The Cowboy's Honor

by Amy Sandas

  Alexandra tried not to put too much importance on Mr. Polk’s odd manner. Not everyone enjoyed meeting strangers, though the opposite seemed to be true of the man’s wife, who came forward with an eagerly outstretched hand and a wide smile on her round face.

  “Please call me Mattie,” she said, with pale-blond sausage curls bouncing against her cheeks. Though she looked at least ten years older than Alexandra, she possessed an exuberant youthfulness that was slightly disarming. “I am so thrilled that Cleveland found another woman to join our group. It will be wonderful to have someone to talk to besides these two fellows—and someone from the great city of Boston, no less. I am from Philadelphia, myself, though it’s been many years since I was anywhere near the place I grew up. I cannot wait to get to know you better. Conversation makes long drives go so much faster, don’t you think?”

  It turned out that Mr. Lassiter had been telling the truth when he’d said they would be leaving town within the hour. As soon as Alexandra’s bags were loaded into the back of the wagon, they all climbed up and took their seats. Mr. Polk drove the horses, with Mr. Lassiter seated beside him. There was a second row of seating behind them, and Mattie insisted the two of them sit together so they could chat more easily.

  Alexandra had never been one to shy away from polite conversation, but after several hours of nonstop chatter, she couldn’t wait to stop for the night. Surely, Mattie would have to stop talking to get some sleep.

  Finally, as the sun neared the horizon, Mr. Polk pulled the wagon up along a swiftly flowing creek. Camp was a simple setup. Thankfully, Mr. Polk was efficient in starting a campfire, and they had packed a good amount of food into the back of the wagon, so there was no need for anyone to hunt for their supper. A good thing, because it did not appear that the Lassiter party traveled with a hunting rifle, or any kind of firearm at all.

  Considering her reaction to the sight of Kincaid’s Colt, she should have been relieved by the lack of weapons. Instead, Alexandra experienced yet another niggling of doubt. One of many she’d experienced throughout the day as Mr. Polk had continued to send her odd looks and Mattie had seemed extremely interested in Alexandra’s life in Boston and her destination in Montana. Though she tried to convince herself there was nothing untoward about their curiosity, something urged Alexandra to keep her replies vague enough without appearing reticent.

  Then there was the issue about sleeping arrangements.

  Mattie clearly intended to make up a bed for herself in the back of the wagon while the men set up bedrolls beside the fire. Lassiter offered to set up a place for Alexandra near the fire as well.

  “Thank you,” Alexandra replied, “but I would prefer to join Mattie in the wagon.”

  The two men hesitated, then Lassiter stepped forward with a smile. “I don’t know if there is enough room for the both of you, I’m afraid.”

  Alexandra knew exactly how much space was in the back of the wagon. She smiled back, keeping her tone polite, though she was feeling put off by Lassiter’s response. “I won’t take up that much space. I’m sure we can make it work.”

  “Well, I—”

  “What is the matter with you, Cleveland?” Mattie exclaimed as she peeked her head through the back flap of the wagon. “Of course Miss Brighton must share the wagon with me.”

  Lassiter smiled again. “I apologize. Please make yourself comfortable, Miss Brighton.”

  Alexandra was grateful for the bit of privacy, though she found it difficult to relax enough to fall asleep even after she heard two sets of snores coming from outside—one deep and rumbling, the other a nasally whistle. With the woman beside her also deeply asleep, Alexandra listened to the night sounds around them—the soft flow of wind against the canvas covering of the wagon, the sound of crickets and night birds in the distance, and the gentle, constant tumbling of the creek—but none of it helped to calm the strange tension that claimed her.

  She felt on edge, as though some peril hovered just beyond their camp. Or perhaps the danger was closer. She wasn’t sure why she couldn’t completely relax in the midst of her traveling companions, but something simply did not feel right.

  It was several hours before she finally fell into a light sleep.

  Everyone started moving about early the next morning. Camp was already getting packed up by the time Alexandra emerged from the back of the wagon. When she asked if they would be leaving right away, Mattie assured with a bright smile, “Oh, it won’t be for at least an hour or more—plenty of time to freshen up down by the creek if you’d like to take some time to yourself.”

  As she left camp to find a private spot in the bushes that lined the creek, Alexandra wondered what they might have for breakfast. She was starving. Initially intending to head to the creek to wash up as Mattie had suggested, she decided she’d rather eat first. She returned to camp after only a few minutes away to find Polk hastily hitching up the horses while the others waited in the wagon.

  “I am sorry. I thought we weren’t heading out for a little while yet,” she said as she approached in wary suspicion.

  Lassiter looked at her with an almost pained expression. “We are heading out, Miss Brighton, but you are not.”

  Alexandra stopped, alarm sweeping through her. She glanced toward Mattie, who was seated beside Lassiter, but the woman kept her gaze trained forward. Mr. Polk just stared at her in cold-eyed silence as he finished with the horses and hefted himself up into the driver’s seat. She looked back to Lassiter. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, just drive already,” Mattie interrupted impatiently.

  Her husband immediately obliged with a flick of the driving reins, and the wagon started to roll away.

  This couldn’t be happening. “Wait!” Alexandra shouted as she started toward them. “You can’t just leave me here. What about my things?”

  Mattie lifted her hand from beneath the fall of her skirts to point a long-barreled pistol at Alexandra’s chest, stopping her cold. “Not another step. Your fancy things now belong to me. I would shoot you to save you the pain of starving out here all alone, but I can’t afford to waste the bullet,” she said with a wide smile. “You understand.”

  Alexandra couldn’t move. The sight of the gun rooted her feet to the earth as terror overtook her just as it had in the saloon. Her tongue stiffened in her mouth, and her throat closed up so she couldn’t even shout for them to stop as Lassiter turned to his companions and said, “I told you she wouldn’t put up a fight.”

  “You do know how to pick them, darling,” Mattie replied.

  “Don’t bother trying to walk back to town, Miss Brighton,” Lassiter called over his shoulder in a tone that was almost gleeful. “We left the road many miles ago, so you’ll only get yourself lost and exhausted for no reason.”

  All Alexandra could do was watch them drive away with the sound of Mattie’s laughter and the image of Lassiter’s sneering expression burning into her mind.

  They’d left her.

  They’d stolen her things and left her.

  As the shock wore off, fury swept in to take its place.

  How could they live with themselves? Clearly, this was not the first time they had preyed upon a hapless traveler. How many victims had they left stranded out in the wilderness before her? How could she have been so stupid? So trusting?

  Her fury quickly turned in on herself.

  She should have known better. Instead, she had ignored her instincts and had fallen right into their hands, like an idiot.

  Panic pressed in against her anger, threatening to debilitate her as her heart started racing and sweat broke out on the back of her neck.

  She was going to die out here.

  No. She wasn’t.

  She took a sweeping glance around to see if anything had been left behind that might help her in some way, but Lassiter and his friends had been thorough. He ha
d said they were no longer on the road, but surely, someone would come by at some point.

  Oh, why hadn’t she paid more attention along the drive?

  Mattie’s distracting chatter, that’s why.

  At least she had fresh water from the creek, and she had the clothes she was wearing. It was not much, but it was something. She just needed to find a place to sit that was out of the sun…and hope she didn’t attract the attention of a hungry predator and that she would eventually catch sight of someone passing by.

  No problem.

  Except it was a problem.

  Lassiter’s wagon had faded from sight, and not another soul came into view.

  For hours, she waited, until the gnawing hunger in her belly got to be too much and she made the decision to leave her post in search of something—anything—edible. Not wanting to leave her water source, Alexandra walked along the winding creek for what had to be several hours before coming across some wild berry bushes. She ate several handfuls before she forced herself to stop. Too much of the slightly under-ripe berries was likely to give her stomach cramps.

  Feeling a return of energy that had wasted away in the heat of the day, she decided to keep walking. Perhaps she’d eventually come upon a dwelling or some other kind of shelter. But with every mile she walked and every hour that passed, fear and desperation crowded in a bit closer.

  Though she had inherited her father’s eternal optimism and his stubborn refusal to accept defeat, both became difficult to maintain as the sun started to dip toward the horizon and Alexandra realized she would be spending the night alone in the wilderness. Panic threatened again at that point, but she held it at bay while she searched for a good place to make camp. Without a fire, she would not only be vulnerable to the colder temperatures of night, but she would also have no way to ward off wild animals who might come near.

  Feeling helpless and exhausted, she sat down beneath some trees and almost gave in to the despair welling inside her. She thought of her father in Montana—so close yet still so far away. Why on earth had she though it a good idea to leave Boston? How could this trip have gone so wrong?

  Tears burned behind her eyelids, but she refused to let them fall.

  She would not give up. Somehow, she would make it through the night and tomorrow and the next day. She had to.

  Lifting her chin, she watched as the last rays of the sun slipped beneath the horizon. Then she tipped her head back to gaze up at the darkening sky as stars slowly appeared. She had no idea how long she sat like that, but when she looked down again, darkness surrounded her, and for a flashing moment, she forgot where she was.

  But the sounds of nature at night quickly brought her back to her full senses.

  She was alone in the middle of nowhere.

  Then again, maybe not. Suddenly, in the distance, she saw a flicker of orange light. It was small and very far away, but as she held her breath and watched, the light grew a bit bigger. Big enough for her to determine it was a campfire.

  She was on her feet before she finished the thought. Fire meant heat. It meant safety and people. Relief made her steps swift and light as she crossed the darkness, but as she neared, her pace slowed, and she quieted her steps. For all her stupidity in trusting Lassiter, she was not inclined to repeat the lesson. So, she crept carefully up to the edge of the firelight, hoping to spy a glance at the manner of person occupying the small camp.

  Chapter Five

  By the time Malcolm bedded down the first night out of Rock Springs, he was hungry and ornery, but more than that, he was damn tired. After making only a basic camp, he chewed on some of the jerky he had in his pack before he reclined against his saddle and tipped his hat over his face.

  He was nearly asleep—the halfway awake, still-listening kind of sleep he had gotten accustomed to since taking up the mantle of bounty hunter—when he heard a twig snap in the underbrush not far away.

  He made no move at the sound. His horse only briefly lifted his head, more in curiosity than fear, so he suspected it was a creature of the two-legged variety rather than a predator on the prowl for a meal.

  That didn’t mean the person creeping slowing toward Malcolm’s camp wasn’t dangerous and wouldn’t be treated as such. He had developed the habit of sleeping with his gun in hand and was grateful for the weight of it resting atop his thigh beneath his palm.

  He waited, giving no sign he was aware of the intruder or that he was awake at all.

  And he listened.

  Light steps. Slow and deliberate. Hesitant, but curious.

  His caution turned to irritation. He doubted the newcomer was a threat, but that didn’t mean they were welcome.

  “Show yourself,” he said, subtly shifting the gun until it was pointed toward the source of the noise.

  Though he kept his voice low, the words still hung in the air like a challenge.

  Silence was the only response. Whoever approached his camp had stopped moving when he’d spoken. Without shifting from his relaxed position, he tipped the brim of his hat up by an inch or so. Enough for him to scan the brush and shadows that extended past the reach of his low-burning campfire.

  Nothing stirred.

  “Come on out or I’ll come looking for you,” he added tersely.

  More silence. Then what sounded like a slow inhale followed by a long exhale.

  “I will be happy to join you, Mr. Kincaid, if you will please first holster your gun.”

  “Son-of-a-bitch.” Malcolm did not holster his gun, but he did shift the direction it was pointing to one less threatening as he glared at the shadows, waiting for Miss Brighton to make her appearance.

  She did so slowly. Her focus was trained on the weapon resting on his thigh as she emerged.

  The woman was still dressed in the Eastern getup she’d had on the day before. Her blue skirts were dusty at the hem, but the shirt beneath her matching jacket glowed white in the night. She no longer had the ridiculous hat perched atop her head, and some wispy strands of dark hair had slid free of the twisted-up arrangement to brush against her face. Aside from that very slight bit of dishevelment, she looked as though she were stepping into some high-styled drawing room, rather than a one-man camp in the middle of the Wyoming wilderness.

  Keeping a sharp and wary gaze on his Colt, she stepped up to the fire and extended her hands to the modest flames. It looked like her fine gloves had gone the way of her hat.

  “Good evening, Mr. Kincaid.”

  Malcolm curled the corner of his mouth as her formal tone struck a chord somewhere between aggravation and amusement. The amusement surprised him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  She shifted her attention from his gun to his face. “I saw your fire and hoped it belonged to someone generous who might be willing to share the hospitality of their camp.”

  Malcolm was pretty sure he heard a note of censure in her tone—as though she was trying to say his hospitality left much to be desired. “I don’t like company.”

  The woman flicked a sharp glance toward his gun, still in hand and resting atop the thigh of his outstretched leg. “So I gathered,” she stated in clipped tones.

  There was some sass in that reply. Malcolm narrowed his gaze. “Where’s your escort?”

  A pause. Then, “Gone.”

  Malcolm tensed. “Gone where?”

  She looked back to the fire and straightened her posture before answering. “I don’t know where. They left.”

  He took a moment to be sure he’d heard that right, but there was no mistaking the words for what they were. “They left,” he repeated.

  The fancy Miss Brighton executed a gesture halfway between a dismissive shrug and a frustrated sweep of her hands. “Yes, Mr. Kincaid, they left,” she repeated. “This morning, while I took a few personal moments to myself, Mr. Lassiter, his brother, and his brother’s wife—though I have
some serious doubts those two were married or that they were any relation at all to Mr. Lassiter—decided to take possession of my meager belongings and left me at the side of a creek a few miles from here.” She paused then to lift her gaze back to meet his. “Does that clarify my situation enough for you?”

  It did.

  It was not a surprising tale. Her vulnerability had been obvious to anyone who’d seen her enter the saloon yesterday. She was lucky she hadn’t been shot, though it probably would have been a better fate than being left to die in the wilderness.

  That an Eastern lady like her had managed to survive the whole day on her own was unexpected. That she barely looked worse for wear was practically unbelievable. That she appeared more angry than terrified was proof of the woman’s pure ignorance.

  Malcolm propped his thumb under the brim of his hat and lifted it a bit more. “You’ve been out here—alone—all day?”

  “Not by choice, I assure you.” Her reply was muttered from between tightly clenched teeth. The woman wasn’t angry—she was damned near furious and doing her best not to show it.

  “You’re lucky to be alive.”

  That brought her gaze sharply back to him. “You think I don’t know that?” she snapped.

  Malcolm didn’t think a reply was necessary. He could feel the woman winding up for a tirade. Seeing no point in trying to stop her, he eased back into a more comfortable position to wait it out.

  She swept her arm out to encompass the expansive darkness around them. “Those…those cowardly thieves left me to die out here. For what? A handful of traveling money, some clothing, and a few personal possessions that won’t matter a whit to them.” Though she didn’t shout, each word got more and more weighted with her fury. “If they expected to find a wealth in jewels or sacks of cash hidden in my valise, they’ll be sorely disappointed. Still, it was all I had. I can’t believe I was such a fool to trust them. And you,” she added sharply, swinging her bright eyes back to him. “This all could have been avoided if you’d just agreed to escort me yourself.”