The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier

by Peggy Darty, Darlene Franklin, Sally Laity, Nancy Lavo

  “Yep, just make sure you don’t ride last in line,” his wiry pal quipped. “Wastes a lot of time high-steppin’ them cow pies.” His coppery mustache twitched in barely suppressed humor.

  “I get the picture,” Seth grated. Picking up his coffee mug, he drained the last bit in one gulp, then set it back down.

  “Ready for a refill?” At his elbow, good-natured Martha Griffith, owner and chief cook, poured a fresh cup.

  “I do thank you, ma’am,” Seth said, grinning up at her with admiration. No matter the time of day, the perky woman always sported a crisp, spotless apron over her calico dress, and the ruffle on her cap was always neatly starched over her salt-and-pepper bun. The two serving girls who worked for her were similarly attired. “You never let a man run dry.”

  “No sense in it a’tall, when the pot’s always on! I like to make sure my regulars always come back.”

  “As if anybody else in town cooks as good as you,” Red piped up.

  Martha’s pink cheeks dimpled with a smile as she filled his cup also. “Mighty kind words for a busy woman. I knew there was a reason I always like to see you two comin’ in off the prairie.” With a cheery dip of her head, she continued making the rounds with the coffeepot.

  Seth observed her efficient movements absently as he slowly drank the hot liquid, his mind recounting endless last-minute details that needed his attention before the wagon train departed Independence two days hence.

  On the edge of his vision he noticed a dark-clad figure approaching the table he and his pal occupied. He looked up when the rather small, smartly dressed young woman stopped beside them. Her classic features were composed in a businesslike expression, but it was her eyes that drew his like a magnet. Large and luminous, an unmistakable sadness lurked within their clear green depths.

  “I beg your pardon?” she said softly.

  “Miss?”

  “I’m looking for Mr. Holloway.”

  They both rose at once. “That’s me,” Seth said, mentally noting some nicely rounded curves, neat, nearly auburn hair beneath a prim bonnet, a tempting but unsmiling mouth. “Seth Holloway. This is my partner, Red Hanfield. What might I do for you?” Noticing that her hands, gloved in white kid, trembled slightly despite her confident demeanor, he returned his gaze to her eyes, caught again by the cheerlessness accented by the fringe of long lashes.

  She moistened her lips. “My name is Amanda Shelby. My father—”

  Seth recognized the name at once. “Oh, of course. I heard of your unfortunate loss, Miss Shelby. You have my deepest sympathy. We’ll refund the fee he paid right away, if you’ll just let me know where to bring it.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  Seth frowned in confusion. “We can’t keep—”

  She regarded him steadily. “Well, you see, that’s why I’ve come. My sister and I will be leaving with the rest of the group, just as planned. So the registration money our father paid you is rightfully yours.”

  Red Hanfield choked on the gulp of coffee he had just taken. One side of his mustache hiked upward in a comical expression of uncertainty as he sat back down.

  Seth had trouble finding his own voice. Aware that patrons at the nearby tables were gawking at them, he finally managed to link a few words together. “Surely you’re joking, Miss Shelby.”

  “No, I am quite serious. We will be ready to leave with the other wagons.”

  Searching for just the right reply, Seth kneaded his jaw, then met her relentless gaze. “Look, miss. I don’t mean to be rude, but whatever your intentions were before you came here, you’re gonna have to forget them. There’s no way we can let you and your sister make the journey. In fact”—he reached for the inside pocket of his leather jacket and withdrew a thick packet, from which he pulled out several bank notes. He pressed them into her hand—“here. This is the cash your father paid for the trip. Take my advice and go back to wherever it is you came from.”

  He could tell just by looking at her—rooted in that spot without a change in her countenance, other than the obvious set of her teeth—that his words had not dissuaded her one bit.

  “I cannot take this,” she said flatly. Placing the funds intact on the table beside him, she held her ground. “My sister and I are quite set on this. We will be going west. Good day, Mr. Holloway. Mr. Hanfield.” Turning on her heel, she headed for the door.

  Seth cast an incredulous look at Red, who made no effort to hide his amusement. Then he snatched up the bank notes and used them to punctuate his words in his friend’s face. “Thanks for backing me up, buddy!” With a huff of disgust, he started after Amanda Shelby.

  He caught up with her three doors down, in front of the Bluebird Saloon, where raucous piano music from inside the swinging doors tinkled around them, creating an absurd carnival atmosphere for any intended serious conversation. Frowning, he tapped her shoulder.

  She stopped and turned, and her eyes flared wider. Instantly, a soft vulnerability in her features disappeared behind a facade of purposeful determination. “Oh, it’s you.”

  “Who’d you expect?” he spat, instantly regretting his harsh tone. “Look, take the—” Conscious of the intense interest of a growing number of passersby, Seth knew better than to wag a handful of cash out in the open, and instead slid the bank notes back within the confines of his jacket pocket. Then he grabbed Amanda Shelby’s elbow, ignoring the mortification that glared at him from her narrowed eyes, and steered her to an unoccupied spot a short distance away. There he turned her to face himself. “Please, Miss Shelby. I’ve been called blunt at times and have probably hurt a few feelings in my day, so if I’m hurting yours I’m sorry. But you don’t seem to understand. The journey west is grueling, even for tough, experienced folks, and some of the hardiest souls won’t survive it, let alone a couple of gals like you and your sister.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Do you know how to shoot?”

  “No, but—”

  “Can you change a wheel? The trail rattles the best wagon to shambles.”

  “No.”

  “How about repairing a harness?”

  The last thing he was prepared for was the sheen of tears that glazed her eyes before she lowered them in defeat. It nearly melted his resolve altogether. But she blinked quickly and brushed the imprint of his grip from her dark blue sleeve before raising her gaze to his.

  “But… we have to go,” came her small voice.

  There ought to be a law against a gal crying, for what it did to a man inside, Seth thought fleetingly. He hardened himself against the sight of her whisking a stray tear from her cheek as he mustered up all his reason. “Look, if there was some way we could let you come, any way at all, we would. I mean that. But it’s out of the question. Even if by some stretch of the imagination you could make the trip—and you can’t, take my word for it—at best, you’d slow us down. You’re too much of a risk. Now, I’m taking you back to your hotel, and when we get there I’m giving you back your father’s registration fee. That’s my final word on the subject.”

  Her shoulders sagged in hopelessness, and her despair cinched itself around the middle of Seth’s stomach. But he had to hold firm. It was the only thing to do, and all for the best. In time she’d see it, too. He watched her turn and walk mutely toward the Bradford.

  Seth accompanied her without speaking. When they reached the hotel, he escorted her inside, then once more pressed the money her father had paid him weeks ago into her palms.

  She didn’t even look at him.

  He cleared his throat. “Again, my deepest sympathy to you and your sister in your loss. I wish you well. Good day, Miss Shelby.”

  Seth felt like a heel as he strode away from her and called himself every choice name he could think of. But the entire scheme was insane. Any fool could see that. There was no way on earth two very young—not to mention unattached—females could endure the hardships that faced the emigrants on the Oregon Trail. All the overlanders st
arted out with grandiose visions and optimism… but the entire route was littered with discarded furniture and household possessions, carcasses of dead horses and oxen, and worse yet, graves of every imaginable size. As if the trek weren’t rough enough over rugged mountains and endless blazing prairie and desert, there were plenty enough other threats—wild animals, bizarre weather, Indians, disease—to instill fear in the stoutest heart. It took everything a person had, not to mention an unquenchable, unbeatable spirit, to make that journey.

  It took a much more valiant heart than Amanda Shelby possessed… but that didn’t make Seth feel any less like a cowardly snake for being the one to shatter her dreams.

  CHAPTER 3

  Amanda trudged wretchedly up the enclosed staircase to the second floor. Earlier this morning she had managed to acquire at least a portion of peace after kneeling before the Lord in prayer. Now a scant few hours later the grand plans were in ashes. Hopeless. And simply because of that insufferable, overbearing Mr. Holloway with his long, rugged face and squinty eyes and morbid words. How was she going to break the news to Sarah after all their high hopes?

  Reaching their room, Amanda drew a deep breath to fortify herself. Why, oh, why had life taken such a sad turn? Why did Pa have to die and leave them stranded way out here so far from everything they knew? Wasn’t it heartbreaking enough that death had claimed Mama and the tiny baby her frail body had not been strong enough to bring into the world, without heaven’s laying claim to Pa as well? And that, on top of—

  No! her mind railed. You cannot think about him. Not now. Not ever.

  Well, whatever the reasons the little family had been dealt such dreadful blows, Mama would have been the first to remind her girls that God’s ways are often beyond understanding, and one should accept troubles just the same as good fortune. But that, Amanda reflected with a sigh, was truly hard to do. She straightened her shoulders and reached for the latch.

  Sarah Jane looked up from writing in her journal and sprang to her feet, her face a portrait of bright expectation as Amanda entered the room. “Well? How did your meeting with the wagon master go? Tell me everything!”

  “Not as well as we hoped,” Amanda fudged. Then, seeing her sister’s crestfallen expression, she decided to come right out with the truth. “Mr. Holloway refuses to allow us to accompany the rest of the wagon train.”

  “You can’t mean that!”

  She nodded. “He returned the money Pa paid him and practically ordered me—and you—to go ‘back where we came from,’ as he put it. I’m really sorry.” Untying her bonnet, Amanda slid it off, not caring as it slipped from her fingers to the floor. The urge to give it a swift kick under the bed was hard to resist… but it wouldn’t solve anything, and someone would only have to retrieve the thing. Instead, she flopped onto the quilted coverlet and lay staring up at the dismal ceiling.

  “I don’t believe it!”

  “Believe it, Sissy. There was no reasoning with that obnoxious, opinionated, bullheaded man. He didn’t give me a chance to explain our plight.”

  “How… perfectly horrid!” Sarah declared. “Forbidding people their destiny.” With a toss of her golden curls, she flounced over to where she’d been putting her innermost thoughts down on paper and tore the half-written page out of the journal, crumpling it in her hand. An oppressive silence hovered in the room as Sarah plopped grimly back onto the chair, arms crossed in front of her, staring at the opposite wall. Her exhaled breaths came out in a succession of audible exclamation points.

  Amanda finally broke the stillness. “Well, this isn’t getting us anywhere. I’m going downstairs for the noon meal, and while I eat I’ll think about groveling at Mr. Cavanaugh’s feet to persuade him to take that wagon off our hands. Much as I hate the prospect, it’s the only sensible solution left to us. At least it’ll give us money to live on until we make other plans.”

  Sarah shrugged. “Whatever you say. I’m not hungry. In fact, I may never be hungry again. Think I’ll wander on over to the mercantile and browse through the fabrics and jewelry. It doesn’t cost anything just to look. And afterward I may go visit Nancy Thatcher at the bakery until she closes up.”

  Seated in the dining room moments later, Amanda heard scarcely a word of the cheerful chatter bantered about the rectangular pine table by other hotel guests during the meal. Her thoughts were occupied back at Martha’s Eatery, upon the most infuriating man she had ever had the occasion to meet.

  Seth Holloway certainly seemed taken up with his own importance, she concluded, swallowing a spoonful of beef stew. Not even allowing her an opportunity to explain the reasoning behind the decision she and Sarah had made. Who did he think he was—ruler of the world? Humph. Some king he would make, in buckskins, with a face that looked in need of a good shave, unruly dark brown hair and hooded, deep-set brown eyes that had a sneaky quality to them. Even that low voice of his rasped in her memory as the conversation mentally took place again. Go back where you came from. It would serve the beast right if the sky clouded over and it rained for days and days, making the trail impassible for a month. Or better yet, forever. Then he’d have to give everyone’s money back, leaving him flat broke.

  As she bit into some warm corn bread, a glance out the window revealed the object of her scathing thoughts passing by with his partner and several other men, obviously from the wagon encampment. He wasn’t exactly smiling—in fact, Amanda had serious doubts the man ever broke into a smile at all. But he did appear pleasantly cheerful and walked with long, confident strides.

  What she wouldn’t do to take him down a peg. He had no right to refuse her and Sarah’s inclusion with the rest of the overlanders, no right at all. If only she’d become acquainted with some of the migrating families there might have been someone to stand up for them and demand they be permitted to join the company. But when Pa had come down with chills and fever it made folks leery of coming too close, so Amanda had moved the wagon to a spot some distance from the encampment. And after he expired, she and Sarah had mostly kept to themselves in the hotel. It was too late to try to make a friend now. Much too late.

  “Mr. Randolph,” Seth said, resting a hand on the lantern-faced man’s shoulder as he, Red, and two other emigrant leaders walked toward the hardware store. “I’m calling a meeting around the campfire this evening after supper. I want all the men to be present. Think you can handle that?”

  The older man stroked his close-cropped beard and gave a nod of agreement. “No problem at all, Mr. Holloway. We’re all pretty anxious to leave, after sittin’ around for nigh on three weeks.”

  The heavyset man on the end snorted. “That’s an understatement—it’s been four weeks for us. It’s getting harder and harder to keep a handle on all the loose young’uns. Even the womenfolk are antsy.”

  “We understand, Mr. Thornton,” Red chimed in. “But your waitin’s about over, an’ now we need to go over the rules we expect folks to abide by for a smooth crossin’.”

  He nodded. “We’ll be there. Count on it.”

  “Soon as we get back to the wagons we’ll spread the word,” Randolph said, glancing to the others.

  “Good.” Seth touched the brim of his hat as they reached the store. “See you then, gentlemen.” He turned to Red as the other men entered the establishment. “Guess I’d better start getting my own gear together.”

  “Me, too. Say, did you manage to smooth that little gal’s feathers—about heading west?”

  “Fortunately, yes. Took some convincing, though.” He shook his head with a droll smirk. “Can’t imagine a girl being fool enough to think she—and a sister who I know is even younger than she is—could make a journey like that all by themselves. But at least they’re off our hands. I gave their pa’s money back. That’s the end of it, far as I’m concerned.”

  Amanda hesitated outside the mercantile for as long as she could, dreading the inevitable. Then, knowing the task would never get any easier, she slipped inside as two chattering women exited. She
didn’t see Sarah Jane in the store, but spied Mr. Cavanaugh across the cluttered room, chewing on a fat cigar while he spoke with another customer beside the pickle barrel. Amanda stopped near the display of fabrics and fingered a bolt of violet watered silk as she eyed the proprietor with disdain, taking in the waistcoat that strained across his protruding belly, the shiny bald circle atop his head.

  His gaze flicked her way and a snide quirk twisted his thick mouth. He excused himself and approached Amanda in self-assured calm. “Well, well. Had a feeling I’d be seeing you sooner or later, Miss Shelby.”

  She dipped her head slightly. “Mr. Cavanaugh.”

  “Come to accept my offer, did you?”

  “Well, I—”

  “‘Course, I haveta tell you, the stuff’s not worth as much to me now, with the train about to leave. I’ll have to lower the price some. You understand, I’m sure. I’m still doin’ you a favor. Least I can do, under the circumstances.”

  Amanda stiffened. The man was actually gloating! All so certain that she’d hand over what amounted to the entirety of her and Sarah’s worldly possessions for next to nothing! And she had no doubts whatsoever that the moment he got hold of all those supplies he’d take advantage of some other poor souls—turning her misfortune into an indecent profit for himself. She felt her spirit grow ice-solid. The sudden reply that popped out of her mouth surprised even her. “I didn’t come about the wagon. I’d like to arrange a trade. My father’s tools for some dry goods.”

  “Hm.” He rubbed his chin in dubious thought. “I s’pose that could be done—”

  “Fine. I’ll bring them to you shortly, then, and choose some yardage.”

  “What about the rest? The outfit. The supplies?”

  She offered a cool smile. “We’re only discussing Pa’s tools, Mr. Cavanaugh. I’m afraid our wagon isn’t for sale after all. We do thank you, however, for your… generous offer. Good day.” Gathering a fold of her skirt in one gloved hand, Amanda whirled and fled before she changed her mind.