Frontier Courtship Part 3

"Have to, as I see it," the shopkeeper countered. "It ain't my money. It come from the soldiers I told you about. Way too much for what little your stay here cost."

"Well..."

"Good girl. Take whatever the Good Lord supplies and don't ask questions. That's the way to get by out here."

"Thank you." Faith smiled with grat.i.tude. "Now, what advice can you give me about handling Ramsey Tucker?"

Snorting in derision, Anna shook her head. "That's another kettle of burnt beans, ain't it? As I see it, all you've got to do is keep your little sister locked up tight for the next couple o' thousand miles. Anything so's she don't go gettin' all het up about marryin' that son of perdition-excuse my plain speakin'."

"No pardon necessary. I've thought to call him worse than that myself, once or twice."

"I'll bet many a sensible woman has. It's the foolish ones what get taken in and pay so dearly. I'll be prayin' for you, Faith. I truly will."

"Thank you. Please do. I suspect I'll need all the help I can get before I ever set eyes on the American River."

Dozing in the soft, slightly sagging bed, Faith was nudged into wakefulness just before dawn by the low timbre of a man's voice. Before she was fully aware of what she was doing, she'd donned the wrapper again and tiptoed across the floor to her door, opening it a crack so she could listen.

The voice was unmistakable, both in its inflections and its concern. She knew if she looked out her window to the street below, she'd no doubt see a big red horse waiting at the hitching rail.

The trouble was, she couldn't make out what her self-appointed defender was saying. Nor could she hear Anna's quiet responses. At home in Ohio she never would have ventured out onto the upper landing dressed as she was, but this wasn't Burg Hill. This was the frontier. Her need to know was greater than any false modesty. Nervous, she crept to the railing and looked down.

The plainsman had slicked back his sandy-colored hair and, hat in hand, was speaking with Mrs. Morse at the base of the stairs. One booted foot rested on the bottom step.

"You're sure she'll be all right?"

"Fine," Anna said. "She's a strong one. Stubborn."

"Her ribs?"

"Prob'ly cracked, like we figured. No fever, though. I checked on her twice during the night."

He took a deep breath, releasing it noisily. "Thanks."

Anna merely nodded. "Soon's I get the store ready for today's business I'll take her up some breakfast. The train fixin' to pull out soon?"

"Looks like it. Think she'll be able to travel?"

"Oh, it'll hurt, that's for certain. But she'll do."

Connell muttered an unintelligible curse. "What are idiotic women thinking when they try to make a journey like this practically alone?"

Still poised one floor above him, Faith closed her hands tightly over the banister. She'd heard it all before. Too often. Who had made the rule that women ought to live their lives according to the rigid rules men set down for them, anyway? It didn't have to be that way.

Her father had left his family to pursue gold. Wealth. Supposed happiness. Waiting behind, her mother had adjusted beautifully to life without a husband to sanction her daily decisions, and Faith had every intention of following that good example. n.o.body, least of all a drifter, was going to tell her what she should or shouldn't do. The fact that he'd helped her once didn't give him any right to criticize her personal choices.

The hackles on the back of Connell's neck began to p.r.i.c.kle. He'd spent the past eleven years making his way through varying degrees of wilderness. The ongoing experience had honed his natural senses to a keen edge. Either an Indian was about to chuck an arrow his way, a hungry rattlesnake had a bead on his ankle, or Faith Beal had overheard his last comment. For the sake of his hide, he hoped it was the latter.

Raising his eyes, he looked up the stairs, intending only a quick glance. What he saw changed his mind in a blink.

The rising sun was coming through a window behind her, giving her a golden, glowing aura. The plain white wrapper was belted at her waist, its long sleeves gathered at her wrists, the skirt reaching to the floor. And her hair! Soft brown curls framed her face and cascaded in a tousled sheet of silken beauty over her shoulders. Most of the women he'd known, including Irene, had plaited their long hair at night. The wild, untamed look of Faith's tresses took his breath away.

Nodding, he acknowledged her. "Ma'am."

In spite of Anna's sputtered protest, Faith did not withdraw.

"I apologize if I offended you," Connell said, seeing undisguised ire on her face as he spoke.

"Not at all," Faith said. "I'm quite used to men a.s.suming that because I'm a woman I'm about as dumb as an old muley cow."

Connell stifled a chuckle. "Some of those ol' mossey-backs are pretty smart critters. It might be a compliment, ma'am."

"I doubt it. At any rate, my sister and I do thank you for your care and concern, even if it is uncalled-for."

"A pleasure. Can I take a message to your sister for you? I'm headed out that way."

It was a reasonable enough offer, considering. And she did need a way to either get word to Charity or find her own ride to the wagon camp. "Yes, please. Ask for the Beal wagon and have my sister send Mr. Ledbetter back for me, if you please."

With that, Faith stepped away from the railing and disappeared into her room, shutting the door firmly. She was suddenly weak, dizzy. Not that she intended to admit it to anyone but herself.

Pouring fresh water from the ewer into the shallow basin, she splashed her face and breathed as deeply as her ribs would allow until her head cleared some.

Anna had managed to rinse most of the previous day's grime out of her green calico and had returned it to the peg beside the washstand. Though Faith would have preferred to sponge off her whole body before getting dressed, she logically decided against removing the tight bindings and chancing further injury.

Back home, she'd seen Gunther Muller die from a rib that poked into his lungs. It wasn't a pretty sight. He'd lingered for hours while neighbors gathered to pray and offer their support. In the end, he'd died gasping for air. When he'd breathed his last, Hilda had gone out to the corral and put a bullet into the prize bull that had stomped her husband to death.

Faith shivered at the memory. Before she left Fort Laramie she'd be sure to pick up some extra muslin for bandages so Charity could replace her bindings when it became necessary.

Thoughts of the days and weeks ahead before she was fully healed made Faith's heart lodge in her throat. So far, their trip had been fairly easy compared to some of the stories of hardship and loss she'd heard. From now on, however, it was going to be dreadful. Pure and simple.

Not sure she'd have time to eat before the Ledbetters came for her, Faith concentrated first on buying the muslin. Accepting a parcel of fresh biscuits from Anna in lieu of a morning meal, she then waited inside the store, scanning the busy street.

Will had been going in and out, loading goods for a teamster headed up the Platte toward the Black Hills and Deer Creek. He stuck his head back in the door to holler, "Wagon's here for you, Miss Beal."

She rose stiffly from her perch on some sacks of beans and said politely, "Thank you." Approaching Anna, she held out her hand in parting and found herself swiftly swept into a gentle but encompa.s.sing hug.

"You take care, you hear?" the older woman warned, her eyes suspiciously moist, her wrinkled forehead creasing even more as she spoke. "Watch your back."

"I will. The Ledbetters are good people. They'll stand by me, I'm sure."

"Still..."

"I know. I'll be careful," Faith vowed. "I promise. If you're ever out Sacramento way..."

Anna stood back. "Doubt I will be, but thank ya."

It was hard to make herself break away and leave the haven of Anna's presence. "Well..."

"Have a safe trip."

"Lord willing."

Turning away, Faith stood tall and walked out the door into the bright morning sun, shading her eyes with her right hand. Her bonnet ribbons, reticule and the string around the small bundle of muslin were looped over her opposite wrist.

Ledbetter's spring wagon was waiting, all right, but Ramsey Tucker was in the driver's seat! The sardonic grin on his face set Faith's teeth on edge.

"What are you doing here? Where's Mr. Ledbetter?"

"He had ch.o.r.es in camp."

"Ch.o.r.es you a.s.signed him?"

Tucker spit tobacco juice over the off side of the wagon. "Maybe. So what? Get in."

She started to place her hands on her hips, realized the motion made her left side hurt worse and lowered her arms. "I'd rather walk, thank you."

"You do and you'll be walkin' from here to Fort Bridger, missy. I'll see to it."

"Don't you dare threaten me."

Tucker cursed. "Come on. Get in. I'm tired o' foolin' with ya." He reached down and grabbed her arm, giving it a mighty tug that lifted Faith's feet off the ground.

She stumbled and swung against the front wheel of the wagon. Searing pain shot through her. Set knives to her spine. Made her cry out.

So far, the package of unbleached muslin had padded her side. It slipped slightly off center when she banged against the wheel rim a second time. If only Tucker would let go of her she'd gladly board! Anything Anything to get him to stop jerking on her arm. to get him to stop jerking on her arm.

Gathering what breath she could muster, Faith struggled to get her feet back under her. She glared up at him. "Stop! That hurts!"

He just laughed. Tucker's meaty hand dwarfed her wrist and her fingers were already turning white from his tight grip. Surely, Charity had told him about her injuries! Therefore, he must be inflicting this horrible pain on purpose.

Suddenly, a buckskin-clad arm shot past her shoulder. A stalwart hand closed like a vise on Tucker's thick wrist, forcing the man to his knees in the wagon bed. The captain let go. His adversary did not.

Faith, clinging to the wheel for needed support, knew instantly who had come to her rescue. The glimmer of fear in Ramsey Tucker's eyes was a truly blessed sight to behold!

The plainsman's voice rumbled. "Are you hurt?"

Rubbing her wrist, she backed away from the wagon. Pure truth could do irreparable damage. Like it or not, without the captain's guidance, she and Charity would never make it all the way to California.

Faith made the necessary choice. "No," she gasped. "I'm fine. There's no problem here. Captain Tucker and I just had a little misunderstanding."

The plainsman regarded Faith, his doubt evident. "You're sure everything is all right?"

"Positive." She labored to make her voice sound stronger, more convincing. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I was just about to get into this wagon and start back to the train. We're pulling out soon."

"Whatever you say."

He released Tucker's wrist, nodded to them both and started away without further debate. Faith could tell he didn't believe her a.s.sertion. Not for one minute. And no wonder. The statement, though partially true, had burned on her lips it was such a blatant lie.

She squared her shoulders. With her left arm held tightly against her waist and side, she faced Tucker. She knew there was loathing in her expression. "Back off and I'll get in."

"You meant what you told him? Well, well." Chuckling with satisfaction, he offered his hand.

Faith gritted her teeth, gathered her skirts, put one foot on the step and managed to boost herself aboard without his help.

"I need a ride and you've come to fetch me. That's all," she said icily, wrapping her skirts around her legs so they wouldn't touch even a smidgen of Tucker's person. "Nothing else has changed between us."

He slapped his knee, guffawing rudely. "Feisty little thing, aren't you? Aw right. If it's a wagon ride you fancy, a wagon ride you'll get." Lowering his voice, he added, "Other kinds of things, you and me'll discuss after you've healed up."

Faith's face flared in anger and embarra.s.sment. Of all the insulting, vulgar...She held her temper, saying nothing. Tucker had the upper hand, for now. Someday, though, she'd best him.

She swore it on her mother's grave.

Chapter Four.

Connell stomped down the street, pulling his hat lower over his eyes to shade them from the morning sun. It was going to be another scorcher. Pretty normal for this time of year hereabouts.

A green spring wagon clattered past, stirring up a cloud of dust. Ramsey Tucker rode the driver's seat. Beside him, her back ramrod straight, her bonnet strings blowing behind her, sat Faith Beal. The bad blood between her and the captain was as thick as flies on a dead buffalo, so why had she insisted on letting him have his way?

Connell cursed under his breath. Why should he care? He had enough trouble already. He had to find Irene.

Pushing on the door to the saloon, he paused a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim light. The place was sure busy. Him, he'd rather have a steak than a slug of whiskey for breakfast. But here was where the drovers from the Tucker train had congregated, so here he'd stay. At least as long as they did.

What few chairs and crude benches the place had to offer were already taken. Connell leaned against the far, canvas-covered wall with some other latecomers and studied the crowd.

A short, slight man with a wary look in his eyes and a Colt revolver stuck through his belt sidled up to him and spoke. "You're not with the Tucker train, are you?"

Connell shook his head. "No. Why?"

"Just wondered. It's a big outfit, but I didn't think I'd seen you before."

"I rode in alone. You?"

"Lookin' for a party going back to Missouri," the thin man said. When he smiled, Connell saw he was missing his front teeth. It didn't look like they'd been gone very long either, judging by his swollen lips and gums.

Noting the focus of Connell's glance, the man closed his mouth as tightly as his injuries would allow. "Saw you face up to the cap'n this mornin'. Wished it'd been more of a fight. He needs to be taken down a peg."