Santa Fe Woman

by Laura Stapleton

  Santa Fe Woman

  The American West Series

  Laura Stapleton

  Text and Cover Image Copyright © 2018 Laura L. Stapleton

  Cover by Cheeky Covers

  All Rights Reserved.

  No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author or publisher.

  Names, characters, and some incidences are imaginary and complete fiction. The places are real whenever possible, and some geographical names have been changed since the story took place.

  Acknowledgments

  I travel the Santa Fe Trail from Kansas City, Missouri, to Fort Dodge, Kansas at least three times a year. I’ve also lived and traveled from Amarillo, Texas, to Las Vegas, New Mexico, and down to Albuquerque. Despite my firsthand knowledge, I’d like to thank William E. Hill for his book, The Santa Fe Trail, Yesterday and Today. His work helped fill in the historical gaps.

  Dedication

  For Donna

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Dmitri’s Heart-Bonus Material

  The American West Series

  The Complete Oregon Trail Series

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Rachel Stewart stood and stretched her neck, wincing at the resulting cracks. Long shadows outside the west-facing storefront let her know she was long past closing shop. She folded her customer’s half-sewn dress. Unable to finish her work disappointed her.

  Miss Ellie, the store’s owner, already suspected the dress wouldn’t be finished by tomorrow morning. Unwilling to leave a task for someone else, she planned on coming down after dinner to complete her work.

  She stood and went to the door to turn the lock. Weston, Missouri was just as busy during the early evening as any other time. A new surge of settlers heading west after the Civil War gave the city a better purpose these days. She stared at the early evening haze. Any reason was much better than burning other peoples’ property just because they might be Confederate sympathizers. Yes, she might be a wee bit bitter still.

  Rachel reached for the ‘Open’ sign and stopped after a knock at the door. After firmly setting the sign to ‘Closed’, she turned to the new arrival. The man, a handsome devil, smiled at her. He held up folded fabric with a clear and pleading expression. Spending the day sewing a dress too delicate for her to ever wear left Rachel unwilling to be charitable to anyone. She was tempted to turn him away until tomorrow. Let Miss Ellie help him with whatever he needed.

  Except now, the gentleman had his hands together as if begging, the garment under one arm held close to his side. She narrowed her eyes. He used the adorable cowlick in his dark hair, deep brown eyes, and scruff of a dark beard to his advantage. Rachel sighed. He was probably a terror to his mother and any other woman in his life. She turned the lock and opened the door. “Yes?”

  He leaned against the door with slight pressure. “Good evening, and thank you for staying open.” He pulled the garment from his side, increasing the slight push on the door as he did so. “I need these let out, and your shop is the last one I’ll see between here and Fort Dodge.”

  She smiled at how little he knew of the area. “Oh no, you’ll have plenty of places between here and there to hire repairs or alterations.” Rachel took the pants he offered. “Nice quality; you can come back tomorrow when the shop’s open.”

  “I can’t. We’re leaving tomorrow morning.”

  We? Of course. A man this charming and handsome would be married. He probably had at least five children, one after the other. Rachel sighed, the loneliness of being a spinster a little too true at the moment. She figured his wife was too busy herding their offspring, getting them ready for tomorrow’s trip, to sew anything for him. “I see.” She opened the door to let him in. “What exactly do you need to be done?”

  He stepped in with a grin, waiting until she locked the door. “These are my Sunday pants, and I’ve outgrown them.”

  Rachel turned out the waistband to find darts sewn in along the sides. The size would fit a boy, not a full-grown man. “Have they always been yours?”

  “Yes. They fit before the war.”

  She wandered over to her sewing chair and moved her current work before sitting down. “But not after?”

  “No. Well, it took a while for me to regain my health.” He trailed behind her.

  With it being only a little over a year since the Civil War officially ended, Rachel bet hundreds were still healing from the country’s wounds. He found a seat by pushing over a book of fabric samples Miss Ellie had created for their customers. The man seemed rather fine to her at the moment, judging by his easy grace. She examined the hem at the end of one of the pant legs. “I’ll bet you’ve grown since then, too.”

  “I have, but not by much. I was twenty when the war started.”

  Rachel nodded, doing the math. She’d been fifteen, so they were twenty-five and a newly turned twenty-one now. “In that case, I’ll let out the darts and hem before having you try on your pants.” She began ripping out the seams.

  “Will it take you very long to complete if I need the waist and hems sewn?”

  She paused with her seam ripper and glanced up at him with a wry grin. “Not too much. Terribly impatient, aren’t you? Sunday isn’t for a few more days, you know. Your current pants would be good enough to attend service.”

  He chuckled. “I am impatient, but not due to church.” The man stood and walked to the window while saying, “You’re doing me a huge favor by staying late. I don’t want to inconvenience you any more than necessary.”

  Rachel pulled the cut threads free from the fabric. “It’s not much effort. The darts are already gone.” She stood and went to him, handing him the pants. “There’s a changing room under the stairs. Try them on, and we’ll see what more needs to be done.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He took his garment.

  She watched as he went to the stairs and realized she’d never asked his name. He glanced back at her with a slight grin before disappearing. Her face grew hot at how he’d caught her staring. Though, to be fair, he had to be used to feminine attention by now. She smiled and went to the sewing machine. Fixing his hems would be fast. His waist might need a quarter-inch dart on each side unless he’d prefer suspenders or a belt.

  Rachel removed the green thread and wound in the black. She studied the color for a moment. A dark, almost charcoal gray would be better with the slightly faded material. She went to the spool rack hanging on the wall.

  “They’re a little long, but the waist fits fine.”

  She turned to see her customer standing in front of the dressing room door. He had his shirt pulled up enough for her to see a little skin above the beltline. She ignored the budding interest in seeing more of him than politeness allowed and stayed professional. “Have you eaten supper yet?” Rachel asked while walking over to him. “I might need to expand the fit if they’re snug.”

  “They’re not too tight. I still have room for growing after dinner tonight.” He hooked a thumb into a belt loop and pulled out a little.

  Rachel laughed at the idea of this trim man growing paunchy. “I still need to fix your hems on the machine, so adding darts would be simple if you’d like.”

  Shaking his head, he replied, �
�I appreciate your offer, but it’s getting late, and I only have time for one or the other.”

  The reminder of the late hour didn’t escape her. She had dinner to cook and a project to complete before getting ready for tomorrow. “In that case, change into your prior clothes and I’ll get started.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He gave her a grin with a salute.

  By the time she had charcoal gray loaded into her machine, Rachel’s customer had reappeared. She reached out for his pants. “Hems are easy and won’t take long.” She turned one cuff inside out and folded.

  He pulled his chair closer to the machine where she worked. “How do you know where to sew without marking it?”

  A slammed door from above delayed her response. Isaac would be irritated over her working late tonight. “I made a note of where the fold was while you wore them. Since you were barefoot, I’m allowing a half-inch for your boot heel.” She slid the material under the needle.

  “Clever. I might have known you’d be crafty.”

  Her face grew hot at his praise. This close to her, he smelled like cinnamon with a hint of coffee. “Thank you, but it’s just experience. I’m sure you’re excellent at what you do as well.”

  He laughed. “I try to be. I—”

  “Rachel! Are you down there?” The stairs creaked as her brother came down them. “Where the hell is supper?” He stopped. “Oh. I didn’t know you had a customer.”

  “Obviously,” she muttered and glanced at her customer with a slight grin. He didn’t seem happy until returning her smile. The board for the last step gave a groan, and she turned to her brother. “This is my last bit of work for the day.” She slid the cuff out from under the sewing machine’s needle. “I’d like to introduce my brother, Isaac. Isaac, this is—”

  Her customer stood and walked over to Isaac. “Captain Patrick Sinclair. Your sister was kind enough to let me hire alterations after closing time.”

  After a brief hesitation, Isaac shook his hand. “Oh. A Union soldier, huh? I assume you’ll pay for the convenience. Or will you just steal from us as usual?”

  The fabric bunched under Rachel’s fist. “There’s no need to be rude. He’ll pay.” She stared hard at her brother. “Start the stove’s fire for me; I’ll be up there as soon as I’m done here.”

  “Very well.” Isaac nodded at their guest. “I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure.”

  “Likewise,” Patrick responded.

  Isaac frowned. “Rachel, we have a busy day tomorrow.”

  “I know, I’m hurrying.” She slid the second cuff under the needle and muttered, “The sooner you stop yapping, the sooner I’ll be done.”

  “I heard that.”

  “Don’t care,” she retorted as the door slammed shut. Isaac’s sour attitude toward Union soldiers had been why she’d cheered when he found work. Keeping him busy kept him from bothering customers like Captain Sinclair. “Sorry about his attitude. The war…” She turned the sewing machine’s wheel to dip the needle into the fabric

  Captain Sinclair leaned back while folding his arms. “That’s as good an excuse as anything.”

  Rachel paused before starting the machine. “Oh? Being bitter about a catastrophic event is an excuse?”

  “I meant reason. War is a good reason.” He shrugged with a sly grin. “Better?”

  She chuckled at his attempt to save the conversation. “Not really better, no, but a good try.”

  He chuckled. “Sorry. My sweet-talking skills are rusty. The war.”

  After snorting a laugh, she covered her mouth with a hand before saying, “Why do I think those two words are going to get you out of a lot of trouble with the missus in the future?”

  “You might be right.” He leaned back in the chair. “I’ll add ‘find a missus and think up some trouble for her to forgive’ to the top of my duty list.”

  “I see. You have a solid plan, there.” She couldn’t keep her face from heating after hearing he wasn’t married. “Good plan,” she added, turning back to her task.

  Rachel’s sewing machine hummed as she worked the pedal. She peeked at him to find he was staring at her. Her face grew hot at how he smiled when their gazes met. She focused on the hem and struggled to not sneak a peek at him again.

  The silence stretched between them until she said, “Isaac isn’t usually so short with me, really. He’s probably tired and hungry.”

  ‘I understand.” Patrick leaned forward, closer to Rachel. “I’d be in the same mood if someone was interrupting my evening plans, too.”

  “Oh, they’re not plans so much as a routine.” She sewed backward a few stitches to set the thread. “He values customers, just not when the shop has been closed.”

  “I do apologize for the lateness. You’ve been more than kind in taking my business.”

  “How could I resist when you begged me to?” Rachel asked, and pulled the pant leg from the sewing machine. She cut the thread. “It’s a simple enough fix and, unlike the dress, something I could do in no time at all.”

  “The dress? The one you were working on before closing?”

  He’d peeked into the shop, then. Rachel hoped he had stopped for her, but knew desperation for a seamstress drove him more than wanting to meet her. “Yes.” She began folding his pants and looking for stray threads or possible tears he’d overlooked. “I had to set it aside until after dinner.”

  “And I apologize again to you and yours about delaying your meal,” he said while standing and taking the garment from her. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Two bits,” Rachel replied. “We have standard rates, and I’m sorry, but Miss Ellie won’t allow credit since you won’t be in town long.”

  Patrick grinned. “Smart lady.” He dug around in his pocket. “Does the money go to you?”

  Rachel nodded. Working in the shop had rid her of a shyness concerning payment due a long time ago. “Part of it, yes.”

  “Good. You’ve done an excellent job.”

  She stood. “Would you like to try them on and test the length?”

  He held the pants against himself for a few seconds before folding them. “I trust your judgment.”

  She frowned. No one ever took her word the first time. She’d been second-guessed so often, people double-checking her work was a given. “Are you sure? I could be wrong.”

  Patrick tilted his head and gave her a searching look. “No, I don’t think you could be. Your work was fast but precise. I trust your skills.”

  She took the money. “Thank you, but this is too much for something as simple as ripping stitches and sewing hems. Let me return half at least.” Rachel went to the back of the room to the cash box. “There’s just enough left in the till to make change out of this.”

  He waved the hand. “Keep it. You’ve stayed open late just for me, and I know I’ve been an inconvenience.”

  Rachel bit her lip. A dollar fifty was too much for the work she’d done, yet every little bit helped. “If you’re sure?”

  “I am. You’ve made an ordinary errand more enjoyable.”

  She closed the money box and slid it back under the counter. They both had things to do this evening. Still, she didn’t want to say goodbye to him just yet. Rachel walked up to him, searching for anything to talk about and keep him there longer. “I don’t suppose with a name like yours you’re anything but Irish.”

  He smiled. “We’re Scottish, but we’ve been here long enough to be all American.”

  She nodded and said, “So have we.”

  “Scottish or American?”

  “Both,” Rachel replied and followed him to the door. “Stewarts have been here since the country’s beginning. We’ve fought in every war since.”

  “Your brother, too?” Patrick asked while pausing to lean against the doorframe. “I assume his limp is from a war wound?”

  “He and our father were injured.” She didn’t want to introduce their mourning into the conversation, but couldn’t omit the worst. “Isaac continues
to improve over time, but Pa didn’t recover.”

  “Sorry for your loss.”

  She unlocked the door for him. “Thank you. It was a dark time for everyone, I’m afraid.”

  “I agree.” He glanced out the window for a moment before turning to look at her. “I should go. We have an early morning tomorrow and a long day ahead. Plus, Mr. Stewart is waiting for his meal.”

  Rachel chuckled at the reminder. “I’d hoped he’d take the initiative and start cooking for us both. But you’re right. Tomorrow is an early day for us, as well. I hope you have safe travels.”

  He lingered at the threshold for a second before stepping outside. “So do I.”

  She closed the door behind him. Rachel watched for a moment while Patrick crossed the street. He’d have to hurry if he planned on reaching Fort Leavenworth by dark. She turned the lock, wishing they had tomorrow together. She’d love to know more about his life. To be honest, she’d like just listening to him talk about anything he wanted to. Any other time, she’d have found a way to keep him talking a little longer.

  She continued to watch as he reached a few horses tied up to a hitching post. Patrick looked toward the shop at her. Rachel smiled while hoping he couldn’t see her. He grinned and gave a slight salute before getting onto his animal. Her face burned even as she chuckled over being caught. She liked how the attraction wasn’t so one-sided. Maybe she could talk Isaac into setting up shop in Fort Dodge instead of Santa Fe.

  “I’d better go see what he’s doing,” she said to herself. Rachel picked up the half-finished dress and climbed the stairs. Isaac couldn’t be cooking, or she’d smell something burning by now.

  Isaac fed the wood stove’s small fire while squatted in front of the oven. “Did you finally get rid of the Yank?”

  “Yes, and I’m sad to see him go.”

  He snorted. “I’ll bet. He’s a pretty boy.”

  “Stop right there with your teasing.” She put the dress on the table and went to him. “Captain Sinclair is a good man, not like those other Union soldiers. He tipped me a dollar and a half for my troubles.”