Foxfire Bride

by Maggie Osborne

  He just hoped to God that she was right when she said she could get him to Denver before May first.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 3

  Fox set a moderate but steady pace. She'd promised Tanner short days until he and his guards grew accustomed to all day in the saddle, but in truth it had also been a while since Fox or Peaches had spent eight or ten hours on a horse. She suspected she'd feel the effects before they stopped for the night, but right now she experienced the exhilaration of getting under way.

  Starting out was the best part of any journey. At this point the company was pleasant and cordial, men and animals were whole and healthy, anticipation and optimism wafted on the breeze. Anything could happen in the weeks ahead, good or bad.

  But packing gold fell on the bad side, Fox thought, frowning. Every few minutes she battled an urge to look over her shoulder and make sure the money mule hadn't bolted or been stolen.

  "Could be that nothing bad will happen," Peaches suggested when they stopped beside the river for a late lunch. Cupping his hands around a coffee mug, he glanced toward a clump of bare cottonwoods where Tanner and his men were eating bread and cheese and talking. "You're thinking everyone out there knows about the gold and is busy figuring out how to steal it." When Fox nodded glumly, he smiled. "Now me, I share Mr. Tanner's opinion. I'm thinking that bank teller, and the hotel manager, and whoever else, is honest and upright and has already forgotten about the gold."

  "Right. Just what we need, more fricking optimism." Fox rolled her eyes like she did when he started seeing roses among the weeds. "How are you doing?" she asked after a minute, pulling her gaze away from Matthew Tanner. Tanner's tall figure and commanding stance drew her attention like a magnet. Which irritated the hell out of her. "Holding up all right? I can tell one of the guards to lead the second train if your shoulder is bothering you. And it seems to me you're coughing a lot."

  "Now, Missy, are you going to be fussing over me during this whole trip?" His eyes narrowed. "Why aren't you wearing the sun protection I mixed up for you?"

  "I forgot. I'll wear it tomorrow."

  Now that she wasn't worrying about growing ice, she could enjoy the sun on her face and the warm breeze blowing down the valley. It was nice to reacquaint herself with the music of a river. Nice to watch the animals grazing next to the trail and hear the murmur of men's voices. At this moment, it was hard to believe that revenge was her motive for being here.

  Once they remounted, Tanner rode up beside her. "I figure we're about a mile off the stage road, starting to climb toward the cut up to the Comstock. So could have led this expedition."

  "You're right." She slid him a sidelong look from beneath the brim of her old hat. He looked good on the big bay horse, riding easy and loose. But he looked good whatever he was doingsitting, standing, walking. "But you don't know where we should cut south, or where the best campsites are or how to find the water holes."

  His smile relaxed, almost a tease. "That's when I start getting my money's worth." They rode a mile in silence before he said, "I'm obliged that you changed your mind about traveling with the gold."

  "I get pissy every time I think about it, but there isn't a real choice. If I had a father, I'd do the same thing."

  Fox didn't remember her father, and over time the memories of her mother had faded. Only vague impressions remained, mostly of a sick room and the terrible grief closing her throat. But she remembered her stepfather. Him, she would never forget.

  "I guess your mother is gone, or the kidnappers would have approached her."

  "My mother died shortly after I was born," Tanner said. "I have no memory of her."

  "And your father never remarried?" These questions pushed the limits of what was acceptable, but she couldn't stop herself.

  "My father married again years later, but his second wife died less than a year after the wedding. I never met the woman."

  "How old were you then?" Fox's face flamed. Silently she commanded herself to stop asking personal questions before he got the idea that she was interested in him.

  "I was about ten or eleven. In school back east."

  At least he had a father. Fox thought it must be good to have someone who cared no matter what a person did. She had Peaches, but she would have given anything to have a real mother and father, too.

  When she turned her head, Tanner had dropped back behind the mules. Seems he didn't welcome personal questions. That's what going to school in the east did for a person, installed a reserve. In the west, folks didn't stand on formality, they wanted to know who was talking to them and that required questions. But once the basics were known, it was live and let live. Or maybe she was looking for an excuse to justify her curiosity.

  They rode into Gold Canyon about three in the afternoon. The town was one of the oldest in the territory, strung out along a tight valley near the river. The racket from the mills servicing the Comstock would have driven Fox mad if she'd had to live herethe noise and the lack of sunlight. The dreary town was already in shadow.

  As the town pump was the primary source of rumor and gossip, they paused there to refill canteens and stretch their legs. Fox used the opportunity to ask questions. She didn't like the answers.

  Thinking about the news, she led Tanner's party down the main street and continued out of town, past a few small farms and out to the edge of the desert. The campsite she wanted was still there, nestled beside the river in a copse of tall cottonwoods.

  After she swung down off the mustang, Fox flexed her knees, feeling the pull along the insides of her thighs. She'd be stiff in the morning.

  "All right, let's get organized." Peaches knew what to do, she didn't worry about him. "Lay out your bedrolls, then we need someone to fetch water, someone to get a fire started, and someone to cook supper. You gentlemen work it out among yourselves as to who does what. I'll help Mr. Hernandez unload the mules and I'll find our supper fixings."

  She'd just tied her horse to one of the trees when she heard Cutter Hanratty snarl, "Touch that mule, mister, and you're a dead man."

  Whirling, Fox grasped the situation in a flash. Peaches was on one side of the money mule and Hanratty stood on the other side, a gun pointing at Peaches's chest.

  Moving fast she came up on Hanratty's side, then slipped between him and the mule. The bags of coins pushed at her back, she felt the barrel of Hanratty's gun drop to her stomach.

  And she suspected Hanratty felt the tip of her knife pressed against his side, just above the waist of his trousers.

  "Put the gun down, right now." Her voice shook with fury. "You don't pull a gun on anyone in this party, understand?" Leaning forward, she let the knife press hard enough that he glanced down and swore.

  "Nobody touches the gold."

  "It's Mr. Hernandez's job to care for the animals and pack and unpack them." The gun didn't waver and neither did her knife. They stood close enough that Fox smelled him, could see little bubbles of spit at the corners of his mouth.

  He bared his teeth. "Tanner didn't say nobody except Mr. Hernandez touches the gold. He said nobody."

  "It appears I was shortsighted," Tanner said. His hand came down on Hanratty's shoulder and he spun him around, shoving down the hand with the gun, "I trust Mr. Hernandez to unload the coins. And I trust anyone here who wants to help him." His gaze locked on Hanratty's. "Stow the weapon, Cutter. Right now."

  Peaches released a long low breath then threw up the tarp and studied the lumpy bank bags as if nothing had happened. "Where you want me to put these?"

  "Put them near my bedroll and cover them with my saddle."

  "Don't you ever do something like that again," Fox said to Hanratty, speaking between her teeth.

  Hanratty moved backward and made a show of shoving the gun into a hip holster. "I was just doing my job. No harm done."

  Fox studied his small eyes and rough, stubbled face. "And I was just doing my job. No harm done." But she was mistaken. A small dot of blood appeared on Hanratty's
shirt above his waist. She'd either scratched or jabbed him. "Sorry."

  Hanratty pulled up his shirt and stared at a small puncture in disbelief. "Well, goddamn," he said, turning to show Jubal Brown the drop of blood on his skin. "She knifed me!"

  "You ain't never going to live that down," Brown said with a grin. They both stared at Fox like they were just seeing her. "Ma'am, that was the bravest, stupidest thing I ever saw anyone do. You know how many men this man has shot down?"

  "I don't give a rat's ass," Fox said, returning their stares. "Just don't go shooting anyone in this party." They kept staring at her like she'd grown a foot taller.

  "Whichever one of you is going to cook tonight, get going."

  "Looks like you're the cook," Hanratty said to Jubal Brown. "I can't do it, I'm wounded."

  It took forty-five minutes longer than it should have to set up camp and get the coffee and some steaks on the fire. They would get quicker and more efficient in the next few days as the group established a routine.

  Fox washed the supper plates in the river and stacked them near the fire for breakfast. As with any good campsite, the coffeepot stayed over the coals and everyone had retained his cup. It pleased her that none of the men brought out a whiskey bottle. If they had a bottle, they were saving it for a special occasion. That augured well for the trip.

  They sat in a ring around the fire pit, drinking coffee, not talking much as the sun dropped below the horizon in a burst of deep blue and gold. Immediately Fox felt the temperature plummet. With the warm days they'd been having, it was easy to forget that February was usually a cold month.

  Jubal Brown tossed back his coffee then lit a cigar. "Might as well get this over with. Find out where everyone stands. Union or Confederate."

  Fox was astounded. "I didn't imagine anyone out here cared about that."

  "Most don't, but I'm on my way home to Georgia where I plan to join up." Brown's chin jutted forward. "My family don't own any slaves, so that part of it ain't important to me. What's important is the states should have the right to secede. The South shouldn't have to be part of a Union if we don't want to be."

  "It's hard to grasp that Nevada is lobbying to become a state and join the Union, while the South is fighting to withdraw." Fox shook her head and watched one of the coals flare into a puff of flame. "I guess I don't have an opinion on this except to say I don't believe people should own people."

  Tanner looked straight at Jubal Brown. "I'm for the Union."

  Brown nodded slowly, and his mouth pursed, but he didn't comment.

  Next they turned toward Hanratty. "Hell, I don't care who wins." He shrugged. "That fight is thousands of miles from here. It don't touch me."

  "What's your opinion?" Fox asked Peaches.

  "Well now, I have to agree with Mr. Brown," Peaches said after a minute. Fox's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Nobody should be forced to be where they don't want to be."

  "How can you favor the Confederacy? They own slaves in the South!"

  "Mr. Brown's family doesn't. Eventually slavery will collapse no matter who wins the war. How can the Confederates fight for free will and then deny it to their servants? You have to believe in the basic goodness and decency of all people."

  "That's a noble sentiment, Mr. Hernandez, but I think you're wrong." Leaning forward, Tanner refilled his cup from the pot above the coals. "It's not that simple. The Southern economy is built around cheap labor. If slavery is abolished, the economy will likely collapse. I don't see the South willingly bringing themselves to that kind of disaster."

  Jubal Brown covered a yawn. "Seems we got two Rebels, one Yankee, one undecided, and one don't-care." He thought a minute. "Doesn't look like much of an issue. You're taking the first watch, right?" he asked Hanratty. "Or is your wound troubling you too much to work? The wound you got when a woman knifed you."

  Hanratty's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I think I can manage." Picking up his rifle, he stood and scanned the perimeter of the campsite. "Just for the sake of curiosity, ma'am, how many men have you knifed?"

  "Not as many as I've shot. I've got a medical kit if you think your wound needs attention." If Hanratty wanted to pretend his small puncture was significant, she was willing to go along, but not without a broad hint of sarcasm.

  Not bothering to reply, Hanratty moved beyond the fire's light and slipped among the trees.

  "Reckon I'll be turning in right after I rub some of that horse liniment on my shoulder," Peaches said, rising.

  "Do you want me to do it for you?"

  "I'm telling you, stop fussing. It's just a touch of rhumitiz." Muttering he headed into the darkness toward the tether line, leaving Fox and Tanner beside the fire.

  "Well? What do you think?" Fox asked, putting some distance between them. They were almost shoulder to shoulder and she didn't like the odd way his proximity made her feel. Sort of like she'd eaten something that made her stomach churn. "About the trip so far."

  "We've only gone twelve miles, and it took a couple of hours longer than it should have."

  "You can't hurry mules. If you try, you're likely to have a train wreck. It's always going to feel as if we didn't cover as much ground as we should have."

  "I'm not criticizing, just noticing." When he turned his head, the firelight painted his craggy face in gold and shadow. "All in all, I'd say the first day went well. My guard didn't kill my scout, and my scout didn't kill my guard. We had steak for supper." A shrug and a smile lifted his expression. "Brown was right, you know. What you did was brave and stupid."

  "Maybe," she said, gazing at the dying fire. "But Peaches and me, we've been together off and on for twenty years. That old man is the closest thing I've got to family. He took care of me for a lot of years. Now it's my turn to look out for him." In this light Tanner's eyes looked almost amber. Not that she cared. She didn't know why she had even noticed.

  When Tanner didn't say anything, Fox continued talking. "I figure Hanratty and Brown are just this side of the law. Very likely they cross back and forth over the line."

  A flicker of amusement crossed Tanner's expression. "Why would you say that?"

  She met his glance before she pushed to her feet. "A man doesn't hire a preacher to guard his gold. You hire somebody who's used to shooting first and asking questions later."

  Tanner stood, too. "Tough as shoe leather, aren't you, Miss Fox?"

  "Miss Fox?" She smiled. "And tough? Life could have worked out differently, but it didn't. So, yes. I'm plenty tough, Mr. Tanner. That's what's kept me alive. By the way, we're going to pick up the pace tomorrow. There's been some trouble with the Paiutes so I want to get to Fort Churchill. That's about a thirty-mile ride."

  "Thirty miles," Tanner repeated, staring down at her. "More than twice today's distance."

  "I know. I said we'd take it slow for a few days. But it's smarter to spend tomorrow night under shelter rather than sleeping in the open." Annoyance thinned her voice. "Why do you keep looking at my hair? Is there something wrong with it?"

  "Not at all. Your hair is a beautiful gold and red, particularly in the firelight. And a braid suits you."

  Compliments cut the ground out from under her and left her with hot cheeks and speechless. Flustered, she walked away from him abruptly, calling good night over her shoulder.

  For a time it appeared she was too rattlebrained to find her bedroll. When she did, she swore for a minute, then pulled off her boots and was folding back the blankets when she discovered the gloves.

  "Peaches? Are you asleep? What's this?"

  "It's gloves filled with bacon grease. You wear them while you're sleeping. Rub a little of that grease on your cheeks and lips, too. Just in case."

  The dilemma she'd been discussing with Peaches was how to present herself when she shot Hobbs Jennings. If Fox killed Jennings looking like she did now, as herself, no one would care about her. The newspapers would dismiss her as an aberration, a wild woman, and they wouldn't wonder about her reason. But if she kille
d him looking like herself, Jennings would see how differently her life had unfolded from what it should have been. Jennings would see what he'd done to her and he'd be sorry.

  On the other hand, if she transformed herself into a conventional young lady, even a young lady with rough edges, the newspapers wouldn't dismiss her as easily. They would clamor to know why a respectable young miss had killed a prosperous businessman, thereby giving her the opportunity to tell everyone what a thieving bastard Hobbs Jennings was. She wanted the truth about him in print. The difficulty with this option was that if she looked like a respectable young lady, it wouldn't appear that Jennings had injured her as much as he had. Maybe she wouldn't even be believed.

  "I don't know," she said, holding the gloves to her nose and sniffing. Not too bad. The grease hadn't turned rancid.

  "We have talked this subject into the ground, Missy." Fox heard a yawn. "You should give yourself a choice. Avoid the sun. Soften up your hands and face. I'm going to sleep now so don't go talking anymore."

  "Avoid the sun," Fox muttered. Like that was possible.

  "Wear the sun protection lotion I fixed up for you."

  Peaches's advice about providing herself a genuine choice made sense. She thrust her hands into the gloves and made a face as grease oozed around her fingers and up under her fingernails. She suspected that trying to smooth her cheeks and hands would be about as effective as trying to pretty up a goat by trimming its hooves, but she guessed she'd give it a try.

  Tossing her braid over her shoulder, she eased down into her bedroll and closed her eyes. Matthew Tanner sure did look good on a horse. He rode with his hat pulled down to shade his face, and one wrist resting lightly on the saddle horn. He looked like a man who had fifty thousand dollars to spare. Which was to say, he was as far out of reach to someone like Fox as the most distant star.

  But he thought her hair was a beautiful color. If that didn't beat all. She never would have imagined that any part of her would look beautiful to a man like Matthew Tanner.