The Pony Express Romance Collection

by Blakey, Barbara Tifft; Davis, Mary; Franklin, Darlene

  They bowed their heads in silent prayer and thanksgiving before turning back. George and Martin rode together as far as the restaurant, where the aromas and sounds of dinner filled the air. The scene with Dawson might not have happened.

  “I know you’re anxious to get back to the station, but I suspect you would like a few minutes with my daughter.”

  Martin couldn’t stop the smile spreading from ear to ear. “Yes, sir.”

  As soon as they reached the door, Caroline ran out to meet them. Her eyes raced between them. “I’m not sure who I want to hug first.”

  With a wink at George, Martin took her in his arms. “Me. Because I’m going to be your husband, if you’ll have me.”

  She put her hands together, fingers steepled beneath her chin. “Yes, yes, and yes again!” He gathered her in his arms and kissed her.

  All across the restaurant curtains twitched. He released Caroline and twirled her to face all the gaping faces. “She said yes!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.

  The first star of the night came out, God shining His light of blessing.

  Bestselling author Darlene Franklin’s greatest claim to fame is that she writes full-time from a nursing home. She lives in Oklahoma, near her son and his family, and continues her interests in playing the piano and singing, books, good fellowship, and reality TV in addition to writing. She is an active member of Oklahoma City Christian Fiction Writers, American Christian Fiction Writers, and the Christian Authors Network. She has written over fifty books and more than 250 devotionals. Her historical fiction ranges from the Revolutionary War to World War II, from Texas to Vermont. You can find Darlene online at www.darlenefranklinwrites.com.

  Her Lonely Heart

  by Cynthia Hickey

  Dedication

  Thank you to God for His never-ending supply of stories, His patience, and His humor. Thank you to my husband, Tom, who takes care of things while I’m on a deadline, and thank you to my family for understanding when I’m stuck in my office chair. I love you all.

  I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.

  Hebrews 13:5

  Chapter One

  Cottonwood Station, Kansas 1860

  Sadie Mathewson shaded her eyes against the harsh prairie sun. The Pony Express rider was over an hour late and his replacement had long since finished his biscuits and gravy.

  “I gotta go, Mrs. Mathewson.” The lanky replacement rider slapped his hat on his head. “Whatever the fella is carryin’ will have to go with the next rider through here.”

  “Yes, I’ll fetch your horse.”

  “I’m going with him.” Josiah, her twelve-year-old son, stomped from the house.

  “No, son. We’ve gone over this before. The advertisement said orphans preferred.”

  “Preferred, not mandatory.” His face wore a sullen look. “This trading post is boring. I want adventure.”

  “I thought you enjoyed the horses and watching the wagon trains head west.”

  “Not anymore. I want to be a Pony Express rider.”

  Just last week, he wanted to be a farmer. “We’ve gone over this subject until I’m numb. We’ll speak no more about it.” Sadie twitched her skirts and headed into the cool dimness of the building where her ten-year-old daughter Ruth wiped down the one counter.

  “Is Josiah really going to join the Pony Express?” Ruth tossed the rag into a bucket. “I want to go. I don’t see why girls can’t ride horses.”

  “Girls can ride horses, just not as Express riders.” Maybe the paper wasn’t such a good idea for her children to read. It put ridiculous notions in their heads.

  “Ma? Come quick.” Josiah peered into the building just long enough to call out for her.

  What now? Sometimes the duty of running the post and exchange station was more than Sadie could bear. She missed her husband. With a heavy sigh, she joined her son outside.

  A rider, leading another horse, headed toward the station. As he got closer, Sadie was able to see that he was an Indian. On the second horse slouched a smaller form. “Josiah, fetch my rifle. Quick now.”

  He dashed away, returning as the Indian stopped in front of Sadie. She cradled the rifle in her arms. “State your business.”

  “I found rider.” He slung his leg over the saddle horn and slid to the ground. “Boy fell from horse and hit head. He yours?”

  While she’d not had trouble with the neighboring Kickapoo tribe, Sadie kept her distance and moved to the other side of the boy’s horse. The leather mochila draped over the horse’s flanks clued her in to the poor boy’s identity. “He’s a Pony Express rider.”

  “I take into hut.” The Indian pulled the boy into his arms and marched into the building.

  Sadie hurried, but not before Ruth let out a blood-curdling scream at the sight of their visitor. “Hush, child, and fix a pallet in the corner.” She propped her rifle against the counter. “I thank you, Mister…”

  “Name Eagle.” He laid the boy on a worn quilt.

  “Well, Mr. Eagle. I’d like to repay you for your kindness.”

  He straightened and fixed stern dark eyes on her before his gaze moved to the shelves. “I take that red cloth.”

  “Very well.” She’d hoped to sew herself and Ruth new dresses, but hopefully someone would come along with more material to trade. A boy’s life was more important than vanity, anyway. She pulled the bolt of fabric from the shelf and handed it to Mr. Eagle.

  “You no man?”

  She stiffened. “He’s gone.”

  “Away or dead?”

  “Dead.”

  “You the nice widow people talk about.” He gave a nod and ducked back outside. Seconds later, the sound of hoofbeats signaled he’d left.

  Sadie sagged against the counter to catch her breath then knelt next to the unconscious boy. Blood matted his dark hair over a lump the size of a chicken egg. “Josiah!”

  “Yeah?”

  “Excuse me?” She narrowed her eyes.

  “I mean…yes, ma’am?”

  “Much better. I need clean water and rags. Ruth, fetch me the canteen.”

  While her children scurried to do her bidding, she ran her hands over the boy’s arms and legs looking for fractures. Nothing appeared broken. God willing, he’d open his eyes soon and tell her his name.

  “Here’s the water. I’ll care for the horse.” Josiah stared down at the boy. “I could take his place, Ma.”

  “No.” She dipped the rag into the water and worked at washing the boy’s face and wound. “I said to say no more about riding. You’re the man of the house with your pa gone. What would I do without you?” Loneliness already assailed her from morning to night. With one of her children gone, she feared her knees would buckle from the weight of it and she’d never get up again.

  “What do you mean he’s gone?” Luke Stetson folded his newspaper and set it on the table next to his empty plate.

  Mrs. Rotsman, his housekeeper, twisted her apron in her hands then dug a note from her pocket. “He left you this.”

  Luke frowned and unfolded the slip of paper and read, “Gone to be a Pony Express rider. Will come back when I’m grown. Mark.”

  That confounded boy! Luke had told his younger brother numerous times that he wasn’t a good enough rider for the Pony Express. At fourteen, he was frail and small for his age, not to mention his frequent bouts of asthma. Ma must be rolling over in her grave at the misconduct of her youngest. When had he found the time to disappear and sign up?

  “What do you plan to do, son?” Father peered over the financial section of the paper. “I’ve a medical office to run. One I hope to leave to you someday. I can’t go traipsing after that fool boy.”

  “I’ll have to go after him.” Luke didn’t have time to chase a wayward boy either. He groaned and pushed to his feet. “Pack me enough food for a week, please, Mrs. Rotsman. I’ll be leaving within the hour.” Mark couldn’t have gotten far. All Luke needed to do was follow the Express trail.

 
; “Make it fast.” Father rattled the paper. “There’s business aplenty for both of us here.”

  By hour’s end Luke had saddled his horse and headed west, his father’s orders to bring Mark back quickly ringing through his head. Ten miles later, he came to the last stop in Kansas, the Cottonwood Station. He dismounted and looped the reins over a hitching post, surprised that no one had come to greet him. With this post, the last of “civilization” before the really rough part of the trail, he’d expected a bit more courtesy.

  He stepped through the open door of the station and let his eyes adjust to the dim recesses of the large room. A woman and a young man sat at a table. “Mark?”

  His brother turned his head slowly. “Luke, don’t yell. My head is pounding already.”

  “I ought to give your head a good knocking. What were you thinking?”

  The woman stood, a scowl on her pretty face. “Sir, I don’t know who you are, but this boy is recovering from what could have been a serious injury. Please lower your voice and improve your attitude.”

  “Injury?” Luke was at his brother’s side in three long strides. “How?”

  “Horse got spooked and my skull said hello to a rock.”

  “An Indian found him and brought him here,” the woman said.

  He parted his brother’s hair, noting the large lump. “An Indian?” He held up two fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  Mark slapped his hand away. “Two. I’m not blind, but I am nauseous and I feel like ten men are mining for gold inside my head.”

  “No, you’re not blind, but you are an idiot. You have a concussion. How’s the breathing?” They wouldn’t be going anywhere for a few days. He turned to the woman. “I’m Dr. Luke Stetson, and this scalawag is my brother. Thank you for caring for him.”

  “I’m Mrs. Mathewson. This is my post. I trust my son took care of your horse?”

  He shook his head. “No one greeted me, ma’am.”

  The color fled from her face. Her rosy lips formed an O before she dashed outside.

  “Stay,” Luke told his brother before following Mrs. Mathewson outside.

  She raced to the stables. “Josiah!”

  She stopped inside the door and turned to Luke. “Your brother’s horse and mochila is gone. My son has taken his place.” She covered her face and sagged onto a bale of hay.

  Being a doctor, Luke wasn’t a stranger to a woman’s tears. These weren’t tears of pain, however, but of despair, exhaustion, and frustration. All emotions he knew nothing about. He patted her shoulder as if petting a strange dog. “There, there, it will be all right.”

  “Seriously, Dr. Stetson?” She lunged to her feet. “You saw what happened to your brother. My son is only twelve!”

  “Most Pony Express riders are twelve to eighteen. Is he a good rider?”

  “Yes, thank the good Lord.” She sighed and swiped her hand across her eyes. “Are you hungry?”

  “A bit, but I wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble.” She brushed past him and back to the house.

  He followed, relieved to see his brother lying down. “Perhaps you have a bed we could use while he recovers?”

  “I’ll have my daughter fix one up. Sit, Dr. Stetson. Supper will be on in a bit.”

  “What about Josiah?” the little girl asked, following her mother out of sight.

  Luke sat at the table and fiddled with his hat brim as his hostess explained to her daughter how naughty her brother was. Where was Mr. Mathewson? Surely, he would arrive soon and head out to look for the boy. It appeared he and the Mathewsons had something in common in the way of wayward boys.

  In a few minutes his hostess plopped a plate of stew in front of him and sat in the chair opposite him. “I have a request.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Anything.”

  “I want you to help find my boy.”

  “Where’s your husband, if you don’t mind my asking?” He tried to keep his attention on her and not the delectable aroma drifting to his nose from his supper.

  “Drowned six months ago. I can’t leave this station.” She shook her head. “I’ll have another rider arriving in a few minutes and no relief for him. The best I can do is give him a fresh horse, a bite to eat, and send him on his way without a rest. Your brother getting injured disrupted the entire schedule.”

  “You act as if this is my fault.”

  “No, sir, I’m asking for your help. I’ll have to send a message along with the next rider explaining our predicament.”

  “What if I take Mark back to Marysville and tell them you need another rider?”

  “Rather than help me, you mean.” She set her jaw.

  He sighed and dug into his food. “I’ll help you.” He was sure to regret agreeing to this, not to mention Father’s uproar when Luke didn’t return as soon as planned. But how could any Christian gentleman ignore the plea in this woman’s deep-brown eyes?

  Chapter Two

  The sound of pounding hoofbeats signaled the arrival of the last rider of the day. Sadie pushed to her feet and pulled the letter she’d written from her pocket. In the morning Dr. Stetson would set out to bring Josiah home. If God showed favor on her, her son might beat the doctor back when sense returned to his head or when he rode the trail east past the station.

  She refilled the rider’s canteen, gave him a sack with bread and cheese, a fresh horse, and sent him on his way with a prayer for safety. The route past her station was fraught with danger of Indians, wild animals, and lack of water, growing more dangerous the further west the boy rode. The train couldn’t reach them fast enough, in her opinion.

  When she reentered the two-story cabin, Dr. Stetson was helping Mark up the stairs. Sadie could hear the boy’s wheezing from where she stood.

  “What can I do?”

  “Hot coffee, for him and me. A pot of steaming water and a towel.” The man carried his brother up the stairs as if he weighed nothing.

  “You heard the doctor, Ruth. Come help me.” With one last glance outside, Sadie locked the door against intruders and headed for the kitchen. Once the pot was heated, she carried it upstairs, with Ruth trailing behind with the cups of coffee.

  Dr. Stetson had Mark propped up in bed, a small bedside table pulled close. “Set the pot there, please.” He opened a bag next to him and pulled out a small dark bottle. He sprinkled a few drops into the water, then draped the towel over Mark’s head and the pot and commanded him to breathe deeply of the eucalyptus steam.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Sadie motioned Ruth from the room. It wouldn’t do for her daughter to hear what was ailing the young man.

  “Asthma. The hard ride through the prairie caused a flare-up. We’ll be here for a few days.”

  She bit her lip to stop from asking about Josiah. Unless she heard differently, her son was fine, while this young man struggled for every breath. “This is my room, but the two of you are welcome to it. I’ll bunk with Ruth.” She quickly gathered her night things and turned to go.

  “Mrs. Mathewson?”

  She transferred her attention back to the doctor. “Yes?”

  “Please make a list of what you need help with around here. I plan on earning my and Mark’s keep.” He ducked his head as if to dismiss her.

  She stared, dumbfounded, unsure whether she should be insulted or pleased. “That is not necessary.”

  “I beg to differ. I’ve seen the state of the buildings.” He peered under the towel. “If you don’t give me a list of what needs doing first, I’ll come up with my own.”

  “Very well. Thank you. I’ll have it ready for you in the morning.” She closed the door behind her and headed to her daughter’s narrow bed.

  “Is Dr. Stetson going to be my new pa?” Ruth’s small voice drifted from the bed.

  “Good heavens, child. What an idea.” Sadie put on her faded nightgown and climbed under the muslin sheet with her daughter. “Of course not. He’s only here until his brother is w
ell again.”

  She stared through the dark toward the beamed ceiling. It would be nice having a man around again, even if for a few days. There were a lot of things that needed to be done that Sadie either couldn’t do or didn’t have time for. With Josiah gone, her list of chores had grown.

  The doctor seemed quite capable of handling the heavy chores, not to mention how easy he was on the eyes. While her Frank had been pale, Mr. Stetson was dark, with eyes the color of the prairie sky that seemed to see right through to the core of a person. Frank had been a dreamer, more in love with the idea of running a trading post and Express station than actually doing it. The doctor seemed more grounded, seeing what needed doing and determining to get it done.

  She sighed and rolled to her side. What if she were to ask him to stay…permanently? She heard tell of a widow in Nebraska who asked the first handsome man to darken her doorstep to marry her and, according to the stories, they were quite happy together.

  She groaned. The idea was stupid. Nothing more than a dream. No man wanted a woman in the middle of nowhere. Especially a man with a degree. Perhaps, when Josiah returned home, they’d sell and move to town. She could open a bed-and-breakfast or a small restaurant. She was a hard worker, and smart. Why age before her time under the harsh sun of the prairie?

  She smiled. She had two options. One was to ask the doctor to marry her. The second was to sell and move. Both, while daring, and the first one bordering on improper, seemed like rather good choices.

  Luke woke to the smell of bacon. He stood, every bone in his body protesting after spending a night in a hard chair, and glanced at Mark. Still pale, still struggling a bit to breathe, but not as bad as the night before. Luke placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I’ll bring you breakfast.”