Of Rags and Riches Romance Collection

by Dietze, Susanne; Griep, Michelle; Love, Anne

  More than a half hour later, the entourage emerged, a crowd of Cheyenne growing as they drew near. After a brief discussion, Mr. Marston and Mr. Adgate instructed the men who’d stayed with the wagons to off-load the crates and pry them open. Two smaller crates contained new knives with leather sheaths. The more plentiful larger crates contained folded trade blankets. Once the Cheyenne began filing up to collect their blankets and knives, Dara approached her father.

  “Papa, may I have a word … please.” She kept her voice soft and even.

  He nodded to the brave who rather cautiously took items from each crate. “Now is not the best time, Dara-girl.”

  The childhood endearment had once made her feel so safe and loved. Now he used it to keep her at arm’s length. “Please. I need you to understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  “I’ve participated in meetings while Mama and I worked to free the slaves. I’ve organized hundreds of picnics and bazaars to raise money for that cause. I’ve helped soldiers find their loved ones after the war. I am not a child. Why wouldn’t you let me sit with you while you spoke to the Cheyenne?”

  “Now is neither the time nor the place for this discussion.”

  The words stung, but she tamped down her disappointment. “I know you’re busy. When would be a better time?”

  He focused only on the line of Cheyenne. “Perhaps tonight. At home.”

  “Tonight, then.” Hopefully, he wouldn’t dismiss her then also. She meandered away, putting distance between her and the camp.

  “Dara.” Gage hurried after her. “Where you headed?”

  “I was in the way.”

  He fell in beside her. “I’m sorry. I tried to change his mind as we rode to Little Wolf’s tent.”

  “Don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault.”

  He drew her to a halt. “I don’t like what just happened.”

  “Thank you.” At least he understood.

  “Maybe this isn’t the best time, but Spotted Hawk’s daughter is asking to meet you.” He nodded at a lone figure standing halfway between the camp and their solitary vantage point. “She’s about your age.”

  “That sounds like a nice diversion.”

  At Gage’s signal, the Cheyenne woman hurried their way.

  “Dara, this is Walks In Shadows.” He turned to the Cheyenne woman and spoke to her in her native tongue.

  Smiling, Walks In Shadows stepped forward, spoke Dara’s name, and held something out. Dara darted a glance Gage’s way then back to the woman. When she didn’t immediately take the item, Walks In Shadows nodded and held it nearer, spouting a flurry of words.

  Gage shook his head. “I taught you the words.” He spoke in English this time. “Tell Dara yourself.”

  Walks In Shadows scowled at Gage, first in confusion, then as if upset. However, she held out the object again. “You take my … friend?” She chewed her lip, waiting for Gage’s confirmation.

  “Friendship.”

  The Cheyenne woman nodded. “You take my friendship.”

  “She’s offering you this gift of her friendship,” Gage clarified.

  Dara took the small leather medallion and ran her finger over the intricate and colorful decoration. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

  The raven-haired woman nodded, braids dancing.

  “She decorated that with dyed porcupine quills.”

  Dara’s eyes rounded.

  “You might think about giving her a gift in return.”

  “I have nothing to give,” she whispered, “unless she’d like my hair ribbon.”

  “That’d be perfect.”

  She tugged the dark green bow from her blond braid and held it out to Walks In Shadows. “Please accept this symbol of my friendship.”

  Walks In Shadows’s face lit up, and she attempted to poke her braid through the already-tied bow.

  “Let me tie it for you.” Dara retied the bow around her hair, and Walks In Shadows’s smile deepened. She chattered happily in a combination of Cheyenne and English.

  After a moment, Gage halted Walks In Shadows’s words. “She’s never seen something tied in a bow before.”

  “How?” Walks In Shadows plucked the ribbon from her hair and pushed it into Dara’s hands.

  “I’ll teach you.”

  Gage chuckled. “I ought to get back in case they need my help. I’ll leave you gals to your bow tying, but … do me a favor.”

  “What favor?”

  “I don’t mind you walking around some, but stay where I can see you.”

  “We will.” She grinned. “Thank you. She’s charming.”

  Gage shifted his attention between the railroad’s gift giving and the largest hill in the distance where Dara and Walks In Shadows had wandered. Dara had stayed in sight, but they’d gone much farther than he preferred. He could trust Walks In Shadows to watch over the other woman, but he’d feel a heap better if they were nearer.

  Forsythe was oblivious—both to the fact that his daughter had wandered out onto the plains and that he’d wounded her. Unaware, or unconcerned. Regardless, it stuck in Gage’s craw.

  Was the man blind? Dara’s caring, intelligence, and loyalty were obvious the day he awoke in her bed. Women with such qualities deserved to be lavished with a man’s attention. If Forsythe would put aside his work and listen to her, Dara would become one of his greatest allies. That’s exactly what happened with his Beth. Her pa taught his girls about farming and livestock. In turn, she’d taught Gage plenty when he’d listened.

  At seventeen, Dara was the same age Beth had been when they’d married. Both women had a spunk and a boldness he admired. But Beth had been simple and unassuming, content to be a farmer’s wife. Dara oozed splendor and refinement, from her big, impractical dresses to her perfect manners and etiquette. To her credit, Dara had never made him feel like the man of humble means he was. He was grateful. Her unwavering acceptance stirred every ounce of protectiveness in him. Particularly where her thickskulled father was concerned.

  An older Indian boy approached, new blanket over his bony shoulder and knife in hand, grinning as he showed off the blade. Gage listened to his proud ramblings, commenting on the fine quality of the weapon. As the boy continued, Gage scanned the distance again.

  His gaze stalled on Walks In Shadows, sitting alone on the distant hill. He watched a moment, then two. No Dara. Brow furrowing, he excused himself and approached his horse. Where had she gone?

  Unfastening his saddlebag flap, Gage withdrew a cartridge and percussion cap for his rifle while scanning the surrounding countryside. She was nowhere to be seen. Despite Walks In Shadows’s seeming lack of concern, apprehension climbed Gage’s spine.

  “Lord,” he breathed. “Give me eyes to see the dangers….” One half of the prayer he’d prayed each time he’d taken out a target during the war.

  Eyes firmly on Walks In Shadows, Gage led his horse away from the crowd a good thirty feet then slid the Whitworth rifle from its scabbard. Settling the gun over his saddle for stability, he peered through the telescopic sight.

  He finally found her, or rather, the top of her head. Her honey-blond hair—nothing more—was visible over the crest of the rise. Drawing back from the scope, he squinted at the distance then looked through the scope again. What was she doing?

  “C’mon, Dara …”

  As if on cue, her head and shoulders bobbed into view over the rise, though she halted again, her back to him. Gage’s mouth turned to cotton. Something wasn’t right….

  “Wells?” Forsythe called. “Everything all right?”

  Dara backed up another step, and another, coming farther into view, her posture rigid, every movement slow and deliberate.

  “What’s got you spooked?” he whispered, searching the crest of the hill.

  “Wells. Don’t ignore me.” Mr. Forsythe’s footsteps rustled as he approached.

  “Stay.” He stalled the man with an upraised hand, focus never leaving Dara and the terrain aroun
d her. After an instant, she took one more backward step then turned sideways slowly. At the edge of the scope’s view, a flash of movement. He shifted the gun to see Walks In Shadows stand and look at the crest of the hill.

  By the time Gage shifted back to Dara, she’d started down the hill, running for all she was worth. At the top of the little rise, a sizable tawny splotch slinked into view. Mountain lion.

  The cat crouched, ready to pounce.

  Every nerve fired as he cocked the hammer and sighted in on the cougar. “Lord …” he whispered. “Give me true aim.” He squeezed the trigger.

  The gun bucked against his shoulder just as the big cat leapt. Heart hammering, he held steady, willing the cougar to drop. It did, but not before it took one mighty swipe at Dara’s back, sending her to the ground also. Wasting no time, he reloaded, checked to see the cat wasn’t moving, then swung into his saddle. Gage spurred his horse into a gallop, racing past Forsythe and several others who ran toward the distant hill.

  By the time he reached them, Walks In Shadows had pulled Dara to her feet and led her away from the animal before her legs crumbled again. Dara sat upright, a distant, glassy look in her eyes.

  “The ghost cat is still alive,” Walks In Shadows panted, jutting her chin toward the cougar.

  Gage dropped from his saddle and approached the beast. It lay on its side, laboring for breath, a low growl rumbling in its throat. With one more shot, he dispatched the animal, then dashed back to the women and sank to his knees.

  “Are you all right?” he asked Dara.

  She shifted a dazed glance his way, then to the others who had arrived, but said nothing.

  “Your woman is hurt.” Walks In Shadows held out a bloody palm before pressing it once more to Dara’s shoulder.

  Gage dragged Dara close, her head resting against him as he peeked over her shoulder. Her coat was shredded near the shoulder, dark fabric glistening with her blood. Probing beneath the fabric, he found several cuts stretching from her arm toward the center of her back. A chill ran through him.

  “Give me your blanket,” he barked at the nearest Cheyenne. When the brave did, Gage cut a wide patch from one corner then instructed the man to cut several narrow strips for him.

  Forsythe dashed up, too winded to speak, though he sidled up to his daughter and brushed her hair back from her face.

  “It clawed her pretty good.” Gage pressed the folded patch against the wound and tied it in place with the strips the Cheyenne brave handed him.

  Forsythe shook his head. “Take her to William,” he panted. “I’ll follow.”

  Gage stowed his rifle and mounted, Forsythe handing Dara up to him. The Cheyenne brave shoved the remnant of the blanket into Gage’s hands, and after wrapping Dara in it, Gage spurred his horse into a lope.

  Chapter Six

  The ride came to a sudden halt, and Dara opened her eyes to find Papa’s Pullman car.

  “Can you hear me, Dara?” Gage spoke softly.

  She bobbed her head.

  “Good girl.” He slid to the ground, lifted her down, and climbed the railcar steps. As he shifted her weight, she noted his mount was lathered and winded.

  “Your horse …” She whispered the words.

  “I’ll see to him once you’re taken care of.” He barged through the door of the train car. “Where’s William?”

  “What happened?” Becca crossed the room to stand beside her.

  “She got cornered by a mountain lion.”

  “Oh, sweet heaven above.” Matilde crowded near also. “Miss Becca, go fetch your father. Quick, now.”

  Becca ran.

  “Mr. Wells, take her to her room and get her out of that coat. I’ll fetch some supplies.”

  In several long strides, Gage entered her room and sat her on the bed. He fumbled to unknot the strips of blanket tied around her. When that failed, he cut them free with his knife, then sheathed the blade, knelt, and unfastened the buttons.

  He looked up at her. “You’ll be just fine, Dara. You hear me?”

  She gritted her teeth. “It hurts.”

  “Your uncle’ll be here soon.” He finished unbuttoning her coat and smiled. “You were real brave.”

  Her eyes slid shut. “I was terrified.”

  “That makes two of us, princess.” He caressed her cheek as he straightened.

  Her heart raced at the gentle touch and the soft endearment, but before it all sank in, he’d stripped the coat from her unaffected side and was gently peeling the material away from the injury. The coat removed, he pressed something to the wound again, and Matilde appeared with a tray full of bandages and supplies.

  “Thank you, Mr. Wells. You got to go now.” The young freedwoman put the tray down and lit the crystal lamp.

  As Gage turned away, Dara caught his wrist. “Please stay.”

  “No, ma’am. I should go.” She loosened her grip. “I’ll be right outside, seeing to my horse.”

  He left quickly, the outer door slamming loudly.

  “Where is that uncle of yours?” Matilde crossed to look out the window then closed the drapes. “Go on and unbutton that dress now, Miss Dara.”

  Weakness and cold made the task impossible. Matilde scooped the bloodied coat and blanket onto the floor then unfastened Dara’s bodice herself. She carefully helped her strip off the shredded garments then sat next to her to see the wounds more clearly.

  Dara crumpled against her, a sob wrenching free from her chest. “I was so scared.”

  “You’re safe now, missy.”

  Matilde held her until clattering footsteps on the rear platform warned of someone’s approach. Dara snatched the remnant of blanket and covered herself as both Papa and Uncle William shoved through the bedroom doorway. Matilde stepped out of the way.

  “Uncle William.” Her chin quivered as he gave her a once-over glance, then held her face and pulled one lower lid down, then the other.

  “Can you tell me what happened?” He released her and reached for a rag on the bedside table.

  “I was talking to Walks In Shadows, and I had to …”

  He sat and pressed the rag against the wound. “To what?”

  Her cheeks flamed. “Answer the call of nature. I walked over the hill for some privacy.” She inhaled sharply as he probed at her shoulder. “I didn’t realize until I was halfway to the bottom that it was there.”

  “Matilde, I’ll need plenty of hot water.”

  “Already heating, sir. I’ll check on it.” She produced a quilt from the far side of the room and shook the folds from it. “You cover yourself in this, missy, and I’ll take that dusty ol’ scrap.”

  Matilde wrapped her in the quilt, and with a disgusted look, the woman collected the bloodied items and left.

  Will probed her shoulder again. “I’ll need to clean this very well, stitch up the cuts. I’m concerned about infection. If we can keep that at bay, you’ll be up and about in a few days.”

  “Thank God Mr. Wells made that shot,” Papa breathed from the doorway.

  Dara looked at him as if noticing him for the first time. “Papa, please don’t let Gage leave.”

  He nodded. “I assure you, he won’t.”

  Gage led both his and Forsythe’s horse beside the tracks to cool them. The little he’d been able to see of Dara’s wound didn’t look critical. Deep, but a flesh wound. The fact that she’d been sitting up and talking eased his mind, but he’d be a whole lot happier once her uncle gave his professional opinion.

  Lord, please. Please let her be all right. He raised a hand to mop his face but stopped when he saw her blood staining his coat sleeve. He fisted his hand, dropped it back to his side. Lord, I’ve come to care for this woman—far more than I care to admit. What happened today scared me. Bad.

  “Wells!”

  He spun to see Forsythe hurrying his way. “She gonna be all right?”

  “Unless infection sets in, William says she’ll be fine in a few days.”

  Gage pressed his e
yes closed. Thank You, Lord.

  Forsythe took his horse’s reins and continued to walk. “How common is an attack like this?”

  Gage shook his head. “It’s not. Those cats are mostly night dwellers. They prefer the higher elevations but sometimes come to the flats to hunt or when a young male is searching for new territory.”

  Forsythe nodded. “What’d you do in the war, son?”

  His nerves jangled. “Sharpshooter.”

  “A mighty fine one, if that shot you took is any indication. How far was it?”

  “A mile, maybe.” He’d made many that were longer, thanks to the Whitworth’s precision.

  Forsythe nodded as they turned. “Where’d you learn to shoot?”

  “I grew up so poor, I learned not to miss when hunting. It cost too much to load our guns.”

  “Humble beginnings do teach us a specific set of skills, don’t they?”

  Gage nodded, though what Forsythe might know of humble beginnings, he couldn’t fathom. “That skill translated real neatly into the war.” Upon learning of his accuracy, his superiors elevated him to sharpshooter. He’d done all they’d asked, but taking lives, especially like that—at a great distance and from hiding—was nothing he was proud of.

  “I owe you a tremendous debt.”

  “You don’t owe me anything, sir.”

  “That’s the second time you’ve saved my daughter. A simple thank-you hardly seems sufficient.”

  “Knowing she’s safe is thanks enough.”

  Forsythe grinned. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. You have a keen eye and a knack for sensing danger. You know this territory far better than William or I. Because of that, I want to hire you to protect our girls.”

  “Protect them?”

  He waved at the sea of tents. “This camp is full of soiled doves, saloons, and sin—hardly the place to bring two impressionable young ladies. Most residing here wouldn’t knowingly bother the girls, given their connection to me, but there’s always that chance. Both William and I prefer they never know of the vices that happen here, but work keeps us busy enough we can’t protect them from the unprincipled and immoral elements every moment.”