Open Road

by M. M. Holaday

  He heard Jeb call Meg’s name, so Win hustled out of the barn. Meg had bathed, changed into a dress, and had Jeb’s arms enclosed around her.

  “Meg!” Win stretched his own arms wide.

  After she embraced Win warmly, she beamed at them both. “I didn’t think this day could get better, but now it’s perfect. I was so hoping I’d run into you two again.”

  The barreling train jumped the rail, sending Win flying through the air. He loved the feeling.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: JEB

  Founder’s Day celebration, LaPorte

  “You know what this reminds me of?” Win surveyed the festivities from the blanket he lounged on.

  “Harvest Festival of 1860,” Jeb said without hesitation. He’d been thinking the same thing. Five years ago, although Jeb had won that festival’s horse race, Win had somehow wrangled a congratulatory kiss out of Sally Richards.

  “This pie tastes sweeter than any kiss of Sally’s.” Win licked the gooey blackberry filling from his fingers.

  Jeb laughed, his contentment caught in a silvery net. Meg had purchased a pie from a church booth and, relaxing in the shade on horse blankets borrowed from Mr. Townsend, they were enjoying the fair together. Banners and tablecloths billowed like sails in the gentle breeze. A loosened strand of Meg’s hair waved like their ship’s flag.

  “You didn’t have to run away, Meg,” Jeb said. “We would have protected you.”

  “That’s exactly why I had to leave. John Sutter is pure evil. I didn’t want you getting hurt on my account.”

  Win spread his arms out in protest. “We can hold our own—”

  Meg held up her hand to stop him. “You don’t know what he’s capable of. Once I saw a woman so badly beaten, one eye was completely swollen shut and she could barely see out of the other. Her husband owed my uncle money and my uncle sent Sutter to collect it. When the man couldn’t pay, Sutter beat the man’s wife bloody, right in front of him.” She shuddered. “I ran away because my uncle got mad at me and threatened to kill Biscuit. He said I’d find Biscuit gutted in her stall. I believed him.”

  Win let out a soft whistle. “What’d you do to make your uncle so mad?”

  “It’s what I wouldn’t do.” Meg looked away.

  Jeb remembered the black eye she had when they first met. He hoped Win wouldn’t make her uncomfortable by pressing her.

  “I am sorry I let Dale scare me,” Meg said. “I should have known not to believe him. I was so frightened at the time, I didn’t think it through.” Meg sighed heavily and squinted at the sun. “You know, this is a pretty sad topic for such a fine day. Tell me about Grace, Lizzie, and the rest of the train.”

  Win filled her in and said he and Jeb had been drifting a bit, taking their time getting to Denver. Jeb was glad he didn’t mention they’d been looking for her. He didn’t want to look like a couple of moony-eyed idiots, even though, at the moment, he felt like he was floating on a cloud.

  “So, who was the man we saw you with earlier today?” Win asked unexpectedly.

  “It’s too long a story . . . and boring.” Meg tried to shoo away the pesky subject with her hand.

  “We’ve got time.”

  Meg bit her lip hesitantly, but finally told them about meeting Carl and how they traveled from town to town, racing the locals. “Was that wrong?” She looked directly at Jeb and waited for him to answer, as though his opinion mattered. “It didn’t feel right. That’s why I stopped.”

  “Aw, hell, sometimes you gotta do something bad just to know you’re alive.” Win let his favorite motto slip out without thinking. But when Meg gasped, Win quickly added, “Look, people can wager or not, it’s their choice. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Yes, but Carl had a way of talking them into it. It bothered me.”

  “Is he gone?” Jeb asked, hoping.

  “He left on the noon stage.”

  Jeb leaned back. “Then I wouldn’t give it another thought.” He liked the way she was opening up, putting her trust in them. “Did Biscuit ever lose?”

  She gave Jeb a sideways glance. “Sometimes. Carl couldn’t always control where the horses raced. If the terrain was too rough, I wouldn’t push her, and we’d lose. He’d get mad, but I didn’t care.” She shrugged. “I’d never risk hurting Biscuit.”

  “But on the flats?” Win asked.

  Meg grinned wickedly. “She’s very fast—as fast as any Post rider.”

  Win threw his head back and laughed. “You should come with us to Denver.”

  Jeb jerked his head up in surprise, but immediately turned to Meg to see her reaction, hoping she’d agree. He hadn’t thought past seeing Meg again, but clearly Win had.

  “This running-away thing you do would have to stop, though,” Win said, with one eye closed in a wink. “Too damned hard to keep up with you.”

  Meg rolled her eyes, but accepted the charge against her with a sigh.

  “Whatever comes our way, we’ll figure it out together. What do you say?” Jeb asked.

  She stared at Jeb with an expression Jeb couldn’t quite read. “I would like that very much. I’ll wire Gus before we leave. He can meet me in Denver.”

  “Great! It’s settled.” Win turned his attention back to the fairgoers. Jeb detected a hint of the smile he was trying to suppress.

  At Townsend Livery on the morning after the festival, Henry Deener mucked the stalls as Jeb and Win saddled their horses. Jeb spotted Meg striding down the street toward them. She sported a smart, new, wide-brimmed hat to shield her face from the sun, a handsome Eton jacket cut for a woman’s figure, and a full riding skirt. However, her most captivating feature by far was her luminous smile.

  She waved a piece of paper in the air. “Gus got my letters! I sent a telegraph last night and received his reply this morning. He knows I’m safe and will write to me in Denver. I’m so happy!”

  Win tossed a saddlebag packed with provisions across Hippocrates’s rump. “You look mighty pretty this morning, Meg.”

  “New clothes for a fresh start.” Meg looked down at her outfit. “The seamstress stayed up late to have these ready by this morning.”

  “You gonna be needin’ a sidesaddle, Miss Jameson? How you gonna ride in a skirt?” Henry dragged the manure shovel behind him and scratched his head.

  “Henry! That ain’t polite,” Mr. Townsend scolded. “I apologize, Miss Jameson. Henry plum lost his manners.”

  “Oh, Mr. Townsend, it’s all right. I had my share of questions when I was Henry’s age.” She turned to Henry. “Riding sidesaddle is nearly impossible—and impractical, if you ask me. I’ve worn buckskin britches ever since I learned to ride.” She lifted her skirt just slightly to indicate she had them on underneath, modestly revealing only the ankles of her riding boots. Mr. Townsend cleared his throat. Meg ruffled Henry’s hair and kissed him on his forehead. “I’m going to miss you, Henry Deener.”

  Jeb thought Henry would keel over. Apparently, Meg Jameson captivated men of all ages. Securing his bedroll to the back of his saddle, Jeb tried to get the image of her breeches out of his mind.

  Once out of town, Win cried, “Ah! The open road! Is there anything that stirs the soul more than this?”

  Jeb could have argued that their company might be appropriate competition, but he agreed that mystery and beauty lived in the beckoning foothills that tumbled from the high mountain peaks.

  “I can’t take my eyes off those hills,” Meg said, apparently in concord. “It would be grand to ride through there.” Jeb wondered if the surroundings or their company brought her more happiness. Either way, she looked free of all care or concern. Perhaps, like Win, the open road stirred her soul.

  “Let’s do it.” Win tipped his hat back to see the view better. “Sometimes you gotta do something crazy, just to—”

  “You said ‘bad’ before. ‘Sometimes you’ve got to do something bad, just to know you’re alive,’ ” Meg said.

  Jeb smiled. “Win changes his motto to suit th
e situation.”

  “Are you saying it’s crazy to ride in the foothills? Do you think there are Indians up there?” Meg gazed at the mountains.

  “Hard to say,” Win said. “I’ve heard the Indians have been pretty well pushed out of Colorado Territory.”

  “Biscuit would favor the cooler, less dusty route.”

  “You aren’t afraid?” Win asked.

  “I’d be foolish not to be wary, but roads aren’t necessarily safer.” Meg spoke as though she could back up her opinion if required.

  Jeb agreed it would be a shame not to ride through such beautiful country. They headed toward higher elevation.

  En route, Meg revealed a surprise. “I met some Pawnee Indians when I was lost in Nebraska. A little boy had fallen from his horse and hurt his ankles. He couldn’t walk, so I put him on Biscuit. We were on his way to his village when his father and brothers found us.”

  “They let you just ride away?” Jeb asked.

  Meg nodded. “I don’t think his father and brothers thought much of me, but the boy didn’t seem to care that I was white. Gus says you’ll find good and bad people everywhere.”

  Gus again. Jeb reproached himself for feeling jealous of someone he’d never met.

  “It’s hard to hate a whole group of people once you get to know one of them,” Win said. “My old boss, Clint Sanders, told me about an Arapaho who saved his life in the desert, and they became friends. Just a chance meeting—a fluke, you know? But it changed his entire life, and from what he’s told me, he changed the Arapaho’s, too. He’d agree with your friend, Gus, that there are good and bad people everywhere, white and Indian alike. The trick is in knowing which they are before they get too close.”

  LaPorte faded behind them and disappeared completely once they slipped behind the closest foothill. Jeb felt as though they were the only three people on Earth. They came to a wide, flat valley between two ranges, stretching out for several miles. Meg said something about the race they owed her and gave Biscuit a quick “Hup!” Biscuit took off. Jeb let out a whoop and chased after her, with Win close behind. Biscuit ran with abandon for a while, but then slowed. Galen and Hippocrates raced past her.

  Neither willing to concede, Jeb and Win raced each other, leaving the reason for their competitiveness far behind. “Surrender?” Win shouted when they were neck and neck.

  “Never!” Jeb shouted back. He wondered if Meg really cared who won, or if she’d think they were being stupid. Good sense finally won out over his desire to best Win. Hippocrates inched ahead and Jeb granted Win the victory. He slowed and turned, and caught a glimpse of Meg in the distance.

  She wasn’t watching their race. She was riding Biscuit at a slow lope, her legs tucked around the horse’s belly. She had tilted back her head, let go of the reins, and stretched her arms out wide. The sun on her face, she rode without worry or restraint. That singular act, that embodiment of bliss—it was worth losing the race to witness such perfection in motion.

  The three stopped at the edge of a small stream lined with cottonwoods to let the horses drink and cool off. Win found a large, flat rock warmed by the sun, perched himself there, and gazed intently into the hills. Meg, full of energy, took everyone’s canteen to the river’s edge. Jeb sat down next to Win. “What are you looking at, partner?”

  Win scratched his head and returned his hat to his head. “I don’t know. My gut tells me we aren’t alone. Do you feel it?”

  “I’m too distracted by the company we can see to be thinking about who we can’t.”

  Win squinted at the rock outcroppings. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” But he peered at the shadows, obviously preoccupied by something in addition to Meg. Jeb looked in the same direction, trying to see what Win was searching for. Finally, Win gave up, turned, and surprised Jeb with an unexpected question: “What are we gonna do about Meg? We both like her; that’s easy to see.”

  “You saw her first, back in Omaha.”

  “I appreciate that, but it doesn’t count. She was just a messy little tomboy then. She’s all grown up now—well, sort of. Still a little messy.” Win looked in the direction of the stream. “I figure we should make a pact. Let’s agree that regardless of who she chooses, we’ll stay friends.”

  Win typically joked about his feelings for a woman. Jeb played along. “Ha, you want a pact with me? It’s Saint Gus you should be worried about. I’d like to know where we stand next to him. He’s all she talks about!”

  “You’re the only friend I’ve got, Jeb,” Win said, remaining serious. “Pretty soon, she’s gonna have us stomping around like a couple of prairie chickens. It’d be nice not to completely lose our dignity, as well as our friendship.”

  A male prairie chicken during nesting season did look ridiculous, Jeb thought. On the booming grounds in western Iowa, males charged each other, jumped into the air, and made strange booming calls to attract the females. The silliest part of their mating ritual was to stamp their feet, like impatient boys having tantrums, demanding attention. Jeb did not want to look like a desperate prairie chicken.

  They had relied on each other for as long as Jeb could remember, except for the last few years when Win had to test his mettle on his own. And it wasn’t hard to imagine how a girl could upset the balance between loyalty and competition, and ruin a perfectly good friendship. Jealousy was corrosive. It’d be a shame if things became strained between them. Besides, who said she especially liked either of them anyway? She sure didn’t make eyes at them, or giggle nervously the way other girls did. She didn’t flirt. Nothing he could spot, anyway. Win was right—they shouldn’t let a girl come between them.

  Jeb extended his hand. “Agreed.” They shook on it as a thought came to him. “Maybe we could share her—you know, like those Mormons.”

  Visibly less troubled, Win’s sense of humor returned. “You’ve got it backward, partner. It’s the Mormon men who have more than one woman—lucky bastards—not the other way around.”

  “Lucky? They’ve got more than one wife,” Jeb said. “Seems like a lot to take on.”

  Win threw his head back and laughed loudly. A splash came from the creek. Meg had stumbled, slipping into the water just past her knee. Win shook his head. “I wonder if she ever gets through a day without getting in a mess.”

  Jeb heard her cuss as he made his way down to the creek. He grabbed her outstretched hand and pulled her up onto solid rock, taking the canteens from her. Behind him, he heard Win drumming his hands on his thigh, presumably imitating an aroused prairie chicken. Jeb tried not to smile for fear Meg would think he was laughing at her.

  “That was clumsy of me.” She wrung the water from the bottom of her skirt.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No, just wet.” She sloshed back up to Win and pulled off her boot and stocking. “Damn, that water is cold.”

  Jeb watched Win grin broadly, and then stretch out, pulling his hat over his face, presumably to mask it. “It’s warm and peaceful here. I feel a nap coming on while Meg dries out.”

  “What about . . .” Jeb didn’t want to alarm Meg, but Win had said he didn’t think they were alone.

  Muffled by his hat, Win said, “If anybody was around, we’d have known it by now.”

  Jeb took Meg’s boot, shook the water from it, and set it in the sun.

  “Thank you, Jeb. I confess, I’m quite jealous of you both. You’re here with each other and I miss Gus so much. When I heard Win laugh just now, I got such a pang of loneliness.”

  Jeb wondered if Win would ask what her situation was with this Gus fellow, as he certainly wasn’t shy about asking questions, but Win lay still.

  Meg wiggled her toes in the warm sun. “This area would be good for a ranch, don’t you think? Maybe not so good for most crops, but I bet timothy would grow in the valley. Gus and I talked all the time about coming west and running a ranch. He’d love it here.”

  “Have you known Gus a long time?” Jeb asked. He hoped he sounded like he was making ca
sual conversation.

  She cocked her head at Jeb. “Well, not as long as you and Win. Can’t go too far back when there’s a forty-year age difference, but I’ve known him since I was real little. Most people just see an ornery old man with a missing hand, broken down by life.” She turned and squinted at the sun. “But he’s been good to me. He takes me the way I am. He watched over me all those years I didn’t have anyone; made me feel like I had a home and family. I’m going to do the same for him and buy him some land for a ranch. I passed through a town called Paradise a few days ago. I’m going to buy land around there.”

  Jeb wondered how she could afford to buy enough land for a ranch, and also wanted to hear more about the forty-year age difference and what that meant, exactly. Win, however, sat up and pushed his hat back. Here it comes, Jeb thought.

  “How did he lose his hand?” Win asked.

  “Well, that depends on who asks him,” she said, “or on how much he’s had to drink. He can tell a pretty tall tale. I’ve heard him tell folks that he lost it fighting an Indian, stopping a runaway stage, getting run over by a locomotive, and getting stampeded on a cattle drive. If he likes you, though, he’ll tell you the truth. He had a dog along with him on the Shawnee Trail—he called him Buddy. He loved that dog. One night, Buddy strayed from the camp and got surrounded by a pack of wild dogs. Gus tried to save poor Buddy and got his hand so torn and chewed up, nothing could be done to save it. He saved Buddy, though. That dog stayed by his side when they took off his hand and all the time while he healed up, and then for five more years on the trail. Broke his heart when old Buddy died. Not many people know the real story. He says most people would think he was a fool for saving some dumb dog.”