night.â Luke frowned. The poor girl was in serious distress at the thought of those vultures. âHe said to keep you out of sight of his brother.â
âGideon.â Victoria shuddered.
âWhy is that?â
âHe wants my sister,â Victoria told him miserably. âHeâd hurt us to get to her.â
Luke fell silent. âWould it help if I get word to them that your sister left you?â
Victoria nodded. Then gave a despairing shrug. Then the tears began to fall.
Luke was a sucker for tears. âIâll see if we can leave a bit sooner than Iâd planned,â he said, rubbing her back.
âWhat about Alex . . .â
âAlex is a boy,â Luke said firmly, âand Iâm guessing youâre his legal guardian. So, in my book, itâs you that gets to decide which wagon train you join.â
Looking up into his shining black eyes, Victoria knew exactly which wagon train they were joining. Luke Slaterâs. Even if he was headed to the ends of the earth.
Eight
Alex didnât recognise her any more. Her plain and mousy sister was blossoming into a pretty young woman. She walked around pink-cheeked and glowing, smiling witlessly at all and sundry. It was infuriating.
And it was that manâs fault.
âWhat do you think you are doing?â she hissed at Victoria in Cavilâs Mercantile, where Victoria was in the process of buying a length of lovely yellow calico.
âIâm going to make a new dress,â Victoria said blithely. âLuke says thereâs a dance on Saturday night, to farewell the wagon trains leaving, which includes us.â
âOh, he does now, does he? And how are you planning to pay for this new dress?â
There was a glint of gold in Victoriaâs gloved hand.
âThat money is supposed to get us set up in Oregon!â
âOne new dress wonât hurt.â
Alex sputtered helplessly as Victoria sailed up to the counter with the bolt of yellow cloth firmly in hand. She was outraged in so many ways. Firstly, because it really was a waste of money. When on earth would Victoria need a new yellow dress on the trip west? When she was fording rivers, or helping to dig out the wheels of their bogged wagon?
And secondly, Alex had to admit, she was outraged because she didnât see why Victoria should have a new dress when she was walking around in Adamâs cast-offs, her face buried beneath a revolting mask of dust and dirt. It just wasnât fair.
Being a boy certainly wasnât all it was cracked up to be, she thought sulkily as they walked back to Taylorâs. Here she was lugging sacks of grain, while Victoria breezed along with only the scrap of calico weighing her down. Then she had to head out into the blazing heat of the day to look over a bunch of smelly animals, while Victoria got to sit in the cool of the hotel sewing her pretty new dress.
âCome on, Adam,â Alex snapped, âweâd best leave her to it. Try not to give yourself a callus while weâre gone.â
âIâve never been to a dance,â Adam said as they headed downstairs.
âSure you have,â Alex disagreed half-heartedly, still stewing. She was secretly picturing herself in the yellow calico.
âI donât think so.â He frowned, straining to remember a dance.
âIn old Dysonâs barn, remember?â
âWith the cows?â The memory dawned visibly on his face.
âThey put the cows outside for the dance.â
âBut it smelled like cows.â
âAnd chickens,â Alex agreed. And thereâd been no-one to dance with but Pa, Adam and the old men. Except for the Gradys, of course, who always turned up half drunk and belligerent. Silas would make a beeline for her, Alex remembered distastefully, recalling the way heâd slicked his hair back and worn his best suit (the one that was tight across the shoulders and shiny on the knees) in order to
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