The Pony Express Romance Collection

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

  “Might rain tonight.” Edward’s voice carried no hint of concern.

  “Then she’ll get wet.” Hugh’s held even less. He may have married her ma, but he was no stepfather to her or her brother. “Whatever she put in the pot looks done. Come eat.”

  Edward shuffled to the fire. More steps announced that his older brothers, Carl and Arnold, joined them. The scent of scorched salt pork and beans brought Alannah a slender thread of satisfaction. The clatter of plates and spoons, an occasional grunt from one of the men, and the stomp of a horse’s hoof came from behind her. Whoosh of an owl overhead. Clicking of insects. Rustling and murmurs as members of the wagon train settled down for the evening.

  Where was Conn? Her brother had left to fill the canteens at the creek right before…before Hugh’s fist had knocked her unconscious.

  Alannah eased her right eye open. The left refused. Pain radiated from her left cheek, engulfing that side of her face. Careful not to move more than she must, she inched her head off the ground to peer above the prairie grass. The creek lay a quarter of a mile or so ahead of her. Their canvas-covered wagon was parked behind her in the large circle they formed each evening.

  The sky darkened until she couldn’t see the willows along the creek anymore. The night sounds swelled and overtook the noise of the wagon train. A sentry walked past on his circuit. If he saw her, he didn’t pause. The whole wagon train would know what had happened by now, but nobody would confront Hugh Bergman. Not since he’d beaten the wagon master half to death over a senseless dispute about where to camp one night. Now her stepfather ran the wagon train, ruling it by fear.

  Snores ripped through the darkness. The Bergmans had settled for the night.

  Alannah desperately needed water. She lifted her head and paused, then eased up on her elbow. The grass in front of her rustled. Fear of snakes spiked through her veins.

  “Lanna.”

  Conn. She stifled a gasp of relief, and then her brother was beside her, pushing a canteen into her hands. She raised it to her mouth. Wetness dribbled past her swollen lips. Her parched throat loosened after a couple of swallows.

  “We’re leaving,” Conn whispered. “But we’ll need food.”

  Alannah nodded and tried to stand. Dizziness overwhelmed her.

  He nudged her. “Stay. I’ll do it.”

  She wanted to hold him back, but he was right. They’d need food. Pa had trained them well to survive in the wilderness, only she was in no shape to be stealthy. Conn moved on cat’s paws toward the wagon.

  Alannah pushed to her knees. Pain washed over her. They had six hours at best before their disappearance would be noticed. They needed to be as far away from the wagons as possible. Even then, their chances of escape were slim. But if they stayed…She touched her face and winced.

  Conn returned and handed her a bundle tied in her shawl. “It’s all I could reach. Tie it around your waist.”

  The scent of biscuits drifted through the fabric as she knotted it. At least Hugh hadn’t hit her before she’d baked.

  “I can reach one of the horses without bein’ seen.”

  “No.” She grabbed his arm before he could move away.

  “We’d get a lot farther.”

  “They’d hang us for horse thieves.”

  Conn shrugged.

  “We’ll make it on our own two feet.” She put as much conviction into her words as her aching lips and throbbing jaw allowed.

  Her brother balked for a moment and then helped her to her feet. She swayed until he wrapped his arm around her.

  “The sentry will be by soon,” Conn whispered. “We got to move now.”

  They set off toward the creek and its concealing line of trees. By the time they reached it, the worst of the dizziness had passed, and she could walk on her own. They found the wagon train’s back trail and followed it. The dry ground would hide any tracks they might leave among the prints of hooves, boots, and wheels.

  Alannah fought the urge to run. If she did, she wouldn’t hear pursuers until they got close. Pa always said a steady walk would cover more miles than running. Conn matched her stride. Four years younger and still a couple of inches shorter, he had the boundless energy of any fourteen-year-old boy.

  They walked in silence throughout the night, the miles eaten away with each step, alert for any sound of pursuit.

  Hours later, Alannah’s muscles cried for rest when they topped a low hill. She halted. Conn stopped and looked back at her. She pointed to the east where a log cabin with an addition tacked on its end was visible in the lavender-gray of predawn. Three corrals lay behind it. She remembered the Pony Express station the wagon train had passed. They’d rolled by here toward evening, just hours after burying Ma in that shallow grave beside the trail.

  She and Conn had covered a lot of miles, walking much farther than the wagon train could travel in a day. The cumbersome loads pulled by slow-moving oxen favored steady above speed.

  Conn glanced at the buildings then stepped closer to her and angled himself to get a better view of her face. “If that feels half as bad as it looks, you must be hurtin’ somethin’ fierce.” Compassion softened his voice.

  Alannah turned her head so she could see her brother out of her right eye. Even that slight movement brought a gasp of pain she couldn’t suppress.

  “I sure hope he didn’t bust your jaw.”

  So did she.

  “I seen what he done, but I was too far away to stop it. I could see you was still movin’, so I figured to lay low, wait till dark, then sneak you out of there.”

  “You did right. Now we need a place to hide and rest.”

  She pointed to the hills that rose high behind the corrals. They could make it that far before sunrise. The trees would give them a place to hide during the day. Past that, she couldn’t focus enough to form a plan. Pain, grief, and bone weariness had taken their toll.

  Determination pushed her forward until she scrambled into a dense cluster of trees midway up the slope and collapsed. The trees grew in a shallow ravine, more a leveling off on the side of the hill.

  Conn collected some dry brush and wove it into a screen of sorts, blocking them from anyone on the wagon road or at the relay station below. Pa would have been so proud of him. He finished as the brilliance of the morning sun hit their hideaway.

  “I’ll keep first watch.” Conn took a deep gulp from his canteen and mopped his hand across his mouth. “You rest.”

  She shook her head. “We might as well both sleep while we can. If they track us here, we’ve nowhere to run and nothing to shoot them with. We’ll travel again once it’s dark.”

  Settled as comfortably as she could manage behind the screen of brush, Alannah relaxed when Conn lay beside her, his back pressed against hers.

  “You suppose they’re lookin’ for us yet?” he asked.

  “Yes.” A shudder passed through her. “They’ve known we’re missing for an hour or so by now.”

  “Would you do it, if we had a gun?” Conn muffled a yawn. “Would you shoot ’em?”

  She shrugged and touched her face. The rage that had fired within her since she’d regained consciousness still burned. She wasn’t sure, but deep down, she thought she might.

  Stewart McCann scanned the clouds on the western horizon and scratched his back against the doorframe. He should write a note to send to Fort Laramie with the next eastbound Pony Express rider. Another stock tender had run off, leaving him alone at Horseshoe Station again. The fourth tender he’d lost this summer. If he were a cussing man, he’d mutter a few choice words about that gold strike near Telegraph Creek. But he couldn’t really fault a man for preferring gold mining along a cool creek to sweating under a broiling sun in the middle of nowhere. There were days he wondered why he was here, why he’d ever left Virginia.

  A damp nose bumped his hand. He ruffled the long hair behind the dog’s ears. “What do you think, Zeus? Write that note or go hunting?”

  Zeus’s coal-black tail wh
ipped back and forth, a striking contrast to the blazing white of his chest and his copper muzzle.

  “You’re right. There isn’t a rider due until afternoon.” He leaned inside the cabin and grabbed his shotgun from above the door. “Let’s try for a couple of birds out back before those clouds catch up to us.”

  Zeus kept pace until they rounded the cabin, then he bounded ahead to the corrals. He ran to the last one and jumped against the fence, his nose reaching over the top bar. A large dun mare with a narrow white stripe down her face trotted over.

  Stewart stroked the mare’s face. “Not today, girl. We’re just going after birds. I can carry them back myself.” He hoped the next stock tender was a personable fellow. All this talking to his animals was starting to get worrisome. Before he knew it, he’d be as addled as the Widow Montgomery back home.

  Zeus sprang ahead as they reached the base of the hills and started to climb. The dog frolicked back and forth, poking his nose into any likely hiding places, and then he stopped. He sniffed the breeze blowing down the hillside. A low growl rumbled from his throat. This wasn’t a bird or a rabbit. Stewart tightened his grip on the shotgun. He should have strapped on his Colt Dragoon before he left the cabin.

  “What is it, fella?” he whispered.

  An oddly pitched whine for his answer, Zeus started up the hill again, stopping and sniffing the air every few steps.

  Stewart followed him past a couple of thickets, but the dog didn’t turn aside. He worked his way toward a stand of trees in a shallow ravine about halfway up the slope. Stewart grabbed hold of the long fur standing on the dog’s back. Zeus stopped.

  The hair along Stewart’s arms tingled. He knelt in the grass, scanning the trees. Something didn’t look right. Zeus growled again. Stewart wrapped his arm around the dog’s neck. The last thing he needed was to walk into an ambush. Bandits were a constant threat to the Pony Express stations. Their horses were the best the outfit could find. A constant temptation for horse thieves.

  He glanced back at the station. The horses dozed in the corrals. He surveyed the trees again. What had spooked him? Birds dipped and soared overhead. The breeze carried the metallic scent of the approaching storm. From below, a horse’s hoof stomped the hard ground. All appeared normal except that cluster of trees and the brush between…Why was there so much dead brush around the base of those trees? A tingle of warning tripped down his spine. He dropped to his belly. Whoever was behind it must have seen him by now.

  He half crawled to a low rock formation to his right, expecting gunshots to follow. None did. He slid behind the rocks, looking toward the trees framed by those ominous clouds. Zeus pressed against his side. Lightning split the sky in the distance, followed a few moments later by a rumble of thunder. The storm was coming faster than he’d thought.

  The big dog sat up and cocked his head. Stewart reached to pull him back down when a noise reverberated from the trees. He waited a few moments, listening to the steady rhythm of what could only be snoring. Another shaft of lightning split the sky, the thunder following quicker than before. Of all the stupid things. He was trapped behind an outcropping of rock listening to someone snore while the heavens prepared to wash him down the hill.

  Issuing a growl that made Zeus perk his ears, Stewart rolled away from the rocks and sprang to his feet. In a zigzag pattern meant to lessen the chance of anyone getting a good shot at him, he ran toward the clump of trees. Zeus bounded beside him. Stewart crashed through the brush with his shotgun level at his waist and almost tripped over a pair of bodies lying on the ground.

  Brush crashing, twigs snapping, and a dog barking woke Alannah. Conn yelped. Pain pounded her head. Fear pinned her to the ground. Conn stood above her. She tried to roll over, but a wave of pure agony threatened to empty her already empty stomach.

  “Who are you?”

  The harsh words came in a voice she didn’t recognize.

  “We’re nobody you need to point that scattergun at,” Conn said.

  Gun? Alannah pushed herself onto her elbows, belly to the ground. Her head pounding so hard every tooth hurt, she turned far enough to see a pair of tall boots, brown britches, and the smooth bore of a shotgun aimed at her brother.

  “No.” Her voice more a croak than a protest, she scooted out from under Conn and stood beside him, one hand on his shoulder to steady herself as the world spun.

  “Merciful Lord.” The stranger’s voice dropped to a whisper. The barrel of the gun tipped toward the ground. Smoky-brown eyes bore into hers, making her want to cover her mangled face. She resisted and met him stare-for-stare. He wasn’t a big man, but he was easily a full handspan taller than she. His jaw, peppered with the same sable brown as the hair hanging from beneath his battered hat, tightened with his frown. “Who did this to you?” The muzzle of the gun tipped toward Conn.

  “Not him.” She tried to step in front of her brother, but Conn blocked her. She almost didn’t recognize the blazing green eyes beneath his unruly thatch of russet hair.

  “She’s my sister.”

  “Then you should have protected her.”

  The rage inside Alannah flared to life.

  Chapter Two

  The fiery-haired woman in front of Stewart raised her chin. Porcelain skin made a stark contrast to the lurid swelling that engulfed her left eye, upper lip, and cheekbone. Dried blood lay in sketchy trails from a cut above her brow.

  Born the middle of seven brothers, he’d seen enough fights to know what a punch to the face looked like. Anger churned in his gut. What type of man would do this to a woman? It was hard to judge her age around the damage, but she was old enough to be married. He paused. While he’d been taught from an early age to treat a woman gently, the law sided with a man’s right to discipline his wife as he saw fit.

  “Was it your husband?”

  “I have no husband.”

  Emotions he couldn’t decipher played across the beautiful side of her face and flickered in the blue-gray depths of her good eye. He believed her. A blinding flash of lightning, followed by a ground-shaking explosion of thunder, pulled his gaze from her.

  “We need to get to shelter. This storm is coming fast.” He cast a glance at the boy, a wiry youth beneath that tangle of red hair. “Can you help your sister down the hill?”

  The boy cast a glance to the west. “You ought to know there are fellers who’ll be followin’ us.”

  “The ones who did this?”

  The boy nodded, his mouth a grim line.

  Stewart grunted. Trouble he didn’t need, but neither could he leave the pair here. Zeus whined and pressed against his leg. The dog had never liked thunderstorms. Stewart wasn’t too fond of them either, especially surrounded by trees on an otherwise open hillside.

  “Bring her to the cabin. Nobody will travel in this.”

  Zeus bounded down the slope and paused only to make sure the humans followed. The boy slipped his arm around his sister. They started down the slope ahead of Stewart. Another jagged spar of lightning crashed to the ground less than a mile from them.

  “Hurry.” He took the arm on her other side. Ignoring how she stiffened at his touch, he half carried her down the slope, sliding and jogging by turns. They made it to the corrals before the rain unleashed. Even so, they were soaked through by the time they got inside the cabin.

  Larger than it appeared from a distance, the cabin walls still closed in on Alannah when the man shut the door. The stench of wet dog and wet clothing filled the space before her breathing calmed to near normal. She took refuge behind a chair close to the far wall and gripped the back of it. Fear and rage stripped her of speech. He’d hauled her down the hillside like a sack of cornmeal.

  He ignored her and turned to Conn. “What’s your name, son?”

  “Fagan. Conn Fagan. And I ain’t your son.” Her brother wore that mulish expression she knew only too well.

  “That’s a fact. I meant no disrespect. I’m Stewart McCann, stationmaster here at Horseshoe.”
/>   He stuck out his hand. Conn stared at it for a moment, then glanced at Alannah. She shook her head the tiniest bit, but Conn clasped the offered hand anyway.

  “Seems you’re in a bit of a fix.” The stationmaster cast a glance at Alannah. “I’d like to help if I can.”

  “Why?” The word slipped past Alannah’s lips before she could stop it. Why would he want to help them? He was no kin of theirs.

  “Because the Good Book says we’re to help those in need. I reckon you’re as in need as anyone I’ve come across in a long time.”

  Alannah released a hissing breath through her teeth. Talk of the Good Book or not, once Hugh Bergman showed up, this man’s fine words would mean nothing.

  “I could use somethin’ to eat.” Conn’s stomach rumbled loud and clear.

  The stationmaster clapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the small table with two benches beside it. “Have a seat. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Having shaken water all over the cabin, the big dog rested his head on her brother’s lap.

  “That’s Zeus.” The stationmaster plunked a frying pan on the stove. “He’s the one who found you.”

  Alannah glared at the dog until the man spoke again.

  “What’s your name, miss?”

  She didn’t want to tell him. It was ridiculous, and she knew that, but she didn’t want him to know her name. She wished she didn’t know his. Him or his dog. She wished they’d never found her and Conn. Outsiders always meant trouble.

  “Alannah Fagan.”

  Conn sent her an apologetic shrug. “I think it hurts her some to talk.”

  “I imagine it does.” The stationmaster turned his attention back to the stove.

  Alannah watched him put together the makings of cornmeal mush. He smiled her way.

  “It’s not the tastiest meal, but you should be able to swallow it without too much trouble.”

  He’d chosen to make the mush for her? Why would he care? She wasn’t gullible enough to believe that Good Book stuff. Ma had believed it. She’d made sure Alannah and Conn went to hear preaching whenever the circuit rider came to the valley. Alannah used to think there was a God in heaven somewhere. Not anymore.