West Winds of Wyoming

by Caroline Fyffe

  When he didn’t say anything she took hold of his arm and gave it a good shake. “You listen to me. This town ain’t fit for cockroaches anymore, let alone decent folks like you and me. And now this trouble between you and Grover Galante. He’ll not let you be until he kills you. Then where will that leave your little girl? With an old woman, living in a den of thieves? There’s no one else here to care for a blind child after I die, and you know it. I’ve already sold anything I had of value that won’t fit in a carpetbag. I’m ready anytime you want us to go.”

  The old woman’s idea had been his only choice. His only way to get Maddie out of town quickly. After Miss Baxter and Maddie had departed on the stage—boarding in the neighboring town to throw off Galante’s suspicions—he’d breathed a sigh of relief. With his daughter out of harm’s way, he’d been able to concentrate on selling the gunsmith shop. But finding a buyer had taken longer than expected, and so had planning his departure without leaving any traces or information about where he’d gone—all while staying out of Galante’s way. He fingered the healing scar on his cheek, remembering the fight the one time when he hadn’t.

  Once he departed Wilsonville he’d spent a month heading in the opposite direction of Logan Meadows, and then doubled back over difficult terrain, just in case Galante trailed him. The man’s vengeance ran deep, though in some ways, Charlie didn’t blame him.

  Now he was here, about to start a new life, one where he wouldn’t have to be worried for his daughter’s well-being.

  A job had been his first concern, since the money he’d gotten for the sale of the shop was going to be spread thin between finding a suitable place for them to live and having the means to hire a tutor, a woman he’d corresponded with who could teach Maddie to read Braille. And there was Miss Baxter. She’d fulfilled her promise by delivering his daughter safely to Logan Meadows. He’d reward her well for taking care of his little one.

  Tired, he pulled up an old stool and sat. He needed to go slowly before barging into his daughter’s life without warning. Make sure he hadn’t been followed. Make sure he wasn’t bringing danger down upon her—or anyone else. He’d not pull the rug from beneath Maddie’s feet again. He’d not disrupt her life until he was confident that coming back into her life was best for her, and safe.

  The barn door rattled as someone knocked.

  He stood. “Come in.”

  Nell pulled the door open and approached with full arms. The handle of a lantern was draped across one forearm, the golden light enveloping her as she came forward. “I meant to give you these before you retired tonight.” She set the blankets on the bench.

  A peace offering. An amends for the knife comment.

  He smiled. “Thank you, but you needn’t have bothered. I have my bedroll.”

  She hung the lantern from a nail on the wall and went over to check her horses. “The temperature’s been dropping pretty good. You may need the extra bedding. The barn can be drafty if the wind picks up.”

  “In that case, I appreciate the gesture. Oh, and thanks for supper. It was good.”

  She nodded and turned to go, but he found himself wanting her to stay. He didn’t know why. “You planning on going into town for the school open house?”

  The lamplight reflected the questions in Nell’s eyes, stirring him in a way he hadn’t felt since the snowy day he’d met Annie outside the Wilsonville mercantile. Walking ahead of him with another woman, Annie had slipped on the ice and he caught her before she fell. When she’d looked up into his face and smiled, his whole world tilted. Since that day until the accident, it was Annie who’d filled his life with happiness and love.

  “In Logan Meadows?”

  He nodded when her question pulled him out of his reverie. He supposed it was an odd thing for a stranger about town to ask. “Yeah. Earlier, just seemed you were interested in the article in the paper. Thought you might actually go.”

  She nodded. “We may live out of town but we’re still part of the community. If we get the work done, we should. You willing?”

  He shrugged. “Sure. You’re the boss.” He’d use it as a way to check on Maddie again. See how she was faring. Maddie, his little ragamuffin, who’d been hounding him for a ma for the past year. “I’ll be good, Pa. Even though I can’t see doesn’t mean I’m helpless. I’ll make a new ma love me.” She’d put her hand on his cheek. “I want a ma more than anything else in the world.”

  Nell went to the stall of the injured horse and opened the gate. The mare took a wary step back, but Nell placed her hand on the horse’s forehead, between her eyes. The animal relaxed. Moving to her shoulder, Nell slid her hand down the mare’s leg and picked it up. The horse stood completely still, even without a halter. Charlie was impressed.

  “What happened to her?”

  “Caught her foot in the fence.” She probed the inside sole of the horse’s hoof with her fingers, then pushed firmly with her thumbs. The horse didn’t seem to notice. “She nearly bled to death before we found her. It’s been a long recovery. She’ll never be a saddle horse again, but she’ll make a good broodmare.”

  Nell held her hand over the convex-shaped hoof, probably checking for undue heat. Presumably satisfied, she set the mare’s leg back down, the hoof disappearing in the thick bedding of straw. Nell came out and secured the stall, then started for the barn door.

  “We rise at four-thirty. I’ll have porridge, eggs, and coffee in the house after that. You’re welcome to come in and make yourself at home. We ride out around five.”

  He followed her out into the yard. “What will we be doing tomorrow, Mrs. Page?”

  “Ranching,” she tossed over her shoulder as she walked. “There’s a group of three-year-olds running in the north country we need to bring in. Then start breaking them to sell to the army. You can use the black gelding while your horse rests.”

  She stopped and turned around. The sun was completely gone and the moon had yet to rise. The temperature had dropped since he’d walked back from supper.

  “Nell,” she said then.

  A warm feeling took him by surprise. He’d been looking over his shoulder for so long, it’d been a while since he’d felt a connection with anyone. “Thank you. And you just call me Charlie—or big dumb ox, if you’d like.” That got a small chuckle out of her. “I’ll answer to just about anything.”

  She ambled away without another word, but he thought he heard a softly spoken, “Good night, Charlie,” come drifting back.

  Back in the house, Seth had already turned in. Nell could hear him coughing all the way from his upstairs bedroom. Antsy, she went about cleaning the kitchen in the dim light. She washed the supper plates, dried them, and put them away.

  The disarray closed in on her.

  She glanced around. Nothing in the room gave her peace. When she went to the window, Dog, their russet-colored, mixed-breed pal, looked up in question from his spot by the front door. Up until two years ago she’d taken pride in the house. The place was old, and furnished with ramshackle furniture, but it was theirs. Hers, Seth’s and Ben’s.

  They’d had such dreams back then. Dreams to breed hundreds of horses and cattle. Make a mark in Wyoming. Ben had been ranching here for Clarkston Jones, the original owner, when the rancher hired her and Seth. Nell had been only a girl, so her jobs were collecting eggs, keeping the garden, and sweeping the barn. Paid her two bits a week. A year later, Jones got sick. He was a kindly man, and with no kin to his name, he’d sold the rundown ranch to Ben and Seth lock, stock, and barrel before he died, for ten dollars, enough to pay for a proper burial at the cemetery in town. All they had to do was make the monthly mortgage.

  Could a decade really have passed? Seemed like yesterday that she’d been ten, running wild and free across the lands, answering only to her brother, and once in a while to his friend and partner, Ben Page.

  At first, she was just a pest to Ben, who was a year older than Seth. But the years passed and she grew up. They were best friends for a w
hile and finally they’d fallen in love and gotten married, much to Seth’s shock. To her, their love was a natural progression, and one that felt right.

  And then Ben took ill. They hadn’t thought it serious until his fever spiked, but by that time it was too late. After his death, the Cotton Ranch had gone from a dream to an endless cycle of exertion with no end. She treasured the horses and cattle, but the work involved was driving Seth to an early grave. Nothing was worth losing him, too. But now, with the payment from the last delivery of horses, they could afford to pay Charlie Rose—for a while, at least.

  Ben’s grave was down by the river, in the exact spot they’d first kissed. The thought of him lying cold in that grave always gave her the need to move, do something, keep her hands busy. She usually hurried out and jumped on the back of a horse—night or day—and galloped out to see him, be near him. Now, since the evil-looking stranger had showed up at her door, the thought of darkness caused a niggle of fear to skitter down her spine.

  No. Whoever that stranger was, he wouldn’t come back here. Not after the reception she’d given him. Still, there was something about his eyes, and the way they’d studied her, that made her feel uncomfortable even now.

  But Charlie Rose was in the barn. And Seth was home. Her heart slowed and she took a deep breath. Charlie had seemed to appear out of nowhere, just when they needed him most. It might be crazy to feel this way about someone she’d just met, but whenever he was near everything felt calm, at peace. As if the endless days of toil just might be well worth the effort after all.

  Taking the broom from behind the door, she began corralling the day’s dust that had been tracked in.

  “Thought I heard some stirrings down here.” Seth came into the room, wearing his denims and the top to his long johns. He took the broom from her hands. “Go to bed, Nell. I’ll help you with this in the morning.”

  Bothered with thoughts of Ben, and now Charlie and her conflicting feelings toward the new hand, she knew it would be hours before she could fall asleep. “What’d ya think of him?”

  “Who? Charlie Rose?”

  “Who else?”

  “Seems honest,” Seth said. “Looks like a hard worker. We’ll know in a day or two. On a ranch like this you can’t hide lazy.”

  She laughed, took the broom back and swept the dust carefully into a small pile, then went for the dustpan. “No, you sure can’t.” Bending, she held the dustpan to the floor as Seth swept the grime in. “I just hope he pays for the food he’ll eat. That fella last year cost us more than we gained.”

  “There you go again, worrying over things that haven’t happened yet. We’ll cross that bridge when—and if—we get there.”

  Nell smiled, appreciating Seth’s optimism. Her brother only saw the good in people—which was nice, but not realistic. “If you say so.” Letting her expectations of Charlie grow so large was dangerous. Then the only way to go was down. To be disappointed. His face appeared in her thoughts and her face heated. Perhaps it was already too late for caution.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Brenna Lane hurried down the narrow road from her modest home on Oak Street, her basket of mending swinging on her arm. Penny, her eldest, was watching the children, who were now dressed and fed and ready to enjoy one of their last free days before the school started.

  Brenna crossed the wooden bridge over Shady Creek, then smiled and waved at Albert Preston and Thom Donovan sitting inside the sheriff’s office drinking coffee. As she passed the Bright Nugget Saloon, she held her hand over her nose to ward off the offensive smell that wafted through the open doors, then stopped in front of the bank to straighten her bonnet and smooth her dress.

  Bolstering her nerves, she cautiously stepped inside, not wanting to draw attention to herself. Frank Lloyd, the owner of the bank, was a kind man; she just wasn’t accustomed to fraternizing with the upper crust of Logan Meadows’s society.

  Inside the foyer—blessedly empty of customers—long green drapes decorated the windows, and the walls were enclosed in shiny oak siding. Brenna took a minute to check her reflection in the gold-leaf mirror that hung on one sidewall, then studied a lovely painting of an eight-point stag surrounded by several does in a field of snow. She’d overheard others talking how, over the years, Mr. Lloyd had improved the bank, adding this item or that. Last year, when the Union Pacific had requested the businesses spruce themselves up in competition for the new railway, he’d brought in the small but impressive chandelier all the way from Boston. The crystal orbs reflected the light that streamed through the spotless glass windows, making the whole lobby shine so beautifully that it resembled a lovely hotel or restaurant. But Mr. Lloyd hadn’t stopped there. He’d also added three handcrafted maple chairs that now sat along the front window.

  The bank had been the talk of the town, but Brenna’d been too shy to come in without a valid reason. Today, though, she had the best reason of all. Business with the owner.

  She’d entered so quietly the teller had yet to notice her. Head buried in a ledger, he worked away, mumbling unintelligible words beneath his breath.

  Approaching the counter, she stopped and waited.

  He looked up. “Hello, ma’am. May I help you?”

  “Good day,” Brenna said, trying not to sound nervous. This was not only her first visit inside the bank; it was also her first mending job for Mr. Lloyd. If things went well, who knew where his business might lead. “Is Mr. Lloyd available?”

  He stood. “Let me go see.” With that, the young man was gone.

  Brenna went to the window. She waved at Maude, who was on her way to the mercantile on the opposite side of the street. A wagon rolled past.

  Brenna took another quick glance around, marveling that she was finally standing in the bank, a place she’d wanted to see for a long time. Last week, Mr. Lloyd had spotted her on the boardwalk and asked her to do some mending for him. She’d been surprised, but pleased beyond measure.

  Footsteps sounded. “Mrs. Lane. This is an unexpected pleasure.”

  The exuberant voice almost made her drop her basket. Surprised, she looked into the banker’s cheerful face. The teller went back to his stool and picked up his pencil.

  “Hello, Mr. Lloyd. I have your things ready.”

  “Already? You work quickly. I wasn’t expecting them until next week.”

  The unanticipated compliment brought heat into her face. Another kind citizen of Logan Meadows looking out for her family’s good. It was truly heartwarming. She took his shirts and trousers from her basket and carefully transferred the neatly folded items to his hands. “Here you are. Please let me know if they are done to your specifications.”

  Well, that was a silly thing to say. All he’d asked her to do was stitch up a loose seam or two, tighten some buttons, and mend a couple of moth holes.

  “Yes, I will. I’m sure they’re fine.” He set the garments on the counter. “Now, how much do I owe you for your fine and prompt work?”

  She swallowed. “Twenty-five cents.”

  “That’s a steal.” He fished in his pocket and produced the money. He counted the coins into her hand, their heaviness almost making her giddy with happiness. Her business had steadily picked up since the building of the train depot. A true blessing, to be sure. She now had several regular sewing and stitching customers, and when the laundry shop got too busy, Tap Ling hired her to do the mending that he couldn’t get to in a timely fashion. And, of course, Hannah still had her baking for the restaurant. That alone brought in two whole dollars a week. She was finally making ends meet on her own without handouts—and the reality of that felt good.

  “There you are,” Mr. Lloyd said. “I can’t thank you enough. And, since I talked to you last, I’ve found several more things that I could wear if I’d just have them fixed. Waste not, want not, my mother used to tell me.” The tall, middle-aged banker grinned. His dark-blond hair was neatly parted and carefully combed as any proper gentleman’s should be. “Us bankers like to keep t
he money we have. Would you mind if I dropped the items by your house tomorrow after I close up here?”

  Pleasure warmed her insides. The drizzle of business had turned into a rainstorm, all in a good way, of course. “That will be fine, Mr. Lloyd. If no one is there to receive them, just leave them on the small table I have on my porch. They’ll be perfectly safe.”

  “That I will. Now I’ll let you get back to work.”

  After Mr. Lloyd had returned to his office, and before the teller noticed, Brenna fished in her basket for the three fresh oatmeal cookies she’d wrapped up before leaving home. She set them on the front windowsill where they wouldn’t be discovered right away. Since her circumstances had taken a turn for the better, she felt a need to do something nice for others. Repay the kindly citizens who’d so generously taken care of her and her brood when they couldn’t on their own.

  One kind deed a day. For anyone. Could be a close friend, a total stranger—sometimes even an animal. Or, on some occasions, when the day was drawing to a close and she hadn’t been able to get to town, her kind deed went to a tree or a flower—which were also living entities—by watering or clearing away debris so they could breathe easy. She was up to kind deed forty-nine and the little clandestine actions were often the topic of whispered conversations as people tried to figure out who was behind them. She kept a small notebook tucked away under her mattress in which she listed her deeds. When she was feeling discouraged or overwhelmed, she’d pull out the journal and read a few pages. The words had the power to lift her heart every time.

  Happy she’d once again been successful at not being caught, she turned in an exuberant half circle, left the bank—so joyful inside she felt as if she were walking on air—and bumped straight into another person with a loud woomph.