A storm rumbled in the distance.
“I heard what that outlaw said to you,” she declared. “I hope all three of them rot in jail. Dakota Red is a bully. If he didn’t have that gun, he’d be nothing more than a nuisance. I bet you could sock him good.”
Her confidence in his ability bolstered his male ego. “Maybe.”
A light misting of rain peppered their cheeks. Tilly swiped at the moisture. “I’ve never seen this much rain in my life. Has the river ever flooded?”
“I don’t know. I’ve only been here a year.”
The spring had been unnaturally wet, blanketing the countryside in emerald green. While he’d explored other areas of Nebraska, none had quite the same feel as the Niobrara River Valley. Though the sand hills had their own unique beauty, they were nothing but stark, rolling hills. The Platte River Valley was drab and uninspiring, endless prairie flatlands with a few trees breaking up the barren, unrelenting horizon.
The Niobrara Valley, in contrast, was lush and rolling, with secluded valleys and knots of cottonwoods. Not long after the turn of the century, Meriwether Lewis and William Clark had camped near Old Baldy and captured a prairie dog for President Jefferson. Over the past year he’d poured over reprinted copies of their journals, fascinated by their travels.
Tilly marched down the street, her long strides matching his. Everything about her was graceful and efficient, with a minimum of adornment. Yet there was a spark in the details—the contrasting red calico of her yellow dress, the long braid wrapped around the simple knot at the base of her neck, her vivid eyes the color of a Virginia bluebell.
They reached the jail and she pushed open the door. The air was dank and he kicked a loose brick before the door, propping it open for a breeze.
The children had trampled through the mess, leaving sooty footprints across the floor. There was no pattern to the steps—the trails crisscrossed and doubled back on each other, some faded and some dark. His skin crawled. Nolan backed toward the exit. Perhaps he could retrieve a broom and a dustpan.
Tilly grasped his sleeve. “Don’t lose your nerve now. Left to my own devices, I’m liable to bring the building down around us.”
She trekked through the ashy footprints and he trailed behind her, missing the worst of the dust.
The sheriff’s office was the same as any other he’d seen over the years. A front room for the sheriff to drink, smoke and gossip with the townfolk, and a back room that held the jail cell.
Elizabeth and Victoria sat crosslegged outside the bars. Caroline sat on her knees in the enclosure, her arms before her, her hands limp.
Elizabeth playfully poked a stick through the bars.
“Stop this instant,” Tilly shouted. “What on earth are you doing?”
“She’s a bear,” Victoria said, affronted. “We’re pretending like she’s a bear in a cage.”
“Well that’s no way to treat a bear or your sister. Find another game.”
“She doesn’t mind.”
“I mind.” Tilly planted her hands on her hips and scowled. “You are not allowed to poke each other with branches. Even in jest.”
“You’re not as fun as you were when we started this trip.”
“You have no idea.”
Victoria tossed aside her stick and curled her fingers together. “This place is filthy.”
“Agreed,” Tilly replied. She pinched the edges of a dented spittoon and tossed it aside. “Every building in this town is a disaster. Apparently the inhabitants simply dropped their belongings and fled. I guess people don’t care about leaving a good impression when they’re abandoning a town.”
“Mama cared,” Victoria said. “She cared about leaving a good impression. Mama said she was leaving the bank a clean house.”
“The bank?” Tilly asked. “I think you mean the people buying your house.”
“Mama hates the bank. That’s all I know.”
“If cleanliness is next to godliness, your mother is seated at the right hand of the Lord, that’s for certain.”
Carolina and Victoria giggled.
Tilly grasped the bars and poked her nose through the opening. “Just a little while longer, Caroline. Don’t worry. We’ll have you out of there lickety-split.”
Nolan shook off the past and focused on the current situation. Not only did Caroline seem unconcerned by her confinement, but she also appeared to be enjoying her role as the center of attention. With two siblings, no doubt the opportunity was rare.
Caroline folded her hands over her stomach. “Did you bring some water?”
“Yes. And some sandwiches. We’ll make a party of your entrapment.” Tilly dug through her basket, retrieving the wrapped lunch. “Mr. West has an idea on how he can free you.”
“Let’s see.” He rubbed his chin with a thumb and forefinger and made a show of considering the situation. “I have some dynamite back at the house.”
Blanching, Caroline shot upright. “Isn’t that dangerous?”
Victoria giggled.
“He’s teasing,” Tilly said. “You’re teasing, aren’t you?”
Mostly. Dynamite would definitely bust the lock. If it had been him trapped in the cell, he’d take the option immediately. He couldn’t stomach confined spaces.
“I’m teasing,” he said.
The mere thought of being trapped sent his heart hammering in his chest. He covered his unease by studying the spot where the bars had jammed into the floorboards. Sweat slicked his palms and he set down the pry bar. The metal was stronger than the floor, which meant he might be able to force them loose.
He braced the bent tip on the bar, then leaned back, levering his weight against the action.
For the next fifteen minutes, he attempted to pry free the door without success.
Tilly studied her nails. “Can’t you simply unscrew the hinges or something?”
“They’re welded shut. It’s not good for business if you can simply unscrew the hinges.”
“I suppose not.” She tossed him a withering glance. “Do you need a break? I’ve brought a sandwich for you, as well.”
“I can’t take a break until Caroline is free.”
“Sure you can.”
Her casual acceptance of the situation baffled him. “I’ll have to cut through the floor. That could take hours.”
“All right.”
“Didn’t you hear me? She’ll be trapped in there for hours.”
“She’s got food, she’s got water and she’s got company. She’ll survive for a few hours.”
The second year of his confinement, a prisoner in their barracks had struck a guard with a rock. In retaliation, their meager rations had been halved. Close to starvation, he’d slipped beneath the fence and stolen slop from the kitchen refuse. His transgression had cost him a lengthy stay of shackled, isolated confinement. He didn’t know how long they’d kept him in that tiny box—he’d lost all track of time and place.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. “I can’t be here.”
As casually as he could muster, Nolan strode past the curious stares of Tilly and her nieces. Once outside, he hung his head and took several deep, heaving breaths.
A moment later the door opened beside him.
“Mr. West,” Tilly called. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
He fisted his hand against the chipped paint exterior of the jail and straightened. “I need a different tool.”
Anything to buy himself some time before going back inside. The mere idea of being confined behind the bars sent his skin crawling. He loathed feeling like this—helpless and frustrated by impulses he didn’t understand. He’d never had these troubles before the war. While he’d never had much affection for small spaces, he’d been able to overcome the difficulty. Since his time at Roc
k Island, the fear left him vulnerable.
“You needn’t be ashamed, Mr. West,” Tilly said. “Lots of people are claustrophobic. Thankfully, Caroline isn’t one of those people.”
“My fears shouldn’t matter. I’m not the one locked inside there.”
“I’m terribly frightened of heights. When someone else approaches a precipice, my hands sweat and my heart pounds. Even if I’m nowhere near the edge myself, watching the other person breach the distance is frightening.”
“You don’t need to placate me.”
Her sympathy only exacerbated his shame. He should be stronger.
“Why don’t you stay out here for a few minutes? Breathe the fresh air and don’t think about closed spaces. I’ll keep the girls busy. Everyone has something that frightens them. My father’s cousin is frightened of horses. She fell off a horse as a child, and she doesn’t ride. I think that’s why she lives in New York City. She can walk everywhere. Every family has an eccentric member.”
He was about to take over the role in his family, an idea that was far from comforting. “My aunt Vicky has fifteen goats.”
“That doesn’t seem odd.”
“She dresses them on holidays.”
“My point exactly.” Tilly grinned. “Every family has an eccentric member.”
Anxiety knotted his stomach. He didn’t want to be the “Aunt Vicky” in the family. The person that folks talked about with a mixture of amusement and pity. He’d rather live in solitude than suffer that fate.
“I’m all right,” he said. “I can finish. As soon as I’m done here, I have to prepare for the next stagecoach.”
“The next stagecoach.” Tilly blanched. “I just realized something.”
Immediately concerned, Nolan straightened. “What?”
“For all we know, Eleanor might be on the next stagecoach,” Tilly said. “She doesn’t know what’s going on, which means she’s liable to get us all killed!”
Chapter Eight
Tilly paced behind Nolan, carefully avoiding the growing pile of sawdust from where he was cutting through the wood.
Mindful of the girls, she chose her words carefully. “Eleanor has only just lost her husband this past year. What will we do if she passes through town before the other, you know, um, package we’re supposed to be looking for?”
“What package?” Victoria asked.
“Mr. West is anticipating the arrival of a gold package.”
Tilly hadn’t considered that Eleanor might be boarding a stagecoach as they spoke, anticipating a reunion with her daughters. Just what they needed—Eleanor stumbling into town and discovering her girls were being held hostage by a group of outlaws.
“We’re going to take this one day at a time,” Nolan said. “One stagecoach at a time, one trapped little girl at a time. Right now, our job is freeing Caroline. Then we’ll worry about dinner, then we’ll worry about this evening.”
“But what about—”
“One foot in front of the other, one step at a time. That’s the only way we’re going to survive. We have hours to worry about tomorrow.”
“You’re right.” Her eyes burned. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. This time next year, you’ll be living in New York City. You’ll be saving widows and orphans by the dozens, and this will be an exciting story you tell over dessert and coffee.”
“I hope so.”
“I know so.”
“Let’s try the pry bar again,” Tilly said. Anything to get her mind off the thought of Eleanor. “I’ll add my weight and we can push together.”
Despite the decay, the floorboards were proving remarkably difficult to saw through. The awkward angle wasn’t helping Nolan’s efforts.
Nolan took one side, and she positioned herself on the other. Together they bore down on the board. The bars slipped an inch before jamming again.
Tilly wiggled her fingers through the narrow opening. “That didn’t help much.”
“The building has settled more than I thought. The corner is really jammed. This is going to take more of an effort.”
Studying the problem, she frowned. “Let’s approach Snyder. He’s the most amiable. I’m guessing he was the muscle behind the breakout anyway.”
“It’s his muscle I’ll be needing.”
Nolan was reluctant to ask for the outlaw’s assistance, but he conceded they needed help. “Let’s go.”
They discovered the outlaw brushing down one of the stolen horses. After explaining the situation, Snyder rubbed his chin.
“I’ll see if I can help you, but they make those cells hard to bust out of for a reason.”
“How did you break out of jail?” Tilly asked.
“We used the birdcage.”
“The birdcage?”
“Charlie had this birdcage in his cell. He used to tell folks there was a bird inside. The guards let him keep it, because they figured he was loco. Then one day, he tells this guard that he’s got to give the cage to his brother. When the guard opened the door, Charlie clobbered him on the head.”
“Oh, my.” Tilly pressed her fingers against her lips. “Clearly, that’s not going to work in our situation.”
“Charlie unlocked all the other fellows.” Snyder resumed the vigorous rubbing of his chin. “He figured that having all those fugitives on the run would make it harder to catch us. He was right.”
“Clever,” Tilly said weakly.
Fifteen minutes later, with both Snyder and Nolan straining with effort, Caroline was freed from her temporary prison. Snyder collapsed on a bench and grinned, clearly relishing his role as the hero of the situation.
After a moment he appeared to gather himself. He stood and offered a gruff, “Don’t bother me again,” before storming out.
Nolan shrugged. “At least he helped.”
Victoria had spread out a blanket over the dirty floor, and she and Elizabeth sat across from each other.
When Victoria caught sight of the open cell door, her face fell. “Aw, shucks. I was just fixing to have a pretend tea party.”
“We can have a celebratory pretend tea party.” Tilly reclined on the edge of the blanket. “I’ll have a pretend scone with my pretend tea.”
A crack of thunder rattled the building, shaking dust from the eves. The girls shrieked and huddled together.
“Back to the relay station,” Nolan ordered gently. “This ceiling offers about as much protection as a sieve. The tea party will have to move.”
Moving quickly, they gathered their supplies. The girls dashed ahead of them, giggling and splashing through the gathering puddles. Nolan held the blanket over Tilly’s head as they hurried back to the relay station.
The meager cover offered little protection, and she was soon soaked through to her skin. They splashed through puddles and moisture settled in her boots. The girls quickly outpaced them.
Sheets of rain swept over their heads, and he prodded her to the side of the street, where they ducked beneath the sheltering eves of an abandoned building. The wind whipped the trees, tearing at the branches. Nolan lowered the blanket and shook off the moisture.
“We’ll wait here until the rain lets up,” he said.
A leaf had caught in his hair. Tilly raised up on tiptoes and plucked it free. The serrated edges of the leaf caught in his hair, and she placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.
Their faces were inches apart, and his gaze grew intense. She wasn’t quite certain who closed the distance between them. Their lips touched and heat flared between them. His hand slipped over her shoulder, caressing the nape of her neck. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed closer.
Emboldened by his response, she angled her head, increasing the contact between them. She felt him tremble against her
and her stomach fluttered. A gust of wind sent a smattering of rain over them, but she barely registered the discomfort. His heady scent surrounded her, a mixture of leather and coffee.
Thunder crashed and they both started, then separated. His eyes were wide and dilated and his breathing was almost as harsh as her own.
She touched her lips in wonder.
He raked his hand through his hair. “We should go.”
Her emotions reeling, she blindly took his hand. He sheltered her with the blanket once more and they dashed the distance.
She reached for the door but he caught her arm. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have.”
“But—”
“I’ve got chores. I won’t see you tonight.”
He was gone before she could say more, her words lost in the clatter of rain beating against the building.
She touched her cheek with trembling fingers. He’d felt it, too. He must have. Something had changed between them, and there was no going back.
* * *
Nolan stayed away from the relay station until the outlaws finished dinner and stumbled down the stairs. He watched as they made their way across the rain-soaked ground. There was no avoiding the inevitable. He’d kissed Tilly. Or she’d kissed him. He wasn’t really certain. She certainly hadn’t resisted. Neither had he.
He couldn’t help the flare of masculine pride. What man wouldn’t want the attentions of such a vibrant woman? The next instant, reality struck. He couldn’t bring anyone into his world. He couldn’t subject another person to his rigid routines and his obsession with cleanliness and order.
Despite his good intentions, the feel of the soft hair on the nape of her neck lingered on his fingertips. He rubbed them together, as though imprinting the memory into his very skin.
In the time he’d lived with his father immediately following the end of the war, he’d taken to obsessively counting the number of plates in the cupboard. He didn’t know why. He only knew he had to count them, and then count them again. He’d seen the mingled look of disgust and disappointment in his father’s eyes.
Don’t let anyone else see you doing that, his father had said. They’ll think you’re mad.
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