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He cocks his eyebrow. I square my shoulders. It’s almost like we’re preparing for a shoot-out in the Old West. Cue the theme song from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.

“They don’t serve venti double-shot iced maraschinos here,” he says, firing the first shot.

“What’s a prairie princess to do?” I drawl. “I guess I’ll just have to drink two cups of plain old, regular, cherry-free coffee to get my caffeine fix. Oh, the horror.” The back of my hand goes to my forehead in dramatic fashion and I flutter my eyelashes for good measure.

Tall, Dark, and Irksome’s eyebrows lift as he watches me pull two mugs from the tray and fill them. I desperately want to douse my cup with a hearty helping of cream and sugar, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he wasn’t that far off about my drink of choice. Even though I’d much prefer a venti caramel macchiato, I’ll drink this coffee black as the night if it kills me. To prove whatever point I’m trying to make (because honestly, it’s too early to think straight), I take a defiant sip.

The good news: it is not piping hot, so I don’t have to worry about scalding my taste buds.

The bad news: it tastes like tar and charcoal had a baby and forgot to change its diaper.

I swallow down a cough and cast him my sweetest smile as I head back to Mom and Caleb.

It’s only after I sit down that I realize that he’s here, grabbing breakfast, for a reason. He must also be taking part in this Oregon Trail adventure. Fan-freakin’-tastic.

CHAPTER 6

Colton

ALL THE PEOPLE joining the wagon train adventure have congregated in the wagon yard. While Dad goes over details of the trip’s itinerary, I take a moment to look over the group.

There are two families with a handful of boys, maybe middle-school age or younger. None of the kids can stand still and I know just by looking at them, they’re going to be a handful. One steps on the back of his brother’s shoe to pull it off, while another tries to give a kid a wet willie.

There’s an older couple dressed as if they’re going on safari, with matching khaki outfits and scarves tied around their necks.

Barnaby stands off to the side, polishing his binoculars.

My gaze lands on the Prairie Princess, who stands slightly behind a middle-aged couple who must be her parents. Her mother wraps her arm around the shoulder of the teen boy standing next to her. Her father leans in and whispers something into her mother’s ear. Behind them, the Prairie Princess uses the toe of her shoe to scrape a shallow line in the dirt in front of her.

There are a bunch of adults and younger kids in the group, but there’s no one else our age here. Worse for her royal highness, there’s not another female under the age of forty. For passengers like her, the trail is a boring stretch of nothingness, devoid of shops, salons, and semi-annual sales. With no one to gripe and commiserate with, she’ll be plenty lonely. I sure hope her shopping bags were filled with enough gossip magazines and nail polish to tide her over until we get back.

She glances up and I quickly look away. Heat creeps up my neck and my conscience nags at me. I can’t seem to stop making snap judgments about her. I bet she has a real fine opinion of me, too.

I shouldn’t care.

There’s no reason to care.

But I do.

Dad continues. “While on the trail, we’ll have a number of fun activities for you to experience. You’ll help us hitch up the teams, set up and break down camp, cook meals, and participate in other pioneer pastimes.”

My attention drifts back to the girl. She glances around like she’s bored out of her mind and pulls out her phone.

I walk over and find myself saying, “There’s no cell service on the trail.”

She jumps and focuses her dark brown eyes on me. “Color me surprised.” She powers off the phone and shoves it into her backpack.

“I’m sure you’ll survive without your phone for the week,” I say. I’m trying to be friendly, but the words come out snarkier than I’d planned.

She manages a fake smile and I find myself wondering what her real smile looks like.

“Okay, folks,” Dad says. “Last chance to hit the restrooms before we depart. There will be facilities along the trail and at our overnight locations, but most don’t have running water, so I recommend enjoying plumbing now, while you still can.”

“Facilities?” she whispers.

“There are latrines or port-o-potties at each campsite. We’ll have indoor plumbing again when we reach Fort Bellows,” I say.

“I take it you’ve been on one of these excursions before?”