Colorado Dawn

by Kaki Warner

  She would listen, shed a few tears, and they would comfort her. Then hopefully she would be able to put aside this growing attraction to Ash and send him on his way so she could get back to her exciting and fulfilling life. Just two more days, and those would be spent traveling. Surely, she could manage that.

  With determined steps, she left the wagon. As she came down the stair, she saw Ash and Mr. Satterwhite standing by the table in the clearing, arguing over some inconsequential thing, as they were wont to do.

  “Gentlemen,” she called, crossing toward them. “If you would please help me pack up these boxes and load them onto the top of the wagon, I’m hoping we can depart for Heartbreak Creek first thing in the morning.”

  · · ·

  They awoke to a heavy dew that clung to the grass and dripped from sagging spruce limbs. By the time they were ready to go, the mist had thickened to a cold drizzle that slowly sucked the yellow leaves from the aspens and turned the trunks of the firs and alders dark brown.

  Maddie rode beside Mr. Satterwhite, Agnes in her lap. Even though the overhanging roof extending above the driver’s bench protected them somewhat from the rain, the cold dampness soon made her bones ache. She could see it was having a similar effect on Ash’s healing injury.

  She felt bad for him. Earlier, she had offered to let him take her place up front, but he had refused—­stubborn, prideful man that he was—­and now rode alongside, a dripping flat-­crowned coachman’s hat covering his head, and an oiled duster draped over his legs. Tricks trotted at his side, his rough coat matted with rain and mud.

  Before long, the drizzle gave over to a steady rain that didn’t let up throughout the morning. Soon the wagon track became a slippery morass, and Buttercup and Maisy were struggling for footing on the inclines, and sliding hock deep in mud on the downward slopes. As the hours passed and the rain continued, runoff cut deep grooves into the sodden earth.

  By early afternoon, when the rain showed no sign of slacking and their progress had slowed to a crawl, Maddie turned to Mr. Satterwhite. “Perhaps we should stop for the day,” she shouted over the drumming of rain on the top of the wagon. She was chilled to the bone, Agnes was shivering, and it was apparent from the paleness of his face and the tight line of his mouth that Ash was suffering, as well. Even Mr. Satterwhite was showing the strain, sitting hunched over the reins, his head drooping.

  “We’ve got one more crossing,” he shouted back. “It’s the deepest, so we’d best cross now before the water rises too high.”

  “How far?” Ash called, angling Lurch close to the wagon.

  “Mile. Maybe two.”

  “I’ll scout it.” Kicking Lurch into a trot, he went ahead of the wagon, Tricks loping alongside.

  As they disappeared down the road, Maddie turned again to Mr. Satterwhite. “He’s in pain. We should stop as soon as we can.”

  “He’s in pain? What about me?” Mumbling under his breath, he snapped the reins and pushed the mules to a faster pace.

  When they rounded the bend a few minutes later, Ash was sitting on Lurch beside the rushing creek, a worried look on his face. “Over two feet deep and moving fast. I’ll lead the team across.”

  Mr. Satterwhite nodded and urged the mules forward.

  Maddie clung to the arm rail as the wagon bounced over the rocky streambed. Ahead, reining Lurch with one hand and gripping a rope hooked to Maisy’s driving bridle with the other, Ash called encouragement to the frightened mules. Soon water churned around their knees and the animals were lifting their hooves high and setting them down cautiously. Buttercup, the more timid of the two, began to tremble.

  Looking down, Maddie saw that the wheel on her side was half-­submerged, and clutched Agnes tighter.

  “Get on! Get on!” Mr. Satterwhite shouted as the mules scrabbled on the uneven streambed, struggling to drag the wagon over a large rock. With a bounce that almost tipped the wagon over, they cleared the obstacle. But when the heel chains slapped against Buttercup’s rear legs, the startled mule leaped forward, knocking Lurch off balance. The horse went down, throwing Ash out of the saddle, and suddenly both mules were lunging toward the opposite bank.

  Lurch regained his feet and splashed after them. No sign of Ash.

  Shouting “Whoa” in a panicky voice, Mr. Satterwhite reared back and wrestled with the reins. From inside the wagon came the crash of tumbling boxes and shifting furniture as they careened over the streambed.

  Maddie looked back, saw Ash rise, dripping and cursing, out of the water, and went almost giddy with relief. Bracing her legs, she fought to stay seated, one hand gripping the roof support, the other clutching Agnes to her chest. With a jarring bounce, the wagon cleared the stream and started up the muddy incline, Lurch racing wild-­eyed alongside. A loud grating sound came from the axle beneath the bench, then just as the wagon reached flat ground, the wheel under Maddie gave with an explosive crack.

  The wagon tipped to one side, flinging Agnes from her arms and Satterwhite against her shoulder. Maddie flailed for a handhold. The wagon teetered, then rocked back, finally slamming to earth at a precarious angle over the broken wheel.

  Hands grabbed her, yanked her to safety.

  “Are you all right?” Ash demanded, running his hands up her arms to grip her head. “Are ye hurt, Maddie? Speak to me!”

  “Yes. N-­No. I’m all right.”

  “Sweet Mary.” He pulled her hard against his body, one big hand pinning her head so tightly to his chest she could feel the vibration of his thundering heartbeat against her cheek. “Ye scared the bluidy hell out of me, ye daft woman. You’ll no’ do that again.”

  He was muddy and wet, but she sank into the cold, solid strength of him. One—­or both—­of them was shaking. She didn’t know which.

  After a moment, he pulled back. Hands gripping her shoulders, he bent and peered into her face. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?”

  “I’m all right, but Mr. Satterwhite and Agnes—­”

  “They’re fine. Everyone is safe.”

  She looked around, spotted Lurch and the dogs waiting in the shelter of the trees, and Mr. Satterwhite trying to calm the mules, who stood trembling, their mud-­coated sides pumping as they dragged in air. “Thank God,” she said on a shaky breath. “We all made it.”

  “All but the wagon.” Releasing her arms, Ash turned to study the damaged wheel. “That hub is shattered, I’m afraid.”

  “C-­Can we fix it?” Now that the danger was past, the fear and cold were setting in, and her teeth began to chatter.

  “You’re chilled. Satterwhite!” Ash had to yell over the sound of the rushing stream. “Set up the photography tent for my wife while I see what can be done about this wheel.”

  “Don’t b-­bother with t-­the tent. Look.” Maddie pointed a shaking finger at the patches of blue sky that showed through the thinning clouds. “It’s s-­stopped raining.”

  Ash was as miserable as he had been at the siege of Sevastopol during that terrible winter fifteen years ago, and every wound he had suffered in the years since was aching like a buggering son of a bitch.

  Bluidy wheel. Bluidy hub. Bluidy, humpin’ mud.

  Biting back a groan, he straightened, one hand pressed against his cramping back, and flung the mallet to the ground in disgust. “There’s no help for it. The hub canna be repaired. It will have to be replaced.”

  Satterwhite kicked the hub. “Hell.”

  “I’m not supposing you carry an extra wheel?”

  “Nope.”

  “Bollocks.” They stood staring down at the remains of the right front wheel, then Ash sighed and asked, “How far is it to the nearest blacksmith or wheelwright?”

  Idly rubbing his left arm, Satterwhite thought it over. “That’d be Becker’s Fort at Hellbent Falls. It’s not really a fort. More like a trading post. And Becker died in an Indian raid about four or five years ago, so I’m not sure why the place still carries his name. The falls are gone, too, sent underground by a rock
slide a decade ago. But last time I came through there, they had a smithy, and he had wagon parts.”

  “How far,” Ash asked again, striving for patience.

  “Twelve, maybe fifteen miles.” Satterwhite pointed up the road in the direction they had been headed. “About ten miles up is a big burned-­out cedar stump. Beside it is a trail that branches left.”

  Ash nodded and started to turn away, when Satterwhite added, “But that’s not it, so don’t take it.”

  Wearily, Ash turned back.

  “But if you was to backtrack about half a mile from that stump,” Satterwhite expounded, “you’d find a cutoff to the east. That’s the one that’ll take you into Becker’s Fort.”

  “You’re sure?” Ash asked, fearing he was being sent on a fool’s errand by a bigger fool.

  “Well…” Satterwhite stopped rubbing his arm and scrunched one wandering eye closed in deep consideration. After a moment, he opened the eye and nodded. “Yep. That’s it. Pretty sure. Your Majesty.”

  Ash considered choking him, but his hands were so cold and sore from wrestling with the wheel he wasna sure he had the strength to do it properly. “You’ll watch out for her while I’m gone?”

  The old man drew back. “I watched out for her well enough before you showed up, didn’t I?”

  Shaking his head in exasperation, Ash started away again.

  This time Satterwhite stopped him with a hand on his arm. “You are coming back, aren’t you?”

  Ash glared down at the gnarly fingers, then jerked his arm free. “What do you think?”

  “I think I’m getting too old to haul her around. And I think she’s not safe out here on her own and needs someone to watch out for her. And much as it pains me to say it, I think that someone should be you.” Satterwhite stepped closer, his white-­whiskered jaw jutting. “So I’ll ask you again, soldier boy. Are you coming back, or not?”

  Soldier boy? Ash was so angry he almost reached for the saber he no longer wore. “I have journeyed over a year and more than five thousand miles to find her,” he said through clenched teeth. “Do you truly think I would return to Scotland without her?”

  Satterwhite’s face went slack. “Scotland? You’re going back to Scotland?”

  “Of course, I am, ye bluidy noob! I’m heir to an earldom, so I am. I dinna seek it, nor do I want it, but that’s the task I’ve been given. So, aye, I’ll go back. I have duties there.”

  “You have duties here!” Clapping both hands to his head, Satterwhite stomped a tight circle. “You mule-­headed, yammering, fancy-­pants foreigner, you’re blinder than I am!”

  Ash had opened his mouth to toss out a few insults of his own, when Satterwhite whirled and jabbed a finger into his chest. “And what about missy? You planning to drag her back with you?”

  Dumbfounded, Ash looked down at the finger planted on his chest. How many men would have dared do such a thing? Sane men. Dinna Satterwhite realize what a soldier in training for seventeen years was capable of? What he was capable of?

  Blitherin’ numptie. Striving for the cool calmness that had earned him a reputation for levelheadedness under fire, Ash stiffened his spine and clasped his hands behind his back. “It is my hope that Viscountess Ashby will return with me to assume the duties of her station.”

  “Which probably doesn’t include going into places no proper lady would dare venture just to take her pictures. Right?” Another jab.

  “Remove your hand. Now.”

  Satterwhite did, then heaved a great sigh of disgust. “You’ll kill her.”

  Ash blinked. “I’ll what?”

  “Missy has a kind and gentle heart. You can see it in every picture she makes. It’s in the way she looks at the world. Hell, in the way she looks at me—­a broken-­down old man with eyes that make children duck behind their mother’s skirts. She sees the beauty in us all. And you would take that away from her.”

  “Haud yer wheesht!” Ash shouted, his accent getting away from him. “I wouldna dae any sech thing!”

  “You take away her photography, you take away her joy. Is that what you want?”

  Ash blinked at the old man, deafened by the ring of truth in his words. That joy in life was what had attracted him to Maddie in the first place. Attracted him, still. But a member of the peerage couldn’t go haring about in disreputable places just to pursue a hobby. It wasna safe. Or proper. Or acceptable. Such behavior would make her the laughingstock of society, and he dinna want that for the lass.

  “Of course it’s not what I want.” But if Satterwhite was right, and Maddie insisted on continuing her photography, he might allow her to open a wee studio in a fashionable part of town. He wasn’t a harsh man.

  And at that moment, and with that thought, Ash realized he had already made his decision about his marriage.

  He wouldn’t petition for a divorce, and he wouldn’t go back to Scotland without his wife. Somehow, he would convince Maddie to accept him and the life he could give her. He was offering a title and a life of ease, for God’s sake. “Dinna fret about milady,” he said with cool stiffness, having regained his temper. “I will take proper care of my wife and keep her safe, so I will. And as for Scotland, when I come back from Becker’s Fort, I’ll talk to her about it and show her that I’m a—­”

  “Damned fool.”

  “—­reasonable man,” Ash ground out over the interruption. “But while I’m gone, you’d best watch out for her—­”

  “Like I’ve been doing all these months?”

  “—­because if anything happens to the lass, I’ll—­”

  “Everything is fine in here,” Maddie called, coming around the back of the wagon. “A broken lantern and the stovepipe knocked askew, but that’s the extent of it. None of my negative plates were broken, thank goodness. And do stop threatening Mr. Satterwhite, Ashby. He is an excellent guardian.”

  “Thank you, missy.”

  Ash sent the old man a warning glare. “Just in case, I’ll leave you Tricks.”

  Muttering under his breath, Satterwhite stalked off.

  “And anyway,” Maddie continued, stopping beside Ash and the ruined wheel, “I’m more concerned about how stable the wagon is.” She frowned at the huge rock propped beneath the end of the axle where the wheel had been attached. “It looks rather precarious.”

  Ash refrained from giving the wagon a hard shove just to prove her wrong. But it had taken all his strength and a stout log to lever the wagon out of the mud so Satterwhite could roll the rock under it, and he was in no mood to go through that a second time. Besides, his side hurt like hell. “It will be fine for one night, lass. If I leave this afternoon, I should be back by tomorrow night. It should take no more than a day to repair the hub.”

  Or perhaps, two, if he had to wait for a new one to be made. Which might not be that bad a thing. For surely, even in a remote trading post, there would be a warm bath, a warm meal, and a warm room to let. Anxious to reach it and get out of his mud-­caked clothes, he turned to his wife with a smile. “So give us a kiss, love, and off I go.”

  She reared back, her eyes wide. “W-­What?”

  “A kiss and a hug. Just in case.”

  “So now it’s a hug, too? And in case of what?”

  “One never knows.” When she still dinna move, he opened his arms wide. “For auld lang syne, then. Luck. Good-­bye. Come, lass.” He wiggled his fingers and smiled encouragingly. “One wee kiss.”

  “Well…”

  Actually, it wasna wee, at all. And not only because he wrapped his arms so tight around her she couldn’t move. But because his sweet, loving wife kissed him back, and took such time and care in the doing of it, he still couldn’t sit his saddle comfortably for an hour after he left…​which was about the same time Tricks caught up to him and it started to rain again.

  Seven

  “That monster dog of his has run off.” Mr. Satterwhite dumped an armload of wood beside the fire, then brushed his hands down the front of his wet duste
r. “Hope we’ll survive with only me to look out for us.”

  Maddie tilted her parasol toward the back so the rain dripped on her oiled canvas jacket rather than puddling in her lap. “I’m sure he meant no insult.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he did. It’s no wonder you ran off and left him. Damned foreigner—­oops, excuse me, missy.”

  Maddie wasn’t certain if the apology was for the coarse language or because he had directed it at foreigners—­of which she was one. “I didn’t run off and leave him. He left me.”

  “To return to his regiment, you said. Did he have a choice, then?”

  Maddie felt her conscience nipping at her but willed it away. “Perhaps not. But he could have written.” Or had Ridgeway write.

  With a deep groan, the old man settled on a rock beside the sputtering flames. Leaning forward, he stirred a pot bubbling on the coals—­some sort of stew, seasoned with jerky, potatoes, carrots, and their last onion. It almost smelled good enough to eat.

  “But not everybody can read and write, missy. With these crooked eyes of mine, I sure never learned the knack.”

  “I’m sorry for that, Mr. Satterwhite. But I assure you Lord Ashby could have sent more than two letters in all those years. He was educated in Edinburgh, after all.”

  Oddly, she took pride in that accomplishment, knowing now how difficult it must have been in light of his affliction. “The University of Edinburgh has been called the seat of Scottish Enlightenment, you know.”

  “The seat. Well, that explains a lot.”