Wagon Train Cinderella. Shirley Kennedy
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Love can lead you out of the wilderness…
1851, Overland Trail to California. As a baby, Callie was left on the doorstep of an isolated farmhouse in Tennessee. The Whitaker family took her in, but have always considered her more a servant than a daughter. Scorned by her two stepsisters, Callie is forced to work long hours and denied an education. But a new world opens to her when the Whitakers join a wagon train to California—guided by rugged Indian, Luke McGraw…
A loner, haunted by a painful past, Luke plans to return to the wilderness once his work is done. But he can’t help noticing how poorly Callie is treated—or how unaware she is of her beauty and intelligence. As the two become closer over the long trek west, Callie’s confidence grows. And when disaster strikes, Callie emerges as the strong one—and the woman Luke may find the courage to love at last…
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Books by Shirley Kennedy
Wagon Train Cinderella
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
Wagon Train Cinderella
Shirley Kennedy
LYRICAL PRESS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
Copyright
Lyrical Press books are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2014 by Shirley Kennedy
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First Electronic Edition: February 2015
eISBN-13: 978-1-61650-701-5
eISBN-10: 1-61650-701-2
First Print Edition: February 2015
ISBN-13: 978-1-61650-702-2
ISBN-10: 1-61650-702-0
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
Dedicated to Dianne and Lindy, my two loyal, loving daughters. Without their help and support, this book wouldn’t have been possible.
Chapter 1
Along the Overland Trail, 1851
Walking through the woods, Callie Whitaker was drawn to the sound of a waterfall. When a snake slithered across her path, she dropped her bucket and stopped in her tracks. It disappeared into the dense undergrowth. What brought me here? I cannot believe this is happening to me. Only a month ago, she was leading a dull but safe existence in the Tennessee farmhouse where she’d lived her entire life and rarely left. Now here she was in the middle of a wilderness she never knew existed, heading to California, a place she’d never heard of. Bone-tired from the endless work, she was sleeping on the ground under a wagon instead of her tiny bed under the eaves. The farm wasn’t much, but she’d give anything if she could return to Tennessee where she didn’t have to worry about Indians, snakes, and who-knew-what-would-happen-next?
A lump formed in her throat. Silly girl, you have no time for feeling sorry for yourself. Darkness was about to fall. She must get to the stream, scoop a bucketful of water, and hurry back to the wagon where everyone expected their supper. She picked up her bucket and trudged on. Through tall trees, the flowing water came into view. Ah, there it was. She drew close. How beautiful. Cascading water falling over moss-covered boulders, gorgeous ferns in every shade of green, clumps of tiny violets growing around the pool beneath and standing in the pool, the water up to his knees… Oh, my stars. She froze in her tracks, backed a few steps away, and peered over the top of a red hawthorn bush. It was a man—tall, lean, sinewy, with long, dark hair—and completely naked. He appeared to be bathing, bending to scoop water into his palms, then bringing it up over his head with a giant splash. The water cascaded over a powerful set of shoulders, down over the rippling muscles of his stomach to his sturdy thighs, to his…
Why was she gawking like a schoolgirl? Shameful. She’d seen her little stepbrother’s thing many a time. She’d never forget when crazy Grandpa Pearson from the next farm escaped and ran naked down the road. So, of course, she knew what a man looked like, but still…oh, my. Neither her brother’s tiny thing, nor that of Grandpa Pearson’s, all shriveled, looked anything like this…so big, so very, very…
He looked up. She ought to run before he spied her, but she couldn’t move a muscle. His gaze caught hers and his eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. He’d spied her! Oh, she should run, but her feet refused to move, and her eyes refused to turn away from the fascinating sight before her. Taking his time, he casually looked to the left, then the right, as if he might find some kind of cover, which, of course, he could not. He shrugged, as if admitting defeat. With a mischievous smile, he spread his arms wide and bowed toward her. “Good afternoon, madam. Taking in the sights?”
Oh, Lord. His laughter brought her back to her senses. Her cheeks heating, she clutched her pail and started to back away from the hawthorn bush, intent on running off as fast as she could. But wait a minute. Why should she make a fool of herself and bolt and skitter off like a panicky calf? He was the one at fault, the one who should have done his bathing farther upstream. She didn’t back off. Instead, gripping her faded skirt, she held it out and dipped a deep curtsey, boldly returning his grin as she did. Only after she’d risen, forcing herself to take her time, did she turn and head downstream at a dignified pace.
She hadn’t recognized him. He must be from the large wagon train that had camped close by. In the morning, it would be gone, thank goodness, and she need never lay eyes on him again.
* * * *
“Callie!” Hester Whitaker glared at her stepdaughter. “It’s about time you got back. Where were you? Did you expect me to fix supper by myself?”
“Sorry, ma’am.” Callie stepped to the campfire and set down the heavy pail of water. She didn’t attempt any excuses. Ma wouldn’t listen anyway. Nor would it do any good to point out that never in Callie’s memory had her stepmother fixed supper by herself. “I boiled a mess of beans this morning and baked some bread. It’ll be ready in no time.”
Lydia, Callie’s older stepsister, tossed her blond curls and pouted. “I’m getting awfully tired of beans.”
“So am I.” Nellie, her other stepsister, loved to complain.
“Sorry, girls. We’ll just have to bear it until we reach California.” Ma settled herself on a log next to their wagon and frowned at her stepdaughter. “Did you bake a pie today, or anything?”
“No,