Lucky Penny

by Catherine Anderson

  Brianna’s grip on the horn tightened until her knuckles ached. “Truly? Horses can sense if you’re afraid of them? What . . . what do they do if they think you’re afraid?”

  “Well, shit. You are afraid. You’re scared out of your wits to be up there, aren’t you?”

  She cast a nervous glance at the ground, which didn’t look any closer than it had a few seconds ago. “It is a bit unsettling.”

  “Just out of curiosity, do you lie about everything, Mrs. Paxton? I’ve heard tell of people who’d rather lie than tell the truth, but you take the prize. You say you can ride, but come to find out, you’ve never even been on a horse.”

  “I am capable of doing many things I haven’t actually tried yet, sir. It is not lying to say I know how to do something when I’ve watched it done and feel that I’m able.”

  He sighed and hooked a hand over the crown of the gelding’s neck to rub behind its ears. “Okay. Listen up. As you’re riding, think about something pleasant. That should help get rid of your willies.”

  Brianna’s favorite thing was to dunk a piece of chocolate in hot tea and suck off the melted part. But she didn’t think it would calm her jumpy stomach to recall the taste of something she hadn’t enjoyed for over three months. “All right,” she agreed. “I’ll do that.”

  He tucked the bay’s reins around her saddle horn, then went to collect his animals and Daphne. Brianna had seen men riding many times in Colorado and knew they steered a horse with the leads. She didn’t like the idea of being on an animal with no way to tell it which direction to go, so she collected the slender leather straps into the grip of one hand. The gelding threw his head back and she saw the whites of his eyes.

  When Paxton noticed that she held the reins, his jaw muscle bunched. “You either have a hearing problem, Mrs. Paxton, or you’re deliberately ignoring half of what I tell you.” He gave her a long, hard look. “For once in your life, pay attention and do as you’re told. If you’re bent on holding the reins, you have to do it right.”

  “How do I do it right?” she asked, her voice thin with alarm. The bay looked a little wild, and she feared he was about to take a chunk out of her foot.

  “Well, if you don’t want him to rear, loosen your hold on the reins. Trust me when I say you don’t want to be tossed. It’s a long way to the ground.” He watched her relax her clenched fingers. “A little more. You have to give him plenty of slack. Right now, you’re pulling back so hard, he doesn’t know if he should shit or go blind.”

  Chapter Eight

  A

  s they rode from the livery, weak moonlight greeted them. Washed clean by the gusting wind, the town smelled of prairie grass and wildflowers. David smiled over Brianna’s embarrassment when her skirts had bunched up. She’d been so bent on covering herself that she’d almost forgotten her fear of the horse. All he’d seen was her ribbed stockings—and, well, okay, the comely shapes of her calves and ankles. But she’d been as twitchy as an offended virgin. He repositioned the child in the crook of his right arm so she’d be comfortable, pleased to be hitting the trail even though his body screamed for rest.

  Over his shoulder, David called, “There’s no need for you to be nervous about that horse. He shows no signs of being spooky. My guess is that he’s rock solid.”

  “My life may depend upon your guess, sir. Could you be so chivalrous as to reassure me in more definitive terms?”

  Did she always talk that way?

  “As long as you keep your seat, you have nothing to worry about,” he said loudly because the wind snatched away his voice.

  “And how does one keep one’s seat, sir?”

  “Pretend you’re sitting in a rocking chair. Hold fast to the horn, relax with the motion, and press in tight with your knees.”

  Watching over his shoulder, he saw her attempt to follow his advice, letting her shoulders slump slightly. She loosened one hand from the horn to stroke the gelding’s neck in an attempt to befriend the animal. When the town was well behind them, David circled back to ride abreast of her. She threw him a worried glance.

  “You said I needn’t worry about the reins, that my horse would just follow yours. How can he do that if you’re back here with me?”

  “I just thought it might be a good time for a little riding instruction.”

  “Oh, dear,” she muttered. Then, with a nod, she said, “All right. Do carry on, sir.”

  “The name’s David.” He launched into an explanation of Western riding techniques and watched as she executed his instructions, stopping the horse, nudging it into a walk, and then reining left and right. “Good job. You’ll be a horsewoman in no time.”

  “I doubt that,” she retorted, but David heard in her voice that she was pleased. “Being a horsewoman is not one of my aspirations.”

  Even in the darkness, David noticed how rigidly she sat in the saddle now that he was next to her. He had a nasty suspicion that if he reached out toward her, she’d flinch away and fall off the horse. As if the bay sensed her fear, he snorted and swung his head around to sniff her foot. She jerked her toes back.

  “He won’t bite you. You can trust him.”

  “There are two species I will never trust, sir, and horses are one of them.”

  “What’s the other one?”

  “Men,” she said flatly.

  If any other woman had flung that insult at him, David would have chuckled, but for Daphne’s sake, he needed to get along with this one.

  “Sounds to me like you had a nasty experience with a horse at some point.” And a man as well, but David decided now wasn’t a good moment to broach that topic.

  “Nasty? The horrid beast nearly bit off my arm, and then it stepped on my foot.” A faint wash of moonlight broke through, giving David a glimpse of her pale face and flashing eyes. There were some lovely women in his family, but he couldn’t recall ever having seen features as delicate or perfect as Brianna’s. He couldn’t look at that soft, full mouth without wanting a taste of it. “That was my first attempt to get on a horse, and until tonight, I swore it would be my last.”

  “I can’t say I blame you. What fool tried to put you on a fractious mount?”

  “My former employer, Charles Ricker. A few years later, I caught him putting Daphne up on the same beast. I grabbed her from the saddle and told him I’d slit his throat while he slept if he ever took her near that monster again.”

  “Good for you. Doesn’t sound to me like he’s any good with horses.” Then another thought struck him. “Hell’s bells, is Daphne scared of horses, too?”

  “No. She’s always loved them. And Ricker isn’t good with any kind of animal. He has a vicious streak. I pity the woman who married him. She’ll soon rue the day.”

  “Yet you stayed in his employ for almost six years?”

  “Necessity is a pitiless dictator, Mr. Paxton.”

  Uncertain how to respond to that, David clicked his tongue at Blue and nudged him forward so he and Lucy could take the lead again. Ricker. Was he the bastard who’d made Brianna so wary of men? Had he been cruel to Daphne as well? The very thought made David draw the child closer. For two cents, he’d be tempted to return to Glory Ridge to give the fellow a ten-minute lesson on how to treat women and children. Somehow, though, David couldn’t imagine Brianna standing meekly aside while her daughter was abused. As slightly built and skittish as the woman was, she still had a goodly measure of fight left in her. She’d be a hellcat if anyone threatened her child.

  That certainty led him to wonder if he’d made a mistake by teaching her the rudiments of riding. She might use the knowledge against him and steal away from camp during the night. He set aside the worry. As exhausted as she was, she’d fall asleep the moment she lay down and wouldn’t stir until he nudged her awake in the morning. He’d hobble the horses, so even if she did manage to saddle a mount, she’d be scratching her head, trying to figure out why the animal wouldn’t run. With all that going on, she’d surely make enough noise to wake
him.

  Guilt assailed him. Brianna was right about one thing. Setting out on horseback would be hard on her and the child. If they had waited in Glory Ridge to catch a stage, they might have reached a railway in a day and could have traveled the remainder of the way to No Name in relative comfort. Unfortunately, the trains stopped at every Podunk along the way, and Brianna’s determination to escape had weighed against his taking her into communities where she might prevail upon a well-intentioned stranger or a lawman to rescue her. No way. David would happily pay for train tickets, but not until Brianna resigned herself to the fact that he had inalienable rights as Daphne’s father.

  Meanwhile, David had decided to choose a route northwestward that would take them nowhere near any railroad tracks. He hadn’t spelled that out for Brianna, but he’d hinted at it.

  He’d make the trip as easy on mother and child as possible, and maybe at some point, Brianna would come to accept the situation. To that end, David stopped to camp only two hours out of Glory Ridge along the stream he’d seen early that day. When he shifted on the saddle to tell Brianna they were halting for the night, he saw that she was nodding off in the saddle and congratulated himself on his good timing. The last thing he needed was for her to pitch off the horse and get hurt.

  David handed Brianna their sleeping daughter after she dismounted, and then he cared for the animals, pondering as he removed the packs from Lucy’s back whether he should cook a meal. One glance over his shoulder had him vetoing that idea. Brianna slumped on the grass with Daphne cradled in her arms. He doubted either of them had the energy to eat. He’d wait until morning to fix them something. That decided, he set off to scavenge up the makings for a fire.

  When he returned, he found Brianna stretched out on her side with her knees drawn up to protect the child from the wind. He tossed down the wood and dry cow patties he’d collected and went to forage through the packs for bedding. After he got them settled, he’d worry about laying the fire. He should have seen to his wife and daughter’s comfort first.

  Brianna came awake with a shriek when he touched her shoulder to waken her. David narrowly escaped a blow to his jaw by her flailing fists.

  “Whoa, whoa!” he said, catching her wrists. “It’s only me.”

  “Don’t touch me,” she cried, trying to break free of his grasp.

  Daphne woke up and started to cry.

  “Don’t touch me!” Brianna shouted again.

  David knew panic when he saw it. He quickly let her go and stepped back with his hands open and held out to his sides. “I meant no harm. Your beds are ready, and I just thought you’d be cozier in them than on the ground while I get a fire going.”

  She sat up, her thick hair loose from its pins and spilling over her shoulders. Even in the faint light, she was beautiful. Those eyes could easily grab hold of a man’s heart and never let go. In the moon glow, they brimmed with emotions she probably didn’t wish to reveal. To him, that made her seem vulnerable and in dire need of a strong arm to protect her. David would happily sign on for the job, but first he had to gain her trust.

  As if she sensed his thoughts, she broke visual contact and turned to soothe Daphne. Then, without a thank-you, she carried the child to the two beds, rearranged them to create one, and retired under a double layer of blankets with the little girl locked in her arms. It occurred to David as he built a fire nearby that Brianna might still be thinking he was a slave trader, bent on stealing Daphne and selling her across the border.

  He wished he could make light of her suspicions, but instead he had to applaud her savvy. What Afton and Bingham had said about the comanchero slave trade being a thing of the past was true, but they had their heads up their asses if they thought such dealings never happened anymore. Proof to the contrary often came across David’s desk. Last month, a girl had gone missing from her parents’ farm outside Colorado Springs, and because her body hadn’t been found, the lawmen there believed she’d been kidnapped. David prayed not. There were some fates worse than dying, and for a young girl, being sold into slavery was one of them.

  It was awful to think there were individuals in this world that would do something so horrible, but they were definitely out there. As long as mankind existed, there would be sick lechers who coveted pretty little girls and would part with almost any amount of money to get their hands on them. It was a terrible tribute to the nature of some men. But there you had it. Maybe Brianna was smart not to trust him.

  Crouched over the fire, trying to coax it to life, David peered beyond the brightness to study his sleeping wife. He had no experience with skittish females, having always made it his practice to consort with only friendly ones. How did a man go about gaining a woman’s confidence?

  David hadn’t a clue. As he shook out his bedroll, he decided he would be well-advised to sleep with one eye open in case Brianna woke up and decided to make a run for it. He wouldn’t put it past her. He sighed as he stretched out, using his saddle as a pillow. Tipping his hat down over his eyes, he stared into the blackness of the bowl.

  As a precaution, maybe he’d sleep with both eyes open.

  Brianna awakened with a start to find Daphne gone. She jerked erect with dizzying abruptness and squinted her aching eyes against the bright morning sunlight. Blast and blue blazes. She’d slept not only through the night but well into the morning.

  Her joints protested as she threw back the blankets and rose to her knees to shoot frantic glances in all directions. Still muddled with sleep, all she saw at first was the stream, rolling grassland, and wildflowers, and for a heart-hammering instant, she believed Paxton had made off with her daughter. She shot to her feet with a scream rising into her throat. It died to a squeak when she spotted the saddles and packs.

  Weaving on her feet, Brianna ran in first one direction and then another, scanning the distance for her child. Her knees were still watery with fright when Paxton’s blond head bobbed into view on the horizon like a marble bouncing on green carpet. Next his shoulders and chest appeared. He wasn’t wearing the duster, and his shirt was almost the same blue as the sky behind him. She staggered toward him with lurching steps, her fists clenched for battle. Where was her daughter? What had he done with her?

  She slipped and soaked one shoe while jumping across the stream. As she struggled for balance, Daphne materialized beside the man. Even at a distance, Brianna could hear the musical lilt of her voice. She was chattering nonstop and gazing up at him with a rapturous glow on her face. In her hands, she held his upturned hat.

  Brianna drew to a halt, resentment sizzling through her veins like acid. He’d had no right to take her child from camp without telling her. And, oh, how it galled her that he’d won Daphne over so completely. Well, he wouldn’t find her mother as accommodating.

  As she waited for them to reach her, she thrust a hand into her skirt pocket to finger the handle of her trusty knife, which she’d kept under the mattress until last night. The blade was buried in a raw potato from the restaurant pantry, a trick she’d devised early on while in Ricker’s employ so she could carry the weapon for protection without accidentally cutting herself. More than once, she’d held Ricker off with the instrument when he tried to press his unwanted attentions upon her.

  When Daphne saw Brianna, she broke into a run, her pink dress whipping in the wind, her golden curls bouncing. She held the hat out in front of her, keeping it carefully balanced, as if it were filled with precious gems. Watching her, Brianna felt as if a strong hand closed around her throat. The child was absolutely beautiful, well worth a thousand dollars, if not far more, across the border. Was it Paxton’s plan to lure Brianna far away from Glory Ridge and then leave her stranded while he made off with Daphne?

  “Look, Mama!” Daphne cried as she covered the last few feet between them. “Papa found us all manner of things to eat! He says we’re going to feast like royalty!”

  Brianna glanced at the filthy collection of roots and leaves. Did the man have bats in his belfry?
Many plants on the prairie were poisonous, even deadly. The Indians knew which ones were safe because they’d lived off the land for generations, but most white men didn’t have that knowledge.

  As Paxton reached them, he said, “It’s all good fare. My mother’s hobby is studying plants, and she taught me all she knows.”

  Without the filthy duster, he looked less intimidating in some ways and more so in others. As Brianna had suspected yesterday, he was strongly built. His shirt collar lay open to reveal the sturdy column of his sun-burnished neck, and the blue cloth, flattened against his torso by the breeze, showcased broad shoulders and well-muscled arms.

  “Mama, did you know tea made from blue-eyed grass can cure a fever?” Daphne asked. “And if I get an earache, Papa can make it go away with white milkwort!”

  An awful thought struck Brianna. What if the man hoped to feed her something that would render her senseless so he could head south with her daughter without any protest from her?

  “I brought plenty of food, dear heart,” she said.

  Brianna plucked the hat from her daughter’s hands and shoved it at Paxton. “You’ll enjoy your feast alone, sir. We will eat safe fare, and I will cook it myself.”

  He shrugged and then winked at Daphne. “More for me, I reckon. Maybe when your mama sees I live through it, she’ll let you have some of my rabbit stew tonight.”

  Daphne sent Brianna a rebellious glare that swept her back in time to her childhood. She’d treated the nuns to that same look more than once, then done as she pleased.

  Thirty minutes later, Brianna discovered that learning to cook over an open fire presented more challenges than she’d realized. First off, she had to collect fuel. Touching dry cow manure was disgusting, and carrying it in her raised skirt was even worse. Then she couldn’t get her fire to ignite. Paxton had already rinsed his prairie finds and was halfway finished cooking his breakfast before Brianna even had flames. There was also the wind to foil her efforts. Ever constant on the prairie, it made the fire’s heat a frustrating variable. One minute, her bacon was burning, and the next, it barely sizzled in the pan David Paxton had lent her.