Sky felt his face flush, and he knew that she was laughing at him. Her boldness told him one thing: if she wasn’t yet hardened by life, she was surely on the verge of it. Sky waited until he could speak more easily.
“No, I’m not, Miss Duvall,” he said calmly. “It’s a long trip, but there will be no courtin’ on the trail. All of the drivers are single men, and they’ve been told what will happen if they make any sort of improper approach to the ladies on the train.”
A tall blond woman, not over twenty-five, raised her hand. Sky nodded to her, and she rose from her seat. “I’m Karen Sanderson. Excuse me, Mr. Winslow—but what will happen to a man who does anything . . . improper?” Although she was not attractive in the usual sense, she had a strong figure, Nordic blue eyes, and a pleasant face.
“I’ll shoot him, Miss Sanderson.” Her gaze did not waver, and she smiled slightly and said, “I think those who chose our guide chose wisely.”
The compliment caught Sky off guard, and he flushed again. Then a stocky girl with carrot red hair and freckles on her rounded cheeks asked, “Well, what is this ‘improper behavior’?”
“Yes, tell us all about improper behavior, Mr. Winslow,” Rita Duvall smirked.
Sky wished he were back in Oregon trapping beaver. “That will be defined by the clergyman who will be serving as our chaplain.”
But he was not to be let off so easily. “And what will you do if one of us behaves in an improper way?” Rita asked pointedly. “Would you shoot me, Mr. Winslow?”
Sky felt like a fool when his face burned again, but he said, “I think, Miss Duvall, that those who are chosen to make the trip would not be guilty of poor behavior—but, again, that will be up to the chaplain.”
The questions came at him hard and fast, and it was over an hour later before he finally could say, “No more questions? Well, then, I can’t talk to you all at once, so we’ll have to set up a schedule for the interviews. Excuse me while I get some paper.” Going into the other room, he got a notebook from his bag. “Will one of you write numbers on small slips of paper?” he asked, coming back into the room and shutting the door behind him.
“I will.” Karen Sanderson took the paper and followed his directions. When she had finished he got his hat and put the papers inside. “Take a number, please, and that will be the order in which I will see you.” They took the slips as he moved around the room. “Allow each, half an hour I think. So if you’ve got number three, your turn will come in an hour, and so on. I’ll be here for a couple of days, so there’s really no rush. Who has number one?”
“I do.”
A thin, middle-aged woman with work-hardened fingers held up a slip, and Sky said, “Please step into the next room. The rest of you can wait here or come back when it’s your turn.”
Several of the women left at once, but Rita Duvall sat back and held up her slip. “I’m number three, Mr. Winslow. And I can’t wait for our little talk!”
Rita Duvall—you are one I KNOW won’t be going along! he thought, but said only, “I’m looking forward to it myself, Miss Duvall.” He turned into the room, well aware that her red lips were curved into a smile that made her look much like a cat considering a mouse she had just captured.
CHAPTER NINE
THE LAST TWO PASSENGERS
By the end of the third day Sky had come to hate New York. He hated the talks he had to give, but the waiting room was filled with new groups each morning. The private interviews were worse. Most of the women he spoke with were pitifully eager to get away from a hard life in the city; he struggled to tell them they were headed for one that might be worse.
Some women were eliminated instantly, for physical reasons. At least five of them would have died before reaching the South Pass, and half a dozen more would not have lasted a year. One of them, a women of thirty with an obvious case of consumption, begged him, “Take me with you! At least I won’t have to die in this place!”
A few he had refused because of their attitude. Three of them had been argumentative, fighting for their rights even before they knew whether they had been granted a place on the wagon. Sky had less of a problem turning these away, for he knew that they would make a train unbearable. I’m doing some fellow a favor, he thought. A gal like this’d make a man go crazy in a week!
Rita Duvall was harder. From the minute she swept into his room and sat down, she started her flirtations. He had tried to break the bad news gently, but when she saw that he had no intention of taking her, she threw her head back and retorted, “What’s wrong with me? Does a woman have to be plain and dull to go along?”
Sky had met her gaze evenly. “Miss Duvall, you’re not fitted for this trip. Look, every one of the other women is headed to Oregon because they couldn’t get a husband here.” He looked down at her rich figure, taking in her well-dressed hair and full lips, then added dryly, “Obviously, that’s not your problem.”
Her anger dissipated at once, responding to his compliment. “I still want to go; I have other reasons.”
“No, I won’t take you. You’d be like a match in a powder keg to the men on the train; they’d be fighting over you in a week. I’d have to shoot all of them, pretty near.” She continued to pout, and he got impatient. “Why don’t you go by boat? You look as though you’ve got money. This trip is going to be hard, Miss Duvall. You’d be foolish to go overland when you could go around the Cape in comfort.”
Her shoulders sagged, and she said nothing for a long moment, fingering the tassels on her blouse nervously before she finally lifted her eyes. “I—I can’t go do that, Mr. Winslow. I can’t tell you why, but please—I’m begging you to take me!”
He had almost wavered, for her appeal was very strong, but in the end he held firm. “Sorry, Miss Duvall. It wouldn’t be good for the train—and you’d be miserable.” She had stared at him silently, then left without further protest.
Sky thought about her several times as he sat at his desk on the last night with a twinge of regret, and wondered momentarily why she had been so persistent. At last he shook his head and picked up the list in front of him—the final choices.
Out of fifty-seven women who had answered the ad, he had spoken to forty-three—the others had been put off by his preliminary speech. Of those he’d interviewed, he had chosen twenty-seven. He ran his eyes down the list, wondering if he had made some bad decisions. For the past two nights he had slept poorly, never satisfied with his choices, but now it was over. Done.
He’d persuaded one stage company to add extra coaches on their Pittsburgh run, so that the women could travel together; he’d put a lady named Edith Dickenson in charge of the group. She was a small woman of twenty-seven with steady gray eyes, brown hair, and precise manners. He was not surprised to find out she was a schoolteacher, for in talking with her he could tell that she was intelligent and educated. He’d signed her on at once, giving her the money for meals and rooms for the group along the way to Pittsburgh, as he would not be traveling with them. At least that was one worry off his mind.
He had asked Edith, as he had the others, why she wanted to go to Oregon Territory. “I got left at the church, Mr. Winslow,” she answered evenly. “I was engaged to be married, and the day of the wedding I got a note from my fiance, telling me he’d decided he loved another woman better. I want to marry and have a family, and I want to do it someplace other than here.”
She’d be good for Sam, Sky had thought, though he’d also thought the same thing about Karen Sanderson.
Rising from the desk, Sky stretched his cramped arms and went to peer out the window. It was almost dark outside, and his mind was drawn to think of the days ahead. The trail west was rough and sometimes dangerous, but it was a world he was used to—his world. The city depressed him, and he wished he had taken the last stage, but there had been too many details to complete.
He left the room and went downstairs to eat, then stopped by the desk. “I’ll be leaving pretty early. Might as well take care of the b
ill now.”
The clerk looked at him strangely; Sky knew that the man was wondering about the stream of women who had come to the desk asking for Winslow. “Come back and stay with us again, sir,” the clerk said, handing him a receipt.
“Not likely,” Sky replied. “Seen enough people in these three days to do me for a lifetime.”
He went back to his room, took off his coat, and settled down to read. About an hour later Sky heard a furtive knock on his door; laying his book aside, he stood up and—out of habit—picked up his gun from the top of the washstand. Concealing the weapon behind the door as he opened it, Sky found himself face-to-face with Rita Duvall.
“Please—let me come in!” she whispered, her large eyes fearful.
He stepped back and she came in quickly, closing the door behind her. For the first time, she saw the gun in his hand, and the sight of it seemed to bolster her confidence.
“Sky, you’ve got to help me.” Her voice quivered. “I’m in big trouble.”
He noted her use of his first name, and followed suit. “What’s up, Rita?”
She bit her lower lip, trying to control herself. “I’ve been living with a man named Nelson Stark for the last year,” she confessed. “He’s a bad one—I must have been crazy to take up with him—but he’s got money, so . . .” She trailed off and began to pace the floor, and he saw her glance at the window. “He’s a crook, big time. Last month he got caught and arrested. The police picked me up the same time—said if I didn’t tell what I knew about Nels, they’d put me in jail for a long time, too.”
She paused, and went to sit in the overstuffed chair by the bed. Her face was pale as death, and Sky hastily poured her a drink of water. “Take it easy, Rita.”
She drank the water and put the glass down. “They let him out on bail, and me, too. Oh, Sky—Nels told me they couldn’t do a thing to me, but I was scared. Then when the trial came, the district attorney had me picked up. Said he was going to send me up for life if I didn’t testify against Nels.”
“So you did—and now this man is out to get you?”
She nodded. “He’s going to kill me. I’ve tried to get away, but he’s having me watched. I know him, Sky! He likes to hurt people. He’s playing with me, now—but when he gets tired of that, he’ll have me killed and thrown into the East River!”
Sky’s first impulse was to ask her to leave; she could see it in his eyes. He expected her to beg, but she had met men like Sky Winslow before, and knew that if she pressed him, it would only harden him against her. So she sat there quietly, biting her lip. He admired that—no matter what else she had done, she was a brave woman.
“Stay here.”
She watched as he put on his coat, then slipped the gun into his trouser band. “Be careful, Sky! Nels has some tough ones working for him.”
He didn’t seem to hear her. “Don’t open the door to anybody but me.” Downstairs Sky found a different clerk at the desk—a sleepy-eyed young man who nodded to him respectfully.
“I’m Mr. Winslow. Been anyone asking for me?”
“There was a woman a few minutes ago. She went up to your room.”
“Anybody else?”
“Well, not to see you.” The clerk’s eyes were alert now. “But a man came in asking about her—the woman who went up to see you.”
“A short, fat fellow?”
“Oh no. Tall and thickset. He didn’t go up, though. Just wanted to know about the lady.”
“Thanks.”
Sky went out of the hotel, turned west and walked briskly away. He saw the bulky figure of a man standing back from a streetlight in the mouth of an alley, but pretended not to notice him. Winslow turned the corner, then broke into a dead run. He passed several people, who turned to stare, but he paid them no heed. Reaching the exit of the alley on the next street, he cautiously turned into it and moved quickly toward the end. The alley was dark, and he inched along stealthily, avoiding the garbage and trash that lay in his path. It was a moonless night, but his eyes could see clearly in the dark. When he was close enough to make out the outline of the man who was waiting, he crept silently toward him.
There was still some doubt in his mind, for he did not know for certain that this was the man who was following Rita. He advanced until he was directly behind the man and saw that the streets were empty for at least a block. He pulled the gun from his belt, put the muzzle under the man’s ear, and growled, “Don’t make a fuss.”
The touch of steel made the large man give a tremendous start. “Don’t be a fool,” he hissed at Sky without turning his head. “You can’t rob me here!”
“Step back into the alley,” Sky ordered. Keeping his gun trained on the man’s neck, Winslow moved back and the man backed up slowly with him. When they were far enough away from the street to avoid detection, Sky reached out and shoved his captive around to face him. The man’s face was thick and scarred, but there was no fear in his pale eyes. Sky said, “I’m tempted to send you back to Nels in pieces!” He saw instantly that he had his man, whose expression changed at the mention of Stark’s name.
“What’s the game?” The burly man demanded. He was a cool one; the gun in Sky’s hand might have been a stick for all the attention he paid to it.
He’ll have to go down—he’s too tough to take water! Sky realized. He couldn’t risk a bluff. Reluctantly, Winslow raised his gun with a swift motion and clipped the man across the head. It almost didn’t work, for the big man had seen it coming and ducked. His soft hat partly cushioned the blow, catching him on the side of the head, just over the ear. He fell to his knees, and Sky struck him again as the man reached into his coat pocket.
He crumpled to the ground, and lay there without moving a muscle. Sky reached into his own pocket, removed his billfold, and put it in the unconscious man’s pocket. Then he took the tough’s gun from his inside pocket and put it beside his hand and ran across the street to the hotel. The clerk looked up at Sky, who said, “Fellow tried to hold me up. Can you get the police?”
In ten minutes it was over. The clerk had sent a boy for the police, and when the two uniformed men arrived, he introduced Sky as one of the guests. Sky led the police into the alley, where one of them bent over the form and exclaimed, “Well, Charlie! It’s Benny Boudreau!” He stood up and gave Sky an odd look. “You took Benny by yourself—and him with his gun out?”
“Someone walked by the alley and distracted him,” Sky shrugged. “He probably wasn’t expecting me to have a gun.”
“Pretty good!” the other policeman said with a laugh. “We’ve been tryin’ to get this one for a long time.”
“Be all right if I come to the station and press charges tomorrow?”
“Sure, Mr. Winslow,” the first officer said. “That’ll be fine. Here’s your wallet. Be at the office about noon.”
“He’ll have a lawyer by then?”
“Not likely! We’ll just have a little talk with Benny first. Law says ‘within twenty-four hours’ he gets to see a lawyer—and not a minute before!”
Sky went back to the room and knocked on the door. “Open the door, Rita.” It opened and he stepped inside. “You don’t have to worry about that one, anyway.”
“I was watching from the window,” she said slowly, looking at him with renewed interest. “You really did Benny in. Nobody ever did that before.”
“It doesn’t solve your problem. He’ll be out tomorrow, I guess.”
“Take me with you, Sky,” she implored. “I won’t cause any trouble.”
He stared at her, making up his mind. “You probably will, but I can’t leave you here.” He pulled a blanket off the bed, then went to the door that joined the next room. “Stage leaves at five in the morning. Better get some sleep.”
“Sky . . .”
He turned, his hand on the doorknob. She walked over to him and laid a hand on his arm. “Thanks!” She was very close, and the fragrance of her perfume made him a little dizzy. He hesitated, taken by surprise a
t this woman who was suddenly so open and vulnerable to him. He was not by nature a womanizer, yet a powerful desire rose up in him as she moved to put herself in his arms and turn her face up to his. He obeyed his instincts and lowered his head to touch his lips to her soft mouth, and the sensation made his head rush.
She drew his head down and put her lips against his ear. “You don’t have to leave, Sky!” she whispered.
He had never known a woman could be so powerful. He almost moved back into the room—but something stopped him. A little roughly he pushed her away and took a deep breath.
“No, Rita,” he said harshly. “You can go to Oregon, but just as another passenger. That’s all!”
She took a step back. “All right, Sky.” Then she cocked her head and sighed. “Wish I’d met a man like you a long time ago—things might have been a lot different for me.”
Sky opened the door to the next room and nodded to the one that led out to the hallway. “Don’t open that door. We’ll pull out of here at dawn.”
He shut the door and leaned against it for a moment, displeased with himself. He had been shaken by her kiss, and even more shaken by the hunger that kiss had stirred inside of him. He did not love her, he knew; it had been a purely physical reaction, but for an hour he lay in his blanket, unable to go to sleep.
The large clock down the hall had just chimed twelve times when a soft knock sounded on the door of the room where Rita slept. He was on his feet in an instant, and just as he plucked the gun from a chair, the door opened, and Rita whispered, “Sky—there’s somebody at the door!”
He motioned Rita to step into the other room, but she paused at the door to see what would happen. “Who’s there?” he called.
A woman’s voice answered uncertainly. “Mr. Winslow? I need to talk to you.”
He slid back the bolt and opened the door to find a young woman with a baby. By the yellow lamplight, he could see that she was slender with hazel eyes and curly auburn hair. She looked very small standing there, and he asked, “What is it?”
The Reluctant Bridegroom Page 10