Frontier Courtship

by Valerie Hansen

He slammed it on the table with a vengeance. “There. It’s gold coin. Count it if you want.”

  “There’s no need. I trust you,” Emory said.

  “Good. Then I’ll be having the deed to all this, including your claim. Put it in writing. You may be the trusting sort, but I’m not.”

  “We should both sign,” Emory said. “So there’s no misunderstanding.”

  “Fine with me. I can read, so no trickery.”

  “You’re buying my cabin and my diggings, is that correct?”

  “And all your tools. Be sure to spell it out. I don’t want any questions after you leave.”

  “Of course.” Emory took out the stub of a pencil and wet it with his lips while he opened a small notebook. “Let’s see now, the date is around October twenty-ninth, I think. That’s close, anyway. We just heard California became a state, so I know for sure it’s late October.”

  “Fine, fine. Get on with it.”

  Emory’s hand was shaking. He finished writing, tore the paper from the book and handed it to Tucker. “That look right to you?”

  Tucker read it and shoved it back at him. “Sign.”

  “You, too. Here. I made a copy.”

  “All right, all right. Whatever you say.” Grinning, he signed and immediately spit on the dirt floor. “Since this is my house now, take your useless daughter and get out.”

  “In a minute,” Emory said. “First, there’s some folks I’d like you to meet.”

  “I got no truck with any of your friends. Gather up your clothes and skedaddle.”

  Passing the table, Emory pocketed the poke Tucker had given him, took Charity’s hand and led her to the door. When he opened it, Connell was waiting.

  Tucker gaped. “What in blazes…?”

  “I believe you already know Mr. McClain,” Emory said.

  Connell entered, glaring at Tucker, then stepped back to clear a path for the women.

  Faith was first. She came into the room, head lowered, her hat brim shading her face and hiding her features. When she raised her eyes and looked straight at the wagon boss, there was vindication and triumph in her expression.

  Before she could speak, however, her sister gave a high-pitched shriek and fainted dead away. If Connell hadn’t been expecting such a reaction and stationed himself close by, she’d have hit the floor. As it was, he managed to catch her before any damage was done.

  He looked to Faith with a grin. “I seem to be good at keeping the Beal women from keeling over, don’t I?”

  “That, you do.”

  Tucker had recovered his self-control enough to say, “She’s no Beal, she’s a Tucker, like it or not.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” Faith drawled. “It seems to me you have one too many wives, Captain.”

  On cue, Irene stepped through the door. There was no smile on her face. Her spine was stiff, her gait halting. Hate sizzled in her dark eyes.

  The astonished look on Tucker’s face was so comical Faith had to giggle. “That’s right,” she said. “Your dear wife, Irene, is alive and well. Isn’t that wonderful? You know what that means? It means my sister can’t possibly be your legal wife. You were still married when you forced her to wed, you, you…”

  Words failed her. She’d expected Tucker to show some redeeming emotion: remorse, fear, maybe even relief at seeing that another of his wives had survived. Instead, he began to grin maliciously.

  “You can’t prove a thing,” he boasted. “I don’t care what that crazy woman says. Every man in the company knew Indians took her, just like they took you. If she survived, so be it. I was never legally married to her, either. I have a wife waiting for me back in Missouri, the stupid cow. Now, all of you, get out of my house!”

  Faith wanted to pummel him with her fists, to wipe the smug grin off his ugly face. Judging by the look Irene was still giving him, she wanted to do much worse.

  That was all it took to convince Faith that a strategic retreat was in order. Taking the older woman’s arm, she tried to urge her toward the door.

  Irene balked. Faith felt the muscles of her arm bunch beneath her touch just before she jerked free.

  A knife blade flashed.

  Faith wasn’t braced well enough to stop Irene’s attack. The woman raised the knife over her head, gave a guttural scream and lunged at Tucker.

  Though he defended himself, a red slash appeared on his cheek. Blood trickled down his face. With a howl he flung himself at Irene and they landed in a heap on the hard-packed dirt floor, barely missing the small table.

  Tucker had one meaty fist clamped on her wrist, stilling the knife. With the other he began to batter her mercilessly.

  In two strides Connell was beside them. He passed the unconscious Charity to Emory.

  Everyone was shouting, Faith the loudest. She leaped atop Tucker, hoping to slow his assault on Irene.

  She might as well have been a flea on a dog’s back for all the attention he paid her. Nevertheless, she resisted when Connell tried to pull her off.

  “Get out of the way,” he ordered.

  It took several seconds for his command to register with Faith. In those moments, a cut opened on Irene’s temple. Frantic, Faith filled her fist with the wagon boss’s hair and yanked. Irene was like family. She couldn’t step back and let him do her any more damage.

  Gripping Faith around the waist, Connell lifted her, kicking and screeching, off the pile of struggling humanity. He grabbed the captain’s shirt collar and jerked him away from Irene, who scrambled to the side, stunned.

  Faith hurried to her, steadying her and keeping her from rejoining the fray. Clearly she was in no condition to continue her fight. Tucker was twice her weight and mean as a rattler. Enraged, there was no telling what he might do.

  Obviously concerned for Charity, Emory had carried her out the door. Faith tugged Irene and followed. They stumbled around to the rear of the cabin where Emory placed Charity on the ground by the corral.

  “What about Connell?” Faith shouted.

  “I’m going back to fetch my Colt and help him,” her father answered. “You stay here.”

  “No. I’m going with you!”

  Before her father could argue, Ramsey Tucker appeared, armed with a pickax. Empty-handed, Faith placed herself between him and the other women, praying Connell was hot on his trail.

  Her breath caught. Her heart sped. Where was Connell? Could he be hurt? Maybe even mortally wounded? That thought tore her apart, made her knees weak and her head swim.

  Fighting to maintain an air of defiance and fortitude, she prayed silently, fervently, for deliverance. After all they had been through together, was their quest going to end like this, with their entire party slaughtered by the madman they had vowed to destroy? It was unthinkable!

  Suddenly, the tall, robust figure of a stranger appeared. He was clad in deerskin breeches and naked to the waist. In one hand he carried a lance. In the other was a shield decorated with eagle feathers and familiar images. Faith couldn’t decide who frightened her more—Tucker or the Cheyenne brave.

  Irene pushed past. She threw herself at the Cheyenne, shielding him. The arm he encircled her with was striped with wounds in a geometric pattern that could only have been self-inflicted. Faith had seen similar scars while in the Indian camp but never the fresh wounds of the blood sacrifice.

  Her heart broke for the couple. It didn’t take a genius to deduce that this must be Red Deer, Irene’s betrothed. Had he followed them all the way to California? He must have. No wonder Faith had kept sensing an unseen menace! All those times Irene had disappeared into the night finally made sense.

  Confusion in Tucker’s expression gave Faith hope. While he was distracted, perhaps someone could disarm him. But who? Why didn’t one of the men act? Connell would have.

  Her glance darted to the now silent cabin. For all she knew, dear Connell could be lying dead inside, a victim of Tucker’s malice. Her heart wrenched with actual physical pain.

  No one move
d. Red Deer seemed content to shield Irene. Emory was in place to defend Charity. That left only Faith.

  She lowered her head like a billy goat and plowed into Tucker, blindsiding him and hoping against hope that her efforts would be enough to snap the others out of their apparent stupor and bring them to her aid.

  The attack caused Tucker to drop his weapon. It also staggered Faith. Reeling, she fell back, barely cognizant of her vulnerable position.

  With a guttural roar he went for her. Backing away, she tripped. When he lunged, she rolled beneath the rails of the corral where Ben and the horses were shuffling nervously.

  Tucker followed without hesitation.

  Screeching for help, Faith tried to regain her feet but her skirt tangled around her legs and she floundered in the dust. Eyes wide, she saw stout hooves stomping the ground beside her, barely missing her head.

  In a heartbeat, Tucker was towering over her. Though he was now weaponless, his grimace declared his deadly plans more clearly than any words.

  Helpless, Faith closed her eyes and raised her arms to shield her face. She was beyond prayer, beyond hope.

  Above her, Ben snorted. Just when she thought the mule might come to her aid he wheeled, apparently fleeing. Tears stung Faith’s eyes. Her heart broke. Even Ben, her staunchest ally, was forsaking her in the face of the captain’s wrath.

  Time stood still. Tucker loomed. Irene screamed something in an unknown tongue.

  Faith peeked between her folded arms. An animal snorted. Hooves flew above her. Ben! He hadn’t deserted the fight. He’d simply turned to aim his kick!

  The force of the mule’s hooves lifted Ramsey Tucker off the ground and sent him flying into the rough-cut rails of the corral. He hit with a crack that sounded as if the wood had split. His back and neck arched unnaturally.

  Faith rolled out of the way as Ben charged. His lip was curled, his teeth bared, his long ears laid back against his lowered head.

  As Tucker made his final slide to the ground, the mule bowed his neck, stiffened his legs and came down on the body with both front feet. Hard.

  Faith could tell that the last assault was unnecessary. Tucker had died the moment his back had snapped. It was over.

  She struggled to her feet just as Connell rounded the corner of the cabin. A more blessed sight Faith had never seen. Though he was holding his side and walking unsteadily, he was alive. That was enough for her.

  She glanced at Irene and Red Deer. Their decision was plain. They were a couple. There was no question about it.

  Connell saw it, too. Nodding, he passed them by and went straight to Faith. “Are you all right?”

  She caressed his cheek and nodded. “Yes. You?”

  “I’ve been better,” he said. “I saw what happened. Guess old Ben finally got even for all the abuse.”

  “Yes.” Soberly, Faith considered her loyal mule. “They remember cruelty, sometimes for years. Ben was always gentle with me but the captain was a different story. I know it’s not a very Christian attitude, but I think he got exactly what he deserved.”

  “They say the Lord works in mysterious ways.”

  Agreeing, Faith glanced at Irene. Red Deer had assumed a defensive stance, clearly ready to do battle for his chosen wife if need be.

  Connell shook his head and managed a smile. “She’s all yours,” he said. “I release her from her promise to marry me.”

  Irene evidently translated, because as soon as she’d finished speaking the Cheyenne eased his stiff posture.

  “Where will they go,” Faith asked Connell. “She can’t go back to Black Kettle, can she?”

  “No, but the Arapaho will take her in again because she once belonged to them. Even if she were Cheyenne they’d go to live with her mother’s tribe instead of staying with Black Kettle’s band.”

  “So, Red Deer will be safe, too?”

  “Yes.” Connell chuckled. “I owe him for one of the knots on my head but I’ll forgive him—as a wedding present to Irene.”

  “He is the one who was following us, who knocked you off Rojo, isn’t he?”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  “You’re not angry?” Faith remained close to him, sighing when he slipped his arm around her waist.

  “How can I be?” Connell said softly. “He brought you and me together and solved Irene’s problems, too. What more could I ask?”

  Faith gazed up at him. “Together? Us?”

  “If you’ll have me,” Connell said. “The Sacramento Valley is lush and rich, good for cattle and farming. And I’ll build you a new house if you don’t like the one I already have.”

  “What about my family?”

  Connell looked to Emory, who was still in the process of reviving Charity. “May I have the honor of marrying your daughter, sir?”

  “This one or that one?” Emory jested.

  “This one. Definitely this one.” Connell gave Faith a light squeeze and winced. “As soon as my ribs heal a bit. Right now, I think I’d better sit down.”

  Epilogue

  The traveling preacher stood in the rear of the Majestic, Bible in hand, while the miners crowded around.

  Faith had managed to piece together a presentable frock from some calico Connell had found for her and was radiant. He stood beside her in his buckskins, beaming from ear to ear, while the preacher made them man and wife.

  A raucous cheer went up as the ceremony concluded. The prospectors had come from all walks of life, all parts of the country, yet were united in a celebration of joy not often seen in the gold camps.

  “I wish Irene could have stayed long enough to be a part of this,” Faith told her new husband, “but I understand why she and Red Deer felt they should go. I hope they’re as happy as I am.”

  “I’m sure they are,” Connell said. “And so is your sister. We’ll be lucky to get her to come to Sacramento City with us after all the attention she’s getting from these lonesome miners.”

  “Papa will see that she behaves herself. He’s anxious to leave here as soon as possible. It’s a wonder the winter weather has delayed as long as it has.”

  “I know. Are you packed and ready to travel?”

  Faith nodded, her eyes filling with admiration, thankfulness and unshed tears. “Yes. And this time I’m not a bit afraid.”

  “Because Tucker’s dead?”

  “No,” she said, sliding her hand through the crook of her husband’s arm. “Because you’re here. I can face anything with you as my guide.”

  Connell patted her hand and chuckled. “Just as long as you don’t confront any more chiefs like Black Kettle and scare me to death, I’ll be content.”

  Faith giggled behind her free hand. “Do you really think I’m a legend?”

  “If you aren’t already on account of Ab’s or Walks With Tree’s tall tales, you soon will be,” he said with conviction. “By the time Irene—Singing Sun Woman—and Red Deer have told our whole story over and over in the camps it’ll be common knowledge that Little Dove Woman is a force to be feared and admired.”

  “Just so long as my husband feels the same way,” she teased, giggling nervously. “I think I’m more afraid of disappointing you than I was of any wild Indian. I just hope I can be…”

  “Kiss her!” someone yelled. A chorus of similar suggestions swelled.

  Connell smiled as he bent to do as the crowd wanted. An instant before their lips met he whispered, “I believe I’ve finally figured out how to stop you from talking out of turn.”

  “Well, it beats a spear in the side,” was all Faith managed to say before he silenced her with a kiss.

  She slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. After all they’d been through, she guessed she could allow him to think he had the upper hand. At least for a little while.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-1443-3

  FRONTIER COURTSHIP

  Copyright © 2008 by Valerie Whisenand

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