Trail of Kisses: Hot on the Trail, #1

By Merry Farmer

Someone is trying to kill Lynne Tremaine. 

After her father sentences two members of The Briscoe Boys gang to death, Judge Tremaine feels he has no choice but to send Lynne to Denver City along the Oregon Trail to live with her Uncle George…against her will. For Lynne, the only thing worse than being sent away to the wild west is making the journey with the handsome, arrogant, wicked man her uncle has hired to escort her. 

Especially when the anger she feels toward him begins to turn to something hotter. 

Cade Lawson is determined to prove himself to his employer, George Tremaine, after letting him down months earlier. But what he thought would be his second chance may, in fact, be a harsh punishment for his past mistakes. Lynne is headstrong, fiery, and determined to show him she is fearless. She is also beautiful and tempting, and when Cade sees just how afraid she really is underneath her brave act, he may be in danger of losing his heart to her forever. 

When her would-be killer attacks, it's all he can do to keep Lynne safe. He swore to protect her, but who will protect him from her? 

PLEASE BE ADVISED - Steam Level: Hot

• Language: English
• Publisher: Merry Farmer
• Release date: Sep 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223330905

Merry Farmer

Merry Farmer is an award-winning novelist who lives in suburban Philadelphia with her cats, Torpedo, her grumpy old man, and Justine, her hyperactive new baby. She has been writing since she was ten years old and realized one day that she didn't have to wait for the teacher to assign a creative writing project to write something. It was the best day of her life. She then went on to earn not one but two degrees in History so that she would always have something to write about. 

Book preview

Chapter One

Independence, Missouri – 1863

The first glimpse Lynne Tremaine had of the mass of wagons that would take her west was enough to sink her heart. As far as she could see, big, bulky prairie schooners with covered beds, driven by teams of dull-eyed oxen cluttered the starting-off point at the end of town. The oxen lowed, anxious to get moving. Hawkers shouted about their wares in a last-minute attempt to sell supplies to plainly dressed pioneers. Wagons creaked as they inched toward the line their trail boss was trying to make to impose order. Horses clopped and children shrieked as they vented their excitement. The smell of animals and dirt was everywhere. It was almost more than Lynne could bear.

Please, Papa. She clutched her father’s arm as he escorted her through the chaos. A pair of children being chased by a dog cut in front of them. Please don’t make me go. I want to stay with you, my papa.

Judge Thomas Tremaine, tall, distinguished, and out of place in the bustle of pioneers, patted his daughter’s hand, eyes sad and shoulders stooped. Now, Lynne, we’ve discussed this. It’s safer for you to accept your Uncle George and Aunt Marion’s invitation to move to Denver City.

We did not discuss this and it isn’t safer, Lynne argued. She was too old to pout, but her heart broke at the thought of leaving her family, her home. We don’t know who any of these people are. How is it safer to send me off to the middle of nowhere with a mob of strangers?

Judge Tremaine stopped and turned to her, leaning closer. My dear heart, threats have been made against us, against you, of a serious nature. The Briscoe Boys are not some mischievous ruffians out to pull pranks. They are a vicious, organized gang. They’ve killed men, they’ve burned farms, they’ve…. He shook his head, as if the rest was too horrible to speak aloud. Sentencing two of them to death this winter was just and right, he went on, but if I had known they would see justice as a call to threaten my family, to threaten you? Well, I would have still passed the sentence, but I would have made sure you were protected from threats before the verdict instead of after. Violet and Marie write that they’re settling quite nicely in Lexington with your Aunt Philomena. It’s time you sought your own safety as well.

And leave you alone? Lynne protested.

I would rather be alone for a time than continue to see you lock yourself in the house, only going out under guard, like a prisoner. If accusers become prisoners in their own homes for fear of reprisal from gangs, then nothing I do as a judge means anything.

I can take care of myself, Papa, Lynne argued. I always could. When we moved to St. Louis, when Mama died, when the war broke out. I’ve always been able to take care of myself, and I could take care of you too.

Her father smiled, pride beaming from him. Yes, I don’t doubt it. My brave girl.

Lynne’s heart swelled, in spite of the fact that he was still calling her a girl when she was twenty-two. She loved him so.

The Briscoe Boys won’t come anywhere near me, you’ll see, she said.

Her father sighed and took her arm, starting forward through the rows of wagons once more. If only it were that easy. When explicit threats are made to slit the throats of all my children, I can’t pretend the threat means nothing. George and Marion have established themselves well in Denver City. They own a mining company and have done quite well for themselves. You’ll be happy there.

They dodged around a group of running, laughing children and past a wagon full of rough, wiry men, who watched them with curiosity.

How can you say that, Papa? I’ll be hundreds of miles away from you, from Robert and Graham, from Violet and Marie, Lynne said.

Robert and Graham are off fighting for the Union, her father said and shook his head. Violet and Marie are happy where they are. They are prolific writers, and with the speed of the mail these days, it should only take a few weeks for you to get their letters.

We would all be better off together, as a family, Lynne insisted. If I have to go, then we should all go as one.

If only we could, her father said. Now, here we are.

They stopped in front of a wagon that looked like every other wagon in the sea of eager pioneers spreading out around them. It was long and sturdy, with large, metal-rimmed wheels and a thick canvas cover over tall loops. Through the opening in the back, Lynne could see the trunks she’d been forced to pack in the last week. All of her clothes that could fit were folded into a large black trunk, while anything else she had wanted to take, from books to linens to sewing supplies, were crammed into a wooden hope chest. The wagon was stuffed with other boxes as well, crates and barrels of supplies for the journey and a few boxes that her father was sending to Uncle George. The sight of it all made Lynne’s shoulders sag in defeat.

Do I have to go as part of a wagon train, Papa? She tried one last defense. Why not send me to Denver City on a stagecoach? It’s much faster.

Her father smiled. My dearest, if you think a wagon train is cramped and uncomfortable, then you wouldn’t want anything to do with a stagecoach.

Lynne crossed her arms and turned her sad frown from him to the back of her wagon, reluctant to admit that he was right.

Besides, he went on, I’ve heard far too many tales of stagecoaches being robbed by highwaymen or attacked by Indians since the war started. Too many of the soldiers that used to man way stations along the trail have been called back East to join the war. There is safety in numbers, and so you will go to your uncle and aunt this way.

But, Papa—

No, my dearest, no more arguments. It has been decided.

Lynne let out a breath, dropping her arms to ball her fists at her sides. She was not used to losing arguments, particularly when the stakes were so high.

Now, let me introduce you to the men who will be watching out for you on the journey, her father said.

Lynne’s brow flew up at the unexpected comment. Men? Watching out for me?

Yes.

Her father led her to the front of the wagon. A boy who couldn’t have been older than fifteen sat on the wagon’s seat, whip already in hand. He had dirty brown hair and the barest hint of scruff on his chin and upper lip. He took one look at Lynne and fumbled to stand in the wagon, scraping his shin on the buckboard. A broad grin spread from ear to ear across his blushing face. He had freckles peppering his cheeks under the scruffy growth.

This is Benjamin, her father explained. He’ll be your driver. He came highly recommended by the man who sold the wagon to me.

How do you do, Benjamin? Lynne held up a hand to him with a polite smile.

Benjamin blushed brighter and took her hand, pumping it up and down. Right well, ma’am.

Lynne was charmed in spite of herself. She just hoped the boy knew which end of the oxen should point forward.

And this is Cade Lawson, her father went on. Your uncle hired him to be your escort.

My escort?

Lynne turned to see another man striding toward her, leading two horses. One was her own mount, Clover. Cade Lawson was a sight to behold. Tall, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, he walked as if he owned the wagon train. Sunlight caught golden highlights in his hair and teased tiny lines around his blue eyes. He smiled with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. It was the kind of smile that could send a girl’s heart fluttering. It was also the kind of smile that screamed trouble. Lynne felt her cheeks warm in spite of the wariness that too-charming smile brought her.

Mr. Lawson, I’d like to introduce you to my daughter, Miss Lynne Tremaine. Her father took a half step back to present her with a proud smile.

Miss Tremaine. Cade nodded, eyes flashing. He didn’t extend his hand to her. It was as rude of him as it was challenging.

Mr. Lawson, she replied, accepting the challenge. She folded her hands demurely in front of her. If he wasn’t going to be a gentleman, then she wasn’t going to go out of her way to teach him manners. She turned to her father. "What do you mean, Uncle George has hired him to be my escort?"

I mean just that, her father replied. Mr. Lawson has been charged with accompanying you on your journey and seeing you safely to Denver City.

Lynne took another look at Mr. Lawson. He was solid and strong, like trouble in reasonably well-kept clothes. He’d been sent to mind her, like a nanny minds a child. It didn’t matter how tempting he was, Lynne bristled.

Thank you, Mr. Lawson, she said, tilting her head up, but I won’t be needing an escort to Denver City. I am brave enough to make the journey on my own.

Mr. Lawson lost his smile. Excuse me?

Now Lynne. Her father hooked his thumbs into his vest pockets. This matter isn’t up for discussion. It is far too dangerous for a woman to travel in a wagon train alone. Far too dangerous and far too scandalous.

Is it any less scandalous for me to be traveling in the company of a man I don’t know? she asked. "There’s the scandal, if you ask me."

Her father frowned. I have informed the trail boss, Mr. Evans, of the purpose of Mr. Lawson’s presence. He has assured me that he will make certain no untoward rumors are circulated amongst your fellow travelers.

Has he?

"Yes, my dear. So long as you behave yourself."

Lynne crossed her arms, glancing from her father to Mr. Lawson. She was outnumbered. She was being trundled off to relatives like a helpless child, and how it stung. All she could do was swallow her sadness and harden her heart enough to bear it. I see.

I’m glad you do, her father replied.

He was teasing. She wasn’t in the mood to be teased. What had started out as a bad idea on her father’s part was already on the verge of becoming a catastrophe, as far as she was concerned.

Cade Lawson shifted his weight from one leg to the other and studied the tumultuous look on Miss Lynne Tremaine’s pretty face. She was a beauty all right, with thick, dark hair and deep brown eyes a man could drown in. But one look told him that if he wasn’t careful, a man looking into those eyes would drown in storms. Clearly the beauty wasn’t happy about going west. He’d been an optimistic fool to think this job would be an easy way to get back into George Tremaine’s good graces. Now he was beginning to see it for what it was: a trial by fire.

Papa, I promise you, I do not need this stranger looking out for me, she said. Her arms were crossed tight in a way that emphasized her bosom. It was a nice bosom too. You can pay Mr. Lawson what he’s owed, thank him for his time, and send him on his way.

Judge Tremaine sighed and rubbed his forehead. You have no case, my dearest, he told his daughter. It is too dangerous to go alone, and that is the end of the story.

Lynne huffed and dropped her arms, tilting up her chin in a way that had ‘stubborn as a mule’ written all over it.

Cade felt more than a little sorry for the judge, and Miss Tremaine, if he was being honest. Clearly, neither of them wanted this. George Tremaine had explained the threats against his brother’s family months back, but seeing the mournful look on the judge’s face and the unshed tears in his daughter’s eyes drove home how hard it truly was for both of them.

Lynne sent Cade a sideways glance, as if she had heard his thoughts. Her lips twitched again the way they had when she had first set eyes on him, teasing and disapproving in turn. Cade kept his face as straight as could be, willing himself not to look at those lips. Those were kissing lips or he wasn’t the best shot in Arapahoe County. He didn’t have time to put up with them one way or another. He had his own hopes for this journey.

I can assure you, Miss Tremaine, he said, that I will see you through to your uncle as safely and quickly as the trail allows.

She eyed him with that tilted chin of hers, as if sizing up a horse she might purchase. Well, I—

Your daughter is in good hands with me. He stepped right over her protest to give reassurance where it was most needed. I promise you, sir, that I won’t let any harm come to her.

Lynne huffed.

Judge Tremaine smiled. I believe you, son. He extended a hand.

Cade switched the leads for the two horses into one hand, took the judge’s offered hand, and shook. He didn’t need words to tell the judge that he would keep his daughter in line. How hard could it be? She was a young slip of a thing. She had spice, that much was certain, but it was nothing he couldn’t deal with. She would settle into the monotony of trail routine and end up docile enough as they walked through endless miles of prairie.

I will go, she said, but I am only going under protest.

Understood, my dearest, Judge Tremaine said.

And if I’m not happy in the Colorado Territory, Papa, if I miss you and Robert and Graham and the girls too much, I am purchasing a ticket for the first stagecoach home.

Of course you will be happy. Judge Tremaine answered her threat by taking her in his arms and kissing her forehead.

She hugged him in return. In fact, as Cade stood watching, a flash of sorrow that bordered on panic twisted Lynne’s face. It was gone by the time she let go of her father and pulled back, replaced by a puzzled frown.

Papa, what on earth do you have in your coat pocket? she asked.

The judge gave her a guilty smile, one that was full of sadness as well. He lifted one side of his coat and reached into an inner pocket, bringing out a doll. It was old and faded, the paint on its porcelain face chipped in one spot. Lynne squeaked and took it from him. She held the doll to her chest for a moment, stroking its painted hair. Then she swallowed hard and tried to give her back.

I am not a little girl, Papa, she insisted, stiff and straight. I do not need old toys for my new life.

Cade covered his smile with one hand. Judge Tremaine didn’t seem at all deterred.

Your mother gave you that doll. There was a time when you wouldn’t let her out of your sight. Did you think I would let you travel all the way across the prairie without her?

Lynne clamped her mouth shut. She stole a glance at Cade. He cleared his throat and wrestled his expression back to neutrality. Lynne arched an eyebrow and held her doll close to her chest once more.

I’ll take her because you asked me to, she said. To remind me of the home I love. Just as I will take every mile of this journey only for you.

She turned to the wagon, holding the doll out as if looking for a place to store it. The boy Judge Tremaine had hired to drive the wagon took it from her with a wide smile. At least one of them was happy about this trip.

I’ll find a nice, safe place for her, Miss Lynne, he said.

The corner of Cade’s mouth twitched in a grin. Benjamin would guard the doll and he would guard the girl.

Mount up! Mount up! The trail boss’s call sounded through the sea of wagons waiting to set out. Start moving, folks! Last one to Oregon picks up the tab!

A pack of miners in the next wagon over guffawed at the joke. Cade caught himself chuckling. It was about time they got on the trail. He was anxious to get home and see if he still had his job.

He turned to Lynne to ask if she needed any help climbing into the wagon, only to find her clasped in her father’s tight embrace.

I’m really going. Her high, genuinely distressed voice was muffled against her father’s shoulder. I’m really leaving you.

It’s for the best, her father answered, choked up himself.

Cade turned to the side and pretended not to be listening so that they could have as much privacy as they were going to get in a sea of wagons, animals, and pioneers.

Judge Tremaine held Lynne at arm’s length. Be brave, my girl, he said, voice rough.

I will, Papa. Lynne sniffled. I love you so much.

Cade peeked at her long enough to see her swallow and stand straighter, determination accentuating her beauty.

You always were my brave girl, her father said.

And now I’m your brave woman, Lynne answered.

For a moment they stood looking at each other. Then they launched into each other’s arms once more.

Mount up, folks! The trail boss called, passing near them. It’s off into the frontier for us, and the sooner the better.

Cade gave the man a quick nod as he passed. Then he took charge.

I’m sorry to interrupt, he said, stepping forward with their horses. We need to get going.

Lynne and her father squeezed each other one last time before stepping apart.

I’ll write to you as soon as I get to Denver City, Lynne said. Sooner. I’ll send updates at the forts that we pass.

And I’ll write to you and send it by stagecoach so that my letter will be waiting for you at the other end.

Lynne made a sound between a laugh and a sniffle. If only you would send me by stagecoach as well.

Go with Mr. Lawson, Judge Tremaine said. And stay safe.

I will. I love you.

Cade could see Lynne wanted to say more, wanted to stay there and argue with her father or hug him a little longer, but the time had come. She squared her shoulders and stiffened her back as she turned away from her father and marched toward the wagon. It could be she was every bit as brave as her father had said. The judge lifted a hand to wipe his face, then stepped back through the crowd who had come to see their loved ones off.

Ben resumed his seat driving the wagon, and snapped the long whip over the backs of the oxen who would pull it from Independence to Denver City. Oxen weren’t like horses. They responded to verbal commands and prods with a pole or whip, and in the din of dozens of wagons leaving, they were confused. Before they would move an inch, Cade had to hand the horses’ leads over to Lynne so that he could jog to the front of the team and pull them to get the whole operation going. There was no set order to the wagons in their train, but the families and teams of miners and would-be entrepreneurs moved into position smoothly.

Once the oxen were moving, Cade turned back to find Lynne halfway through mounting her horse.

Just a minute there, he called, striding back to her. I was going to take her saddle off and tie her to the back of the wagon to walk.

Lynne lowered her foot from the stirrup, and gaped at him. Why ever would you do a foolish thing like that?

Cade frowned. The last thing he needed was for his charge to go questioning him. You don’t want to tire her out.

Tire her out? Lynne blinked at him. Mr. Lawson, Clover is a horse. They were made for riding.

Miss Tremaine, he answered her, stubborn for stubborn, this is a trail. We’ll be walking over seven hundred miles to Denver City, and it’ll take six weeks if we’re lucky and maybe three months if we’re not. You don’t want to wear that horse out before her time.

Lynne sniffed and resumed her efforts to mount. I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life. She pulled herself up with surprising ease and plunked into the sidesaddle. It was unusual to see a sidesaddle this far west, but not unheard of. Lynne sat on hers with perfect grace, like a lady. You’re free to walk if you want to spare your horse, Mr. Lawson.

She nudged her horse forward, but didn’t get far with the crush of wagons, people, and animals all trying to