sawdust floor, then stood and resettled his hat. "Heck and Miles will be looking for us to relieve them back at camp."
The two men strode down Rogue Street, accustomed to seeing other men step out of their path.
"You know, Coate," Cody commented as they left the boardwalk and slogged through the mud toward the train. "I hate it when you go analytical on me. That's part of the Indian culture that I really don't warm to."
Webb laughed and returned Cody's grin. "You don't like hearing the truth, white eyes."
"What do you red devils know about truth?" They both laughed.
As they approached the campsite, Cody noticed the Chastity brides had gathered a short distance from the squared wagons. The women's camp chairs were arranged in a half circle to face Perrin Waverly.
"What's that all about?" Webb inquired.
"Damned if I know." A twitch of curiosity furrowed his brow. "I wasn't invited."
Perrin Waverly occupied his thoughts more frequently than he cared to admit. She was beautiful and she was an outcast, two conditions guaranteed to pique a man's interest. What surprised him and aroused his grudging admiration was her quiet fortitude. She was doggedly determined to succeed as the women's representative regardless of how little the other brides cooperated with her efforts or how coldly they treated her.
As he and Webb entered camp, he watched her step to the front of the assembled brides, and it occurred to him that courage came in many forms.
----
CHAPTER SIX
Perrin hadn't known how many, if any, of the women would attend her meeting. She suspected they came largely in response to Mem's cajoling, bullying, and veiled threats. She located Mem's erect figure in the midst of the group and cast her a look of heartfelt gratitude. Unfortunately, Mem couldn't help her conduct the meeting. That she had to accomplish on her own.
Although she had rehearsed for two days, she hadn't realized how unnerving it would be to address a group, especially a group who preferred visiting with each other to listening to anything Perrin Waverly might have to say.
Some of the women darned stockings or mended torn hems while they chatted; Sarah Jennings stirred a cake bowl in her lap. Thea Reeves had opened her sketchbook and kept looking up at Perrin, then down at a stick of charcoal that appeared to fly across the page. Cora gave Lucy a licorice whip, and they whispered together. Ona Norris busily pressed the season's first tiny wildflowers between the pages of her trip journal.
"Excuse me?" It wasn't a good beginning. She sounded timid and tentative. And the suspicion that Thea might be sketching her portrait tied her stomach in knots. Swallowing hard, she began again. "May I have your attention, please?"
Gradually, the women quieted and raised inquisitive faces. All those eyes, resistant and judgmental, drove Perrin's speech out of her mind. The saliva dried in her mouth.
"I've never made a speech before," she admitted in a low voice, floundering, wondering if they could see her lips tremble.
"Louder," Hilda prompted gently.
Perrin cleared her throat. To bolster her courage, she had tucked her most prized possession beneath her bodice. She touched her chest and traced the old valentine lying next to her skin. Over the years the lettering had faded, and now only she could make out the inscription: To my beloved wife, Charlotte . The valentine was all she had left of her parents.
She clasped her hands tightly and cast a quick glance toward Jane Munger, who sat a little apart from the others. Jane's tired eyes fastened on Perrin with hope and anxiety.
Perrin drew a deep breath. "I've asked you here because we have a problem that I can't solve without your assistance."
"What kind of a problem do we have?" Sarah Jennings asked crisply. She handed the cake bowl to young Lucy Hastings, who set aside her licorice whip to take a turn at stirring.
Whatever Perrin did, Sarah was there looking over her shoulder, subtly implying she could
The two men strode down Rogue Street, accustomed to seeing other men step out of their path.
"You know, Coate," Cody commented as they left the boardwalk and slogged through the mud toward the train. "I hate it when you go analytical on me. That's part of the Indian culture that I really don't warm to."
Webb laughed and returned Cody's grin. "You don't like hearing the truth, white eyes."
"What do you red devils know about truth?" They both laughed.
As they approached the campsite, Cody noticed the Chastity brides had gathered a short distance from the squared wagons. The women's camp chairs were arranged in a half circle to face Perrin Waverly.
"What's that all about?" Webb inquired.
"Damned if I know." A twitch of curiosity furrowed his brow. "I wasn't invited."
Perrin Waverly occupied his thoughts more frequently than he cared to admit. She was beautiful and she was an outcast, two conditions guaranteed to pique a man's interest. What surprised him and aroused his grudging admiration was her quiet fortitude. She was doggedly determined to succeed as the women's representative regardless of how little the other brides cooperated with her efforts or how coldly they treated her.
As he and Webb entered camp, he watched her step to the front of the assembled brides, and it occurred to him that courage came in many forms.
----
CHAPTER SIX
Perrin hadn't known how many, if any, of the women would attend her meeting. She suspected they came largely in response to Mem's cajoling, bullying, and veiled threats. She located Mem's erect figure in the midst of the group and cast her a look of heartfelt gratitude. Unfortunately, Mem couldn't help her conduct the meeting. That she had to accomplish on her own.
Although she had rehearsed for two days, she hadn't realized how unnerving it would be to address a group, especially a group who preferred visiting with each other to listening to anything Perrin Waverly might have to say.
Some of the women darned stockings or mended torn hems while they chatted; Sarah Jennings stirred a cake bowl in her lap. Thea Reeves had opened her sketchbook and kept looking up at Perrin, then down at a stick of charcoal that appeared to fly across the page. Cora gave Lucy a licorice whip, and they whispered together. Ona Norris busily pressed the season's first tiny wildflowers between the pages of her trip journal.
"Excuse me?" It wasn't a good beginning. She sounded timid and tentative. And the suspicion that Thea might be sketching her portrait tied her stomach in knots. Swallowing hard, she began again. "May I have your attention, please?"
Gradually, the women quieted and raised inquisitive faces. All those eyes, resistant and judgmental, drove Perrin's speech out of her mind. The saliva dried in her mouth.
"I've never made a speech before," she admitted in a low voice, floundering, wondering if they could see her lips tremble.
"Louder," Hilda prompted gently.
Perrin cleared her throat. To bolster her courage, she had tucked her most prized possession beneath her bodice. She touched her chest and traced the old valentine lying next to her skin. Over the years the lettering had faded, and now only she could make out the inscription: To my beloved wife, Charlotte . The valentine was all she had left of her parents.
She clasped her hands tightly and cast a quick glance toward Jane Munger, who sat a little apart from the others. Jane's tired eyes fastened on Perrin with hope and anxiety.
Perrin drew a deep breath. "I've asked you here because we have a problem that I can't solve without your assistance."
"What kind of a problem do we have?" Sarah Jennings asked crisply. She handed the cake bowl to young Lucy Hastings, who set aside her licorice whip to take a turn at stirring.
Whatever Perrin did, Sarah was there looking over her shoulder, subtly implying she could
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