by Jenna Brandt
She let out a long breath that she did not realize she had been holding. Then quickly, she turned, picked up her shotgun, and ran to her brother’s side. Randall wrapped a makeshift bandage from a handkerchief around his wounded hand as the siblings made their way over to one of the upside-down wagons, placing their backs to it.
Margaret stiffened as the battlefield became eerily quiet. Scanning the terrain, she was unable to ascertain the location of the Indians. Feeling their eyes on her, she was filled with dread, realizing they must be hiding because they were preparing for their final assault.
Putting her back toward her brother, Margaret raised her gun while they anxiously waited. “Rand, I am sorry I did not obey your orders, but I could not stay hidden and watch them kill you.”
“Mags, I am not pleased that you went against my instructions, but I am grateful for your assistance,” Randall stated.
“How is your hand? I nearly passed out when I saw the blood flow from the wound.”
“It hurts profusely but it appears to be minor.”
“I am glad to hear it. Do you know who took the shot that saved me? It sounded as if it came from the hills to the left, but none of our men are over there.”
Randall frowned as he reloaded his gun. “I have no idea where it came from or who fired it.”
“I owe whoever it is my life, Rand, and I want to thank whoever is responsible.”
“You can thank me later,” a deep, husky voice stated.
Brother and sister looked to their left, shocked to see a stranger approach on horseback. He skillfully dismounted from his horse while holding his rifle in his other hand. Taking a position beside the twins, he raised his gun to join them.
Within seconds of the stranger’s arrival, a loud outpour of Indian war cries filled the meadow. Margaret forced herself to steady, not allowing terror to take hold of her body. She watched as the few remaining Indians charged their group in one huge rush.
The next few minutes were completely chaotic. Margaret was unable to keep track of anything but the Indians directly in front of her. She shot two of them, killing one and wounding another who retreated around the wagon.
It took the settlers several minutes of concentrated effort to force the determined Indians to flee. With a departing holler, one of the last Indians made a gesture and the remnants of their war party retreated.
When it was over, Margaret reached up with the outer layer of her simple brown skirt and wiped the sweat away from her face and hands before turning to face the stranger.
“I have not gotten to thank you properly, sir.” She extended her hand, as she recently had been taught to do in the New World. “My name is Margaret Learingam, and this is my brother, Randall. I am indebted to you for intervening.”
The stranger took her diminutive hand and shook it firmly in his own larger one. “My name is Cortland Westcott, and I am pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am.” He glanced at Randall and reached out his hand to him as well. “Pleased to meet you, mister.”
Randall nodded. “And I, you, good sir.”
Margaret took in Cortland Westcott’s rugged good looks. He looked nothing like the other Yankee cowboys who were traveling with them. He was tall, standing a full head above her, with broad shoulders and a muscular build. His skin was thoroughly tan and his thick brown hair had sun-kissed blond tips, showing he must have worked outdoors a great deal of the time. His smile was refreshing; it was genuine and sincere, matching his stunning hazel eyes. Coupled with his manners and slight English accent, she deduced that, somewhere in his past, he had been educated in England and taught proper decorum.
He wore brown cotton trousers under leather chaps with a matching tan shirt and vest that molded to his body perfectly. For outwear, he wore a pair of boots with big-roweled spurs, a wide-brimmed hat, and a duster coat, all of which made him appear formidable and accustomed to the West.
Margaret had temporarily forgotten about Jackie until she heard her friend’s voice say, “Randy, dear, I was positively a wreck as I watched you out there. Let me see your poor hand. Does it hurt much?”
Jackie had emerged from underneath the wagon, bringing Henry along with her, and rushed to Randall’s side.
He put his arm around his wife and said, “It is fine. You need not worry, my darling.”
Turning her attention to the stranger, Jackie asked, “Are you not going to introduce me to your new friend, chéri?”
Gesturing from her friend to Cortland, Margaret said, “Mister Westcott, may I introduce my sister-in-law, Missus Jacquelyn Learingam.”
He nodded in Jackie’s direction. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
Jackie smiled in a way that made her golden-green eyes sparkle with intrigue. “Thank you for your intercession, sir.” To Margaret’s amazement, he seemed indifferent to her.
Turning her attention back to her husband, Jackie said, “I do not know what I would have done, Randy, if something more severe had happened to you.”
“We are all right and that is all that matters.”
Margaret glanced down and felt a small hand grab her own. Cortland’s attention was also on the small boy.
“Is that your son?” he asked the newly wedded couple.
Jackie snickered. “By no way, no. We were only married a little bit ago. He is Margaret’s son.”
Cortland’s head snapped up and to the side, his eyes focused in surprise on the small boy’s mother. “He’s your son?”
“Yes, he is.”
“Really? How old is he?”
“Almost three.”
“Well, if he is to be of any use, he will have to pull his own weight.”
Everyone stared at Cortland with disbelief. Randall shook his head. “I had no idea you Yanks were cruel enough to have small tykes work.”
“Well, it is the way of things out here, after all. We need all the help we can get.” Cortland was almost believable until he started to laugh and grinned. “I am only joking. I could not help it. You are all so serious.”
Jackie and Randall started to laugh, and after a few moments, Margaret joined in, a bit awkwardly at first. But after a few more seconds, she began to relax and enjoy the laughter that none of them had felt in a long time.
Margaret turned to face the brawny cowboy, who still managed to carry himself with a boyish demeanor. She pulled her son in front of her and said, “May I introduce to you my son, Lor—” She paused, remembering not to place his title before his name. “—Henry Learingam.”
Cortland tilted his head and narrowed his eyes in perplexity, but as suddenly as the confusion crossed his face, it disappeared. He got down on one knee and put out his hand to the young child. “My name is Cortland Westcott. I am honored to meet you, sir.”
Henry studied him for several moments before reservedly shaking the cowboy’s hand. He then blushed and quickly turned away, pushing his face into his mother’s skirts.
“He is excessively shy around new people. He will get used to you soon enough.”
Cortland stood up and brushed off his hands on his leather chaps. Smiling to herself, Margaret realized that she was curious about the cowboy. He was a strapping, good-looking man, who was also smart and charming, but she chastised herself for letting herself dwell on him. She had purposefully given up the idea of pursing a relationship with a man, knowing she could be content in surrounding herself with her family. She did not need a husband to complete her, and she could not bear to lose a third man she loved, which left no room for romance.
“What brought you out this way, Mister Westcott? Why were you good enough to help us fight off those savages?”
He winced and furrowed his eyebrows together in distaste. “Not all Indians are savages. They have a different way of life, but that does not make them animals.”
She pressed her lips tightly shut and flushed with shame. She had become so used to hearing the other American men call Indians that, so it had become habit for her to call them by the same
name. If she thought about it, she did not agree with the term “savages” either.
“I am sorry, you are right. That was improper of me. I hope that you will forgive my breach in manners.”
“Of course, and as for the answer to your question, I came from the town of Boulder in the Colorado Territory. I was headed this way in order to take care of some business.”
Margaret eyes grew round as she smiled with excitement. “That is where we are headed. We have land near there.”
He smiled. “You don’t say? We might be neighbors.”
She looked around, realizing hardly anyone was left. “Where is everyone?”
Cortland frowned and shook his head. “I hate to tell you this, but it seems that the few remaining men you had fled when the older, burly one told them to get out.” He made a quick glance around to assess the damage, then continued. “It seems they took the horses with them. I would not expect anything different from that type of men. I could tell from their demeanor that they were not men of honor.”
Margaret realized the oxen that pulled the wagons were the only animals left, along with Charlie, who refused to allow anyone to ride her besides Margaret. She supposed she should be grateful the ruffians left them the ones they did, although she suspected the choice was made only due to not wanting to take the time to untie them from the overturned wagons where they had been secured prior to the battle. She sighed. “Mister Goodrich said I would pay for not accepting his offer. I suppose this must have been what he had in mind.”
Randall put his arm around his sister. “It’s all right, Mags. You did the right thing. That dirty old Yank was crooked from day one.”
Cortland raised a brow in puzzlement. “What offer?”
“He made advances toward me and I turned him down.”
Margaret watched as he shifted on his heels and glanced away. “You’re not married?”
She shook her head. “My husband died a few years back.”
“And you never remarried?”
She paused, still hurt from the loss of Michel. “I did, but my second husband passed away before we came to America.” She gripped her hands together in front of her in frustration. “And now it seems we have no one to guide us to Boulder.”
Margaret knew her tone made it evident she was hinting to see if he would take them. Cortland did not seem overly thrilled. He stared at her for several seconds, as if weighing his options. He shrugged. “If you are looking for a guide, I can take you the rest of the way to Boulder.”
She smiled at him with gratitude. “Thank you. Your help is much appreciated. I do not know what we would do without your assistance.”
“I think you would have fared far better than you give yourself credit. You seem to be well suited for frontier life. You were able to hold your own with a shotgun, even during an Indian attack.”
“You are kind to think so, but all of this has been more difficult than I could have imagined.”
“From your dust-covered appearance, you do not seem to mind getting your hands dirty. If you can tolerate that, everything else about this way of life can be learned.”
Pastor Thompson, a thin, balding man, came running back from the bottom of the hills. Out of breath, he panted with his hands on his knees as he said, “I gave chase… to the hired men who absconded with our possessions… but they got away.”
“Cortland Westcott, may I introduce Pastor Nathan Thompson.”
The pastor straightened up and reached out his hand to shake Cortland’s in return. “Pleased to meet you, sir. Thank you for coming to our defense. You most likely saved our lives.”
“Of course, we all have to watch out for each other to make it in this place.”
“Not all of us, it seems.” The pastor gestured toward the hills where the hired men had fled during the attack.
“Where are you headed, Pastor Thompson?”
“To Boulder, where I plan to start a new church.”
“Glad to hear it. Out of necessity, we have a makeshift church that meets in the schoolhouse, but the man who leads us, self-admittedly, is out of his depths.”
“If you go to church, I can assume you are a God-fearing man?”
“Indeed. I have been a follower of Christ for a few years. My faith is the most important part of my life.”
Cortland was a Christian too. Just one more quality to add to the already growing list of venerable attributes—and by Margaret’s reckoning, the most important aspect of all.
“If you will excuse me a moment.” Pastor Thompson made his way over to the second wagon, which was flipped over next to the one Margaret, Jackie, and Henry had been inside. He lifted the edge of the cloth and pulled his wife up from underneath. Sarah crawled out shortly after, followed by Alfred. Pastor Thompson escorted his wife over to the group. “Cortland Westcott, this is my wife, Laura Thompson.”
Cortland nodded. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
“Thank you, good sir. We owe you a debt of gratitude for what you did.”
“It was no bother. I am glad I could be of assistance.”
Sarah arrived next. “These are our servants, Sarah and Alfred,” Randall said.
Cortland dipped his head in their direction. “It is nice to meet you, ma’am, sir.”
Both of them returned his greeting.
Margaret glanced around the area. “We need to bury all of the fallen men who died defending the group.”
Cortland nodded. “I can take care of that.”
“And I will help,” Randall added.
“While we prepare the graves, the rest of you need to get the wagons turned back over and salvage as much of the supplies as possible. We need everything prepared to move as soon as we are done,” Cortland stated.
Within an hour, the remaining settlers stood around freshly dug graves. Pastor Thompson spoke over the lifeless bodies of the fallen men. “We are grateful for the men who laid down their lives today to protect all of us. We knew the journey here would be difficult, but nothing prepares someone for this type of senseless loss. I did not know the other men well, but none of us will forget the ultimate sacrifice they made this day. Let us bow our heads as we pray to our heavenly father.”
After the burial concluded, they went about finishing the preparations for their departure. As they put the last of the remaining undamaged supplies on the wagons, Cortland approached Margaret with a puzzled expression. “I was surprised to find out you had two servants in your traveling party. Not many settlers can afford to keep their servants on when coming to America. The only people I have known to do so have been nobility.”
Margaret stiffened, realizing that it could be dangerous to have someone so clever poking around in her past. If she was not careful, he would unbury all her secrets. “They did not want to leave my service. I told them it would be hard and the pay minuscule, but they wanted to come nonetheless. It was their choice.”
Cortland whistled sharply and a horse came trotting up, allowing him to grasp the reins. Margaret’s eyes grew wide as she took in the beautiful piece of horseflesh that stood before her. During the commotion of the battle, she did not have time to notice Cortland’s stallion, but now she took in his perfect lines and exceptional height, standing at least sixteen hands. He was striking with his light brown coat with white splotches and a thick white mane and tail.
She did not recognize any of the specific features, which made her wonder from which thoroughbred bloodline the horse came. “He is magnificent. Where did you get him?”
Smiling with pride, Cort stated, “I bred him from the parents of two sets of horses I got from an Irish settler and Indian trader.”
Wanting to touch him, she stepped forward and stroked the stallion’s neck. He neighed slightly in surprise but quickly relaxed.
Cortland watched Margaret with an appreciative look. “You seem comfortable around horses.”
She glanced over at him and smiled. “I was raised around them, and my family bred them before I left E
urope.” Realizing she allowed her love for horses to override her etiquette, she stammered out, “Forgive me, I forgot to ask if it was all right for me to approach your horse.” Quickly, she looked away in embarrassment.
“I have never minded a woman who knows what she wants and then takes it.”
Margaret’s eyes darted back to Cortland as she blushed from his forthright compliment. But secretly, she appreciated his unabashed approval. After a few more moments, she whistled softly. Obediently, Charlie trotted up to Margaret.
Cortland watched as the horse approached them, nodding in appreciation. “Is that mare one of the horses you raised?”
“Yes, my family bred her, and I have overseen her training since she was a foal.”
“She’s magnificent. What’s her name?”
She hesitated a moment, then realized her horse would not be known in America. “Charlotte’s Pride. I call her Charlie.”
“I’m thoroughly impressed. She has excellent lines and a fine sheen to her coat. I never thought I would see the likes of her out here. I have seen my fair share of horses, since I’m constantly looking for new stock for my ranch just outside Boulder.”
“You seem to know a significant amount about horses. How did you end up starting your ranch?”
While allowing the stallion to nuzzle his neck, Cortland said, “I love horses. Raising them was all I ever wanted to do. When I came over from Europe, I made it my ambition to start breeding and raising horses. Chester, here, is my pride and joy. I plan for him to be the start of a great American bloodline.”
Margaret inhaled sharply. This was too much. Not only was this man incredibly good-looking, but it seemed he had the same passion for horses. His knowledge in the area made Margaret respect him. But as quickly as she allowed the hopeful feelings to emerge, she pushed them away, knowing she needed to tread lightly where this confident cowboy was concerned. She could not afford to get hurt again or let her family get harmed in the bargain.