The man grinned. “Montego will be escorting his daughter to supper around six. They plan to eat at the Wellington.”
“I thought Wellington had moved on and taken his business with him,” Rich said. “Heard Laramie was too rough for him.”
“Well, apparently he had second thoughts. Now his plan is to stay on through winter.”
Rich eyed the skies overhead and nodded. “Speaking of which, it looks like snow. Had heavy clouds threatening all the way from Utah. You’d do best to pull the men in from the line and settle them here in Laramie until we see how bad it gets.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” the man replied, turning to go.
“Oh, and, Wes,” Rich said to his former sergeant.
“Yeah?”
“You need a bath.” Rich grinned.
Rich arranged a seemingly chance meeting with the Montegos. At six o’clock, he waited on the opposite side of the street from the Wellington. Sure enough, the Montego carriage arrived only moments later. Isabella, clad in a shimmering gold-colored gown, allowed her father to help her down. She stood impatiently as her father instructed the driver.
Well, it’s now or never, Rich thought as he mustered up his courage and sauntered across the street. Funny. He would have rather dealt with Indians on his worst day than Isabella Montego on his best.
“Why, Mr. O’Brian,” Isabella said as she caught sight of Rich. “What a pleasant surprise! I do say you are a handsome sight on a cold winter’s evening. Why, a lady could positively swoon at the sight of you.”
Rich felt the heat rise up his neck at her syrupy praise, but he ignored it. “And you, Miss Montego, I must say you are quite an engaging vision as well.”
Baxter Montego joined them. “O’Brian. You’ve certainly been scarce of late. Heard you were out and about on some rescue mission several weeks ago.”
“That I was,” Rich said, hardly desiring to allow the conversation to be controlled by Montego. “But now I’m on a mission to find a good meal. Wellington serves the best in that department.”
“Oh, I heartily agree,” Montego replied. “We were just about to go to supper. Would you care to join us?”
Rich smiled in great satisfaction. “I would be honored.”
They were quickly seated at the best table, and after placing their orders with the waiter, Rich jumped right into conversation about the railroad. “I hope I won’t bore you, Miss Montego, but I find the problems upon the Union Pacific tracks overwhelming my thinking these days. I wondered if you, Mr. Montego, might have some thoughts on what is happening.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” Baxter replied, clearly on edge by Rich’s statement.
“Well, frankly, I’m sick to death of all the attacks suffered upon the UP. I figure the only party who is bound to benefit from such mayhem is the Central Pacific. No doubt they believe if they can keep the UP from building much farther, then they can take over and earn the government allotments for mileage. They have, after all, managed to get Congress to free up, to some degree at least, the restraints on how far east they could build. I believe if they can cause enough trouble on the UP line, they will be able to convince Congress that the eastern railroad is incompetent, thus allowing the CP to win the remaining mileage.”
Montego nodded thoughtfully. “You know, O’Brian, I believe you may well be correct. You are a brilliant man.”
Rich feigned pleasure at the man’s flattery. All the while he wanted to slap Montego’s confident face, and he wanted to put an end to Isabella’s friendly hand upon his knee.
“I figure,” Rich continued, “it’s time to give the CP back some of its own.”
Montego gasped. “Are you suggesting sabotage?”
Rich looked around the room cautiously. “If that’s what it will take, why not? They apparently have no qualms about wounding us. You stand to benefit from the survival of the UP as well, Montego. What say you? Do you suppose we could find someone who might be willing to help us in this endeavor? Someone who wouldn’t have a problem with a little bit of destruction.”
“How little?” Montego questioned.
“I’m not sure I follow you.”
“What my father is asking is how squeamish are you?” Isabella asked. Her hand softly kneaded Rich’s knee, while she pretended for all purposes to simply have her hands folded in her lap.
Rich didn’t wish to alienate the woman, but he was growing quite perturbed with her attention. “I’m not squeamish.”
“So you wouldn’t be adverse to a little bloodshed?” Montego leaned forward, brow arched.
A tingle crept up Rich’s spine. Montego’s icy expression was more than Rich had anticipated. The man had no remorse for the things he’d done, of this Rich was certain. “I’m sure the UP would want us to do whatever we had to do.”
Montego nodded and eased back in his chair. “I might know someone who could help.”
——
It was nearly midnight and a light snow was falling when Rich ducked down the agreed-upon alleyway near the train depot. He waited and watched in the profound stillness of the night. Usually sounds of revelry and drunkenness could be heard throughout the night, but for some reason, perhaps the weather, things seemed much calmer on this night.
Pacing back and forth in the alley, Rich wondered if the man would show. Montego had said he was certain where he could find Rich help, but he also made it clear that he wanted no part in Rich’s plan. Grimacing, Rich wondered if this idea would be at all productive. After all, if they couldn’t fix the blame on Montego and make it stick, Jordana might continue to be in danger and the railroad would continue to suffer destruction.
He heard footsteps before he saw anyone. Crouching low behind some crates, Rich watched as a lone figure approached at the opposite end of the alley. It had to be his man. Standing to reveal himself, Rich waited as the shadowy form moved closer.
The man, slight of build, but just a couple inches shorter than Rich, stopped two feet from Rich. “O’Brian?” he asked in a low, gravelly voice.
“Yes.”
“I heard you wanted some help with a job.”
“Yes, well, that’s one way of putting it.”
“Follow me,” the man demanded.
They headed out and around the building, and before Rich knew it, they were going back toward the depot. “Where are we going?”
“Never mind,” the man replied. He maneuvered around the platform and came to a stop not far from where several wagons of freight awaited the next train.
“Won’t the guard see us?” Rich asked.
“I know his route. He’s at the other end of the station.”
“Why come here at all?” Rich tried to determine the man’s game, praying he hadn’t walked into some kind of trap.
“I have friends nearby,” the man replied. “In case you decide to try anything. You and the guard are friends. I know that much. He won’t worry if he finds us here, because you’ll see to it that he doesn’t.”
The man’s voice sounded almost familiar, but the way he kept his hat low across his face, Rich had no way of telling the man’s identity. “Who are you?” Rich finally asked.
“That’s not important.”
“I figure it to be.”
The man shifted. “It’s not. I’m nobody. I’m just doing what I’m told. The boss sends me out.”
“Who’s your boss?” Rich asked earnestly.
“That’s not important, I’m telling you. What’s important is that you do what you’re told.”
“All right,” Rich said, finally giving up. “What is it I’m supposed to do?”
——
Two days of snow left Jordana feeling rather discouraged. She hadn’t heard from Rich, and she had no way of knowing if he were dead or alive. Likewise, she had to deal with Brenton’s moodiness. Stuck in Ogden and unable to get west and home, Brenton’s frustration mounted by the minute. What made it worse was to have to spend a lonely, dreary Christmas in that snowbound town. The holiday
was now over, marked only by a dismal dinner of dried meat, stale bread, and a half-burned cake provided by the hotel dining room. Brenton and Jordana hadn’t even bothered to exchange gifts.
Pacing in their tiny hotel room, Jordana went to the window for the tenth time in an hour as if hoping to see something that might indicate even a faint hint that the snow had stopped, or would soon.
“It’s still out there,” Brenton said gloomily.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The world is still out there. The snow is still out there.”
“Yes, I know that very well. I’m just trying to busy myself with something other than listening to you complain.”
“I’m not complaining!” Brenton lurched off the bed.
Jordana shook her head and sat down while Brenton took up the pacing. It was almost as if they’d agreed to take shifts. “I just wish we’d hear something from Rich.”
Just then a knock came at the door. “Telegram for J. Baldwin!” came the voice.
“Rich!” Jordana declared. She jumped to her feet and rushed to the door. Two days ago they’d sent telegrams to half a dozen people explaining their whereabouts. But somehow Jordana was certain this telegram would be from Rich. It wasn’t.
Charlie Crocker felt it necessary to expose himself and the Baldwins by risking a lengthy message. Jordana scanned the contents while Brenton tipped the messenger and sent the boy on his way.
“Who is it from?” Brenton asked as he attempted to look over her shoulder.
“Charlie,” Jordana replied, completely taken in by the words on the page. “Rich is in grave danger. Apparently he must have put his plan into play, because Charlie has caught wind of rumors that Rich is a part of a plot to do harm to us and the Union Pacific.”
“But I thought Rich was going to pretend to be plotting against the Central Pacific.”
Jordana passed the telegram to her brother. “So did I. This doesn’t look good at all.” She grabbed her coat. “Brenton, we’ve got to telegram Charlie and explain. Better yet, maybe we should telegram someone else and let them get word to Charlie. Either way, we have to help Rich or he’ll find himself swinging from the gallows.”
Brenton quickly agreed. “Let’s not worry about who sees it. Let’s just send Charlie a telegram telling him he’s wrong and we know all about it. We can word it so that it gives nothing away.”
But when they arrived at the telegraph office they quickly learned that all lines were down. Heavy snows along the route from Cheyenne to Salt Lake had caused the wires to snap away from the poles.
“The only thing moving at all in any direction,” the operator told them, “is the stage. They’re loading up right now and due to head out in half an hour.”
“Which direction?” Jordana asked.
“East. They’re gonna try to make their way to Echo.”
Jordana looked at Brenton. “You keep trying to get word to Charlie. You might even try to go to Salt Lake City. I think Leland Stanford is supposed to be there. Let Charlie know that Rich is not a threat and to say nothing more to anyone about it.”
“What are you going to do?” Brenton asked suspiciously.
“I’m going to get a seat on the stage.”
“No, you’re not!” Brenton declared. “You are in enough trouble.”
“I have to try,” she stated flatly. “If I don’t and it costs Rich his life, I’ll never forgive myself. I owe him my life, Brenton.”
Brenton nodded. “Then let me go. I owe him your life as well.”
“Look, we have to split up in hopes of getting through to someone. We will both be taking equal risks. It only makes sense that you head west and nearer to Caitlan. She needs you, too, doesn’t she?” Jordana said reasonably enough. “I have to do this and you have to let me.”
Sighing, Brenton shrugged and gazed into Jordana’s eyes. “Yes, I see that now—that and so much more. It is wrong for me to hold you back. I am sorry I’ve tried.” He smiled and gave her shoulder a pat.
Jordana nearly wept at his words, but she could only give him a quick embrace before turning her attention to the newest crisis.
“Stage is most likely full up,” the operator told them, shaking his head.
“That’s all right,” Jordana said with a weak smile. “If I’m supposed to be on it, God will make a way.”
24
The snows let up enough to let the stage through, and when Jordana was finally able to hook up with the Union Pacific Railroad, she was more than ready for a little bit of warmth and comfort. The temperature outside had to be near zero, if not lower, and the wind was not in the least bit disturbed by the barriers of mere wood and canvas offered by the stage.
Yet if she had hoped to find comfort on the train, Jordana was sorely mistaken. A passenger either roasted by sitting near the stove or froze if they passed more than a few rows back from the blazing heat. Unable to get comfortable and weary to the bone, Jordana wrapped herself in a wool blanket, which had been offered by the porter, and tried her best to go to sleep. When she awoke four hours later, she was discouraged to hear that the train had made very little progress.
“We’re workin’ at it, ma’am,” the porter told her, “but the snows are makin’ it hard.”
Jordana knew the man did not deserve her anger, and so she bit back a retort and instead thanked him for the use of the blanket. Cuddling down in the wool cover, she felt her teeth chattering from the icy air. This was not her idea of traveling in comfort and style as advertised by the Union Pacific.
It was late in the afternoon of the next day before they finally reached Laramie. Jordana stepped from the train, praying that she might find Rich and, at the same time, avoid any entanglement with the Montegos. She was desperate to keep him safe. All night long she’d tossed and turned and fretted in her sleep. She kept imagining Charlie Crocker presiding over a hanging with Rich as the victim to be punished. Over and over she had tried to tell them of his innocence, but no one would listen to her. She was just a silly woman, they had said. A silly woman who was in love with a criminal.
She contemplated this thought now as she made her way from the railroad depot platform. Maybe she was in love with him, but there certainly were other good reasons—maybe better reasons—for saving Rich from harm. His innocence was right up there at the top. Rich hadn’t committed any crime, and he didn’t deserve Charlie’s wrath, or anyone else’s for that matter. Yes, she told herself, it had nothing to do with such emotions as love. Because she didn’t really love Rich O’Brian—did she? But even this question paled in comparison to her worry over whether Rich would meet with harm because of Charlie’s misunderstanding.
The images in her head were getting the best of her. Surely God wouldn’t allow Rich to meet with such a horrible fate. She prayed silently, asking for Rich’s safety and pleading for protection for both of them. She reminded God, as if He might somehow have forgotten, that they both put their trust in Him and that she knew He wouldn’t let her down. Her faith had always been strong, unnaturally so, her mother and father had said. But she could not recall a time when that trust hadn’t been fixed firmly in God. Some people thought her rather flippant in her faith. They confused her ability to believe God was in control with being smugly righteous or testing God with foolishness. But it was never like that. Never for even a minute. God’s grace and mercy was just something she took at face value. Even when she had been kidnapped, she had known it was all just some part of a bigger picture. She didn’t blame God for her situation. Yet even though God’s hand had not caused her woes, she knew He was with her every step of the way. That’s why she knew He was with her now. She hadn’t been at all afraid for herself. Somehow she knew she wasn’t destined to die in Laramie at the hands of the Montegos. She didn’t know why she didn’t have that same assurance for Rich.
Then, as if thinking of him had somehow drawn him to her, Jordana looked up to see him coming from the depot telegraph office. Without thought, she closed the dist
ance at a run and threw herself into his arms.
“I’m so glad I found you!” she declared, burying her face against his wool coat.
“Jordana?” His disbelief was obvious, but nevertheless he wrapped his arms tightly around her.
They held each other for several moments until Jordana realized what she had done. Backing away, she began to stammer and stutter, trying desperately to sound nonchalant about her actions. “I . . . we . . . well, that is . . . Brenton and I learned something and I had to come. You’re in danger. I’m sorry I attacked you like that, but I’ve . . . well . . . I’ve been afraid that I wouldn’t get here in time.”
Rich inclined his head, a slow smile spreading across his lips. “Well, I must say I was surprised. I don’t get too many greetings like that, and since you didn’t hurt me, I wasn’t even sure it was you.”
Jordana licked her dry, cold lips and laughed good-naturedly. “I’m glad I didn’t hurt you, but I’m afraid someone is probably going to try to do just that.”
“Well, let’s get out of here,” Rich suggested. “I have a room over at Nader’s Boarding. They might have another available that we could secure for you.”
“Sounds good. I need to tell you everything that’s happening.”
They arrived at the boardinghouse amidst a flurry of activities. It seemed Mr. Nader was just ridding the place of vermin. Two-legged vermin actually, a couple of seedy-looking men. Once the two men were sufficiently booted down the stairs to land in a heap at the bottom of the walkway, Mr. Nader put up a sign that read “Room for Rent.”
Rich picked up the sign nearly as quickly as the man had turned to go. With the cursing and muttering of the two bruised and battered malcontents still ringing in their ears, Rich said, “My young friend here needs a room.”
Nader turned around and sized up Jordana. “We don’t allow any nightly business, if that’s what you have in mind.”
Jordana laughed, not at all offended by the man. “The only business I do at night is sleeping, so we ought to get on just fine.”
The man smiled. “We run a respectable house. Mrs. Nader wouldn’t hardly stand for any problems. That’s why I ran them two fellas out. They were gambling right here on my premises!”
Judith Pella, Tracie Peterson - [Ribbons West 03] Page 21