by Karen Kirst
She steeled herself for his refusal, and she couldn’t blame him if he gave it. After all it was another woman, a wealthy one like herself, who had betrayed his friendship.
“I know it’s silly,” she added into the gaping silence. “But I don’t know anyone out here, except for the two of you, and I just thought…”
He shifted his stance as if to walk away. Disappointment cut through her. She’d been silly to think they could, at the very least, be friends.
“You trust us, right?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Yes.”
“So isn’t that what friends do?”
He didn’t wait for her answer. Instead he moved down the hall toward the front door. Delsie heard it click shut behind him. A few moments later she heard the soft, languid sounds of Amos’s harmonica coming from the direction of the porch.
She closed the door to her room and locked it, her mind in disorder. Myles hadn’t exactly accepted her offer of friendship, but he hadn’t refused it, either. Certainly that was a good sign.
His actions earlier in the stable and his obvious desire to protect her were also proof he might be warming up to her. The thought filled her with a measure of hope as she readied for bed.
Despite the fatigue and aches that continued to plague her body, she found sleep wouldn’t come easily. Instead she lay awake for some time listening to Amos play his harmonica and picturing a pair of haunting, chocolate-colored eyes.
*
Myles returned to the porch and took his seat on the step again. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Elijah perched on a corner of the house’s sloping roof. Amos continued to play his instrument, performing one melancholy ballad after another. Myles gritted his teeth in annoyance. The music didn’t help erase the memory of Delsie standing close as they’d brushed the horse together or the teasing scent of her hair.
He ran a hand over his face and released a frustrated breath. What had come over him that he’d given in to smelling her hair or testing the silkiness of it against the tip of his nose? And then she’d gone and asked to be his friend. Myles didn’t want to be friends with her—that path would only lead to further regret and pain. Better to keep his distance, although he hadn’t actually denied her request, either. He’d wanted to, but the honesty and innocence shining in those big blue eyes of hers had killed whatever refusal he might have made.
“Can you play something else?” he snapped, rising to his feet. “A livelier song, maybe?”
Amos lowered the instrument from his mouth. “I can. But first, you wanna tell me what’s got you wound up tighter than a noose?”
Myles stepped away from the porch into the empty yard. He didn’t want to talk. Doing so would only mean admitting he’d let his feelings get the better of him where a woman was concerned—and here he’d sworn them off only eight weeks before.
“This likely doesn’t need to be said…” Amos stood and joined Myles in the yard, slapping his harmonica against the palm of his hand. “But you need to remember Delsie isn’t Cynthia.”
“I know.” Myles glanced at the stars above.
“Do you?” Amos countered.
Myles shifted to give his friend a level look. Amos never could leave well enough alone. “All right, old man. What have you got to say?”
Amos gave an innocent shrug. “Not much tonight.” Myles crossed his arms and waited—he sensed a lecture. “I’ll only say this. I know you got reasons for not liking the kind of people Delsie comes from, and that’s fine.”
“But…” Myles prompted.
“But go easy on her. She isn’t some simpering female like Cynthia.”
Myles uncrossed his arms as irritation sliced through him. If Amos had harbored reservations about Cynthia Grover, all these years, the man should’ve voiced them long before now. “You mean to tell me, you—”
“Yes, I didn’t care for her.” Amos pocketed his harmonica and turned his attention to the starry sky.
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
The older man shrugged again. “I probably should have.” Silence filled the space between them for a minute or two before Amos continued, “About Delsie, though.”
That twinge of protectiveness, the one that had prompted Myles to have her lock her door, rose inside him again. Did Amos sense it? Myles had never felt a driving need to be sure Cynthia was all right. “What about her?”
Amos chuckled. “There you go, being surly again. I only wanted to say she’s proven her strength these last two days.”
Myles grunted in agreement. He never would have guessed she’d make it this far when he’d first seen her standing outside the Express stables in all her finery.
“She needs a friend.”
The words so closely echoed Delsie’s that Myles threw Amos a sharp look. Had the older man overheard their conversation and Myles’s noncommittal response? He swept his hand through his hair—he’d left his hat in the stable in his hurry to leave earlier. Being friends with Delsie Radford sounded dangerous and difficult—not unlike this journey they were taking now. Could he do it, though? Could he put a portion of his heart on the line to be her friend?
Amos rested a hand on Myles’s shoulder, much like Charles used to. A lump lodged in his throat at the recollection. The man standing next to him was the closest thing in the world he had to a father or a family anymore.
“Just think on it,” Amos urged. “That’s all I’m asking.”
Myles hesitated only a second or two, then nodded.
His friend strolled back to his earlier seat on the porch. The harmonica came out again, but this time, Amos played a rousing tune. As he listened, Myles’s thoughts drifted through the events of the day, settling on Delsie’s passing mention of her chafed skin. With only that fancy dress between her and the saddle, it was no wonder she was in pain.
A sudden idea filled his mind. “What’s the next place we come to where we can buy a few supplies?”
Amos paused in his playing. “We’ll pass Dobytown tomorrow. Why? What do you need?”
He gave a lazy shrug that belied the spark of enthusiasm growing inside him. “Nothing much.” Amos let the noncommittal answer go unprotested and returned instead to playing another lively tune on his instrument.
Crossing back to the porch, Myles sat down once more. He might not be ready to fully embrace a friendship with Delsie, but he could try to look out for her and ease her discomfort a little. And now he knew how.
CHAPTER FIVE
“I don’t understand. Why can’t we stop?” Delsie twisted in the saddle to watch the adobe buildings of Dobytown receding behind them. They’d charged right past Fort Kearney two miles back, as well. “It’s time to the rest the horses anyway.”
She turned back around in time to catch Myles’s scowl. “I told you earlier. Dobytown is no place for a lady.”
“But it isn’t like I’d be alone. I have the two of—”
“No.”
Delsie glared at him, irritation making her skin as hot and itchy as the sun did. Who did he think he was, ordering her around like a servant? She opened her mouth to argue further when Amos joined the heated conversation.
“What Myles is trying to say…” The older man shot Myles a pointed look, which solicited a momentary expression of contrition. Delsie needed to master such a look if it put him in his place. “Is that it might not be safe. Like I mentioned last night, Dobytown is usually rampant with drunks and harlots. We’d rather keep you outside its borders, than risk anything by entering them.”
She tipped her chin upward in her best imitation of a haughty matron. “I suppose when you put it that way.” But annoyance still simmered under her choking collar. She’d only wanted to take a peek at the fort or the city, not move in.
The conversation ended in strained silence as they followed the line of the Platte River. After another mile or two Myles announced it was time to stop.
Amos helped her dismount, and though she welcomed the feel
of solid ground beneath her shoes, walking around only intensified the chafing of her dress against her legs. Would her skin ever feel normal again? She’d tried scratching her thighs, discreetly, during their last stop, but that had only made matters worse. Now her legs felt raw and prickly as if a thousand pine needles had taken up residence inside her skirt.
After they’d eaten the small lunch she’d paid the last station owners to provide them, Amos spread out in the shade to take a nap. His snores filled the air almost immediately. Delsie was considering how to pass the time herself when she noticed Myles climbing back into his saddle.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
Without looking at her, he wheeled his steed around. “There’s something I need to buy back in Dobytown. I shouldn’t be long.”
“Buy? Why didn’t you just get it when we…” She bit her lip as a sudden thought penetrated her confusion. An awful, shocking thought. Anger followed quickly on its heels. “Myles Patton, you took an oath as an Express rider. And I will not be party to—to riotous behavior on your part. I won’t pay you a dime, so help me, if you’re planning to go—”
“Good grief, woman.” His exasperated tone cut off the rest of her indignant speech. “I’m buying a few supplies. That’s all.”
“Oh.” Her face felt twice as sunburned. “What about the horse? Isn’t he going to lag if you don’t rest him?”
“I’ll ride slowly.” He nudged the mount forward.
“But I didn’t think we needed anything else.” Why was he being so mysterious? She was paying him, after all, to get her to California quickly, not take in the sights. Not unless he planned to take her along, too, which he clearly wasn’t. “What do you need that’s so important?”
“I’ll be back soon,” he called over his shoulder. “Stay near Amos while I’m gone. I don’t want you walking around by yourself out here. Not this close to the city.”
Delsie’s jaw tightened as she glowered at his back. She wasn’t a child. Had he so easily forgotten how well she’d held her own the past three days?
“Oooo, that man,” she muttered as she whirled around, her hands balled into fists. One moment he had her feeling weak in the knees over his kindness and handsome face, and the very next he had her so mad she wanted to throw something at him.
She eyed her mare, debating whether to follow after him or not. He’d likely just drag her back the moment he noticed her coming up behind him.
Her gaze wandered to the river. The cool liquid looked so inviting she couldn’t resist the idea of wading into it. What if she took a quick swim instead? Amos would still be napping for a while longer—the man could sleep heavily anywhere, anytime. She could hike up the river a short ways, take a dip in her chemise and return before anyone was the wiser.
Myles’s warning repeated in her mind, but Delsie brushed it aside. She wouldn’t be too far away.
The thought of ridding herself of the grime and sweat of three days was too appealing. Surely it would help her chafed skin, too. Her mind made up, Delsie gathered her skirt in one hand and stole softly into the brush.
*
Myles fought to breathe through his mouth, instead of his nose, to avoid smelling the foul odor emitting from the trapper standing behind him. He was used to strong scents, having worked for years in the livery stable, but this man’s aroma surpassed anything he’d known before. The man was tall, too. His coonskin cap and long, greasy hair hovered a good six inches above the top of Myles’s hat. And the profanity spewing from the man’s chapped lips was as foul as his aroma.
Not for the first time since entering the confines of Dobytown, he felt relieved he’d convinced Delsie to stay behind. Though he’d nearly had to tell her his secret because of it. The woman could be downright determined when she wanted.
Raucous laughter filled the trading post. Myles’s lips curved upward, but not at the drunken joviality. The horrified look on Delsie’s face, when she’d suspected him of wanting to participate in one of the unseemly businesses offered in Dobytown, resurfaced in his mind. Wouldn’t she be surprised, and a little humbled, when she learned his real reason for coming back had to do with her?
When his turn came, he made his request to the clerk. “I need a pair of leather trousers and a good hat. Both in the smallest size you’ve got.”
The man moved away to collect the items. Myles let his gaze wander over the crammed shelves of the trading post. Was there anything else they needed or that Delsie might like? He thought of the lavender scent on her hair. Would she appreciate more soap?
“Anything else for you?” the man asked, after naming the price of the items he’d slapped onto the counter.
Myles leaned forward. “Do you have any soap? Maybe lavender scented?”
“Lavender soap?” the man repeated in a loud voice, his bushy brows nearly reaching his hairline. “What do you think I’m running here, a mercantile?”
The trapper behind Myles hooted. “Hear that, fellows. The Express rider here is gonna show us up with the ladies by buying one of ’em some soap.”
Myles ignored the ribbing, letting the man’s sarcastic tone roll off him. “Any nice soap will do.”
“I might have something in the back.” The clerk walked away, grumbling under his breath and shaking his head.
Would Delsie be pleased or angry with him for coming here to purchase things for her? Myles hoped the former. While he enjoyed seeing her dark blue eyes spark with determination, he liked her smile best of all. Or maybe hearing her laughter. Or taking in the sweet scent of her hair.
Myles frowned. He was acting like the friend she wanted, nothing more. Even the soap could be considered a friendly, kind gesture—if the clerk had any. He shifted his weight in impatience at the same moment a thought nudged him hard. Delsie’s in trouble.
Myles shook his head, dismissing the notion. She’d been fine when he left. There was no sense conjuring up false concern.
But try as he might, he couldn’t completely rid his mind of the thought. Then a sense of urgency seized him with a vicelike grip. He needed to leave—now. Something wasn’t right.
Jerking his money from his pocket, he hollered for the clerk. The man lumbered back into the room, a scowl on his face. “Here’s what I owe you for the trousers and hat.” Myles plunked the money onto the counter and grabbed up his purchases.
“What about the soap?”
“Maybe next time.”
After elbowing his way out of the crowded trading post, he untied his horse. He swung into the saddle and set off at a gallop down the street, his purchases clutched under one arm. He had no idea what awaited him—only that his need to reach Delsie, to ensure she was all right, intensified with every passing minute. He only hoped he wasn’t too late.
*
Delsie lay on her back in the water, not caring that she’d soaked her chemise from neck to knee. Her toes kept her anchored in the sandy river bottom. With her face turned toward the warm rays of the sun, she shut her eyes and focused on the gentle rush of the water as it flowed past her head and ears. She spread her arms out and let the river slide over and through her fingers. A feeling of freedom, of complete contentment, spilled out of her in the form of a soft laugh. Perhaps she’d have to make this a habit when they stopped.
Sitting up, she wrung out her unbound hair. She might have washed it properly, if she’d remembered to grab her soap. But she’d been so focused on the thought of being clean and cool after so many dusty hours in the saddle that she had slipped away without bringing anything with her.
Oh well, next time. Delsie scooped up some water in her hand and let it dribble back to its source. She didn’t want to leave yet, but she needed to wrestle back into her riding dress, wet as she was, and return to Amos before he woke up. Or worse, before Myles discovered she’d gone off on her own. Even if it was just a short distance. With a sigh, she started to climb to her feet.
“Well, howdy there, girlie,” a gravelly voice intoned.
&n
bsp; She whirled around, a startled gasp rising toward her mouth. The sound tangled in her throat when she saw three men watching her from the other side of the river. They appeared to be trappers, rifles hung loose over their shoulders, their beards unkempt, their eyes keen. Eyes that stared with undisguised interest at her.
“Out for a little dip?” the tallest continued. “A little far from town, aren’t you?”
Myles’s warning rang like a bell through Delsie’s mind and sent her heart crashing in panic against her rib cage. She shouldn’t have wandered off, at least not without telling Amos where she’d gone.
“Not a real talker, are you?”
Delsie glanced over her shoulder at the nearby bank. It didn’t seem so close now. Could she make it to the trees and back to Amos before the men overtook her? Perhaps the trappers were merely being friendly, though their attentive stares suggested otherwise.
Eyes trained on the men, Delsie tried to slow her pounding heart as she scooted a few inches across the river bottom toward the bank. Hopefully, her movements would go unnoticed until the last moment when she would have to jump up and sprint. To her horror, though, the tall trapper set down his rifle and stepped into the river.
“Why don’t you come on over here, girlie? We’re not so bad, once you get to know us.” One of his companions snickered and jostled the other in the ribs.
Fear prickled across Delsie’s skin, turning the pleasant water to ice. How could she have been so foolish? She scrambled backward, no longer caring if they saw. The trapper continued his deliberate advance toward her, his smile large and leering.
Delsie eyed the bank again. She might not be able to outrun the man, especially in her wet chemise, but she had to try. The sand beneath her hands registered in her fear-clouded mind. Scooping up a handful, to hurl at the man if needed, she bolted out of the water and pushed through the meandering current at a clumsy run.