Foxfire Bride

by Maggie Osborne

  Who the hell was Matthew Tanner to ride into her yard and question her honesty? Who did he think he was, anyway? Pacing, she returned to the window and peered out in time to see Tanner following Peaches down to the lake. All right, now what was Peaches doing? A fresh wave of anger burned through her.

  It took several minutes before she calmed down enough to ask the real questions. Why was she so angry? No answer popped to mind. Why in the world should it matter that Tanner was disappointed that she was a woman or that he wondered if she was as good as she claimed? No answer popped to mind. And it wasn't unreasonable for him to want to know if she'd previously made the trek since he would have to trust her judgment and he'd be paying her.

  Fox stamped across the floor to the small mirror over the sink. She seldom looked in a mirror because mirrors never reflected the face she expected to see. The face she expected was the happy round face of a child, not the plain lived-in face of an adult or the sharp suspicious eyes that said keep away.

  She peered into the glass trying to see whatever Matthew Tanner had seen when he looked at her. Wild red hair coming out of the knot on top of her head. No, not red. Auburn. Auburn sounded more refined, not that she cared a whit for refinement. At least her face was clean. And she wasn't missing any teeth, which was a miracle because Fox had probably been in as many fights as a man her age would have been. Matthew Tanner wasn't missing any teeth either, she recalled.

  He was looking for a scout to lead him to Denver.

  She stared at herself in the mirror. How did the old saying go? Be careful what you wish for, it might come true. And sure enough, here was the chance she'd been telling Peaches she wanted. If she took on Matthew Tanner, he'd pay her to go where she wanted to go anyway. She'd reach Denver with money in her pocket. Biting her lip, she walked back to the window and peered outside. What were he and Peaches saying to each other?

  "All right." Jamming her hat on her head, she pulled open the door and strode down the path. "You're still here," she said, walking past the rock Peaches and Tanner sat on.

  "We're talking about the war," Tanner said, standing as if a lady had entered the room.

  "Mr. Tanner thinks slavery will be abolished. I'll be a free man."

  Fox laughed and turned around. "Peaches Hernandez, if you were ever a slave, I sure never heard about it."

  "Well, I coulda been," he said, smiling. "Just luck that I wasn't."

  Matthew Tanner listened as if he were trying to figure out their relationship. When she turned a cool gaze on his face, he nodded once then cleared his throat. "I'm not making an offer, but are you interested in leading a small party to Denver by the direct route?"

  "First, there is no direct route. We won't be following an established trail, we'd be picking our way along, hit and miss. Second, I have a lucrative business here." From the corner of her eye, she saw Peaches suck in his cheeks, saw him roll his eyes toward the sky. "Me and Peaches, we're ice cutters. We store the ice over there, then drive it down to Carson and sell it for a pretty penny when the weather gets warm. If I leave, I'd be walking away from a pile of money."

  Tanner scanned the ice-free lake and raised an eyebrow. "So to lure you away from large profits, I'd have to pay you a fortune, is that it?" His jaw set in a line and he studied her face. "What's the going rate?"

  "You pay for all provisions, and provide a good horse for me and Peaches and pack animals that I approve. You pay any expenses we encounter on the road. And you pay me one hundred and fifty dollars a month, figuring at least three months. You pay half up front, half when I drag your butt into Denver. There's an extra charge for every person in the party beyond five. If you take an established route, no one cares if your party numbers two or two hundred. If you go direct with me, we go with a small party that can move fast if it has to."

  "Your man goes, too?"

  "Peaches is his own man, not mine. We'll need a wrangler, and that'll be Peaches. You pay him a hundred a month."

  She had stacked all the expenses on him and upped the going rate by half again. From the looks of him, he could afford whatever she chose to charge. But the primary reason she gouged him was to discover how far fate was going to push her.

  "One more thing," she said, standing close enough that she could smell leather and horse and a whiff of perspiration. "You and your party take your orders from me. If I say we don't go through a particular valley, we don't go through it, no questions asked. If I say we have to ride around a gully, then you and everyone else rides around it. If I say we don't ford a river, no horse gets its feet wet. If I say we go across, we go, whether or not anyone agrees. You understand? If I'm responsible for your lives, then I'm in charge. If you or anyone else in your party objects to taking orders from a woman, then find yourself another scout."

  He nodded slowly. "You've given me a lot to think about."

  Which was a polite way of saying that he intended to scrape the earth and try to turn up another scout.

  That was fine with Fox. If she was going to Denver, it would be a whole lot less aggravating to go alone and take the relatively easy route up through Wyoming.

  "One thing," Tanner said before he walked away. "There's some urgency involved. How soon could you get under way?"

  Fox pursed her lips. "We'll have to sell the ice. As warm as it's been, we could probably sell it now instead of waiting for summer. Probably. That might take a week."

  "Suppose someone bought all your ice and you didn't have to deal with selling it. How soon?"

  "The minute you give the go-ahead, me and Peaches will ride to Carson City and start arranging provisions and looking at animals. I'd say we could ride out of Carson in three days."

  "You can guarantee we'll get to Denver in three months?"

  "Mister, I can't guarantee anything. All I can tell you is that I'll try like hell to get you there."

  Hands fisted on her hips, Fox watched Tanner return to the clearing, mount, and ride toward the trees. He waved before he disappeared, but she didn't wave back.

  "What did you learn about him while you were talking?"

  Peaches stood and pressed his hands against the small of his back. "He probably comes from money, judging from his boots, his clothing, and the way he speaks. He's got the east in his voice. No strong ties there, though, or he'd be chomping to get into a Union uniform."

  Most of the time Fox forgot there was a war going on. The only sign she'd noticed was a heavy influx of miners as the gold and silver mines went into twenty-four-hour production. The government would buy whatever the mines produced. But out here, unless a body was in the mining industry, the war didn't have much of an effect.

  She thought of something else over a supper of potatoes and dried fish. "Tanner was mighty pale, didn't you think? Like he doesn't spend a lot of time in the sun even though he sat his horse well."

  "Miners are pale, if that's what you're thinking. I hate dried fish."

  "I don't make him for a miner. Too well dressed, too much authority, clean fingernails. Did you see his face when I talked about being in charge? That didn't set well. He's used to making decisions and giving orders." She shoved a fork at the fish. "I don't like fish either."

  "Then why do we have to eat it?"

  "Because we spent all that time last summer drying fish for nights like this when we don't have a rabbit."

  "You should be ashamed of yourself, Missy, charging that man thieving rates."

  Fox grinned around a mouthful of limp carrots grown last summer. "He doesn't have to hire me."

  "He will," Peaches predicted, looking at her across the table. "After Mr. Tanner checks you against what else is available, he'll be back."

  "I'm more or less planning on it." All Fox had to do was think Jennings's name and a familiar burn flamed inside. Jennings had stolen her life. If it wasn't for him, she wouldn't consider leading a bunch of greenhorns on a long dangerous trek that was going to be a whole lot of trouble. She wouldn't be here in this cabin, wearing men's clothin
g and eating with her fist wrapped around her fork. If it wasn't for Jennings, she wouldn't be trying to think of one good reason to get up every morning and go on living.

  "I have to do this, Peaches," she said in a low voice. "I'm almost sure Jennings is still in Denver. I heard that he owns several mines in this area, but his company is still based in Denver. I need to accomplish one good thing in my life, and that would be killing Jennings. He has to pay for what he did."

  "Well, the good news is that you're moving again. Going to get off this mountain. Who knows what you'll find out there? Might find something better than revenge."

  "There's nothing better than revenge. I just wish I'd done it sooner."

  Peaches pressed his lips together and cleared the table. "We're playing checkers tonight. You're the red chips."

  * * *

  CHAPTER 2

  By morning Fox had made up her mind. Shortly before dawn, she and Peaches loaded the wagon with as many ice blocks as the horse could pull, then headed down the mountain to Carson City.

  To call Carson a city expressed breathtaking optimism. On the other hand, the little town had boomed in the three years since the Comstock Lode had put the Nevada Territory on the map. Carson wanted to be the town where the Comstock miners and supervisors spent their pay.

  Before they reached the outskirts Fox and Peaches changed places on the wagon seat since Peaches didn't believe it was right or decent for a woman to drive while a man rode passenger. It was an argument that Fox was never going to win.

  While they were stopped, she nailed a sign to each side of the wagon slats: Ice for Sale.

  "I guess we'll find out if it's been warm enough to create a market," she said, climbing up on the passenger side.

  Peaches chose a circuitous route down dusty streets past a hodgepodge of tents, lean-tos, shacks, and tidy homes that would have fit comfortably into a real city. By the time he turned south on Curry Street, half the ice had been sold.

  "The hotel will buy the rest," Peaches predicted.

  "Hold back a block or two for the bar." A squint toward the sun told Fox it was near midday. "Drop me at the General Store," she said, patting her vest pockets to find her list. "I'll make sure McGurty has the provisions we need, then I'll see if Whitfield has any horses worth what he'll try to charge me. How about you and me meet up at Jack's Bar about four o'clock."

  "I'm thinking we should be on the road no later than four thirty," he said, lowering his head and giving her a look from beneath his eyebrows that said, I mean it. "So don't get social and don't go looking for a fight. I don't want to be sitting in Jack's Bar at midnight."

  Tanner thought he spotted Fox striding into the General Store, but when she didn't emerge after a few minutes, he decided he'd been mistaken. That didn't surprise him since his eyes were red and stinging from riding all morning in a dusty breeze. What irritated him more than sore eyes was wasting a day that he didn't have to spare.

  While he waited for the bank to assemble his request, he considered the scouts he had interviewed. The most recent had occurred this morning at a shack built on a low rise surrounded by blowing sand. The man Tanner had ridden six miles to interview impressed him as being as shifty as the ground swirling around the bare boards of his place.

  The teller returned to the cage and cleared his throat, blinking curiously behind his spectacles. "We've accommodated your requirements, Mr. Tanner."

  "Thank you. The St. Charles Hotel is expecting delivery." On the way out, he stopped by the president's office to express gratitude for everything that had been done to meet his needs, namely a relay of riders sent to Reno to dispatch and receive telegrams from Denver.

  After he'd confirmed that the St. Charles manager had locked the bags in the hotel's vault, Tanner ordered a whiskey sent to his room, then changed out of his dusty riding togs into evening attire suitable for an at-home supper at the home of John Manning, with whom he'd been working at the Gallows Mine.

  He had a few hours before he was due to arrive at Manning's house; a walk might clear his mind. Everything was in place for the journey except the scout. He had to make a decision. No sooner had he thought the words than he spotted Peaches Hernandez driving an empty wagon south on Curry Street. The bed was wet and there were for-sale signs on the side slats.

  So he hadn't been mistaken about noticing Fox. He hailed the wagon and asked where she was, then walked toward the trading corral next to the smithy.

  She wasn't hard to spot, not with that fiery hair. She stood nose to nose with Harry Whitfield, the only horse trader in town. Leaning forward from the waist, she slapped her hat against her thigh, looking mad enough to chew nails.

  "That's it," she shouted, shoving her hat on her head. "My client isn't going to pay one hundred dollars for a scrawny bag of bones! That's robbery, you bastard. And the mules." She flung a hand toward the animals in the corral. "Bow-backed with one hoof in the grave! Eighty dollars? Ha! Only if every other animal in the territory drops dead in the next hour." Spinning on her heel, she walked into Tanner. It occurred to him that the collision was like two rocks smacking together. No give in either of them.

  Fox shoved back from his chest and raised a flushed face. "I'm glad you're here. You won't believe what this thief is trying to charge you for those horses! Look at 'em. I never saw such sorry specimens." She threw a glare over her shoulder and shouted at Whitfield. "You think about it and come up with a better price, a discount for volume, say, or I'm heading up to Gold Canyon to see what Pinky Borden can offer. I'll stop by in the morning for your final offer. On my way to Gold Canyon."

  She watched Whitfield stomp toward the smithy then gave Tanner a push toward the corral. "We're going to buy those two mustangs," she said, speaking in a low voice and pointing out the horses after making sure Whitfield was not watching them. "A California mustang doesn't look like much, but they all have sure feet and endurance and can go a long way on a sip of water." She squinted up at him. "I'm making some assumptions here."

  "You sure as hell are."

  "I'm assuming we only need horses for me and Peaches. I'm assuming you'll ride the big bay you rode up to my place. Correct?"

  "You're assuming I'm going to hire you."

  "Of course you are. By now you know I'm the only credible choice you have. The real question is, Do I want to spend three months with you? We need to get that settled." Tilting her head back, she measured the sun's progress. "I'm meeting Peaches at Jack's Bar in a few minutes. You should come, too. We got things to discuss before this is a deal." Drawing back, she looked him up and down before she took off down the street. "My, my, look at you. Aren't we fancy."

  Tanner crossed his arms on the top rail of the corral and studied the horses she'd pointed out. Then he considered the mules. At once he saw that she'd chosen the best animals in the lot. He hoped she was as competent in all other areas because it appeared that he'd hired her. With luck, he wouldn't regret it.

  She was the only woman in Jack's Bar who wasn't wearing a skimpy costume and carrying a serving tray. Nobody paid her and Peaches a lick of attention so Tanner figured they came here often.

  "Whiskey," he said to the bartender who was chipping at a block of ice that still had bits of straw frozen on the surface.

  "He's paying for us, too," Fox said, pointing her thumb at Tanner before she turned to face him. "I dropped a list of provisions at the General Store so McGurty knows what we need. But I can't figure quantities until I know how many are in our party."

  "You, Mr. Hernandez, me, and two other men."

  "Fine. I'll firm up the order. When do you want to leave?"

  "As soon as possible. Will the day after tomorrow give you enough time to put things together?"

  "I told you it would," she said, frowning. "Do the two other men have their own horses?"

  "They have horses and gear. So do I." He could almost see her ticking items off a mental list. "I'm not going to buy your ice."

  "Buying our ice was part of th
e deal." Stiffening, she narrowed her eyes.

  Tanner called her attention to the bartender who had returned to his ice pick and the block of ice, then he pointed to the frozen chunks in his whiskey glass, which he'd gotten without asking. He didn't like ice in his whiskey. "You don't get to sell the same ice twice, not if I'm one of the buyers." Over her shoulder, he watched Peaches suck in a smile and look at the ceiling.

  "We only sold a small part! I'll be busy tomorrow working on your requirements, and I won't have time to sell the rest. The remaining ice is going to melt if I go off with you. That's a lot of money turning into water. I figure you owe us!"

  "Maybe so, maybe not. Regardless, I'm not going to pay you for the ice."

  "Well, what about that horse out there hitched to the wagon? I'm trading it to Whitfield for a credit on your animals."

  "You keep the horse you trade for," he said with a shrug. "Aside from the ice, the deal you offered is acceptable."

  Stretching his imagination, he tried to visualize what she'd look like if she were a traditional woman. But he couldn't do it. First, her clothing was loose enough that it was impossible to guess what kind of body she had under an oversized rough shirt and a vest that would have been too large for him. Then her face was tanned and her cheeks and lips chapped by cold winds. Finally, she had that mass of wild red hair and not enough hairpins to hold it in place. He doubted that she'd had a ladylike coiffure in years.

  On the positive side of the scale, she had well-shaped eyebrows that were a shade darker than her hair. Her eyes were frosty but of an intriguing color that would appear blue in some lights, gray in others. Lips were something Tanner usually noticed, so he noted that Fox had a well-defined upper lip and a lower lip full enough to form a perfect pout. The thought made him smile. This wasn't a woman who did much pouting.