The Trail Master's Bride by Maddie Taylor

promises to never do it ever again.
    At thirty, his ire had abated enough to set her back on her feet, taking hold of her shoulders for two reasons: to steady her on her noodle-like legs and to keep her from running off if her temper returned. Tears glistened on her cheeks, which softened his heart, but by God, she’d thrown shit at him.
    “Never again, Mina. If you dare repeat it, you’ll find me taking my time to pull down your drawers, bare your behind, and paddle your disrespectful bottom with the bread board hanging in the wagon. Am I making myself clear?”
    She nodded.
    “Not good enough. I want to hear it.”
    “It’s clear. I promise I won’t ever do that again.” She tried to pull her face away, but he held firm. She closed her eyes tightly instead. Then she surprised him by admitting, “I’m truly mortified that I did that. I’m so sorry.”
    “What possessed you?”
    Her eyes opened and she looked up at him, admitting, “I have a quick temper, I’m sure you’ve noticed. Always have. For some reason, you seem to bring it out of me better than most.”
    As he stared at her, he felt his anger melt away as pride welled up at her honest profession, as well as the burgeoning tenderness that seem to grow more every day, even though she’d thrown buffalo shit. He shook his head while laughing softly, the sound coming out in a disbelieving huff as he pulled her close.
    “What am I going to do with you, darlin’?”
    “Please, be patient. Except for just now, I really have been trying.”
    Easing back, he put a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up to his. “I know you have, Mina. And I’ll strive for patience if you promise to do the same.” At her nod, he smiled, his heart leaping as her lips turned up hesitantly in return. This little slip of a gal was burrowing under his skin; he was afraid by the time they reached Oregon, she’d be fully embedded there and most likely be wrapped around his heart. It dawned on him, that wouldn’t necessarily be such a bad thing.
     
    * * *
     
    In such close quarters, there were few secrets on a wagon train. Most of their fellow travelers had witnessed their latest row and another spanking. The ones who hadn’t, heard of it by morning. This didn’t sit well with them and tongues began to wag. Mina heard the censorious whispers and told Weston her concerns. Despite his assurance that it too would blow over in time, he was wrong.
    The whispers continued, growing louder by the day, made worse when they saw Mina climb into his wagon every night. Even though she did so alone and he openly bedded down underneath, it stirred speculation. He ignored it, the gossip coming mostly from the women and dying down as soon as he came near. Still, he hadn’t missed the looks they shot Mina and the wide berth they gave her as if she were the town whore or something.
    Five days after the incident when they were nearing Scotts Bluff where the trail took them through a pass between two towering cliffs, which could be difficult in the best conditions, it all came to a head. They’d stopped for the noontime meal. Mina had gone to the creek with a few others to rinse the dishes while Weston re-saddled his horse.
    “We want her off the train, Mr. Carr.” The woman’s voice was brittle as she spoke behind him while he hefted the saddle on his Morgan’s back.
    “No one’s being put off the train, Mrs. Gillespie.” He said this without even turning around. The woman had a distinctively shrill tone.
    “She’s causing a stir, strife between the men and women. She’s the only single woman now and some of the ladies don’t like her asking their menfolk for favors. It can’t be—”
    “I don’t have time for this pettiness, woman. I told you my answer,” Weston growled low in response as he cinched his saddle strap. Once finished, he turned to face her head on. She wasn’t alone; five other women, the only ones with husbands who had survived the smallpox outbreak