Tom nodded. “Climb in and I'll take you on out.”
“Is it all right if I sit up front?” Luke asked.
“Fine by me,” Tom said.
Luke scrambled onto the wooden seat beside Tom.
Tom looked back over his broad shoulder. “Any place in particular you want to see?”
“Do you know where there are some good parcels?” Will asked.
“There's lots of good land. I've got a farm myself.” He clicked his tongue and flicked the reins. The horses plodded forward. “I'll take you out toward my place—the soil's good there, and some of the government parcels border my property.”
Laurel pressed her back against wooden slats and tried to get comfortable. She was tempted to pout but had grown weary of her sour mood and resolved to put it behind her. Still, she hoped it wasn't far to the land.
“Hey there! Wait!” Adam Dunnavant called, running after them.
Oh, no. Not Adam, Laurel thought.
The driver pulled on the reins, and the horses stopped.
“Mind if I come along?”
Wearing a smile, Tom looked down at Adam. “The more the merrier.” He gripped the reins, steadying the horses. “Name's Tom Jenkins.”
“Adam Dunnavant,” Adam said and climbed in, settling his six-foot-one frame against wooden sideboards directly across from Laurel. He nodded at Robert and Will.
“You still looking for a story?” Will asked.
“There's a lot to write about, but today I'd rather be a sightseer and just enjoy the scenery.” He gave Laurel a charming smile.
Laurel couldn't help but notice his warm, expressive eyes. And although he had a ruggedly handsome face, there was something boyishly appealing about the set of his mouth and the way his hair always seemed to find its way onto his forehead. Still, she gave him what she hoped looked like a disinterested nod.
He grinned. “Feeling a little cantankerous today, are you?”
Laurel folded her arms over her chest. “I'm not.”
“So, how do you like Palmer so far?”
The wagon jolted forward. “It's interesting—pretty, but I could do without the mosquitoes,” Laurel added with a small smile.
“They're always especially hungry this time of year,” Tom said.
“How's the writing coming along?” Robert rested his arms on bent knees.
“Good. The Trib likes what I've sent so far.”
“You writing about the colonists' failure or success?”
“I'll write what I see. It'll be the truth.” Adam kept his eyes on the countryside.
In spite of the sun, the air had a cold bite to it. Laurel pulled her coat close, careful to keep her hands tucked inside the sleeves to protect them from biting mosquitoes. “What time is it?”
Will pulled out a pocket watch. “Nearly nine,” he said, surprise in his voice. “It seems earlier.”
“Yep,” Tom said. “The daylight this time of year can fool ya'. The days are long, the nights short. We work long hours—sometimes as many as twenty in a day. It's a busy season.”
“Don't you get worn out?” Luke asked.
“Sure. We thank the good Lord that summer lasts only a few months.” Tom chuckled. “Then we sleep during the winter to make up for the lost hours.”
“Have you lived here long?” Adam asked.
“Me and the missus came up in twenty-five. It was just the two of us then. We have two boys now. I guess we might consider ourselves sourdoughs after ten years here.” He smiled and shook his head. “Boy were we cheechakos when we got here—as green as they come.” He chuckled. “But we learned.”
“What's a sourdough and what's a cheechako?” Luke asked.
“A sourdough's someone who's been living up north a good long while. And a cheechako is a newcomer, a greenhorn.” He settled mischief-filled eyes on Luke. “That would be you.”
Luke straightened and threw back his shoulders. “I don't know that I'd call myself a greenhorn. I've lived in the country all my life, and I know a good deal about farming.”
“That may be, son, but until you've spent a few seasons in Alaska, you're a cheechako.” He grinned. “You'll see.” He focused on the horses and flicked the reins. “Get up there.” Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “It takes a while for some folks to accept outsiders. Some of ‘em aren't happy to see the colonists come to the valley.”
“I'd heard rumors,” Will said solemnly. “I was hoping there wouldn't be any trouble between us and them.”
Tom shook his head. “I doubt you'll avoid it. A few are as cross as a grizzly in the spring.”
“Why?” Laurel asked.
