The WESTWARD Christmas BRIDES COLLECTION: 9 Historical Romances Answer the Call of the American West
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“No, but thank you,” she said, smoothing out the fur collar that tickled her neck.
“It really is no trouble—”
“I would like to keep it.” She would not part with her winter coat until the wheels on the train began turning, and perhaps not even then.
Surely the train would leave soon.
“But you will be warm,” Mr. Barkley pressed.
Sighing, she inched closer to the window. Closed her eyes. Why did the men in her life never listen to her? All of them refused to accept that she was capable of making decisions on her own—like whom she would marry and where she would live and whether she wanted to keep her coat.
Eddie, the Starr family’s elderly groomsman, was the only exception. He was the one man who respected that she had ideas of her own, and he was her co-conspirator in her escape. He’d secured her trunk in a wagon last night before Patrick came home, and then he was waiting at five this morning when she emerged from the Starr family mansion on Davenport Street.
“All aboard,” the conductor yelled from the platform.
Lavinia’s heart raced as she scanned the crowd one last time, and when the two doors of the carriage closed, she took a deep breath, waiting for the train to begin its journey. Finally, she would be leaving behind a future as bleak as winters in this town. In New York she would find freedom from Patrick and the man he demanded she marry.
But then, just as quickly as the doors closed, they opened again. She glanced at the door behind her seat and then strained her neck, searching the front of the car. A man stepped up into the train and took off his hat, his black hair gleaming in the gas lamplight. She gasped.
Patrick had found her.
She started to duck, but her stepbrother rapidly scanned the heads of the passengers until he found her face. Then a smirk crossed his lips.
Mr. Barkley turned toward her. “What’s the matter?”
“That man—” she began, but didn’t finish. Instead, she reached for the satchel stored at her feet and leapt up, racing toward the back door. She couldn’t run fast or far in her wool coat, but she wasn’t going to give up now. If she didn’t hide, he would destroy her.
As she hopped down to the platform, she heard Mr. Barkley’s voice again. “Mr. Dittmar,” he said. “It is a pleasure, sir.”
She hoped Mr. Barkley would step into the aisle and profusely shake Patrick’s hand. It didn’t matter one whit whether he detained Patrick for selfish reasons or to protect her. All she needed was enough time to lose herself in the crowd.
She elbowed her way across the platform, people pressing against both sides of her.
“Lavinia!” The shout came from her right, but it wasn’t Patrick who called her name. It was Charles Mahler. The man she was supposed to marry.
When Charles shouted again, she froze. If Charles or Patrick caught her, they would never give her an opportunity to escape again. They would probably place a guard outside her chamber if they must, and the guard wouldn’t be a friend like Eddie.
The cold wind stung her cheeks. Her wool coat felt like an anchor chained around her traveling gown. But she couldn’t surrender to these men or the life they’d mapped out for her.
Determination sparked inside her, and she forced her feet to move left, away from Charles. On the other side of the platform was a second passenger train, but even if she ducked inside it, Patrick and Charles would search it until they found her.
Glancing around the platform, she looked for another place to hide. On the other side of the waiting passenger train, she saw a blur of movement, and then in the dim light, she watched the slow revolution of steel wheels, heard the rattle of freight cars preparing to leave the station.
“Lavinia,” Charles shouted again. “Wait!”
She didn’t stop to think. Lifting the hem of her coat and dress, she stepped off the platform, down into the rocky bed of the train yard, and over the tracks before crossing around the engine of the passenger train.
The freight train was three tracks away, the wheels circling faster. All the doors of the cars were closed. Except one.
Near the end of the train, one door remained partially open, a small portal just for her.
Bolting toward the door, she hobbled alongside the car, lifting her skirt to her knees before she tossed her satchel inside. Then she jumped through the narrow opening and hit the hard floor with a thud, her long coat cushioning her fall.
For a moment, she lay stunned on the steel floor. If her father were still alive, he would never believe it. She—Lavinia Kathryn Starr—had hopped onto a moving train.
She brushed off her sleeves, and when she righted herself, she glanced back outside and saw two shadows running across the yard toward her. Jumping up, she tried to yank the door closed, but it wouldn’t budge. At this pace, it would take only seconds for Patrick and Charles to catch her.
“Help me,” she prayed, the same prayer she’d uttered for eight years even though her plea always seemed to bounce back to her.
She watched in horror as the men drew closer, close enough for her to see Patrick’s sneer. When she’d threatened a trip to New York, he’d sworn that he would never let her leave, and now—
Suddenly the men stopped.
Confused, she glanced forward and then ducked back into the freight car as it passed by another train, still asleep on the tracks.
The men couldn’t chase her any farther. The train beside her blocked their path.
Lavinia slipped down onto the cold, straw-covered floor, her hands trembling. Then she began to laugh, relief pouring out with her laughter as she hugged her knees close to her chest.
She didn’t know which direction this train was headed, and she didn’t particularly care. Her two trunks may be on the way to New York, but she and her satchel would travel as far as this freight train would take them.
Neither Patrick nor Charles would be able to find her now.
Chapter 2
Aspen, Colorado
Rocky peaks towered like sentinels on both sides of the train tracks. Powdery snow clung to the peaks along the narrow valley and carpeted the banks of the Roaring Fork River below the tracks. Before Isaac traveled to Denver, there had been almost two feet of snow outside the entrance of his mine. With last night’s storm, it had probably grown to a good three feet or more.
Isaac buttoned his leather overcoat as the train began to slow and then reached for the suitcase above his seat. A freight train arrived in Aspen almost every weekday, delivering provisions to the town and hundreds of copies of the Rocky Mountain News. Until the snowy valley became impassable, the Denver and Rio Grande also delivered the few travelers who dared travel to the heart of Colorado’s mining country during winter. This train didn’t linger in Aspen. It quickly loaded the passengers ready to escape along with the mounds of silver from the mines and then returned north to Glenwood Springs and back to civilization in Denver.
Isaac had spent almost a week in Denver, assuring Marcus McCann, his brother-in-law, and other nervous investors that his men were about to uncover another silver vein at the Coronado Mine. Then he visited his brother-in-law and sister at their home. His sister had begged him to stay two more days and spend Christmas with the niece and two nephews he adored, but he had to return to his mine right away. Isaac and his men needed at least three months to unearth the silver vein, but the investors had given him just one more month. Thirty days to do the impossible.
The depot appeared ahead in the narrow valley, and he tapped his foot near the door as he waited for the train to stop. His desk would be piled with reports from his superintendent, but he would have to neglect those, for a day or two at least, in order to plan the excavation of a new tunnel. If they didn’t find this vein, Marcus would lose his investment—and Isaac would lose his savings as well as his home and property outside Aspen—but right now he was more concerned about what would happen to the forty-five miners he employed.
The engineer blew the whistle as the metal
wheels screeched on the tracks. Then a cloud of coal dust blackened the windows. He reached for his suitcase and stepped down onto the platform with a handful of men, most of them probably new miners hired to replace those who’d tired of the harsh conditions.
In spite of the cold, men—most of them employees of competing silver mines around Aspen—lounged on the bench outside the depot, waiting to return to families for Christmas or leaving the snowy wilderness until spring. They acknowledged him with a slight nod before he stepped into the depot.
The cramped room was blistering hot from the fire in the woodstove, and it reeked of steaming leather and sweat. He eyed the exit on the other side of the room. He would go directly from here to the Coronado Mine.
But before he reached the exit, the daughter of his mining supervisor moved toward him. Her raven-black hair was swept back at the nape of her neck, her long coat folded over the pale blue sleeve of her calico dress.
“Hello, Mr. Loritz,” she said quietly.
Isaac took off his hat and tucked it at his side. Most people in Aspen called him Mr. Loritz, but the formality still sounded strange to him. “Good afternoon, Miss Tucker.”
She blushed. “Please, call me Daisy.”
“Daisy,” he said awkwardly. Most of the women in Aspen were married, and they never asked him to call them by their first name. “You’re not planning to leave Aspen, are you?”
She shifted her coat to her other arm. “Just until spring,” she said. “My father says no lady should live out here between December and March.”
Isaac didn’t know much about the business of the ladies in Aspen, but he knew the majority of women who remained in town all year either ran a business or worked at Madame Dumont’s place. His best friend, Dr. Josiah Kemper, married a decade ago, and his wife and two children also stayed here during the winter, but they hibernated in their fancy Victorian house on the West End until the snow began to melt.
He stuffed his gloves into his pockets. “Are you headed to Denver?”
“To my cousin’s house outside the city, in the town of Highlands.” Her smile grew bigger. “Are you going to Denver?”
He pointed back toward the train. “I just returned from a trip to visit my sister.”
“The next time you come”—she blushed again—“perhaps you could pay a visit—to my cousin.”
He forced a smile. “I don’t believe I know your cousin.”
“Well, you should—” She stumbled over her words before her smile began to grow again. “I would love to meet your sister.”
He backed away, worried about the direction of this conversation. Daisy was barely sixteen, and Ned Tucker just might shoot him if Isaac hinted at any interest in his daughter without following through. And he had no intention of proposing to her or any other woman right now.
“I hope you have a splendid time with your family,” Isaac said with a slight bow of his head. Then he backed toward the main doors.
If his sister found out about the invitation, she would insist that he visit Daisy Tucker and her family when he returned to Denver. He was living in the shadow of his thirtieth birthday, and his sister thought it a travesty that he had not yet found a wife. Neither of them ever discussed the woman he almost married back in Philadelphia.
When he married, if he ever married, the thought of shipping his wife off to Denver for four months out of the year sounded miserable to him.
Daisy lifted her hand to wave at him before she moved to the platform. He almost turned back toward the exit when he saw another young lady on the platform. A stunning woman with a cream-colored winter cloak and strands of honey-brown hair escaping from her fur hat. As she strolled across the platform, she looked dazed, as if she weren’t sure which direction to turn.
Had she come from Denver as well?
He sighed. She was probably one of the new recruits at Madame Dumont’s brothel, and he hated the thought of this beautiful woman, just a few years younger than his sister, selling herself—
But perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps she’d come to Aspen for another reason. She could even be here to visit her husband for Christmas.
She walked into the depot, and when she looked up at him, he was struck by the color of her eyes—a crystal green that reminded him of a mountain creek in the spring, flowing from the runoff of melted snow. In her gaze, he saw a mixture of desperation and determination.
He stepped up to her. “Can I—” He started and then felt foolish. Surely she would have someone here waiting for her arrival. “Do you need assistance?”
She shook her head.
“How about your luggage?”
She didn’t smile nor did she flirt like Daisy. “I need to find a hotel.”
“Of course,” he said, relieved that she hadn’t asked for the brothel. He pointed toward the main street of Aspen. “We only have one here. It’s two blocks that way.”
She picked up her satchel. “Thank you.”
He stuck his hands into his pockets. “Are you coming from Denver?”
Fear flashed through her eyes, and he felt stupid. He never should have intruded on her personal affairs.
“I was there last night,” she said, her gaze locked on the exit.
Two men at the depot began unloading the passengers’ trunks and crates of supplies. “I can help you with your luggage,” he said.
“No—”
“It’s no trouble.”
She arched her shoulders, her eyes narrowing with frustration. “I don’t need help.”
He glanced back at the train, confused, but when she stepped toward the doors of the depot, he didn’t offer to assist her again. She reminded him of the wounded mountain lion he’d come upon last spring. The cat had been trapped in the rusted barbs of an old fence, but when Isaac drew close, it snarled at him, threatening with its claws. The cat had been determined to free itself without any help from him.
Isaac could do nothing to help this woman either if she didn’t want his assistance, but still he trailed behind her about a block to make sure she arrived safely at the hotel before darkness set in. He watched until she stepped up onto the portico of the Hotel Jerome, and then he walked along the shoveled path to his office, a half mile out of town.
The woman would be safe in the hotel for as long as she stayed in Aspen. He must focus on his work tonight—if they couldn’t find the new silver vein in thirty days, the Coronado would close its doors for good.
He would do everything in his power to keep the mine from failing.
Chapter 3
Lavinia shivered as she stood on the portico of the elegant hotel, looking into the picture window at the colorful glass bulbs and ribboned wreaths. The cold mountain air revived her, but it also frightened her. She’d spent most of her money on the ticket to New York and then spilled her remaining coins onto the ticket counter at the station in Denver to buy a ticket on a passenger train headed as far away from Omaha as possible.
The coins bought her a ticket deep into the Rocky Mountains, and she’d been elated, knowing that Patrick would never find her hidden in this mountain town. In New York she’d been planning to stay with a childhood friend of her mother’s, but she didn’t have any friends in Colorado. With the little money left in her money purse, she couldn’t afford even one night at the Hotel Jerome.
Where was she supposed to sleep?
Before her mother died, she’d never thought much about money. Her father—Albert Starr—had always taken good care of his only daughter, providing well for her and sheltering her from everything ugly in this world. Unfortunately, he married again eight years ago, bringing the very trouble he’d tried to protect her from right into the heart of their home. After his death, Lavinia’s stepmother made certain that Lavinia was keenly aware of how much it cost to provide for her. In the eyes of Omaha’s society, Eloise had cared well for her since Father’s death, but her stepmother didn’t have a choice—Albert Starr’s will stipulated that Lavinia receive food and shelter.
No matter what happened, she wouldn’t return to Omaha.
She stepped onto the wooden sidewalk and wandered past a barbershop, a saloon, a blacksmith. On the other side of the street was the Maroon Bells Mercantile and an assay office with a half dozen men crowded around a desk inside. The mountains that surrounded the village were majestic, but the white-laced peaks to the west were luring the sun quickly away from town. It wouldn’t be long, she feared, before the mountains swallowed up all of the sunlight. With her trunks on their way to New York, it was much too late to change her attire, but she wished she’d selected a warmer traveling gown and carried a muff in her satchel.
She passed by a dilapidated two-story house with a hand-painted sign hanging crooked in the window: ROOMS AVAILABLE.
Her heart racing, she knocked tentatively.
The proprietor was a weathered woman who silently surveyed the ruffles of Lavinia’s tailored mantle and the glass beads and silver motif embroidered in her lavender skirt and bodice. Lavinia inquired about work, but the woman said a lady in the house would be a distraction for the miners who boarded with her. Then she said Lavinia looked like she would be more burden than help anyway.
Shivering, Lavinia rushed from the house. She could not be deterred from finding a warm place to sleep and a meal for the night.
A block away was a second house—Cora’s Boarding. Taking a deep breath, Lavinia knocked again. A younger woman answered this door, her hair tucked back under a faded red bandana. Cora, she presumed.
The woman’s eyes narrowed when she saw Lavinia. “What do you want?”