Trail of Hope: Hot on the Trail, #2

By Merry Farmer

Callie Lewis is alone on the Oregon Trail. After her brother's death, she has been left to fend for herself on a journey she never wanted to take. Her only hope for safety and a life at the end of the road is to become a trail bride and wed grieving widower John Rye. But John is harboring secrets that could end their hasty marriage before it has a chance to begin.

When a vicious tornado wakes John from the stupor the death of his wife left him in, he is ready to embrace Callie and the new life they could have together. But John is not the only one with designs on his new wife. Miles away from civilization, in a wagon train bristling with secrets and suspicion, John must catch a thief, fend off his rival, and reclaim his life to build the future Callie deserves.

In their darkest moments will they bring each other hope?

PLEASE BE ADVISED - Steam Level: Hot

• Language: English
• Publisher: Merry Farmer
• Release date: Sep 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215981597

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

Kansas Territory, 1863

C al. Callie.

Callie Lewis jumped at the weak whisper of her brother’s voice from the wagon bed behind her.

Greg? Her voice cracked with tears that she wasn’t ready to shed. Not yet. Please not yet.

Callie, he murmured, fading fast.

Callie tapped the long whip she held across the backs the oxen pulling her family’s wagon and called out for them to stop. As they slowed, the driver of the wagon behind hers shouted a protest, followed by the man driving behind him. Every wagon after hers would have to stop because she stopped, but at her brother’s faint call, nothing could convince her to keep going.

I’m here, Greg, I’m here. Her voice shook as she scrambled over the wagon’s seat, tearing aside the canvas cover that shielded her brother and his wife and son from the harsh morning light and prairie dust.

Greg lay, pale and wasted, in the hollow made between stacks of their family’s belongings, everything they owned in the world. His head rested close to the driver’s seat while Rebecca’s was close to the back of the wagon. Little Jeremy slept against his mother’s chest. Only, as Callie climbed down to her brother’s side, she could see the boy wasn’t sleeping at all. Neither was Rebecca. They were still, lifeless.

Oh no. Callie clapped a hand to her mouth, her eyes stinging. Greg, no.

They’re gone, he wheezed. I know. He moved his hand as it lay curled in Rebecca’s, but wouldn’t let go.

I’m so sorry, Callie choked.

She burrowed closer to her brother’s side, searching for his other hand under the thin blanket that covered him. The fever had struck him, Rebecca, and Jeremy before they left Independence only two weeks ago. Greg had tried to be strong and tough it out at first, but the days of endless walking, the sun beating down, and no chance for rest, had taken their toll. Still, he and Rebecca and Jeremy had gone downhill so fast after the initial symptoms. Not even Dr. Meyers had been able to do anything.

Callie raised Greg’s hand to her face. Panic pulsed through her. She had expected Greg to be hot with fever, but he was cold, too cold. Even in the dim light of the wagon, she could see how pale he was. His eyes were sunken and his lips cracked. Her strong, brave, adventurous brother had been reduced to nothing.

Don’t leave me. She pushed out the words through a throat that was squeezing tight with grief. Please don’t leave me, Greg.

Cal, he panted. His chest barely rose and fell in short, tight gasps. Sorry.

No. Callie shook her head and brushed tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. You can’t die, you can’t.

So sorry.

But I don’t want to be here, she pleaded with him. Even now, she felt like a young girl who thought the sun rose and set around her big brother. I never wanted to go west. This was your dream. Please stay with me.

I…. His eyes fluttered, rolling back.

No! Callie gripped his hand tighter, pressing it against her chest as if her heart could beat for both of them. Stay with me. I’m all alone without you.

The seconds ticked by as she waited for him to answer, waited for him to breathe. She thought the worst had come, then he whispered, Rebecca. Jeremy.

They’re…. Callie glanced down the wagon to her lifeless sister-in-law and nephew. They had been alive when they set out that morning. The end had come so fast.

Greg shook his head, face contorted in sorrow. Can’t go on without them.

You have me, Callie told him with a sob. And you’re all I have. Oh, Greg.

She squeezed her eyes shut until she heard him whisper, No.

Her eyes popped open and she leaned close to him.

You will not be alone. Each word was fainter than the last. There was no strength left in his hand. Find love, Callie. Find love like I did. Find… hope.

But I love you, she said when he was silent for too long. You’re my brother. I love you.

I… love… too.

With a sigh as soft as a candle flickering, Greg let go of his last breath.

Callie squatted beside him, motionless. Tears blurred her vision as she stared at his face, the face that had made her laugh and smile when nothing else would. He had always been a pillar of strength for her, but now he was gone. She had never seen anything like it. One moment he was there, the next he wasn’t. The lifeless form beside her was only a shell of the man she had always been proud to call her brother, her family.

Now she had none. She had no one.

Miss Lewis. Not even the call of their wagon train’s trail boss, Pete Evans, could shake her out of the shock that descended on her. Miss Lewis? Miss Lewis, is everything all right in there?

Callie didn’t answer. A heartbeat later, the canvas at the back of the wagon was pushed aside, flooding the bed with light. Callie squinted, but that was all the reaction she could manage.

Oh, dear. The kind voice of Dr. Meyers sounded distant to her. The wagon jolted as the doctor climbed up to lay a hand on Rebecca’s forehead. Oh, no. Oh, Miss Lewis, I’m so sorry. All of them?

The question somehow filtered through Callie’s dazed mind. She turned her head slowly toward Dr. Meyers. His handsome, young face was full of genuine compassion. Seeing his concern cut through her grief. She nodded, then burst into tears.

What happened next was a blur. Someone helped her out of the wagon and brought her a cup of tea. Her friends, Lynne Tremaine and Emma Sutton, were by her side, arms around her, before she realized they had come. Mrs. Weingarten, an older woman who had taken Callie, Lynne, and Emma under her wing, was fussing around a campfire beside Callie’s parked wagon. Callie wasn’t sure who had built the fire.

Most disturbing of all, before she was fully aware of what was happening, Mr. Evans, Dr. Meyers, and a few of the other men traveling with them removed the bodies from her wagon and carried them to hastily dug graves by the side of the trail. Mr. Evans saw her look of shock at the sight and broke away from the others. He came to her and lowered himself to one knee by her side.

I’m sorry, Miss Lewis, he told her with genuine contrition in his voice. I know it’s soon and sudden, but disease is the biggest problem we have on the trail and we… well, we can’t afford to let it spread. We have to put your brother and his wife and son to rest as soon as possible.

I… I understand, Callie said, as solidly as she could. She did understand. She’d heard too many stories of illness on the trail to know otherwise. Mr. Evans was right, but her heart broke all the same. Do what you must.

I’m sorry, he said, placing a hand over hers. Before he stood he said, Dr. Meyers recommends that you scrub out your wagon as soon as you can. He glanced over his shoulder to where Dr. Meyers and one of the men helping him—a man who’s name Callie vaguely remembered as Elton Finch—worked, then leaned closer to her and said, I’d be careful, too. Your brother brought an awful lot of property with him. He wasn’t shy about telling folks how valuable it is.

It’s everything we have, Callie said. Everything we own. It’s not much, but…. It was more than a great deal of their fellow travelers owned, she knew. She swallowed and said, Thank you, Mr. Evans.

The men left to finish what they needed to do with the bodies. Elton Finch watched her for a moment, then glanced to her wagon, rubbed his chin, and finally walked away.

Callie wiped her eyes and blew her nose. I don’t know what I’m going to do, she said, barely audible. It was Greg’s dream to go west. I would have been happy to stay home.

Emma nodded in agreement, kind and compassionate.

Lynne pursed her lips with an anxious frown. I didn’t want to make this journey either, she confessed.

Callie glanced up at her. You didn’t? She knew her new friend had troubles of her own—troubles she hadn’t been willing to talk about, but that were the reason Mr. Cade Lawson was escorting her west—but hearing her say it aloud was a strange comfort.

Lynne shook her head and put her arm around Callie’s back. No, it was my father’s idea. He has it in his head that I won’t be safe until I’m in Denver City.

It’s good that you have someone waiting for you, Callie said. She sniffled, eyes sore and swollen, but no more tears streamed down her face. She didn’t think she could cry anymore. Perhaps not in her entire lifetime.

Miss Lewis.

Lynne and Callie both looked up to find young Dr. Meyers standing with his hat in his hand, regret drooping his shoulders.

I’m so sorry for your loss. I did everything I could, he said.

Emma turned bright pink and lowered her head as if trying to make herself invisible. Lynne gave the doctor a polite smile. Callie couldn’t find any emotion left to show. Dr. Meyers had tried so hard to heal Greg. He’d been compassionate, gentle, but he was only a man.

Thank you for all of your efforts, Dr. Meyers, she said.

If you need anything, he said, glancing to all three of the women, eyes lingering on Emma’s bowed head, please ask.

I will. Callie nodded.

He left, and they sat in silence for a few minutes.

I’m very sorry for your loss too.

Cade Lawson approached this time, head bowed in respect. Lynne flinched at Callie’s side. Somehow, through the heavy mantel of grief that pressed down on her, it dawned on Callie that her friend’s feelings for this man were more than casual. Any other day, she would have smiled and giggled over Lynne’s attempts to pretend otherwise. Watching her friends made her feel less bereft, but grief still consumed her.

Thank you, Mr. Lawson, Callie answered in a hollow voice.

I can help with anything you need done with the wagon or your ox team, Cade went on. His glance flickered to Lynne, confirming Callie’s suspicions. I know Miss Tremaine is more than willing to help too. You just say the word.

Lynne’s arm tightened around Callie’s waist and her body heated as she flushed. It seemed so wrong for Callie to feel anything more than soul-deep grief, but a seed of happiness stirred at the story playing out in front of her. There was love there. New love. Uncertain love. She could feel it. And hadn’t Greg told her to find love?

I’ll leave you ladies to talk, Mr. Lawson said and backed away.

Callie watched his back retreating even as Lynne deliberately looked away, then picked at a stain on her skirt. Find love. Greg’s last wish for her. Once again, he wanted her to do something impossible. It was just like him. From the time she was big enough to walk, he had pushed her to do the impossible—to climb hills and cliffs near their Pennsylvania home, to run into the ocean the time their family had taken a holiday at the shore, to pack up and leave her world behind to venture west. And now to find love when her heart was shattered.

Lynne peeked up to see where Mr. Lawson had gone, her cheeks flushed. Emma was busy watching Dr. Meyers several wagons down, a dreamy look on her face. Mrs. Weingarten hugged one of her granddaughters, who had come to see why all the ladies were sad. If Callie couldn’t find love for her own heart, at least she could surround herself with the love of others.

As dusk began to settle and the line of people offering condolences trickled out, Mrs. Weingarten pulled a barrel in to close the circle where they sat.

You have some tough choices ahead of you, my dear, she told Callie.

I know, Callie sighed. The wagon behind her with all of her and Greg’s things weighed on her mind, as did the incomprehensible problem of what she would do when they reached trail’s end.

You may not want to think about it right away, Mrs. Weingarten went on, but a young, single woman on a trail like this could find herself in danger.

A catch formed in Callie’s throat and fear crept up through her grief.

Now, you don’t have protection, like Miss Tremaine does, Mrs. Weingarten said. Lynne sat straighter. But you should.

I’m not sure it’s possible to hire an escort when we’re already two weeks out on the trail, Lynne said.

Mrs. Weingarten shook her head. Callie’s circumstances are quite different. You are fortunate to have family watching and waiting for you. She turned to address Callie, who had begun wringing her handkerchief. I’m sorry to be blunt, but because you have no one left traveling with you and no one waiting at the end, I think you should consider marrying on the trail, immediately.

All three of the younger women looked up at Mrs. Weingarten with varying degrees of surprise and wonder.

Marrying? Callie asked. Right now? Marriage was the last thing she was thinking about, though the mention of it echoed Greg’s last wish for her. Or did it? She’d heard of trail marriages. They weren’t necessarily love matches.

Mrs. Weingarten sighed and nodded. It seems sudden and drastic, I know, but there are quite a few single men on the trail who could provide you with protection while we journey, and a life when we make our destination.

They were all silent, Emma shocked, Lynne horrified. Callie stared at Mrs. Weingarten, surprised to find herself agreeing with the suggestion. She didn’t want to go west alone. She hadn’t wanted to go at all. The only thing that had made the prospect bearable was going with Greg. Perhaps if she had someone else to rely on, someone to whom she could hand over responsibility for the journey and all of its troubles, she could mourn in peace.

I can understand how it might seem like a good idea, Lynne began, her words laced with doubt, but a woman doesn’t have to have the help or protection of a man in order to make her living.

No, Callie thought to herself in silence, she doesn’t. But to choose to go on alone would be twice as hard for a woman as for a man, and she didn’t have the strength for it. She knew what she had to do.

Who would I choose? she asked, subdued but determined.

Lynne’s jaw went slack. Are you actually considering this?

Callie shrugged. What choice do I have? I don’t know anything about being a pioneer. This was Greg’s dream. It was a dream that had lost its shine without him.

Which single men among our company do you think might make a suitable husband? Mrs. Weingarten asked.

Not the miners, Callie answered right away. They were all rough and tumble men with avarice in their eyes. Greg had warned her to stay clear of them since the day they set out.

Agreed, Lynne said.

They looked up and down the line of wagons and camps that had been set up for the night. There were easily over a hundred people in their train, at least a third of them single men. But more than half of those were miners.

What about Reverend Joseph? Mrs. Weingarten asked.

They all turned to where the young reverend was sitting with the miners, probably preaching to them about their sins of gambling and drinking, although a bottle sat by his side.

Callie shook her head. Lynne agreed.

Elton Finch? Mrs. Weingarten offered.

They twisted the other way to a small camp closer to the front of the train. Elton was a tall, handsome man who was on his way west with his brother’s family. He caught her watching and smiled at her. There was something overeager in that smile—from a man she barely knew—in spite of how handsome he was.

Maybe, Callie said.

There’s always Dr. Meyers, Mrs. Weingarten suggested.

Emma gasped, tensing like a sparrow about to take flight.

The barest hint of a smile touched Callie’s lips. I don’t think so. She wouldn’t dream of approaching a man about marriage when her friend was so clearly besotted with him.

Emma relaxed, letting out a breath and lowering her head, cheeks bright with blush.

How about that widower, John Rye?

An odd twist struck Callie’s gut. She’d noticed Mr. Rye more than once, but mostly because he looked so sad and kept to himself. She spotted him now, several wagons ahead of her in the train, sitting alone by his campfire, staring into the flames, face drawn with grief. He was dressed all in black. Oddly enough, she knew how he must feel.

Perhaps, Callie said, feeling it was a touch more than ‘perhaps.’

Mrs. Weingarten nodded. Of course, you could try Cade Lawson.

Lynne jerked straight. Cade?

Why not? He’s young, he’s easy to look at, and he doesn’t have a wife. At least not one that we know of, Mrs. Weingarten said. Does he?

No, no he doesn’t. Lynne twisted her fingers together in her lap. I wouldn’t include him in your consideration, though.

Callie saw a spark of mischief in Mrs. Weingarten’s eyes. And why not? the older woman asked. It seemed Greg wasn’t the only one pushing someone to find love. Whether Lynne saw it or not, Mrs. Weingarten was egging her on.

Why…. Lynne scrambled for an answer. He’s stubborn as a mule, for one. He’s forever telling me to ride in the wagon or stay away from his horse. Well, he started saying that after I rode Arrow the other day. And he tried to keep me from walking with you when your brother was sick, Callie.

Yes, Lynne was head-over-heels in spite of herself.

He seems sensible enough, Mrs. Weingarten argued. And he does a good job of watching over you.

That’s just it, Lynne said. He does too good a job. I can hardly settle my thoughts when he’s around, he’s so overbearing. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Why, I’ve even been dreaming of him, that’s how overpowering he is.

I don’t think I would consider Mr. Lawson, Callie said to put her friend out of her misery. She wouldn’t consider Mr. Lawson any more than she would consider Dr. Meyers, and for the same reason.

So Mr. Finch or Mr. Rye, then, Mrs. Weingarten said.

Callie nodded. She looked up the line of wagons to Mr. Finch then down to Mr. Rye one last time. I’ll speak to them each in the next few days.

Chapter Two

John knew Callie Lewis would come to speak to him. He had watched as Greg Lewis and his wife and son’s bodies were carried out of their wagon yesterday when the train had stopped. He had stood there, black with envy, for a man who could die along with his wife and child. He’d failed to do the same when Shannon and little Patrick died, and every day since then had been his punishment.

He had seen the young ladies comforting Lewis’s sister, seen Mrs. Weingarten counseling the poor woman, and seen the group of them picking out all of the single men in the wagon train with calculating glances. He knew Callie would approach him. What he still didn’t know was how he would respond.

She marched up to him with grim and solemn steps as soon as the wagon train stopped for the midday meal and rest.

Excuse me, Mr. Rye? she asked, eyes downcast, shoulders slumped.

The least he could do was treat her with the compassion that her grief deserved. He rose from his seat beside his campfire where he was reheating some beans and adjusted his glasses. Can I help you, Miss Lewis?

She took her time raising her eyes to meet his. Her lips pressed together in a quivering line, and pink splashed her cheeks. John’s heart squeezed tight in his chest in sympathy. It was a terrible shame for a woman so young and pretty to be in the position she was in. He fought through his own grief to make his expression as kind as he could.

I don’t know how to start this, she said, then swallowed. Her long, graceful neck was accentuated by the movement. Thick, brown hair framed her drawn face in waves where it escaped from the braid down her back, sweetly informal.

He had to help her. I’m so sorry for your loss. It must be hard to lose someone so—

His voice cracked, taking him by surprise. In an instant, the barely healed wound of