The Pony Express Romance Collection

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

  It went on from there, recounting family times and holiday memories, favorite hymns they longed to sing with her again. All of it was chock full of familial love, making this letter more precious than those he’d already delivered, even without knowing the contents of any of the others.

  He hadn’t a clue why Adora would have broken away from such a family, but their hope for her to return was clear. Especially in the line that made him keep the contents of this letter to himself until he could deliver it in person.

  Your father is so very sure that your great inheritance is really and truly all yours, my dear Adora. It was just the Denley pride that blinded Father for a time, for which he begs your forgiveness. We both plead with you to come home. Please, please come home. We await you with love, so eager to see you that we’re sending this to San Francisco by the quickest route available, none other than the Pony Express.

  We pray soon to share with you the many blessings that are ours.

  With everlasting attention,

  Your loving mother

  Your great inheritance. Whatever it was, it was likely considerable, knowing they owned their own lake and Adora knew how to ride horses for pleasure. Soaring over hedges conjured an image of a painting Chip had once seen of an English fox hunt, some silly sport only the rich in England ever practiced. Everything about this letter spoke not only of love but also wealth. So why had Adora escaped to the very edge of the country?

  San Francisco was the farthest of his recent destinations. Knowing he was to let her letter go soon reminded him he must forget the irrational images he’d nurtured these past few months. If Adora was as young and pretty as he’d imagined her to be, she was likely already married in a town that boasted so many men. Perhaps she wasn’t even here anymore. If not, he prayed that somehow she’d find her way back east to claim her rightful inheritance. This letter was business, hers and hers alone, and had nothing at all to do with him.

  Sunday afternoons in the park had become Adora’s favorite time of the week, and not just because Roseleen’s kitchen was closed. Adora happily twirled the one and only parasol she owned; she’d brought two with her when she’d left home, but one had been shredded in her first encounter with a sandy North Beach wind.

  She smiled up at Dirk, who walked beside her in Russ Garden while they both enjoyed the fine weather. He told her about a time he’d pulled to safety his favorite dog that had fallen through a crack in lake ice, and she marveled at the bravery of a boy who was then only eleven years old.

  “I’m sure your parents were so proud,” she said, “but they would have worried themselves sick if they saw you risk your own life to save him.”

  “Of course,” he said. “But I didn’t do anything my own dad wouldn’t have done, had he witnessed the poor thing falling in.”

  She patted his forearm beneath her gloved hand. “Then he could hardly have scolded you, could he?”

  Dirk smoothed the black mustache that barely concealed a reminiscent smile. “He wasn’t the scolding kind. A gentle soul, really.” He winked at her. “You would have liked him, my dear, and he would certainly have liked you.”

  “He—he’s gone, then?”

  “Yes, nearly five years now. A fever spread through town, and he was delivering supplies to our neighbors when he took ill himself. He died quicker than the neighbors did.”

  “I’m so very sorry, Mr. Stanford!”

  “Dirk, please,” he said, looking around as if to make sure no one else could hear. “At least when we’re alone?”

  She smiled. “Dirk.” She breathed in the fresh, albeit slightly salty, air. Who would have thought just five months ago she’d find herself so content? After her hope of teaching at San Francisco’s high school had soured due to one dastardly lie about her virtue, she’d never have imagined learning to trust another man so soon. “You’ve been wonderful company, Dirk. Other than Roseleen, I haven’t a friend in town.”

  “The way people come and go around here,” he said, “myself included, who has time to make friends? I planned only to be here long enough to see about an investment, but I must say the pleasure of your company has convinced me to stay.”

  “Spending time with you has been a blessing for me, too.”

  “I’ve decided to remain as long as it takes to persuade you to accompany me back east.” Then he winked again.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d hinted at taking her back east, and sometimes the idea was downright appealing. But then thoughts of her father’s interference, control, and ultimate judgment reminded Adora to stay as far away from him as this continent allowed. Besides, working in Roseleen’s kitchen wasn’t so bad—a notion always easier to believe on her day off.

  “The way we met was rather a miracle,” she mused, thinking of that day over two months ago.

  He chuckled. “Yes, I was able to save you, but alas, not the bread.”

  She’d been walking briskly away from Boudin’s at the North Beach when a gust of wind blew her straight into Dirk, who had been walking from the opposite direction. She almost went down—indeed, the bread flew right out of her hands—but Dirk had caught her in his strong arms. He’d insisted upon replacing the bread then seeing her home to make sure no further mishaps could assail her.

  “I hope,” he said, pausing in their perambulation to turn and take one of her hands in his, “that it was enough of a miracle to let me believe we met for a reason. Perhaps for some greater purpose? I do not know what circumstances brought you so far from Ohio, but maybe returning east will help you rediscover the little bit of peace even I haven’t been able to bestow.”

  She caught her breath. How could she doubt they were perfect for one another? Somehow he knew her better than anyone else, and so quickly! He interpreted her moods and words with far more accuracy than anyone had before. Even Roseleen hadn’t guessed she’d lacked true peace since running away from home—not that Adora had shared any details, much as she liked Roseleen.

  Adora squeezed the hand that held hers. “Thank you, Dirk,” she whispered, “for caring enough to see so much in me. You make me feel quite…special.”

  “And, dare I say it? Loved?”

  The burst of affection swelling inside nearly made her throw her arms around him, but Adora held back. Perhaps it was nothing more than the boundaries of polite society she carried from home, but even in a city as young as San Francisco, those boundaries were not to be crossed. More likely, however, she still suffered from the residue of being the target of talk and innuendo that barred her from the job she thought hers. She was determined to prove herself the lady she was.

  “We ought to get back to Roseleen’s,” she said. “I believe she made a cake to go with our tea.”

  Chapter Three

  Chip looked up at the chandelier suspended from the parlor’s ceiling. It would accommodate either gas or oil, and it wasn’t the only impressive feature of the room. The marble mantle, gold carpet, and several oil paintings suspended on the wall all spoke of wealth—at least, wealth at one time. The wallpaper in one upper corner was beginning to peel, and the arms on the settee and side chairs were worn.

  An older man had answered the door to this boardinghouse, but said the owner was in the kitchen and had vowed not to come out until she’d finished her baking. Surely she was almost finished with that, judging by the sweet scent of cake teasing his senses. The man, who hadn’t given his name, took a seat nearby, not saying a word.

  “Oh now, Jed,” said a woman coming in through the open pocket doors of the parlor, “you ought to have told me we have a visitor. I’d not have made him wait to say we don’t have any rooms left for now.”

  “I’m not looking for a room.” Chip neared, extending his hand, which she accepted after wiping her own on the towel looped through a belt at her soft waist. “My name is Chip Nolan, and I have a delivery for a Miss Adora Denley. I wonder if she might reside here?”

  “What sort of delivery?” This came from the older man, not the
woman who appeared so instantly pleased that Chip was sure she’d been about to say Adora was here. At least they hadn’t just sent him on his way telling him they’d never heard of her. His pulse ticked up a bit.

  “A letter,” he said, patting his familiar, now clean, shirt pocket. The contents still offered the whisper of tissue-thin paper. “It was lost a while back but came into my possession a couple of months ago. It’s my duty to deliver it into her hand. So if she lives here, or if you know where Miss Denley resides, I’d be grateful for your help.”

  “Why, she lives right here!” the woman proclaimed, stepping forward with a hand outstretched as if to assume responsibility for the letter herself.

  Chip took a step backward, his hand once again shielding the letter. Beneath those pages it was as if he’d swallowed fireworks. Emotions burst in every direction. She was here! He would meet her at last. My dear Adora…

  “I’m afraid the envelope was destroyed before I found it, ma’am,” he said. “So I’m honor bound to hand it directly, and only, into her possession.”

  The old man, Jed she’d called him, now stood. A new look grew in his eye, one balanced between curiosity and suspicion. “So the envelope was destroyed, you say? How’d that happen? And while you’re explaining that, maybe you can tell us in general how the letter came to be in your possession to begin with, ’stead of through some regular means of delivery. We do have a post office right here in San Francisco, you know.”

  The woman gave a little laugh and patted the older man’s chest, though she did cast a gaze at Chip with heightened scrutiny. “Adora—that is, Miss Denley—is a sweet little thing and we wouldn’t want any bad news for her. We’re naturally curious about a letter since it’s the first she’ll receive since she arrived some time ago. But you’re right in saying it’s only for her, not for us. Isn’t that right, Jed?”

  His eyes were still narrowed as he looked at Chip, but he nodded nonetheless. “I tell ya, Roseleen, we’ve got to keep askin’ questions when these young’uns keep comin’ after such a pretty lass as her. Somebody’s got to watch out on her behalf, and it might as well be us.”

  She laughed again. “The way you interrogated that Mr. Stanton the other day, I’d say Adora is well cared for. Now, Mr. Nolan, I hope you’ll stay for tea and cake? Adora should be back any minute. With her friend, Mr. Stanton.”

  Chip was itching to ask what kind of friend Stanton was, but there was no way to do it without admitting to the jealousy he was just beginning to feel. How could he explain he’d become fond of Adora only by means of her letter? He was an impersonal delivery boy; more accurately, he acted as Lewy’s arms and legs, a Pony Express rider who needed to complete his delivery. Those once associated with the company might not be expecting as much, but at least Lewy would know everything that had been lost was soon to be restored.

  Only the government’s money remained missing from the original load, but that was another mission altogether—and one for the army. Not that they had the luxury of going after anything but Southern rebels these days.

  “I’ll stay long enough to deliver the letter, ma’am.”

  “And mebbe explain why you come to have it in the first place?” Jed asked.

  Chip gave a nod. “If Miss Denley cares to know.”

  Adora stepped into the parlor with Dirk at her side. She saw immediately there was a new gentleman in their midst, his back to her. A new boarder, no doubt. She was struck by the width of such strong shoulders, the length of his legs filling out sturdy trousers. Before she could say a word, he must have sensed her arrival because he turned to stare as if he’d expected her.

  “Adora? Adora Denley?”

  As impolite as it was to return such a level gaze, she could do nothing but. And hadn’t she the right? He’d just said her name! “Yes, I’m Adora Denley.”

  He let out a breath as if he’d held it far too long then stepped closer. He entirely ignored Dirk and, for that matter, Roseleen and Jed. He seemed entirely focused on her.

  “I wonder if I might speak to you in private?” he asked. “I have a letter for you, one you may want to read alone.”

  “A—letter?” She was thoroughly confused now. It was true she’d sent Margaret Graysmith a letter that included her San Francisco address, but that had been long ago and without a word in response. Adora was convinced Margaret had turned her back on Adora because of her impetuous escape, so she hadn’t written again. Besides, she was too embarrassed over losing her teaching position. If Margaret—or anyone else—had sent her a letter, it would be the first in nearly six months. Why now, after all this time? And…delivered by courier? Nothing made sense.

  “It was sent via the Pony Express, in one of its last packets.”

  “Ha!” the high-pitched, accusatory laugh came from Jed. “You ain’t no Pony rider, that’s for sure. Them were boys—men, some, but no way big as you are, fella.”

  The newcomer twirled the felt hat he held by its wide brim. It was larger than the derby hat Dirk wore during the week, more practical than the silk top hat he sported today while accompanying her to church. Mr. Nolan’s hat was a working man’s, or traveler’s. Perhaps this man was both—but, as Jed said, he surely did not fit the image of the wiry young boys who, up until last fall, used to race through the countryside on the nation’s fastest ponies.

  “My little brother was a rider,” the man said, still looking at Adora rather than Jed. It was as if he wouldn’t take his eyes from her until his delivery was complete. “He was attacked just west of Julesburg, in Nebraska Territory. The mochila was stolen and he was left for dead.”

  “How awful!” said Roseleen.

  Adora nodded in agreement. For some reason she, too, was unable to break from his gaze. “That is a dreadful story, sir,” she said softly. “Your brother survived, I hope?”

  “He did but barely. A coachman traveling along the route spotted him and took him to the next station.”

  “How is it that you recovered the stolen merchandise, then?” Although Adora wanted to know, too, Dirk had beaten her to the question.

  The man spared little more than a glance Dirk’s way then aimed the answer at Adora. “My brother identified his attackers. One was his own stationmaster, likely because he’d been told ahead of time there was a shipment of demand notes coming through for new recruits out here in California. Not gold, but as good as real money since the notes can be used as currency just about anywhere. Unfortunately the notes were gone by the time I tracked down the stationmaster, but he kept the mochila more or less intact. Odd, since he couldn’t read a single letter himself—he was illiterate—but wanted it as memorabilia. Last run of the line, or close to it.”

  “And so you took the contents that were left and…are delivering them?” Adora was enthralled with Mr. Nolan’s tale, though it began to sink in that his adventure had brought him to her for a reason. Someone must have taken the time and expense to send a letter through the fastest service available. Who would do such an extravagant thing? Certainly not her family! And Margaret Graysmith hadn’t the means to do something so expensive.

  “Yours is the last letter to be delivered,” he said then broke the gaze long enough to clear his throat and add, “San Francisco was the farther destination, with most of the other letters for businesses in or around Sacramento.”

  He took a step nearer, pulling something from his pocket. “It’s a personal letter,” he practically whispered as if they were the only two in the room, “so you might want to read it alone.”

  “See here now,” protested Dirk, “you can’t possibly know the contents are personal.”

  The stranger frowned, as if half-embarrassed and half-offended at the inference that he’d read her letter. “I’m afraid the envelope was nearly destroyed—perhaps during the attack or when the thieves rifled through looking for money. I had no way of knowing where to deliver it, except to read it.”

  She felt her eyes grow wide. “You—you were able to find me witho
ut an address?”

  “Yes, miss. It wasn’t so hard since I knew you were here in San Francisco.”

  “That’s not much to go on,” she said.

  He offered a half smile that drew her gaze to his mouth. He had strong, white teeth and a tiny scar on his chin—indeed, the only flaw to an otherwise handsome face.

  “Between tracking down the robbers, the journey here, delivering the rest of the pack, and then searching San Francisco, I figure the letter is about five months late. I’m sorry for that.” He put the letter into her outstretched hand while everyone else looked on.

  “Th—thank you,” she said, her hand trembling the moment his fingers brushed against hers. “I do believe I would like to read it in private, as you suggest.”

  “Yes, miss,” he said.

  She turned away, seeking her room upstairs, but felt his presence behind her as she left the parlor before she’d even turned toward the stairs. He was just turning to the door when she spoke.

  “You’ll stay until after I’ve read it, won’t you?” She had no idea why she’d expected him to remain. She was more than grateful that he’d completed such an extraordinary task, though she hadn’t any way of rewarding him. Still, she must do something…

  Unless he knew the letter contained such bad news that she would no longer feel like entertaining company. Suddenly she had to know, yet wasn’t sure she could summon the courage to read it.

  She stepped closer to put a hand on his forearm, staring up at him intently. “Is it—is it bad news, sir?”

  He offered her a full smile now, even patted her hand. “No, miss. It’s good. Every word of it.”

  Relief poured over her. “Oh, thank you! You’ll stay, won’t you? I’m eager to read it, but if you’re already familiar with the contents, perhaps you can wait?” Then, her heart soaring as she recognized her mother’s handwriting, she looked back at him, wishing she knew his name. “It’s from my mother! Oh, do stay, sir! Besides, I believe I smell evidence of a cake. Surely I can reward your efforts with that much?”