Chance took her by the hand and led her out of the room. He closed the door and she suddenly heard the muffled sound of laughter coming from the other side.
“So?” he said, taking the untamed hair in his fingers.
“So—what?” she asked.
“Marta says I’m the perfect man for you. Is that true?”
Kitty closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.
Chance put his hands on her shoulders and drew her into his arms. “Tell me. Am I the perfect man?”
Kitty giggled. “Yes,” she said. “Yes.”
And suddenly, her plans to run away seemed to vanish. Indeed, had she ever experienced such contentment? Leaning into his arms, feeling the heat and hunger of his mouth cover hers, she was sure of it. This was where she belonged.
About the Author—Gail L. Jenner
Gail Jenner’s first historical, ACROSS THE SWEET GRASS HILLS, won a WILLA Literary Award. Her second novel, BLACK BART: THE POET BANDIT, placed in The Jack London Novel Contest. Most recently she has written four short stories and a novella, JULY’S BRIDE, for Prairie Rose Publications—in addition to six nonfiction regional histories. A retired teacher, she is a fourth-generation cattle rancher’s wife, a life that couples history and country living. She contributes to NPR/Jefferson Public Radio’s monthly historical series and has appeared on PBS’ Oregon Experience, History Channel, Mysteries at the Museum, and on Fox’s “Legends and Lies.”
Chantilly’s Choice
Niki Mitchell
A young woman must choose between a Pony Express rider and a wealthy rancher.
Chapter One
The distant snowcapped Sierra Mountains once brought Chantilly Walsh tranquility, but today they were silent witnesses to her grief and turmoil. Numbness filled her soul, walling off the wretched cold seeping through her threadbare coat and loosely knitted mittens.
A six-inch blanket of white smothered the flat ground where her older brother’s coffin rested in the open gravesite on the outskirts of Carson City, Nevada. Empire Cemetery sounded grand. It wasn’t.
Chantilly glanced toward the heavens. Dark, ominous clouds threatened to blizzard more misery to this forsaken territory.
Her fifteen-year-old brother, Matt, had been forced to grow up fast. His stoic face feigned bravado. If only she had words to comfort him.
Boot steps crunch-crunch-crunched as the preacher took his place at the far end of the grave. He pulled up his leather jacket collar, tightened his knit scarf and cleared his throat. “Dearly Beloved.” His breath puffed like a stream of smoke. “We are gathered here today to pay tribute to James Marcus Walsh, our departed friend and brother.”
Departed.
Dead.
Murdered at twenty-two.
The impact of Jamey’s death seized her stomach. Tears should be flowing down her cheeks, but she couldn’t cry. She’d lost the ability years ago.
“Be assured that Jamey is worthy of redemption.” The preacher folded his hands together. “He now rests with our Almighty Lord.”
She glanced to her left. Only a handful of people came to pay their respects. Not that she could blame anyone for avoiding such abysmal weather.
The sound of hooves pounded the ground along the snowy road to the north. A Pony Express rider kneed his horse and galloped toward town.
The preacher sang Amazing Grace. Others joined in. She mouthed the lyrics. Bible verses were quoted, but she didn’t listen. Instead, she thought about her brother being gunned down outside the Silver Dollar Saloon.
The preacher motioned Matt to come forward.
Before he moved, she placed her hand on his shoulder and gave an encouraging squeeze. “Know what you’re gonna say?”
He nodded, stared at the coffin in the ground, and walked next to the preacher. “I admired my brother. He taught me what it means to be a respectable man.”
Respectable? If only Matt knew the truth.
Matt continued. “Must’ve been about seven. I stole a lollipop from the general store. When Jamey saw the candy in my hand, he marched me back inside and made me apologize. He was a good brother. Always watched out for me. He shouldn’t have died.”
Bile crept up her throat. She choked on old family secrets.
Matt stepped next to her, giving a sympathetic smile. “Go on, sis. Jamey would want you to.”
The pastor nodded.
She swallowed the hard lump in her throat and plodded forward. Emptiness filled her as she struggled for the right words. In a withered voice, she lamented, “Brother, may you rest in peace.”
Making her way back to Matt, she reached for his hand.
Their neighbor, Missy, came forward. “Jamey might have been on the serious side, but I never once heard him say a bad thing to anyone. When my cane broke, he whittled me a new one.” The middle-aged woman held it up high. “He was a special young man.”
Jamey’s best friend, Daniel, rushed next to Matt and Chantilly. “Sorry I’m late.”
“You wanna speak?” Matt asked.
Daniel nodded and stood by the preacher. “Nobody could tell a story like Jamey. Always ended one with his infectious, hearty laugh. I’m gonna miss my good friend.”
The pastor paused, allowing time for another person to come forth.
No one did.
“We are comforted that Jamey is now resting with the Lord. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…” The preacher’s lifeless voice droned on. He threw the first fistful of dirt on her brother’s coffin.
An icy wind chilled her spine as she stared at the open grave. Jamey deserved better. She stooped down, grabbed the cold, gritty dirt, let it filter through her fingers onto his casket, and whispered, “What are we supposed to do now?”
Matt scattered two handfuls of earth. She thought she heard him mumble, “I’ll find the good-for-nothing lowlife who killed you.”
Her heart stopped. Matt would not seek revenge; not if she could help it.
The service ended. Most folks gave hasty condolences and hurried for the shelter of their buggies.
Daniel’s gloved hands held both of her mittened ones. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you or Matt.”
“I will.” She should feel comforted, but his hold felt stiff. As far as the blacksmith shop went, she and Matt would run it by themselves.
Matt said, “Thanks for coming here.”
“I’d best be getting back to the ranch, but I’ll be in town again soon. Don’t hesitate to send for me if you need me.” Daniel drifted to his horse and rode away.
Matt turned and embraced her. “Don’t worry, sis. Since I’m the man of the house now, you can count on me taking care of you.”
She held him at arm’s length. “We’ll take care of each other.”
****
Pony Express rider Blaze Steele, galloped along the long desolate road. He shouldn’t be working on Sunday, but the dang blizzard in Utah put him behind. He’d taken an oath to get the mail delivered on time. On the trail since sunup, he’d paused only long enough to get a fresh horse. Snow kept up a continual flurry—not heavy—although plenty annoying. Successful at completing his first two trips through this rough territory, his horse’s steady hoof beats kept him focused and urged him forward.
To the left, he saw folks gathered around a cemetery plot. What a dreadful day for a graveside service.
He curved right and continued on the Central Overland Route toward the distant city of Carson. Against the desolate desert tundra, he made out the faint outline of buildings and storefronts.
A man with a wagon full of hay, traveling the other direction, waved.
Blaze waved back, liking how friendly folks could be.
In another mile, he made it to Main Street. He slowed his horse to a walk and rode by the two-story Silver Dollar Saloon. A red-headed lady of the evening leaned over the top balcony, and called, “Hey, Handsome! You must be the new driver everyone’s talking about. Step in here. I’ll give you a welcome you won’t soon forget.”
He had no plans to visit, but being polite, he said, “Thanks for the offer. Maybe some other time.”
Her painted lips pulled into a pout. “If you change your mind, ask for Red.”
Miners, cowboys, and businessmen lined the boarded walkways in front of the general store, assay offices, and saloons.
He continued past the blacksmith’s shop and arrived at the Carson City’s Pony Express and Stage Coach Station.
Slim, the livery man, came out of the barn. “Any trouble getting here?”
Quickly dismounting, Blaze lifted the heavy mochila bag and handed it to Slim. “Snow slowed me some.” He unstrapped his saddle and put it on a wooden stand. “Nothin’ I couldn’t handle.”
The man’s expression turned sullen. “Reckon you rode by the Walsh funeral.”
“I did. Who passed?”
“Jamey Walsh, the blacksmith. Ran the shop with his brother and sister.”
During his last stay in Carson City, Blaze had passed the blacksmith shop and caught a glimpse of a shapely young woman wearing britches while shoeing a horse. Didn’t seem right to mention. “I’d like to see what horses you’ve got.”
“Let’s go inside and you can pick one.”
Blaze followed Slim into the barn. “Which one would you recommend?”
“Probably the quarter mix or the paint.”
Blaze watched the two animals for a few minutes. The quarter horse seemed a bit restless. He’d be fast, but not be as surefooted in snow. “I’ll take the paint.”
“Good choice. He’ll be ready for you before daybreak.”
They walked outside as a carriage stopped. A lanky young man immediately hopped down from the left side.
Slim offered his hand to help the gal from the blacksmith shop down. Her long dark braid fell to the middle of her back. “Thanks for loaning us the buggy.”
“Least I could do, after all you’ve been through.” Slim turned to the young man. “How you holding out?”
“Alright,” the young man said.
Blaze fixed his eyes on the woman. For someone who’s just buried a loved one, she seemed to be holding herself together.
“Chantilly, Matt, I’d like to introduce you to our newest Pony Express rider, Blaze,” Slim said.
Chantilly—a beautiful name. Reminded Blaze of something delicate, fancy, intricate.
“What happened to Rowdy?” Matt asked.
“Took a route out of Sacramento. Rumors are the ghosts of Fort Churchill got him spooked.”
Curiosity rounded the brother’s eyes. “You see any Injuns?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“Don’t pester the poor fellow, Matt.” Chantilly cocked her head to the right and looked at Blaze. Her eyes were light. Maybe blue? Green? Her features were soft, feminine, pretty…like her name. “Nice to meet you, Mr.?”
“Steele.” He looked down, hoping she hadn’t noticed he’d been staring. “I’m sorry to hear about your brother. Know how tough it can be. Seein’ as I’m fairly new in town, think I could buy you two supper?”
“No,” she blurted out, at the same time Matt said, “yes.”
She shook her head. “It’s been a long day.”
“Come on, sis. I’m starved. Besides, I’ve read ’bout the Pony Express. Wanna see if the stories are true.”
A strange sort of desperation grappled at Blaze’s chest. “How ’bout Missy’s?”
“I suppose.” She turned to Slim. “Thanks again for the buggy.”
“You’re more than welcome. Now, you young folks scoot.”
Blaze offered his arm. “Shall we?” Once she took it, he noticed the top of her head reached his shoulders. A bitty gal.
They walked a few yards and took the four steps up to the boardwalk.
“You get the name Blaze from dodging flaming arrows?” Matt asked as they continued past the assayer’s office.
Blaze laughed. “Nothing quite that noble. Must’ve been four or five. Seems I knocked over a lantern in the barn. Set the hay in the stall a blaze.”
By the bank, an older couple strolled in the other direction. Matt nearly stepped on Blaze’s toes as he scooted over to the right and gave the folks room. “You burn down the place?”
“Nope.” He glanced at Chantilly. Their eyes met for a brief second. She smiled and looked down.
Matt asked, “How’d the fire get stopped?”
Blaze said, “Pa grabbed a bucket, filled it with trough water and doused the flame. They called me Blaze, so I’d never forget what I did.”
“Got a nickname myself. Daniel Braddock calls me Ace.”
Blaze smiled. “Ace. I like it.”
“Daniel and Jamey was friends.” Matt spoke about Jamey, the older brother Slim had mentioned, who’d died. Matt continued with an enamored gleam in his eyes. “Daniel owns the Double-B Ranch, the biggest ranch this side of the Sierras.”
At the end of the block, they stepped down from the boardwalk and crossed the street. Blaze kept his pace slow and led her up the steps to the entrance. “You come to Missy’s often?”
“Been a few times,” she answered rapidly.
Blaze held the door open. Noise from the full dining room greeted them. Chantilly moved to a table in the center of the room. He pulled out her chair.
“Thank you.” Her voice had a soft, melodic quality.
He sat directly across and studied her. A heart-shaped face. Hearts went with Valentine’s Day. During the next five weeks, he hoped to get to know her better. Maybe she’d be his gal by then.
Missy walked up, glancing at Matt and Chantilly. “My condolences.”
“Appreciate it,” Matt said, as Chantilly nodded.
“Hello, Blaze.” Missy smiled at him. “You get stuck in that dreadful storm?”
“Caught the tail end. Have to say, the thought of your cooking kept me going.”
“This one could charm the rattle off a sidewinder.” The older woman’s rosy cheeks contradicted her white starched apron and severe bun. “Anyway, tonight we’re having chicken and dumplings.”
Matt let out a sigh. “My favorite.”
“If I recall correctly, Matt, everything is your favorite.” Missy laughed. “I’ll be right out with your supper.”
Blaze put his attention on the enchanting gal. “Chantilly’s an unusual name.”
She had a far-off, wistful gaze. “Ma loved the Chantilly lace collar adorning her wedding gown. Thought Chantilly was a pretty name for me.”
“I like it.” Seeing her luscious mouth smiling and her serious gaze glimmer with the hint of warmth, a spark of pleasure hit him square in the gut, choking his ability to speak.
Steam wafted off the bowls of dumplings and broth set in front of them.
Matt talked in between shoveling bites in his mouth.
Blaze remembered being gabby as a young lad. Always inquisitive, he’d asked his fair share of questions.
Curious about her interests, Blaze asked, “Chantilly, you have a favorite place in this town?”
“Hmm… nothing in town, but I find the riverbank, a mile east of here, peaceful and pleasant, especially during the spring and summer.” Her serene composure heightened her loveliness.
“I’d like to go there.” Maybe she’d go with him.
He and Matt had two helpings of dumplings.
Chantilly ate one bowl.
“Much obliged for the supper, Blaze.” Matt belched and tossed his napkin on the table.
Chantilly threw her brother a reproachful glance. “Guess we’d best head on home.”
Blaze stood and pulled out her chair. “I’ll be in town next Saturday, Chantilly, I’d like to take you to supper again, if you’re willing.”
“Maybe.”
At least she hadn’t turned him down. He smiled at her. “I’ll take that as a yes. Pick you up at sundown.”
****
Chantilly hadn’t declined Blaze’s offer for dinner. The adventurous Pony Express rider fascinated her.<
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Behind the shop, Matt and she entered their rectangular one-room cabin. On the far left, logs in the brick fireplace heated a large bucket of water hung on a hook. She walked over and warmed her hands.
Next to it, the cast iron stove needed tinder to heat the kettle and frying pan. Come morning, breakfast would be served at the battered dining table.
Near the window, dust lined the shelf stacked with jars, various books, the family Bible, a journal, and the business records. The roll-top mahogany desk was positioned directly below.
Pa’s old bed had been pushed to the back wall, closest to the fireplace. Matt slept in a loft, built above the room to the far right corner. Below the loft, her room had a partition around the front to hide her straw bed and give her privacy. With only enough space for a trunk inside her bedroom, her vanity stood with the mirror propped on the other side of the wall.
She sat in the rocking chair, in the middle area of the big room, and picked up a sock to mend.
Matt snatched one of his science books, turned up a lamp on the round table between them, and plopped into the reading chair. “I’m wondering if we got any money.”
“I’ve kept ’bout twenty dollars for household expenses in Ma’s old porcelain trinket box. Should last the next couple of months.”
“You saying, any shop money we make from blacksmithing will be extra.”
“I wouldn’t call it extra. We need to save for unforeseen expenses such as supplies, firewood, patching the roof, taxes, town levies. Let me check the shop’s records to see how much profit we’ve saved. Jamey had me enter deposits and debits from time to time.” But she hadn’t done that for three or four months.
She grabbed the record book from the shelf, sat at the desk, and flipped to November. “Do you remember Farmer Joe exchanging a cow for a set of wagon wheels?”
“Don’t recall any cow, but like Pa, Jamey had quite a knack at bartering. A few years back, he got a silver teapot for fixing a wheel. Managed to sell it that day to the tailor’s wife for a pretty penny.”
Lariats, Letters, and Lace Page 24