David was proving to be a quiet man—if one didn’t count the coughing fits—and she didn’t. They slept a night in each other’s arms but nothing of marital prerogatives passed between them.
They entered a land of endless brown grass. They rode through stretches of snow too. She saw a huge herd of buffalo. Neither blizzard nor herd stopped the train, though she expected either could have done so.
Idleness didn’t suit her, and she’d grown hardily sick of the world moving endlessly past her window to the music of a clackety, smoke-spouting train, when they finally reached Medicine Bow, Wyoming.
“I wired ahead to have one of the hands bring the wagon and team into town once I knew when the train’d be coming,” David said. “If we hurry we can be at the ranch before sunset. I’d like to sleep under our own roof tonight.”
He shouted orders to men working around the train’s baggage cars, and they immediately loaded a wagon standing beside the tracks. A few more shouts from David and a man emerged from a livery stable leading a pair of well-fed brown horses, their coats thick with winter fur.
The weather was chilled but not painfully so despite a gusting wind.
As the back end of the wagon filled with crates, Megan began to worry that she’d need to walk alongside it. Well, no matter, she might prefer to move about for a change.
David found room for her on the high seat of his wagon. There was room for Ben, squeezed in between them. Zack was on her lap.
“It’s glad I am for you boys being close,” she said, hugging Zack tight. “It shelters me from the wind.”
David smiled at her as he slapped the reins to keep the horses moving as they left town. “It’s about an hour’s drive to the ranch. We could make it far quicker riding horseback and we’ll usually do that. Do you ride, Megan?”
“Never have I been astride a horse.” She didn’t mention leaping on that horse to save Zack. “There’s much to learn about Wyoming and that’s a fact.”
Zack squirmed around to look at her in amazement. “You’ve never been on a horse? Pa had me riding right from the start.”
“True enough.” David guided the horses onto a road frozen with ruts. “We moved out here when Ben was three and Zack just past two. I’d take both boys on my lap to ride into town for services on Sunday and we’d do the same if we needed to go for supplies, leading a packhorse.”
“I’m willing to learn. You boys can be my teachers; how about that?”
Ben smiled sideways at her. Zack snuggled deeper onto her lap. Megan could see the day when the four of them would make a likely family.
“Was your ma good with horses, then?” she said to Ben. White breath puffed from Megan’s mouth when she spoke, quickly whisked away by the wind. One of the horses tossed its head and the traces jingled like Christmas bells.
Ben said, “Ma never lived out here with us.” He didn’t sound very sad. He’d have been about three when his ma died. He probably couldn’t remember her.
Megan expected David to pick up the story, but instead, he seemed to withdraw. Megan wasn’t quite sure why. True, it was sad to bury a wife, but death came at a time of God’s own choosing. Kicking against the truth only hurt your foot.
“So how did you end up back east, David? I can see you love it out here. What took you away to begin with?”
David shook his head and gave the boys a significant glance that told Megan this was a subject he wasn’t willing to speak of in front of them. She scrambled around in her head for a new subject, but David’s mood was so surprising that her mind went blank.
“We meant to move west but kept delaying it.” David seemed willing to speak of his wife now, rather than of what took him back east. So that meant leaving Wyoming was worse than losing his wife?
Megan sat silently.
“Pamela liked the East,” David went on, his words cold as the ground. “She was born and raised in New York City. We met there, married there, and we lived there all through our marriage.”
“New York City? Not Chicago?” Megan wondered if it was right to prod, but she wanted to know more about her husband and, though he begrudged talk of his wife, he was at least, finally, saying a bit. Perhaps she’d ask questions about him leaving Wyoming whenever she wanted to learn something else.
“Yep, I—I left the ranch for New York City when I was seventeen.”
But why? Megan burned to know.
“I lived in New York until a couple of years ago. I came west when Pamela died. I want my boys to grow up in the clean air, with mountains around them and cattle to tend. It’ll make men out of ’em.”
Zack giggled. “I’m a man already, Pa.”
With a quick chuck of Zack’s chin, David said, “Reckon you are, son. You too, Ben.”
David rested his gloved hand on Ben’s head and rocked it a bit. Ben shoved at the hand in good-natured protest.
“You—you—” David fell silent and clutched his chest.
With a twist of terror, Megan knew she had to keep the boys from noticing their father’s struggles. The reins began to slip through David’s fingers and she reached over and took them. “I’ll be havin’ me first lesson on driving a wagon right now.”
There might be a lot to driving a team, but as far as Megan could tell, the horses knew the way home and all David did was hold on. She could do that.
David gave her a hard look as he struggled to breathe.
“Can you drive a wagon?” Zack caught hold of the reins from where he sat on her lap. It didn’t seem to affect the horses so she let him.
Barely able to tear her eyes from David, praying he wouldn’t fall from the high seat, she kept her voice steady with considerable effort. “It seems that I can, and if not, it’s time I learned, laddy.”
With Zack helping hold the reins, she reached behind Ben’s back and laid hands on her husband to pray while she distracted his sons and drove the team.
A sudden fit of coughing drew the boys’ attention. Megan saw worry lines on Ben’s face.
“You think you’re getting pneumonia again, Pa?” Ben patted David on the knee.
With a hard shake of his head, David wrapped both arms across his chest as if he wanted to hold his body together through pure force. Megan saw agony etched across his face. Their eyes met, and he had to know what his face revealed because he lowered his head until his broad-brimmed hat shielded his expression. “Just a cough, boys. Not pneumonia.”
The next cough cut off his words. Megan noticed a splash of bright crimson blood on David’s lips. Knowing he’d want her to protect his boys from worry, she snatched a handkerchief out of her sleeve and nudged David’s arm. He looked and she touched her lips with the kerchief.
“Cover your mouth when you cough, David. That’s just good manners.” Trying to sound light, she tucked the kerchief in his hand and he swiped at his lip, saw the blood, then covered his mouth. The deep, painful cough sounded as if it tore at his chest and throat.
“Ben, would you like to help Zack and me hold the reins?” That distracted both boys. Megan prayed as they rode on down the grassy, rutted trail.
The land along their trail had open stretches broken by woodlands. The trees got thicker, the hills higher and more rock-studded, as they rode. They curved around a jagged bluff and the land opened into a beautiful valley, surrounded by trees and bluffs but rich with flat grassland.
“We’re home!” Zack bounced in her arms.
Megan spied a lovely log cabin only a mile ahead. It was a single story high, with shuttered windows across the front. Smoke curled out of the chimney as if waving them home to warmth and comfort. It would be the largest home Megan had ever lived in.
The boys talked over top of each other as they pointed out a barn and several other outbuildings behind the house. There was enough thin daylight left so Megan could see corrals of sleek brown and black horses. Cattle dotted the vast, grassy valley beyond the buildings. Behind the corrals stretched a long building with a low porch and a hitching po
st out front. A man standing on the porch started toward them. Three more came out of what had to be a bunkhouse, pulling on heavy coats.
Megan wondered at this strange western world of horses and cattle and bunkhouses. She did indeed have a lot to learn. “Your home is beautiful, David.”
“That’s not my home. The foreman lives there.” David squared his shoulders and sat straighter as they curved more fully into the canyon valley. A large, whitewashed house appeared, nearly tucked into the trees on the valley’s north side. “That’s my home.”
Megan gasped. It was huge. Two full stories with an attic. Twice as long and twice as deep as the lovely cabin. There were glass windows. A porch with spindle railings ran across most of the front of the house. The roof had gables on the three sides Megan could see, and even in the dusk, stained-glass windows sparkled with color in those peaks.
“You live in a mansion.” Megan needed to readjust her thinking about her husband’s wealth.
“I grew up in the little house.” David retrieved the reins, and Megan was happy to let them go, the boys less so. “My pa built it. We were heading for Oregon, but we . . . we turned aside and found us a home here.”
The way he said it told her there was more there. Why had they turned aside from their previous destination? But right now that wasn’t what she wanted to know.
“Why did you want the larger house?” Megan waited in vain for her husband to respond. But his gaze was on the men ahead. Megan was grateful to see those who’d come out of the bunkhouse ambling toward the big house. They’d need help with their wagonload of supplies. David wasn’t up to it and there were many crates. It was daunting to think of doing it alone, though if need be, she’d have managed.
There was no smoke curling out of the chimney—chimneys, Megan corrected herself.
David climbed down to talk with an older man with bushy white brows and a full white beard. She saw the old-timer note the bloody handkerchief David clutched.
Megan took each boy’s hand and they went into the house.
Mansion indeed.
Right inside the front door, which was in the center of the house, a wide hallway opened on the left and right to large rooms. On the left was quite the most elegant room Megan had ever seen. Couches that looked too delicate to bear weight. Finely made tables scattered about, all in matching dark wood. Two lamps sat on tables alongside the sofa. The lamps were of elegantly carved brass, topped with light blue glass chimneys. Megan wondered how two healthy young boys had avoided breaking those lamps.
To her right through broad doors was another large room, but this one looked less intimidating. Far fewer things to break in here. Far less to dust too. The walls were lined with enough books to make her squirm with pleasure. She had little schooling, but she read well enough and she dearly loved a good book. Her whole house growing up, with eight of them, would have fit into one of these large rooms.
Men toted crates into the house, so she moved farther in to clear their path. Beyond the fancy parlor, a hallway was half filled by a stairway. On farther was a bedroom and a ridiculously large dining room with a dusty table stretching ten feet long. Next a pantry closet. She might have missed that door if the men hadn’t been carrying things into it. Past the pantry was the kitchen, which seemed to be the only room on this end. She peeked out a door and saw another big porch, this one enclosed. To one side was a flight of steps leading downward to a cellar.
Daunted from the work ahead of her to tend this monstrosity, Megan decided to get out from underfoot.
“Boys, is your bedroom upstairs?” She needed to get a fire going, but she wouldn’t waste energy building one in that parlor.
“Yep! Come and see!” Ben dragged on her hand, but she was happy to be led. They dodged cowhands and went back toward the steps. As she turned to abandon the chaos down here, she saw David leaning against the front door. He looked near collapse.
The foreman stood beside him talking. Megan met the foreman’s eyes, and he gave a tiny jerk of his head at David.
“You boys go on up. I’m going to speak with your da for just a moment. I want him to help with this tour.” The boys ran up with an undo clatter of feet and a fair amount of shouting.
“Howdy, Mrs. Laramie. I’m Roper. Dave’s foreman here on the Circle T. Welcome to Wyoming.” The man tugged at the brim of his hat by way of greeting.
“’Tis nice to be here, Roper. It’s pleased I’d be if you’d call me Megan. Are things in hand?” Megan assumed that the way the men worked, hard and fast, without asking David to help, meant they knew he was sick—though maybe not just how sick. She suspected Roper was used to handling things himself and would continue to do so.
“We have everything inside and most of it unpacked and shelved, boss. We’ll get out soon’ez we can. Brought a pot of stew over from the bunkhouse. We’ll have the fire going in the main fireplace before we leave. Lots of kindling stacked in the wood box in the kitchen that we’ll refill when need be from the mighty big pile outside.”
“Sure and it’s a fine job you’ve done of welcoming us home, Roper. Thank you. David, will you come up with the boys and me? I want you to show me around.”
David looked up, his eyes blazing. “You don’t have to pretend I’m anything but useless.”
Megan simply waited. If she didn’t need to pretend, then she wouldn’t. His temper faded but vivid life still flashed in his eyes. Megan couldn’t believe he was dying, but he believed it sure enough. The only way to convince him differently was for him to stay alive, and there was no fast way to do that.
“All right.” David’s jaw tightened into a grim line. “Maybe bring me a meal in bed, Megan.”
David was shaping up to be a bit of a stubborn ox. But there was no point getting angry about it. Megan was torn. Part of her wanted to hug him and let him lean on her as they went upstairs. Part of her wanted to shake him until he admitted there was no failure in accepting help while he got well.
Thinking neither reaction was quite appropriate, she just stepped back, exchanged a worried glance with Roper, and let David lead. David went straight to the room closest to the top of the stairs. As Megan moved to follow, she found the door snapped shut in her face.
Four upstairs bedrooms, each large and airy and cold. A bit of heat started coming into the upstairs, so the men must have gotten a fire going in the kitchen.
The chimney was bare brick exposed in the boys’ room. Megan felt sure that if she gained entrance to her husband’s room—which she’d do or know the reason why—she’d find the other side of this warm brick fireplace heating his—that was to say their—room too.
Well, she could read a closed door well enough.
Leave me alone.
Find another place to sleep.
But a wife’s place was by her husband at night. And he needed to eat too. For now she let the boys show her around, then they went downstairs and ate a hearty if flavorless stew with overcooked biscuits drenched in butter and honey, and milk.
Aye, and it was a fair home indeed. Ornery husband notwithstanding.
DAVE KEPT HIS BACKBONE STRAIGHT—MAINLY BY NURTURING his anger—until he got into his room. Then he nearly toppled over.
The ride home from the train station had nearly finished him.
Stripping down to his underdrawers, he was in bed before Megan and the boys got done making a fuss next door. He fell asleep to the sound of their talk and laughter.
His eyes opened to a soft knock on the door. Megan came in without being asked, carrying a tray of something steaming in a bowl. It smelled good but his bunkhouse cook was no genius. Still, being hungry helped make food seem tasty.
“We’ll make do with this stew tonight, and grateful I am for it.” Megan held the tray in one hand and a lantern in the other. She set it on the bedside table and only then did David realize just how dark it’d gotten. Megan must’ve been working a long time.
“But come the morning, I’ll be taking charge of your kitchen
and then we’ll see about feeding this family.” She sat down on the bed beside him. “Do you want help? I can spoon the stew if you’ve need of my assistance.”
Busily, she adjusted his pillows so he sat nearly straight up, then she tucked a napkin into the collar of his woolen shirt.
Shaking off the grogginess of sleep, he asked, “What time is it? How long did I sleep?” Sitting straighter, he reached for the bowl. “I can manage.”
He fought down a surge of irritation that he was so helpless, so useless. But it wasn’t fair to Megan to be annoyed. She was caring for him. He tried to think of once in his life when Pamela had brought him food, served him in any way. They’d had a cook in New York and a maid. Pamela got served; she didn’t do the serving. But she was delicate and beautiful and gracious. Dave was honored to be able to arrange for servants for her.
Megan McBride with her corkscrew curls and solid patch of freckles and work-worn hands was mighty different from Pamela.
Thank God for that.
He’d loved his Pamela something fierce. His wife had been stunningly beautiful, with a smile as bright as the noonday sun. Pamela was more than a bit spoiled, but so beautiful and kindhearted that men stood in line to spoil her.
Marrying her had been one of the finest things he’d ever done.
Megan was nothing like her. Megan was sturdy as a summer weed. Pretty enough in a very Irish sort of way. Quick thinking. A woman of action. She was all that he needed and nothing that touched his heart.
Pamela’s pale elegance and expensive taste appealed to Dave. He’d wanted a fine wife to match the fine fortune he’d made in New York.
He’d always intended to go back to Wyoming. He’d left for a good reason, his quickness with a gun. There’d been men hunting him, wanting to make a name for themselves by killing a known man.
In New York, he’d built a fortune with the same ruthlessness and deadly accuracy he’d brought to a gunfight.
Then he’d met Pamela and had fallen in love. That love had freed him of his driving desire to gain wealth. He had enough, and wanted to focus on his wife and the sons who soon followed his marriage. He wanted to return to Wyoming to see his pa after more than fifteen years of separation.
Margaret Brownley, Robin Lee Hatcher, Mary Connealy, Debra Clopton Page 23