputation, but Sam liked the idea enough to buy it anyway and surprised Little John with it later that morning.

  The majority of the next few hours, Little John just stared at the knife and showed it to anyone who would look at it. He got Sam to show him how to use it again and again and he patiently obliged his nephew, remembering how excited he had been when his father gave him his first knife.

  While Sam spent time with Little John, John went to town to find out where church services would be held on Sunday. He learned that Boonesborough had no preacher but the local congregation met occasionally in the schoolhouse whenever a circuit preacher came through town.

  “No town should be without a church. It’s like a man without a soul,” John told Sam when he got back.

  Sam had met a few soulless men over the years.

  At once, John started planning a church building. It would have a tall white steeple with a bell that people would be able to hear for miles. John had no idea how he would finance the construction and hoped that someone would donate the land and perhaps the congregation could help with the building materials. John could pay for a small part, but not all of it, and would donate his services as architect and builder.

  Sam thought it would be a good way for John to demonstrate his skills to the people of Boonesborough. The growing town would generate a building boom in the coming years.

  After the noon meal, Sam went to town again with William to talk to as many people as they could about the buffalo hunters. However, it soon became obvious the townspeople were afraid of the evil hunters and although they were grateful to the Wyllies for giving the hunters a good thrashing, they were reluctant to talk.

  Sam and William did learn that the six hunters also traded in whiskey, drank a good deal of their own supply, and supplied a constant source of trouble. They often provoked fights and people suspected their leader, Frank Foley, in at least one unsolved murder.

  What surprised Sam the most was what Lucky McGintey had to say after he and William encountered the old fellow on Boonesborough’s main road, pulling a pack horse loaded with fresh kills. From the looks of it, Lucky’s luck as a hunter had not run out. He’d provide fresh meat for many of Boonesborough’s residents that night.

  “They couldn’t beat you men in a real fight so now they’ll try to beat you in the courtroom. Sometimes the law works against honest men, as it did with Boone. You’ll need to find some way to discredit Frank Foley and I think I know just the way. About a day’s ride north of here live a couple of Irish brothers named O’Reilly. One of them, Jonathan, is a friend of mine. He swears he saw Foley lead the British to his militia, resulting in the death of many of them.”

  “Why hasn’t he turned Foley into the militia here?” Sam asked Lucky.

  “He’s afraid to say anything about it ‘cause he thinks Foley would kill him or his brother, or have the other buffalo hunters kill them both.”

  “Jonathan’s right, Foley would.” William said.

  Sam understood that the Revolutionary War confused and blurred the lines of loyalty for many men. Most colonists found the milk of mother England bitter, while others wanted to keep suckling off a familiar tit even if it was hard to swallow. But traitors were different. They chose sides for profit or gain, not loyalty. Often, men became traitors to save their own skin.

  Frank Foley might be as bad as Eli Frazier, the man he had sought to kill for so many years.

  William responded to Lucky, “I doubt the fellow helped the Red Coats out of loyalty to the Crown or because he predicted the British would ultimately win. Based on our experiences with Foley, I suspect the man became a traitor for the great motivator—greed.”

  “Men like him betray their fellow man for a few pieces of silver,” Sam said.

  The three agreed that getting Jonathan O’Reilly to testify would be imperative.

  On the way back to camp, William asked Sam if he remembered seeing any British scouts who looked like the buffalo hunters’ leader.

  “Hiding behind all that hair and filth, it’s hard to tell what the man actually looks like,” Sam said. “And, of course, a man’s appearance can change a lot in fifteen or more years.” He paused as something just sprang into his mind from the distant past. “I do remember that several men taken prisoners by the enemy became scouts for the British. Damn turncoat traitors, every one of them should rot in hell.”
r />   “If he’s one of them, maybe we can make sure this one does. What if we get all that hair off of him?” William asked.

  “How can we do that? You want me to give him a shave?” Sam yanked his knife out and held it up to his own black beard, still unshaven. After they left New Hampshire, he and Bear had both let their beards grow, while Stephen, John and William had done their best to remain clean-shaven. He had bought a razor a couple of days ago, but had not yet used it. Something made him hesitate. If he did shave, he wondered if Catherine would notice.

  “No, you might shave the bastard a bit too close and ‘hurt his feelings.’ I’ll ask the Judge to order the man shaved.”

  “Would he?” Sam asked, incredulous.

  “If it meant identifying a turncoat, the judge should be willing.”

  “Even if I could identify him, it would still be his word against mine.”

  “Not if we get that settler Lucky told us about to come back and testify too.”

  “Do we have enough time to get O’Reilly to Boonesborough? Do you think he would come? Lucky said he was afraid to testify.”

  “We could get the Judge to talk to the witness privately. And, yes, I think we have just enough time to go get him if we hurry. Bear or John could go get him. You and Stephen can’t leave, and I have to stay in case the trial starts, since you both want me to defend you. I still think you should get a lawyer.”

  “We can’t trust a stranger. Besides, you might as well be a lawyer as well as you know the law.”

  “Knowing the law and practicing the law in a courtroom are two different things. Like knowing how to shoot a gun and being able to hit something with one. Nevertheless, I promised you I would do it and I will. Just pray my aim is true.”

  Sam and William told the others of their plan. After considerable debate, they decided that John should be the one to fetch the settler. John argued that he wanted to do his part to help. And all of them, including John, wanted Bear to be the one to guard the women and children while Sam, Stephen, and William were in town at the trial. Other than Sam, Bear was the most competent fighter among them and if some of the hunters tried to attack the women while the trial of going on, they would be safer with Bear there.

  Jane maintained that she and the other women were quite capable of guarding their camp without a man to protect them. “We’re close to town and besides we are not helpless women who must be guarded constantly,” she said. “I can guard the camp, especially with Catherine and Kelly’s help. Catherine has already proven she can take care of herself and Kelly knows how to shoot. She had to hunt her own meat out there where she lived. And we’ve taught Martha how to load and fire a weapon if she had to.”

  “You are as far from helpless as the east is from the west. I know you can shoot as well as the rest of us, except maybe Sam, nobody can beat him, but these despicable men have no honor and do not fight fair, even with men. No telling what they might do to you women just to spite us. I’ll not take that chance,” Stephen said. “Bear stays here.”

  “But it’s late in the day, he should at least wait until morning,” Jane said.

  “I agree, leaving now is far from ideal,” William said, “but we need that witness to get here as soon as possible. He can’t wait. He has to go now.”

  John quickly gathered up his weapons and some cold biscuits and dried meat. He got the detailed instructions supplied by Lucky to the O’Reilly farm and prepared to leave. He embraced Little John and then mounted his horse.

  Sam silently prayed it would not be the last time his brother would hug his child.

  It was a somber camp after John left. They all realized the importance of his success, and the risk he was taking. No trip into the wilderness was without risk, and traveling alone made the risk even higher.

  John was barely gone five minutes before Sam started having second thoughts about their plan. However, they had decided this as a group. He needed to abide by that decision, even if he thought it wrong. He let out a pent-up breath as Stephen walked up, his misgivings increasing by the minute.

  “We’ve made a mistake,” Sam said, “and John may be the one who pays for it.”

  “Give him a chance to prove himself. He might surprise you,” Stephen said.

  “It’s what might surprise him that has me worried.”

  Without saying a word to anyone, after John left, Bear immediately saddled his horse Camel and went to town. Something in his gut told him they had just made a terrible decision—John should never have gone alone. He tried to convince them that he needed to go with John. But they wouldn’t listen. John was not his brother and he did not feel he could tell Stephen, Sam, and William they were all making a mistake, even if they were. And John seemed so determined to do this on his own. Understandably, the man wanted to prove himself to his brothers—prove that he had the same courage they did.

  Sometimes the brothers’ courage outran their judgment. It seemed to him this was one of those times. Bear had stood by, helpless, unable to stop John or persuade Sam and the others that John needed his help. Even though he usually felt like family, today he did not. He just had to leave for a while.

  As he rode into town, he thought about Catherine. His conversation with her that morning had not gone as he had hoped, and that was also making him feel dejected. After buying the whetstone, he had presented it to her wrapped in a beautiful white handkerchief, tied with a blue bow. He told her he had bought the blue ribbon to match her eyes, and that he had grown quite fond of her. Although she did her best to soften the blow, saying he was a fine man and any woman would be lucky to have him, she made it clear she only felt as a sister to him. Well, if he had to lose the bonnie lass to another man, he was glad it would be Sam. Although she never mentioned Sam, he could tell where her heart was leading her.

  He sighed, and gave a resigned shrug. As soon as he arrived, he went into the tavern hoping an ale or two would calm his nerves and improve his disposition. Maybe he’d even have a wee droppy of whiskey.

  Lucky sat alone at a table, carving his powder horn. Lucky’s horn served as a journal of sorts, where he carved symbols of his adventures and expeditions through the years. The horn not only kept Lucky’s powder dry, but Bear thought it a skillfully decorated piece of art.

  He joined Lucky and ordered an ale and a whiskey.

  Lucky continued to carve and said nothing.

  Bear swallowed nearly half the ale in one gulp, and then wiped his mustache and beard with the back of his hand.

  “That’s the reddest and thickest head of hair I believe I’ve ever seen,” Lucky said, pointing to Bear’s head with the knife in his hand. “Indians would sure like to get ahold of you. I’m told some of them fancy red scalps—think it gives them strong spirits.”

  “Aye, red hair does seem to give a person strong spirits, but it has to be attached to the body it came with,” Bear said.

  Lucky grinned and then, turning serious, put up his carving knife. “You look troubled.”

  “John is on his way to fetch your friend O’Reilly. Alone,” Bear said, finishing the ale.

  “Alone? I thought you would be going too.”

  “Nay, ‘twas decided differently. Stephen wanted me to guard the women and wee children when he and the Captain and William all had to be in town at the trial. John left a little while ago. Sam was reluctant to let him go alone, but John insisted, saying there had been no recent Indian problems near Boonesborough.”

  “He’s right, but going north at night and alone is not a good idea. His life won’t be worth spit if he encounters natives or thieves.”

  “That’s what’s got me worryin’ so. He knows less about Indians and the wild than any of us.”

  “The trip there is only about a night’s ride on the road that leads due north. But I had no idea one of you would be going alone and at night no less.” Lucky shook his head. “How good a fighter is he?”

  “He can hold his own, but he’d be the first to admit he’s the worst fig
hter among us. He’s more inclined to try to reason with people rather than fight them.”

  “Yes, we spoke the other day while he was buying supplies. He seems a man of strong faith. He told me he would like to preach someday and maybe build a church here in town. Lord knows, we sure could use one. Although some will think differently. Bear, you’d best go after him—and do it quick like or it’s likely he’ll never get that church built and we’ll never get a chance to fall asleep during a sermon. You most likely will get back before the trial starts anyway and John’s going to be a lot more vulnerable where he’s travelin’ than the women and children will ever be this close to Boonesborough.”

  “Stephen is worried more about the buffalo hunters bothering the women than he is Indians,” Bear said, “because Sam thinks the bunch of cutthroats might try something during the trial.”

  “Those varmints will be nursing their wounds for a week and if John doesn’t get O’Reilly to talk to the Judge, those hunters will be causing Stephen more than worry. Eventually, they will come after you folks. The only way to stop them is to be sure Frank Foley finally gets what is coming to him. I’ll go after John. He might be needin’ some of my McGintey luck.”

  “Nay, thank ye just the same. We can take care of our own. And John’s me brother,” he said emphatically. He drank the whiskey in one gulp, stood up and tossed a coin on the table. “Will ye do me a favor, man? Ride out to our camp and tell them I have gone to join John. I do na want to waste any more time.”

  Lucky pushed back his chair and grabbed his rifle. “I’ll do it. And Bear, keep that scalp of yours on your head.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Sam listened to the rhythmic sound his blade made scraping against the whetstone held firmly in his hand. The sharpening took the edge off his restless mind as much as it put an edge on the blade. When forced to sit for any length of time, it had become his habit to hone the weapon until it was so keen it might cut a man who just looked at it too closely.