Free The Trail Master's Bride by Maddie Taylor Page B

Shooting the breeze with Jeremy? I’m tired of fetching buffalo muck, blistering my fingers on hot cast iron, and bathing in a tin basin at night. I’m also tired of this hot, dusty purgatory I have been sent to for some reason. Tonight, I’m relaxing with biscuits and bacon.”
    Her defiance shifted her pique to him. He stepped in close, towering above her much smaller frame as he set the record straight over how it was going to be.
    “Let me make something perfectly clear, little lady. You cook, do the wash, gather fuel for the fire, and help set up and break camp, in addition to whatever other tasks I set for you. I drive, see to the cattle, hunt and fish when I can, and prep the meat, which is something the woman ordinarily does. Apparently, you didn’t understand all this when I laid it out before. This may or may not be your life once we reach Oregon, that’s still undecided. Until we get there, purgatory or prairie, whatever you call it, this is your life and you’ll have to make the best of it. As for me, I’m never off shooting the breeze with Jeremy. As the guide and trail master, I have extra duties beyond what the other men have. I scout, guide the train, arbitrate disagreements, set the watch, and see to the safety of every man, woman, and child on this train. I also must ensure that we keep to a reasonable timetable so we don’t find ourselves in the middle of the Cascades in early fall with two feet of snow to deal with, which let me make perfectly clear is deadly. If that isn’t enough, on a daily basis, I get to deal with a bellyaching brat who was dumped in my lap. What’s more, she can’t seem to realize this isn’t Boston and the servants aren’t going to tote and fetch for her anymore. Now, I’ve set you a task and expect it done without any more lip. Understand?”
    Before he said more or really lost his temper, he walked away without waiting for answer. He’d taken no more than three or four steps when something hit him square in the back with a thud, stopping him mid-stride. After a brief pause, he slowly turned back. As he did, another projectile came his way and struck him dead center in the chest. Gawking down at the dark brown smudge on his shirt, his eyes came up, absolutely amazed at her gall.
    “Did you just throw dung at me?” He asked the obvious, completely flabbergasted that she would throw anything, let alone excrement at him.
    “I want to make something clear to you, oh, mighty wagon master. Never in all of my twenty years did I imagine a life such as this, so excuse me if I don’t jump for joy at the chores you have assigned. Gathering animal dung on the prairie was not my lifelong dream. So if I’m irritable, or uncertain, or if I need a night off from blistered fingers while I cook for you, you’ll just have to put up with it and my bratty bellyaching.”
    Unable to get over the fact that she had thrown shit at him—twice—he heard her words, but they didn’t register. “I asked a question, Mina. Did you just throw buffalo dung at me?”
    “I did, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Have a good night.”
    To his out-and-out disbelief, she walked away from him. He saw red. Just who did the little brat think she was, hurling shit at him? He was after her lickety-split, catching up with her at their wagon. Without another word, he propped his boot upon the wheel and pulled her face down over his thigh. As she kicked and screamed, he hauled up her skirt and petticoat, leaving her thin white drawers in place. Although fit to be tied, he noticed how the linen pulled across her hips and thighs in this position. Reminding himself why she was upended, for an excellent reason at that, he proceeded to wear her tail out.
    Swatting her no less than thirty times, he paid no heed to her fussing and squirming. As the first ten landed, she cussed a blue streak. By the second set of ten, she was apologizing and pleading for him to stop. The last ten were accompanied by sniffles and