Page 1 of Wagon Train Dreams
Chapter One
The baby’s cries rent the air.
The sound tore at Joe’s thoughts. Sent claws coursing through his blood. Something was wrong with Petey. He urged his horse, Boots, to a gallop. The camp came into view. With a glance, he took it in—the wagons lined up waiting to resume travel, the travelers gathered in the shade as the oxen grazed the thick green grass on the noon break. Every face turned toward the little one.
Assured no danger lurked that would cause him to rein in, Joe focused on the distressed baby in his mother’s arms.
The tiny face was reddened, distorted with crying, and wet with tears. Blond hair clung to the damp forehead.
Joe rode forward. He didn’t wait for his horse to come to a stop before he slid to the ground and faced Hazel with her unhappy son. “The little warrior is upset.”
Was her face blotchy from dealing with an upset child? Joe glanced around. The others swatted at themselves. Ah, that explained Petey’s distress.
The air buzzed with mosquitoes. The annoying pests rose from the green grass. Twenty feet away, Joe made out the shimmer of water.
They’d stopped in a swamp.
If he’d been there, he would have warned them. But now they’d stirred up an angry horde of vengeful and hungry insects.
The best they could do was pack up and leave. When he started to return to Boots, the baby yowled like he’d been struck.
Petey reached for Joe as if appealing to him to ease his discomfort.
A thousand warnings crossed Joe’s mind. Harsh reminders of his station in life. But he couldn’t walk away from Petey.
“Come, Little Warrior.” He took Petey. Warmth accompanied the small body. Red, raised spots indicated where the insects had bitten him. He jostled the young one and murmured deep sounds in the back of his throat, sounds he’d heard from his mother before he became a man.
Joe’s insides calmed when Petey stopped fussing.
And jolted again when the crying resumed.
“I know something that will help.” He handed Petey to his mother, ignoring the wails of protest, swung onto his horse and rode deeper into the slough until he found what he sought. Mud. Fine black mud. Should have brought a container. His hands would have to do, and he scooped them full, guided his horse back with his knees, and dropped to the ground by Hazel. “This will work.”
“Mud?” She drew away.
The others crowded around, swatting and scratching. They would thank him later. Ignoring both their watchfulness and Hazel’s shock, he smoothed mud over Petey’s neck, his cheeks, and the backs of his hands. Sleeves covered his arms so he didn’t put mud there.
Petey quieted as he watched black cover his skin. He shuddered in a breath and then?—
Nothing. Not another cry.
Joe held his hands toward Hazel, offering her the rest of the mud.
Did she want to try it?
Her blue-eyed gaze held his. What did she see? A man? Or a half-breed? A scout? Or a friend?
What did he want her to see?
He closed his mind to such questions. He knew what he was. And if he ever thought differently, there’d be both whites and Natives to remind him.
Blue eyes blinked. A hand reached out. A finger scraped along his palm. But he let no reaction come to his face or cause his arm to twitch.
She spread mud to her cheeks. Blinked again and seemed to hold her breath.
“Better?” He spoke softly, letting his voice express nothing. Nothing.
“I believe it is.” She spoke to the others. “Mud helps.”
