His Prairie Duchess

by Kit Morgan

  Yet Jefferson still failed to protect her in the end.

  “We should find Duprie in the morning, speak to him about his daughter.” Harrison suggested.

  Duncan shook himself. “Now hold on. I haven’t even seen the woman! Actually as a woman, that is.”

  “No, but you’ve certainly had an encounter with her!” Colin was quick to point out.

  Duncan groaned as he remembered chasing the Duprie boy ... girl ... oh blast it all! He’d chased the buckskinned guttersnipe down the street after he caught him sneaking out of the mercantile with a bag of candy. He’d all but tackled the boy, threw him across his lap, and gave him a few good swats with his hand. Which he supposed would have been fine if the little thief had been a boy. But he wasn’t ... and ... “Ohhhh,” Duncan moaned and put his face in his hands.

  “It’s an encounter she’ll not soon forget.” Colin told Harrison and Sadie with a grin.

  Belle’s face paled as she too remembered what happened. “We’ll just have to work around that.” She turned to Duncan. “If you’re seriously considering taking this on, then you have a way. I’m sure Mr. Duprie could be persuaded to cooperate.”

  “Cooperate?” Duncan sputtered. “To what? To simply hand her over to me, just like that?”

  “And why not?” Belle asked. “Isn’t that what they do where you come from?”

  Harrison’s eyes widened. “Of course! Why you clever girl! Why didn’t one of us think of it?”

  Now Colin caught on. “One would think you were English, my dear.”

  “What are you talking about?” Sadie finally asked.

  Duncan sighed. “They are talking about an arranged marriage between myself and Mr. Duprie’s daughter.”

  “Won’t she be something to take to a ball and introduce to the ton?” Colin quipped.

  “Indeed,” Duncan began. “Which makes this all the more ludicrous.” He turned to his brothers and gave a mock bow. “Allow me to introduce my wife, the Duchess of Stantham. A woman who runs around in dirty buckskins, cannot speak, and who probably kills things with her bare hands just before she eats them for dinner.”

  “And who risked her life to save mine.” Belle added quietly. “And that tells me she has some very good qualities.”

  The three brothers looked at one another as Belle’s words hit their mark. “Very well,” Duncan said. “Though I consider myself completely addled in the brain for doing this, on the morrow I shall speak with Mr. Duprie,” he took a deep breath. “And make his daughter the new Duchess of Stantham.”

  Two

  Anton Duprie watched Cozette turn his dinner on a spit. The girl could make anything taste good. Even out in the wilderness cooked over a fire. He could only imagine what she could do in an actual kitchen. Maybe it was time to see. But Anton and Cozette had roamed the wilderness too long. Could she adjust to living in a house? Or would she long for the green forests and the freedom of the wild?

  He had to admit, he was worried. Worried about the way she kept more to herself. Worried at the way she looked at the other women in town. Was she envious of what they had? Or did she despise their lack of freedom?

  He would ask her. Her inability to speak meant nothing to him. They communicated well enough. Besides, Cozette could read and write. Something most folks never realized until they saw her do it. Probably because they viewed her as nothing more than a dirty little savage. But his Cozette was no savage. Though if forced, he supposed she could be. But Anton prayed she would never have to be in a position to do so. Unlike her mother.

  “Is it almost ready?” He asked her in French.

  She looked up from her work and smiled, her eyes bright. How she loved to cook.

  “We should speak in English, to practice,” he added as she removed the meat from the spit. “The people here, they do not understand the French.”

  She raised an accusing brow at him. He was the one who needed to practice. She could read and write in both languages. And she was a lot better at it than he was. If her voice worked, she’d surely speak better too.

  He sighed in resignation. “All right,” he began speaking English. “I will use the English so to speak better.”

  Cozette wrote a couple of words in the dirt. Anton bent to see what they were. So. To. Only Cozette crossed out the word so. He rolled his eyes before he recited it the correct way. “I will use the English to speak better.”

  Cozette smiled and gave a little nod of approval. She then motioned to the meat and gave a small bow. His meal was about to be served.

  He sat and waited for her to prepare them both a portion, then motioned for her to sit. She did so, bowed her head, and clasped her hands before her. “Our Father, who is in Heaven,” he began. “Bless this food we are receive and...”

  Cozette raised her head, one eye open, and glared at him.

  “Ah ... ah ... bless this food we are ... about to receive, and bless the hands that ...” He looked at her. Her one eye still glared disapprovingly. “Er, ah ... made it?”

  Cozette threw her head back in silent laughter. But not completely silent. A tiny sound escaped. A delightful little ‘squeak’ that pierced the air around them and almost caused Anton to fall over where he sat. “Cozette!”

  She sat perfectly still, her hand at her throat, and stared open mouthed at him. It was the first sound she’d made in years.

  “Ma petite! You spoke!”

  She shook her head slowly.

  “Well it was something!” He went and knelt in front of her. “You try again, yes?”

  She smiled tentatively, her hand still at her throat, as if holding it there would ensure it would happen again.

  “You maybe try again after you eat, eh?” He motioned for her to pick up her plate. “We eat. Then maybe I tell you a story to make you laugh.”

  Cozette removed her hand, smiled, and slowly picked up her plate.

  * * *

  On the Second day ...

  Duncan sauntered down the street to the Sheriff’s office. Cyrus might be there. He’d not had the chance to speak to him yesterday at the wedding supper regarding the Duprie’s return to town, so sought him out now. If Sheriff Hughes wasn’t playing checkers with Wilfred Dunnigan, then he was usually playing with Cyrus Van Cleet. It was almost lunchtime, and surely Cyrus would take a break from his hotel construction to grab a game.

  Sure enough the two men sat outside the Sheriff’s office, one on either side of a small table bent over a checkerboard. Wilfred stood behind Cyrus and frowned heavily as he watched the Sheriff decide on his next move. “Afternoon, Duncan.” Wilfred said without taking his eyes from the board. Checkers was serious business in Clear Creek.

  “Wilfred,” Duncan said and tipped his hat. “Sheriff Hughes, Cyrus.”

  The Sheriff and Cyrus nodded in greeting, too intent on their game to say hello. Duncan thought it best to wait and watch a moment before speaking with Cyrus.

  The Sheriff made his move, smiled triumphantly, then sat back and waited for Cyrus to make his. Several men who worked for Cyrus were coming down the street. They also stopped to watch before heading over to Mulligans to eat. Mrs. Dunnigan, needing something to keep her busy, (or she’d drive Mr. and Mrs. Mulligan crazy) took to cooking and was soon serving up lunch and dinner for Cyrus's workers. She was growing quite popular as a cook while the mercantile was being re-built and Mr. Mulligan quickly seized the opportunity to turn the saloon into a restaurant of sorts. With food sold to him by the local farmers and beef from the Triple C, it began to be a winning situation for everyone.

  A man soon stood behind Duncan to watch. After a moment another joined him. Duncan glanced at the first and immediately knew he was a stranger. He turned to his companion and stiffened. The man was huge, perhaps even taller than Mr. Berg the blacksmith and certainly just as broad. He had dark hair that reached his shirt collar and obviously hadn’t shaved in a few days. His eyes were a piercing bright green and intent on Cyrus. But he wasn’t watching Cyrus to see his
next move. He was staring at Cyrus himself.

  Strangers. They always made Duncan a little wary. Perhaps because a stranger lured Colin and himself to a wagon train two years ago where they were conveniently accused of cattle rustling. And from the looks of these two, they were also from a wagon train. Which meant there must be one camped outside of town.

  Cyrus made his move, grinned, and leaned forward. “I win, Sheriff!”

  Sheriff Hughes quickly glanced at the board. “Dagnabbit, Cyrus! That’s three games! Between you and Wilfred my reputation is gonna be ruined!”

  The tall, dark haired man snorted in amusement as his companion smiled. It was enough however to draw everyone’s attention. Sheriff Hughes turned in his chair to face them. “It’s no laughing matter! This means war! I’ve got a reputation to uphold! You two obviously aren’t from around these parts or you’d know what’s at stake!”

  The shorter man laughed. “You’re right, we’re not from around here. We’ve come into town for supplies. Is there a store ... ah ... mercantile in town?’

  The taller of the two tossed his companion a look of annoyance before turning his attention elsewhere. Namely, back to Cyrus.

  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the mercantile done burned down a few weeks ago.” Wilfred explained.

  “Burned down? How are we supposed to get supplies?” The shorter man asked.

  Sheriff Hughes stood. “Folks around here would be glad to help. Just what did you need?”

  The tall man reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a list. He handed it to the Sheriff without saying a word. Duncan watched as Sheriff Hughes quickly read it. “Well now, some of these things Harvey Brown probably has out at his farm. I’m sure he’d be happy to sell them to you. And Mr. Berg down at the livery stable can fix anything on your wagons or harnesses. Should be supplies coming in another week if you have to have these other things to make it to Oregon City. That is where you’re heading, ain’t it?”

  “Yes it is,” the shorter man began. “I suppose we can stay camped outside of town until the other supplies come. Sounds like we have no choice.”

  Sheriff Hughes held out his hand. “Sheriff Harlan Hughes. And you are?”

  The man took his hand and shook it. “Lany ... ah ... Lany Mullmerk.”

  The taller man’s jaw twitched once. Duncan watched them carefully. He didn’t trust them. They were acting strangely. Almost evasive. The last thing any one in Clear Creek needed was a wagon train full of strangers hanging around for a couple of weeks.

  Suddenly the men standing nearest to Cyrus came to attention. Something had obviously caught their eye. Even Cyrus stood up. Duncan turned along with the rest to see what it was. And in Duncan’s experience, only one thing would cause a man’s eyes to become suddenly riveted the way these chap’s were now.

  A woman. And a very beautiful woman she was at that. Duncan suddenly stood at attention as well. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to track down Mr. Duprie after all. There was always hope. And he did pray last night for the good Lord to get him out of his current predicament by sending him the woman he needed to make everything work out.

  She was petite, and dressed a little odd. He’d not seen a dress like hers before. It appeared to be of fine quality, but not practical for crossing the prairie. Her long curly auburn hair was loose and flowed down her back to her waist. She wore a bonnet, but her auburn locks would surely drive the men to complete distraction. Duncan could feel himself begin to sweat. Several of the other men were already doing so, their foreheads now beaded with it.

  Unfortunately for Duncan and the rest of the men, the woman went directly to the tall, dark stranger. “Where is it?” She asked, her voice like pure silk.

  If only the Lord would see fit to give Duncan a woman that sounded like that. He briefly closed his eyes at the thought.

  “Tis nowhere to be found,” the tall stranger said softly with an odd accent. That got Duncan’s attention. “These men tell us the mer-can-tile, burned down. I’m afraid we’re stuck here for a time, Flower.”

  Some of the men actually sighed at the endearment.

  “Oh no. How horrible! Was anyone hurt?” she asked.

  The men leaned slightly forward in her direction. Or rather her voice, which to everyone’s ears was like pure honey. Duncan briefly wondered what the Duprie girl’s voice sounded like. If she ever got it back, that is.

  “Thank the Lord no. Came close for a few. But they’re right as rain now.” Wilfred told them. “We’re rebuilding but I’m afraid none of that will do you folks much good.”

  “I’m sorry.” The woman began. “It was your business then?”

  “Yes, ma’am. But the new mercantile will be bigger and better. Me and the Mrs. are looking forward to it.”

  “I’m so glad to hear it.” She turned to the tall man beside her. “What are we going to do in the mean time?”

  “We’ll ha’ to stay on a wee while longer. At least until more supplies come to town.”

  The stranger’s voice was deep. And very Scottish. Duncan smiled. No wonder they were a little off in their speech and mannerisms. His family had been the same way when they’d come out west. Immigrants were not uncommon on the wagon trains, and often not as properly prepared as the Americans were. It explained the woman’s dress and the tall stranger’s odd pronunciation of ‘mercantile’.

  “I’m sure you’ll find enough to get by on in the mean time. How many wagons are there?” Duncan asked.

  Now the tall stranger looked him over. It was quick, no more than a scant second, but he took Duncan completely in. “Six in all. Five families. And ah... Mr. Mullmerk, here.”

  “We’ll put the word out you need supplies. Bring your lists in tomorrow to Mulligan’s Saloon across the street there. We’ll see what we can do to help you.” Cyrus told him. He cleared his throat. “Tell me, have we ever met before? You look mighty familiar to me.”

  “I dinna think so. But easy enough to meet someone from the past, ye ken. ‘Tis recalling the encounter that’s hard.”

  Duncan tried not to moan at the word ‘encounter’ as his eyes were drawn to the porch steps of Mulligan’s saloon where he’d tanned the hide of... oh but he hated to even think it ... his possible future Duchess. He then looked at the woman standing next to the tall stranger. If only the little guttersnipe he’d encountered looked like that. He’d be a happy man indeed. But who knew what the Duprie girl looked like under all that dirt...

  “Best we be going then. We thank ye for yer kindness and will return tomorrow.” The tall Scotsman bowed slightly, took the woman’s hand in his, and left. Mr. Mullmerk nodded to several men then quickly trotted along to catch up to the other two. The men sighed as they watched them head toward the livery stable. They must have parked their wagon behind it or somewhere nearby. Unless they walked to town, which folks from the wagon trains did at times.

  “How about another game, Harlan?” Cyrus asked, a huge grin on his face.

  “No thanks. Between you and Wilfred, I can’t sleep at night! I’m gonna ride out to Harvey’s and tell him he best get himself ready to do business with those settlers.”

  “Suit yourself!” Cyrus laughed.

  The other men dragged themselves out of their dream like state and started to disperse. Duncan quickly stepped over to help Cyrus put away the checkerboard and pieces. “Any word as to when Mr. Duprie is coming back?”

  Cyrus stopped what he was doing and thought a moment. He looked almost as if he was counting. “Probably back already. They disappear for no more than two to three weeks at a time. At least that’s what Mr. King says. My guess is they’re camped around here somewhere. They’re more comfortable near the trees though. Why?”

  “Something I’d like to discuss with him. I was hoping I’d be able to see him today.”

  “Well then, why don’t you take a ride out yonder and see if you can’t find him.” Cyrus said as he pointed in the most likely direction.

  “Don’t
mind if I do.” Duncan turned and was just about to step off the porch when he saw him. Or rather her. His little guttersnipe. She stared at where the mercantile once stood, its new foundation and frame barely started. Duncan recognized the look on her face as she took in the larger layout of the new building. But he knew she didn’t see the new building, she was remembering the old. And the fire that destroyed it. And he was glad it drew her attention at the moment, because that in turn gave him a chance to study her and wonder. What did she look like under all those buckskins and dirt?

  Duncan took a deep breath. Time to find out.

  Three

  Cozette froze. An odd sensation began to course through her as a definite presence made its self known. She’d felt this sort of warning before, and always knew when someone was watching her. One could not survive the wilderness without it. But this was different. This wasn’t so much a sense of warning as of, well, recognition. The only word she could think of to describe it.

  She turned ever so slightly and knew who it was before setting eyes on him. Duncan Cooke. The eldest of the Cooke brothers. She’d listened to Mr. Van Cleet talk about them with her father and Mr. Berg one day. Said they were a fine family and that they’d been through a lot the last couple of years. But whatever they’d gone through, Cozette didn’t agree they were quite so fine. Not after her own encounter with the eldest brother the day of the fire. She absently rubbed her backside in recollection. No, her little run in with Duncan Cooke wasn’t pleasant at all.

  Yet...

  Why did she feel so compelled to look at him when she didn’t want anything to do with him? It was as if his presence willed it, and she could barely keep from giving in to its strange power. She balled her hands into fists to fight the odd sensation just as the memory of his scent flooded her. He’d grabbed her, yes. Thrown her across his lap, yes. Spanked her for stealing candy because he thought she was a boy, ohhhh yes. At the time he smelled of mint, soap, and leather. And something else. Something she could only describe as, him. It totally assailed her senses then, it was doing the same thing now. And he was still standing down by the Sheriff’s office! How on Earth could this be?