Love Finds You in Last Chance, California

by Miralee Ferrell

  He leaned his knuckles on the desk and pushed himself to his feet, a small grunt escaping his lips. “Thank you, my dear. I’ll do that.”

  Alex stepped out of the small wood structure and shielded her eyes against the glare of the early summer sun. Somehow the sights and smells of Last Chance seemed different after hearing Clarence Elton’s tidings. No longer did the view of the magnificent pines and cedars dotting the landscape make her heart swell with joy or the green of the trees remind her of childhood days racing through the woods on her pony. Today they only brought a sense of loneliness and isolation. She looked across the canyon separating the distant Deadwood Ridge from their little town. Long, hard toil was required to reach the nearest settlement by wagon, and she hadn’t been out of Last Chance for more than a year. With her father gone and Uncle Joe’s health failing, she doubted she’d see the sites of a large town any time soon.

  Not that she hadn’t loved the years she’d spent here—Last Chance was her home. But life was a constant struggle for most of its one hundred or so inhabitants. The town’s survival depended on the productivity of the half dozen mines dotting the landscape within a mile or two of town, and it was rare to see a wagon roll into the area. Mule teams brought most of the goods, and Alex doubted that a stagecoach or train would ever wend its way up the steep, forested canyon walls or along the dense ridge tops. Last Chance was truly the end of the trail in more ways than one.

  Her childhood had been happy, tagging after her father while pretending to be a wrangler. Friends hadn’t come easily, and many of the other children viewed her as arrogant or stuck-up. Many a day she’d gone home to her mother, and later to Martha, crying over mistreatment by the other girls. She’d eventually learned to ignore teasing, turning an uncaring ear to those who didn’t understand.

  While her mother had taught her manners, Alex had always preferred riding a horse or helping birth a new foal to attending a church social. Time hadn’t altered that desire, and her current lack of friends among the female population of Last Chance proved that little had changed.

  Except for Elizabeth Anders, her best friend these past couple of years. Alex still had a hard time believing that the tall, elegant brunette who’d arrived by mule team to help run her ailing uncle’s dry goods store had befriended her. The men coming in from the mining claims were smitten with the green-eyed beauty, and a few of the women had been catty at first. But Elizabeth’s sweet, accepting nature swayed public opinion and produced a grudging acceptance among the women, which soon turned to respect and even admiration.

  If only she had time for a quick cup of tea with Elizabeth before heading back to the ranch. She sorely needed someone to talk to, but the urgency of her errand pressed her forward. A gray-striped cat raced out the door of the nearby mercantile, apparently relinquishing his mousing duty at Ike’s general store. Loud laughter and tin-panny music drifted through the open door of the saloon at the end of the street.

  Alex shaded her eyes and stared at the distant figure who’d appeared on the walk outside the saloon. It looked like one of her wranglers. She shook her head—the men knew the saloon was off-limits during the day. Her father hadn’t tolerated his hands drinking during work hours. In fact, he’d had very little sympathy for that behavior at any time of the day or night.

  Alex stepped off the boardwalk and headed toward the man, but he swung the opposite direction and disappeared around a corner. Following a strange man into an alley didn’t appeal to her at the moment. Instead, she turned and directed her steps to the minuscule clapboard telegraph office across the street.

  The dark-clad figure of a portly, middle-aged man emerged from the office and surged toward her. Parson Moser smiled and raised his hat as he approached. “Alexia, how are you today? Haven’t seen you at church recently. We’ve missed you.”

  Unlike some preachers whom Last Chance had tolerated in the distant past, Bill Moser was the genuine article. He lived what he preached, and he cared for his flock as if they were his own children. The warmth he exuded drew Alex a little closer to God, but a few gossiping women in his congregation caused her to steer clear of attending church on a regular basis. They didn’t approve of her lifestyle or the freedom her father had granted her.

  She slowed near the edge of the boardwalk a few feet from the telegraph office and smiled. “Thank you, Pastor, I’m doing well. I’m on an errand, or I’d love to chat.”

  He patted her arm. “That’s fine, my dear. You’ve been on my heart lately. Anytime you need to talk, my door is open.”

  “Thank you. I might stop by sometime soon—and I’ll try to make it to church a bit more regular. Business at the ranch has been pressing since Papa passed.”

  “I understand, but that’s even more reason why you need your church family.” He patted her arm one more time and smiled before moving away.

  Alex watched the ambling form. Did he truly not see what some of the women put her through with their petty comments, or did he simply choose to believe the best of everyone? Was there something deeper to the man’s belief in God and mankind than she understood? She shook her head and stepped over the threshold of the tiny one-room shack that served as the telegraph office. Better get her mind back on business.

  Rob Bartlett raised watery hazel eyes from the paper lying on his rough-hewn table and smiled. “How can I help you, Miss Travers?”

  One step took Alex to the front edge of the table. A rumbling wagon passed by the open door, and dust rolled into the tiny enclosure.

  “Aaa-choo!” Alex pulled a hanky from her pocket, covered her mouth, and sneezed again.

  “Bless you. Feel free to pull the door to, if you’d like. It gets a mite dusty in here so close to the street. Guess I’ve gotten used to it.” Bartlett waved a hand in the air, but his red-rimmed eyes testified to the truth of his statement.

  “That’s all right, I won’t be long. I need some information, if you’d be so kind.”

  He sat up straighter, and his toothy smile lit up his homely face. “Certainly. Anything.”

  “Do you know if my father sent a wire to Los Angeles about purchasing a stallion and mares?”

  “Yes, I recall that he did.”

  “And did he wire instructions to the seller about payment?”

  “Hmm…” He stroked the stubble on his narrow chin and looked up at the board-covered ceiling. “Let me think. Ah—I remember.” He smacked the palms of his hands together. “He planned on sending the money later. The buyer said he could wire the funds when it suited him. Guess they’d done business before and the man trusted him.”

  “So he didn’t come back?” She leaned a trembling hand on the table and willed her voice to remain calm.

  “Nope. Shore didn’t. In fact, I believe it was the day before he…” He cleared his throat and dropped his gaze.

  “He died. Yes. I know. You’ve been most helpful, Rob.”

  His head jerked up and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Thank you, Miss Alex. Wish I could’a helped more.”

  Alex mustered a smile and stepped from the room, clear on one thing. She had to get home and talk to Martha and Uncle Joe, her two oldest and best friends. Maybe they could help cast some light on her darkening world.

  Chapter Two

  Justin Phillips wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his leather-gloved hand and jammed his hat onto his head. The sun in Nevada territory always felt twice as hot as it did near the Pacific coast.

  “Blame it all,” he muttered to himself. “Why’d Ben have to saddle me with this mess?” He pulled the creased telegram from his hip pocket and read it through again.

  Need help. Ranch in trouble and life in danger. Come quick and keep quiet. Alex hates interference. Debt will be settled. Benjamin Travers

  Looked like there was nothing to do but hit the trail. But what about Toby? Justin tugged off his gloves, pocketed them in his denim jacket, and stored his tools in his wagon. At barely three years old, Toby might have a hard time hold
ing up on a prolonged trip. And once they arrived, how would he care for the child?

  Time for worrying later. A good meal, a hot bath, and a shave might clear his mind. He’d better round up what Sam owed him for repairing the saloon door—again. It was a good thing he handled a hammer as well as a rope and a rifle, as there weren’t a lot of wrangling jobs around lately.

  It sounded like Ben Travers needed a hand on his ranch—as well as help corralling the person causing him trouble. Justin didn’t like that last part. Trouble had dogged him the past couple of years, and he didn’t need any more. Especially trouble of the female variety. Justin tended to steer clear of women, but an especially persistent one had been dogging him here in town. Molly had only been gone a few months, and he had no desire to get mixed up with another woman. Might be a good reason to move on.

  The promise of steady work and repaying an old debt to a friend drew him. He’d better check on Toby. If he helped Travers and started over on his own, it mightn’t be so bad.

  He stepped into the small, dark boardinghouse owned by Mrs. McGavin and headed for the kitchen. He probably shouldn’t have left Toby in the care of the elderly woman. She claimed she’d not yet seen seventy, but it was common knowledge that eighty years had come and gone and possibly more. If it weren’t for her widowed daughter Mary, Justin doubted Mrs. McGavin could’ve kept her boardinghouse open.

  A loud howl cut through the air and propelled him down the hall and into the deserted kitchen. Toby sat on the floor in the corner, scrubbing his eyes and crying. The little boy lifted his arms. “Papa. I hungry. Want some dinner, Papa.”

  Justin scooped up the boy and stroked his tangled dark curls. “Papa will find you something to eat.”

  The three-year-old wrapped his arms around his father’s neck. Had Mrs. McGavin left Toby alone? He’d feed the boy, get him to bed, and see what was going on. Maybe it was just as well Ben’s message came when it did.

  He lifted the lid on a pot shoved to the back of the stove. A comforting fragrance wafted out, and his mouth watered. Chicken soup. He placed Toby in the chair he’d fashioned, pulled it close to the table, and ladled soup into a bowl. A piece of buttered bread completed the meal. Justin tied a dish towel around the little boy’s neck and handed him a spoon.

  The sound of footsteps in the hall turned him in that direction. Mrs. McGavin’s bulky form came panting into the room. “Land sakes. What’s all the squallin’ about?”

  Justin clamped his lips together and then took a deep breath. No sense in taking his anger out on this woman. “Toby was hungry. I found him on the floor, crying. Alone.”

  Mrs. McGavin bustled to the stove and placed the lid back on the pot. “I just stepped out of the room for a minute. I planned on feedin’ the boy soon as I got back.”

  Toby grinned as he slapped his soup with his spoon.

  “That’s enough, Toby. Don’t play with your soup.” Justin bent over, wiping soup from the boy’s face.

  “You need a wife. I can’t take care of this young’un whilst you go off to work.” Mrs. McGavin turned with her hands on her ample hips. “He’s too much for me.”

  Justin straightened and faced her. “His mama died not long ago. I’m not ready to marry again.”

  “Humph. I heard she was a saloon girl. Looks like you could’a done a better job pickin’ a mama for the boy.”

  Justin clenched his jaw and rolled his shoulders back. “I did what I thought best.” He bent over Toby and fed him the last few spoonfuls of soup.

  “Humph. I’da given her some money and put her on a train back to her mama, if you’da asked me.”

  Justin ignored the comment. He hadn’t asked Mrs. McGavin for her opinion, but that had never stopped her from voicing it.

  “So she died not long ago and left you with the boy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Leaves you in a fix, and me as well, way I see it.”

  Justin untied the towel from Toby’s neck. “I need to put Toby to bed. I’ll come down later and settle up for my board. I’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

  Her chin jerked up. “Now, I didn’t mean nothin’. I’d be happy to have you stay. Mary can watch the boy. Just pay a little more for his care. No call for you to leave.”

  Justin shook his head and looked over the top of Toby’s curls at the fawning woman. “I’ll be pulling out in the morning. Got a job offer in California.”

  “What about the boy? You got no one to care for him.”

  “I’ll care for him. We’ll be leaving tomorrow.” He nodded and stepped out of the kitchen. Toby needed a nap, and he needed to pack.

  Justin reached over the top of the buckboard seat and patted the squirming child lying on the pile of blankets. Toby settled back into a restless sleep, one chubby hand clutching a ragged blanket. The two of them, along with his stallion Durango, had traveled by train from Truckee to Colfax, where three days ago he’d purchased a wagon and team for the rest of the trip. From the look of the surrounding country and the report he’d gotten in Colfax, he must be less than a day from the small town of Last Chance.

  The sturdy team of horses was an asset. His Arabian stallion would’ve struggled to pull the load up the steep canyon trails. They’d made it through the area around Robinson Flat without incident, but the sharp, winding grade the past few hours challenged even him. Earlier he’d spent more than an hour cutting and limbing a pine tree and rigging it to the back of his wagon. The extra weight had created enough drag to slow their forward progress down the hill, and it kept the wagon from running over his team. Word at Foresthill said the shorter route through Michigan Bluff was even more treacherous and impossible for a wagon. In places, the trail cut into the side of a sheer cliff. One spook or misstep of a horse could send the beast and rider plunging to their deaths. Although still hazardous in places and a couple of days longer, the route he’d chosen was worth the extra time—he’d not take a chance with his son or his gear.

  Justin heaved a sigh and flicked his reins. The drooping horses picked up their heads and leaned into the harness. Toby slept on, unaware of the excitement just behind him. Justin almost envied the boy. No worries at this young age except a full belly and a toy to play with. Still, he knew the child missed his mother. It had been hard for both of them to adjust to being together full-time. What had made Justin think he could raise Toby alone, with Molly gone?

  Justin had long abandoned the ritual of prayer, but the pressure of his situation urged him to reconsider.

  “Lord, I haven’t been much on speaking terms with You the past few years, but I need Your help with this boy. I can’t stand the thought of giving him up, and I can’t see raising him on my own. Any help You give would be appreciated.”

  A few miles later a rough signpost boasting LAST CHANCE, POPULATION 101—FOUR MILES peeked out through the dense brush alongside the dusty road. Justin had formed no concrete plan beyond meeting Ben, but a town this size might have a boardinghouse with a woman willing to help care for his son.

  Justin sighed wearily. Too bad he’d left Auburn a year ago and headed to Nevada. Coming from there would’ve been only a couple days’ journey. It had been a long pull from Nevada and up into the Sierra Nevada mountains to this little mining town with the strange name.

  At his stop in Foresthill, a talkative old miner had shared the story of the naming of Last Chance. Legend had it that a group of miners had searched the ridge for days and, discouraged by their lack of success, decided to return to the valley where they’d started. One miner dolefully remarked this was their last chance to find gold on the west side of the mountains. Before breaking camp, one of the hunters scouted a flock of quail a short distance away. He took aim and shot, knocking one from a tree. In its dying struggles, the bird scratched away the leaves, exposing the bare ground. The miner stooped to pick up the bird and noted a rock. Upon closer inspection, he concluded that he’d found gold. The group set up permanent camp and, remembering the earlier dejected remark, they named th
e place Last Chance.

  The road wound along beside a meandering stream, and the shafts of sunlight glinted off the water like prisms dangling in a window. Whispering pines lined the edges of the stream, interspersed with flowering brush and mesquite. The past few days must have been dry, as dust puffed up from the horses’ hooves as they plodded along, pulling the wagon astraddle the ruts cut by carts and wagons before him. Glimpses of small meadows were visible through the branches of the trees, inviting Justin to pull over and stretch out in the nearby shade. But the gurgling stream splashing and singing over the rocks in its bed urged him on, drawing him toward the future that lay ahead.

  Justin slapped the reins against the dusty back of his team. “Giddap there! Time enough to rest when we reach the town.”

  Chapter Three

  Alex clucked to the mare pulling her small buggy and glanced at the sun slanting westward. It was nearing suppertime, and yet chores remained. The faint road wended its way along a flat, heavily treed area. The horse slowed her pace as she began the climb to the higher elevation of the mountain plateau where the Circle T ranch was nestled.

  Towering fir trees lined each side of the narrow road, mixed with cedar and pine. The sound of tinkling water alerted Alex that the ford across Grouse Creek lay ahead. Due to late snows and spring runoff, the water level was high, but it was nothing the hardy mare couldn’t handle. They topped a rise and descended into the shallow gully, where Alex halted the buggy. She hitched up her skirt and then stepped onto the wheel and down onto the road.

  Grasping the mare’s bridle, Alex led her to the shade of a spreading oak a few yards from the stream. The mare greedily ripped at the long tufts of grass, and Alex sank down onto the cool green patch nearby.

  Everything had happened so fast at the bank that she hadn’t taken in the implications of her father’s actions. She needed time to absorb the information before facing Martha and Uncle Joe at the ranch house. They’d both be curious to know why she’d stayed so long, although Alex would bet that Joe knew about the bank loan.