Her Winding Path_Seeing Ranch series_A Historical Romance

by Florence Linnington

  “Ida Rose Lowry.” She nodded back.

  And I shall likely always be that.

  The thought made Ida Rose drop her face in shame. Being negative would get her nowhere. Then again, perhaps she was only being realistic. What chances did she have of finding a husband in New York when not being able to obtain one there was the very reason she had left in the first place?

  “I am returning to Baltimore,” Mrs. Scotts explained. “I was just in California for six months.”

  “California! How exciting.”

  Ida Rose shot the man behind the newspaper a quick look. She had briefly wondered if he was Mrs. Scotts’ husband, but as he had yet to say a single word, she now assumed not.

  “Yes, my husband works on the railroad and he is building a new line that will be going all the way to the Pacific. I went to visit him. It was awfully exciting, but so hard sometimes. The men, they just go without bathing until they can find a river to clean themselves in.” She wrinkled her nose.

  “That sounds like quite an adventure.”

  Though she had initially felt she could not stomach talking to anyone after only just leaving Shallow Springs behind, Ida Rose found the distracting conversation nice. She only hoped Mrs. Scotts did not decide to ask anything about Ida Rose’s life.

  “I will be glad to be back home,” Mrs. Scotts said. “And to have my husband back in five months’ time as well. Are you returning to your family?”

  “Yes, I am. I have sisters and my mother in New York.”

  Ida Rose tried to smile again, but she still could not find so much as a spark of joy in her heart. Not even the prospect of seeing her family again cheered her up. All she could think of was everything she had left behind.

  “Here’s hoping we make it,” a gruff voice unexpectedly said.

  Mrs. Scotts and Ida Rose both glanced at the newspaper, behind which there was, presumably, still a man. Then, they looked at each other.

  “Why do you say that?” Mrs. Scotts fearfully asked.

  “Bandits. They could get us at any moment.”

  Mrs. Scotts clucked. “Nonsense. I heard about these bandits. The man at the post office assured me they are not in this area.”

  “The man at the post office wanted to sell you a ticket.”

  Ida Rose leaned across to pat Mrs. Scotts’ hand. “Do not worry. Nothing dramatic has happened of late. We will make it to the train station just fine. Will we be riding on your husband’s rail line, by chance?”

  Mrs. Scott’s eyes sparkled, but just as she opened her mouth, the stagecoach began slowing. Her lips turned down. “Why are we stopping?”

  Gripping the edge of the window, Ida Rose poked her head out.

  And then her blood ran cold.

  Six men on horseback had approached the stagecoach. Ida Rose had been so preoccupied talking with Mrs. Scott that she hadn’t noticed them ride up. Making a U around the front of the stagecoach, they pressed closer.

  One of the men saw Ida Rose looking and gave her the kind of smile that was meant to intimidate. Black, rotting teeth grinned at her. She dropped her eyes from his face, and they fell instead to the gun at his hip.

  “We have nothing, nothing of interest,” the stagecoach driver was saying.

  One of the riders, whom Ida Rose couldn’t clearly see, responded, his voice so low that the words were indecipherable. Not understanding what he was saying, though, did not stop the chill from going through her. Pulling her whole self back into the stagecoach, she pressed her back firmly against the cushions.

  “Who are they?” Mrs. Scotts whispered, eyes wide.

  Ida Rose glanced at their other traveling companion, who had set the newspaper down. His jaw twitched and he seemed frozen in place.

  “I do not know,” Ida Rose responded.

  “Bandits?”

  She could not bring herself to answer. But the truth was painful, for who else could the riders be?

  “All right, everybody!” A man with a drawling accent banged his fist on the side of the stagecoach. “Come on out. We gonna have a little meet and greet.”

  Terror seized Ida Rose’s heart and the air she took in felt laced with thorns. This could not be happening. She was still suffering through the pain of having to leave her new life behind, and now this?

  God, please protect us.

  It was the only prayer she had time for. The door was being flung open, making Mrs. Scotts recoil back in fear.

  A bandit looked in on the passengers. “Let’s go,” he barked. “Now!”

  There was no choice. Though her legs shook, Ida Rose held her head high and climbed from the stagecoach. The driver was already on the ground, one of the bandits shoving his hands in the man’s pockets.

  “He ain’t got nothing,” the bandit announced.

  “None of us do,” the driver evenly replied. He was likely trying to stay calm, but there was a slight quaking in his voice.

  “Turn your pockets out,” the one who had opened the stagecoach door order. “And give me those purses.”

  He yanked Ida Rose’s drawstring purse from her wrist before she had the chance to give it up, whipping it open and turning it over. A few dollars, some hair pins, and her last two letters from New York fell into the grass. The man picked up the money and counted it.

  “This all you have?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hm.” He snorted. “Where you fine folks going?”

  “East.” The answer had come from Mrs. Scott. Ida Rose turned to her in surprise. While a minute ago, she had cowered in fear in the stagecoach, now she held her chin high and threw her shoulders back. “And as soon as my husband discovers what has happened here, he will be after you with a posse of a hundred men. So, I encourage you, sir, to let my companions and I depart safely. My husband is a very powerful man, not one anyone should wish to cross.”

  The bandit laughed. “He’s a powerful man? Who is he, President Garfield?”

  His cronies laughed at the joke, but Mrs. Scotts only became more brash. “No. He is Charles Scotts, the owner of Four Corners railroad company. He has all the resources necessary to hunt down and punish criminals such as yourself.”

  A light came into the man’s eyes and Ida Rose quickly shut her own. Oh, Mrs. Scotts… Why did you have to say such a thing?

  “Owner of a railroad company, huh?” The man slowly rolled the words around his tongue, taking time with an idea brewing in his vile mind.

  “Yes.”

  Ida Rose glared at Mrs. Scotts, desperately needing her to be quiet, but the other woman kept her angry gaze on the bandit.

  “Looks like you do have something of worth here,” he said, turning to the driver. “We got a railroad queen.” A malicious glint in his eye, he took a step toward Mrs. Scotts. “Tell me, how much do you think your husband would pay for your safe return?”

  Mrs. Scotts stumbled back, nearly tumbling to the ground. Her face had fallen, her courage dissipated. She had realized far too late that talking was a mistake.

  “Take the horses,” the bandit instructed the other men. “Someone get me some paper. I’m going to leave a note for the railroad king.”

  The bandits moved fast. Within a minute, a hastily-scrawled note had been stuck to the open door of the stagecoach. The four captives’ wrists were bound and they were hoisted atop horses. As they rode off, away from the stagecoach and the road, making a straight line for the hills, Ida Rose twisted on her horse and surveyed the horizon behind her.

  They were so far from the road, so far from town. How could anyone be expected to find them?

  Ida Rose quelled the urge to vomit and focused on praying. Help could come. Help most likely would come. The men of Shallow Springs were still looking for the bandits.

  But how long until they found them?

  And what did these lawless men plan on doing with their captives in the meantime? Yes, they planned on holding Mrs. Scotts for ransom, but what about the other three? Ida Rose’s family had no money to giv
e.

  Did that mean she was disposable?

  She would not allow herself to think of that. Instead, she took careful note of the path the gang took. It was a winding, twisting one that took them into the foothills, across a creek, and up a narrow gully. Finally, they stopped, the bandits making camp underneath a cluster of trees. They had ridden for what seemed to be hours and dusk’s gray blanket was settling over the land.

  A bandit yanked Ida Rose down from the horse and she hit the ground with a hard bang. She pressed her lips tight together, refusing to show any upset. Mrs. Scotts was already sitting under a tree, her eyes red and puffy from crying. The two men were spaced apart from them, both alone so that they could not converse.

  Her hands still bound, Ida Rose crawled on her knees so that she could sit next to Mrs. Scotts. “Do not worry,” she whispered. “The sheriff of Shallow Springs is looking for these bandits. He will find us soon.”

  Mrs. Scotts’ lips quivered. Because she did not know what else to say, Ida Rose sat back against a tree and continued to take in their surroundings.

  They were nearly at the top of a foothill, in a spot that provided a good view of the area to the south. With the semi-steep climb it had taken to get there, it was a good position to fend off any attackers.

  For the time being, the bandits seemed to have forgotten all about their prisoners. They were busy tending to the horses, fetching water, or opening cans. In the middle of the hill, an old campfire sat unused. Perhaps she could sneak over to it in the middle of the night and light it, send a signal for help...

  No. What was she thinking? That she would find a way to light a fire with her hands bound in front of her? That no one would wake up from the scent of it? That the smoke would be perceptible in the middle of the night?

  Her heart sagged with grief, but she still refused to believe escape was impossible. No. There had to be a way. There was always a way.

  One of the bandits huffed up the hill, breathing hard. “Rocky, our stash is gone. A bear musta’ gotten it.”

  The man who had given the orders at the stagecoach cursed. “You’re supposed to put rocks over the hole!”

  “It was Bubba’s fault.”

  “I don’t much care whose fault it was,” Rocky roared, getting in the man’s face. “You two go on down to the river and get fishing. And watch yourself. Don’t be seen.”

  The feebler man nodded and slunk back down the hill.

  Ida Rose stared at the leader, whose back was turned to her. Rocky… She knew that name…

  But from where?

  And then, with an audible gasp, she recalled just when and where she had heard it.

  Rocky, hearing Ida Rose’s sharp inhale, turned and inspected her. With a slow walk, he crossed the camp and crouched down in front of the two women. Night had robbed most of the details of his face, but the scar running through his eyebrow was still visible.

  “You ladies doing good over here?”

  Ida Rose worked her jaw around, not sure whether she had the fortitude to answer.

  “Of course, we are not,” Mrs. Scotts mournfully answered. “You have taken us here against our will!”

  A harsh sob left her. Rocky stayed where he was, just watching her. Ida Rose’s stomach twisted and turned, bile rising into her throat. What was he thinking? What was he planning on doing?

  He cocked his head, squinting his eyes in the dark to better survey Ida Rose. “You don’t have nothing to say?”

  She took a moment to steel herself best she could before speaking. There was no point in showing fear. “What is there to say?”

  “Good point,” he chuckled, his laugh dry and grating. “Get some sleep, folks. It’s a long journey tomorrow.”

  “Journey?” Newspaper Man shouted. “Where are you taking us?”

  Rocky didn’t answer. He’d already left the cover of the tree, going to the other side of the camp to talk to a man there.

  “What are we going to do?” Mrs. Scotts mournfully asked. “What if your sheriff does not arrive in time?”

  Ida Rose could not answer. Indeed, what if? Rocky would likely keep Mrs. Scotts alive—for as long as he figured he could procure a random, anyway. But what of the other three? They were of no real use.

  So why had he not disposed of them yet?

  Ida Rose’s hot skin itched, making her feel as if there were bugs crawling all over her. She had been kidnapped by a bandit. And not just any bandit. The same one who had visited the Adkins’ farm years before. The same one who had taken advantage of Tom’s mother, leaving her with an emotional scar that she still, despite her mental dysfunctions, carried.

  And now, he had Ida Rose.

  Watching his dark figure move on the other side of the camp, she found it hard to believe that he had no plan for his prisoners at all. Indeed, perhaps he had a very thorough, sinister plan—one that would be revealed far too soon.

  26

  26. Tom

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Stopping Chestnut, Tom tilted his head and listened. The wind coming in from the east flapped his shirt and the horse’s mane, but carried no sounds.

  Grinding his teeth, he squinted through the dark. They were still at the bottom of the foothills, carving the parallel line that they had been for the last several hours.

  And still, there were no clues.

  He should have gone back to town the moment he found the stagecoach. He knew it now, but it was too late.

  Night had set and there was no trail. He had lost the bandits. He had lost Ida Rose.

  When he’d come upon the stagecoach earlier, luggage strewn about and a ransom note pinned to the door, his first instinct had been to run Chestnut back to town as fast as was possible. But he had known there might not have been time for that.

  The ransom note had only mentioned making an exchange for a Mrs. Scotts. It had said nothing about Ida Rose or the other people on the stagecoach.

  Which meant the bandits had other plans for them. Or no plans at all.

  For all Tom knew, Ida Rose and the others could have already been dead.

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, he squeezed his eyes shut and swore. He should have gone back to town.

  What a fool he’d been.

  But what was done was done. Now, all he could do was to ride back to Shallow Springs, alert the sheriff, and get the posse together once more. If Tom was lucky, he’d be able to convince the other men to ride back out that very night. If not, he’d just go back out on his own.

  Either way, he wasn’t going to rest until he found Ida Rose.

  His fiancée. Not his cousin.

  Tom still couldn’t believe it. The realization had brought him simultaneous feelings of euphoria and despair. Ida Rose and he were not related!

  Yet, she was still gone. And there were still other matters to address. For one, the man who had raised him was not his father after all. Tom could not begin to yet process such a shocking revelation, but he knew he would have to eventually. After Ida Rose was back home safe and sound, back where she belonged: with him.

  Opening his eyes, he started to turn Chestnut westward—and then stopped. A light, small but still existent, glowed from somewhere in the hills. Tom recognized it instantly. It was a lantern.

  And it wasn’t far away. A mile. Maybe two.

  He watched the light bob and then vanish. Staying absolutely still, afraid to even breathe, he waited, but it didn’t appear again. Either the lantern had been extinguished, or whoever was carrying it had ducked behind some trees.

  Either way, it was a clue. And Tom didn’t have time anymore to rush back to town. If he left the spot he was at, he would lose it. In the dark, there was just no proper way of marking the location.

  There was no choice but to ride on.

  His heart in his throat, Tom guided Chestnut up the slope, threading his way among the brush and trees. He kept his eyes trained on the spot he’d seen the light, waiting and praying that it would show up again.


  When the trees became too close together, leaving little room for the moon to shine through, Tom climbed down from the saddle and led the way. Gingerly feeling his way through the dark, he guided Chestnut down a hill, then up another one.

  They crossed a creek. Cut around a group of boulders. At what felt like the bottom of a steep cliff, Tom stopped. Even being in a semi-open area, it was hard to tell what was nearby. He’d been doing his best to keep his sense of direction intact. If he had to flee, he knew the way to go to get back to the main road, but he wasn’t entirely sure anymore about where he was heading.