Outside the room, a woman spoke, though too soft to make out her words. Laughter followed. Heart pounding, he strained to hear. Beth? Lord, please let it be her…. A moment later, a woman came into view, small tray in hand, giggling as she looked over her shoulder. His heart leapt with hope but fell when she faced him. She sobered quickly.
Not his Beth. He dragged the quilt higher.
“Good afternoon, sir.”
A black woman peeked in the door. “Oh, thank You, Jesus,” she whispered.
The woman with the tray turned to her. “Would you please get Uncle William?”
The black woman disappeared, a door closing somewhere down the hall.
“I’m glad you’ve finally returned to us,” the first woman spoke.
“Finally?” What did that mean, and where had he seen her before?
She set the tray on the table. “You’ve been in and out of consciousness for three days. It’s good to see some lucidity back in your eyes. That is, unless you plan to escape again.”
“Escape?” What in heaven’s name … “Am I a prisoner?”
“Goodness, no.” She smiled, but it faded quickly. “You have no recollection, do you?”
She sat and laid a hand against his forehead. The gentleness of her touch soothed him in unexpected ways. Gage closed his eyes, and his muscles uncoiled.
“You saved my cousin and me from injury when a boxcar exploded.”
The train. His eyes fluttered open again. He’d come to the hell-on-wheels camp to find some way to stop the railroad’s progress and save his friends among the Cheyenne from further harm. And there this woman and her friend had stood in all their impractical mounds of expensive fabrics, looking quite lost.
She folded her hands. “Your back was laid open by flying debris. We took you to a tent for care, but after Uncle William treated you, you disappeared. We found you passed out in the mud.”
Hazy images took shape. The explosion. Connor Forsythe approaching. His panic at being seen.
“Uncle William thought you’d rest better in a proper bed, so we moved you here.” Glass in hand, she sat primly on the bed and cupped a gentle hand behind his head to help him drink. “Do you remember those things?”
“A little.” Gage drank greedily then sank back. “Where am I, anyhow?”
She set the glass down, stood, and with a flounce of her costly blue skirt, seated herself on the edge of the chair. “For the moment, you’re in my bed.” Despite the sass in her tone, her cheeks flamed red.
So did his, from the feel of them. “I, uh … I’m real sorry, ma’am.” He attempted to roll onto his elbow. “Just get me my clothes, and—”
“No.” She pressed her hand to his shoulder. “You’ll stay where you are until Uncle William says you may move. That won’t be for a few days yet.” She folded her hands. “So please rest, Mr.—”
“Gage Wells.” He didn’t have the gumption to argue. Not when the imprint of her palm nearly crackled with fire against his skin. He sank back, ignoring the awkward feeling, and looked around. “Where’ve you taken me?”
Her brow furrowed, but after an instant, she walked to the left side of the room and tugged the drapes aside. “We haven’t taken you anywhere. You’re in my father’s Pullman Palace car.”
Through the window, the sea of tents composing the moving railroad town was visible. A warning flashed in his thoughts. “Your father?”
“How rude of me. I haven’t introduced myself. I am Dara Forsythe, Connor Forsythe’s daughter.”
His stomach clenched. He needed to go. Now. “Your pa’s an important man around here. I surely don’t want to impose, ma’am. Just bring me my clothes, and I’ll be on my way.”
“They’re not here. Papa sent your pants to be cleaned, and your shirt and coat were beyond repair. He’s having new ones made for you.”
He swallowed the curse that rose on his tongue.
“And … your being here is no imposition, Mr. Wells. My family feels quite a debt, given your heroic actions to save Becca and me. We want to see you taken care of properly. However, even in your unconscious ramblings, you’ve been single-minded about leaving. Can you tell me why?”
“I talked in my sleep?” Hang it all. What had he said?
“You called out for Beth several times.” Her gaze was almost probing. “I wondered if she might be waiting for you back home.”
The comment struck like a punch to the gut. She’d waited all through the war. Only by the time it was over …
“Papa can send someone to tell her you’re—”
“No.” He winced, as much from the pain in his back as the pain in his heart. “Don’t concern yourself about Beth.” He scrubbed his face.
“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want her to worry.”
He looked away. “She’s well beyond worrying about anything, ma’am.”
Miss Forsythe’s small hand curled into his. Startled, Gage looked her way.
“I’m very sorry.” Her eyelids lowered. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
He swallowed the lump in his throat. “You were trying to be helpful, ma’am. Thank you.”
She nodded as a door opened and closed in the outer room. “You should rest.”
Her grip loosened, but before she could pull away, he latched on to her.
“Wait. Please.”
Her blue eyes widened. “Yes, Mr. Wells?”
“What happened … to the train? Why’d they blow it up?”
She cocked her head. “I’m not entirely sure. Papa—”
“My superiors are investigating the matter,” a man’s voice broke into the conversation.
Connor Forsythe entered, followed by a dark-haired man. Dread skittered down Gage’s spine. Not good …
“Papa. Uncle William.” Miss Forsythe smiled at the newcomers. “I’d like you to meet Gage Wells. Mr. Wells, my father, Connor Forsythe, and my uncle, Doctor William Chenoweth.”
“I can’t thank you enough for saving my daughter and niece.” Forsythe smiled. “I’d like to repay you the kindness, Mr. Wells. Once you’ve recuperated, we should talk. I’d like to offer you a position with the Union Pacific.”
Gage stifled a derisive snort. Such an offer went against his intended purpose—to stop the railroad. “Thank you, sir, but I got plenty to keep me busy.”
“Keep it in mind,” Forsythe insisted.
He blinked heavily. “I’m real tired all of a sudden.” Not a lie. The conversation with Miss Forsythe had sapped his strength.
The doctor stepped forward. “Dara, Connor, if you’ll excuse us, I should change Mr. Wells’s dressings so he can rest.”
Miss Forsythe squeezed his hand as she stood. “Should you need anything, Mr. Wells, I won’t be far away.”
What he needed was to get out of Connor Forsythe’s domain, though it was already too late. The man had seen him, knew his name. That would make it markedly harder to stop the railroad.
Chapter Three
One week later
Papa?” Dara called from across the Pullman car’s parlor.
“Hmm?” He inclined his ear, though his gaze never left the paper he was reading.
Her cousin shot her a grim expression at his distraction.
“Becca and I were wondering—”
A sharp knock interrupted her, and Papa immediately laid the paper aside and rose to answer the door. Upon seeing his superiors, Mr. Marston and Mr. Adgate, he slipped out onto the rear platform and shut the door partway.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Papa greeted.
“Morning, Forsythe. Any luck in finding that translator yet?” one of the men asked.
Through the window, Dara saw Papa shake his head. “As I told you last time we talked, it’s my highest priority.”
“I hope so. You’ve said you’ll be moving the camp to Cheyenne in a few days, and we need to get these supplies delivered before that happens.”
Dara sighed. Since her arrival, Papa hadn’t taken a single hour to hav
e a thorough conversation with her, but he routinely dropped everything to discuss business with the two bearded men. Was this what life would be like? If so, they should have stayed in Boston. She could’ve lived quite happily under Uncle William’s roof.
A door down the hallway opened.
“Take it slowly.” Uncle William’s warm voice split the silence.
Eyes twinkling, Becca grasped Dara’s hand and dragged her toward the far side of the room. Mr. Wells shuffled toward them, left hand braced against the wall for balance. Dara’s heart beat a little faster at the sight of him out of bed and dressed in his new brown plaid shirt. The slight pallor to his skin and his seeming unsteadiness were the only immediate clues he’d been bed-bound for more than a week.
“Good morning, Mr. Wells,” she and Becca called.
His rich brown eyes rose to meet hers, though he scanned the parlor before he smiled. “Morning, ladies.”
Uncle William directed him to a nearby chair, and both Dara and Becca sat across from him.
“We’ll be having breakfast shortly.” Dara grinned. “Would you join us?”
“Oh. No, ma’am.” Mr. Wells rubbed his stubbly jaw and glanced toward the door, looking like a caged animal. “Don’t want to impose any longer, but thank you. For everything.”
Uncle William took the remaining chair. “I hope you’ll reconsider. I fear you’re not strong enough yet to care for yourself.”
“Thanks for the concern, Doctor. I have … friends … I can call on should I need anything.”
Uncle William looked displeased. “Connor and I would like to thank you for saving our daughters.”
“You saved my life as well, sir. You don’t owe me anything. Besides, I got to get home….”
Dara’s heart sank. With Uncle William and Becca tending the other injured, and Papa busy with his work for the railroad, she’d been Mr. Wells’s main caregiver. The quiet gentleman had intrigued her, and she would miss the diversion of their frequent talks.
Papa reentered and paused at the door. “It’s good to see you up and about, Mr. Wells.”
His jaw clenched ever so slightly. “Thank you, sir.”
“Connor,” Uncle William called. “He says he needs to go home. Could you arrange a ride for him?”
Surprise registered in Papa’s blue eyes. “Let’s talk over breakfast, Mr. Wells. If you’re still of the mind to go then, I’ll arrange for a wagon.” When Mr. Wells tried to protest, Papa cleared his throat. “I insist.”
Few were bold enough to deny Papa.
Guilt settled over her at Mr. Wells’s obvious annoyance. “Please, sir. It’s only one meal. We’d like to get to know the heroic Southern gentleman that saved us from harm.”
“There’s nothing heroic about me, ma’am.”
She lifted her chin. “The fact that Becca and I sit before you unscathed is proof to the contrary.”
His cheeks flushed. “All right. I’ll stay, but only for a meal.”
They shifted to the dining table, Dara sitting across from Mr. Wells. As he settled in, his brown eyes widened at the collection of silverware adorning the table. She could have predicted the reaction. He was a man of simple pleasures, unrefined in etiquette, but charming in his own modest ways.
She cleared her throat softly. When he glanced her way, she fingered her napkin then retrieved it from under the forks, unfolded it deliberately, and placed it in her lap. After an uncomfortable second, he followed suit.
Matilde scurried out with several plates and served them all, then took a seat next to Dara. Astonishment crossed Mr. Wells’s features, though he said nothing, only looked again at the silverware before him. Dara waited until he glanced her way and, yet again, touched the proper fork. When he reached for the corresponding utensil, she speared a dainty bite of her eggs.
“So, Mr. Wells. You’re from Georgia?” Papa was the first to break the silence.
“Yes, sir.” He forked a mound of scrambled eggs into his mouth and glanced around the table.
“What brings you to the Dakota Territory?”
Dara’s muscles tensed. Her gentle probing of his background had always ended when he diverted the conversation elsewhere.
“The war.” He spoke around the food he chewed.
“Did you serve?”
Mr. Wells rolled the food in his mouth and swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.” His voice dripped distrust. “Did you?”
Papa nodded. “I did—for the Union.”
He turned to Uncle William, who also nodded. “I was a Union doctor.”
“Then we were on opposing sides.”
“How could anyone fight a war to preserve slavery?” Becca asked.
Dara scowled at her cousin too late. Mr. Wells looked as if he’d been slapped.
“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but if you think every Southerner owned slaves and fought to keep ’em, you’re sorely mistaken. My family lived on the same plot of land for three generations, and not once did we own a slave. Had no need, nor the desire—even if we’d had the money.”
Dara mentally scrambled for a way to soothe the tension, though Mr. Wells pressed on.
“Might we discuss another topic? This one turns my stomach.”
“I’m certain my daughter meant no disrespect, Mr. Wells,” Uncle William spoke softly.
Becca nodded, mortification staining her expression. “I didn’t. Forgive me, please.”
Dara’s throat knotted. How might it feel to share a meal with a family who had, until only recently, been a sworn enemy? Surely that was the reason for his hesitance to share his past.
“I’m sorry,” Papa whispered. “What do you do now, Mr. Wells?”
“I’m a man of simple means, sir. I grow a few crops. When I can, I plan to buy cattle.”
Papa nodded slowly. “As I mentioned before, I could offer you a position with the Union Pacific Railroad. Consider it a means to earn money for your livestock.”
Hope flickered in Dara’s chest, but he shook his head. “I’m content doing what I do, sir. Not looking for a new job, thank you.”
Whether or not Mr. Wells recognized Papa’s irritation, Dara was quite aware of it. Fortunately, Papa didn’t press him. The conversation moved to other topics, and finally Papa turned to their guest again.
“I’ll find a wagon and team to drive you home, Mr. Wells.”
Excitement fluttered in Dara’s chest. “I’d like to ride with you both, Papa.”
“I want to go as well.” Becca looked to Uncle William. “May I, please?”
Becca’s father grinned. “I don’t mind, though I have patients to attend to. You’ll have to go without me.”
Papa scowled. “I didn’t intend this to be a family affair.”
The stern look added another deep nick to her already tender heart. “Please, Papa. Becca and I are both restless, and it would give us more time with our heroic guest.”
After a pause, Papa turned to Mr. Wells. “Would you mind the company?”
The handsome stranger smiled at her. “No, sir. I’d welcome it.”
“Then it’s settled.” At Papa’s nod, she and Becca excused themselves to gather their coats.
Gage tugged the quilt draped around his shoulders a bit tighter and glanced at their surroundings. “Mr. Forsythe,” he called from the wagon box. “You’ll see a small path off to the right. Follow that about a mile, and you’ll run straight into my yard.”
Becca Chenoweth glanced back from the wagon seat toward him. “You walked all this way to the rail camp?”
He adjusted his new hat. If only his old one hadn’t been lost in the confusion after the explosion. “No, ma’am. I rode my horse, but I left him ground tied on the far side of the train tracks.” In fact, he’d left the mustang hidden some distance from the camp so no one would recognize the paint’s distinctive markings. “He surely got spooked by the blast. If I know him, he ran home or went to my friends’ place.” He’d prayed so, anyway. His rifle was stowed in the scabbard, and whi
le he’d hate to lose a good horse, the Whitworth rifle with the Davidson scope was irreplaceable.
“I wish you’d let us know sooner,” Forsythe called over his shoulder. “I could have sent someone to search for him.”
At the wagon’s jarring movements, pain crackled through Gage’s back. He stifled a grunt, though not before pretty Miss Forsythe slid nearer.
“How are you faring?” Her blue eyes reflected sincere concern.
He gritted his teeth. “Managing, thank you.” His eyes strayed to the wagon seat. There was room enough for a third person between her father and cousin, yet she’d insisted on riding with him.
She moved her father’s rifle from atop a folded quilt and drew the blanket nearer. “Lean forward.” When he obeyed, she positioned the thicknesses of fabric between him and the wagon’s side, protecting his still-tender back. “I wish you would consider staying a few more days.”
He leaned back, thoughts warring. Dara Forsythe had been nothing but kind. In fact, her soft smile, gentle touch, and pleasant demeanor were a great comfort while he’d recuperated. She’d asked pointed questions but hadn’t pressed for information he was unwilling to give, even steering their conversations to safer territory when he threatened to shut her out. He respected her ability to read and navigate the situation.
Blast it all. If she weren’t Connor Forsythe’s daughter, he’d consider her his friend. And goodness knew, he had few enough of those out here.
However, she was Forsythe’s daughter, and that meant he never should’ve spoken to her, much less developed a fondness for her.
“I appreciate the kindness, ma’am, but I’ll rest just as well in my own place as yours.” Better. He’d be able to distance himself from Forsythe, and that way, the man—or his comely daughter—wouldn’t discover Gage’s intention to stop the railroad. Of course, to do that, he needed a plan, and now that he was known to Forsythe, it would become inordinately harder to concoct one.
“I understand. It’s difficult to rest in unfamiliar surroundings.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I dare say you and I both have had a difficult ten days.”
Of Rags and Riches Romance Collection Page 2