Caroline’s eyes traveled the spotless blue of the sky. “I see myself as the mistress of my own domain. I’m providing people with a tranquil place amid chaos. And I’ve got a sharp eye out for trouble going on in my territory.”
“You know who that sounds like?” Hattie’s brows rose as she smiled. “Your father.”
“I’m nothing like my father.”
“He’s master of his domain, keeps order amid chaos—”
This was the problem with Hattie. She was always saying things that you should have thought of yourself. Caroline tightened her shawl around her shoulders. “I’m not going to be the commander of a fort. That’s impossible.”
“Maybe you’ll run an inn, or a boardinghouse near the railroad.”
The thought hit Caroline so hard that her neck strained. It matched so perfectly with the pictures in her mind—her standing in an ornate doorway, welcoming weary travelers. And just past the luggage that was piled on the porch, she could imagine formal gardens filled with lavender, chamomile, lemon balm, rosemary, and mint. It was a lovely thought, but not something that was going to happen for her.
“Here comes a picturesque figure,” Hattie said. “Maybe I should put him on a canvas for you to hang on your wall.”
Still enchanted by her reverie, Caroline was surprised to see Frisco Smith approaching. Gone were his city clothes. This time he was decked out like the frontiersman she’d always found fascinating. The sleeves of his buckskin jacket dripped with fringed leather, and his soft boots were cross-laced on the outside of his britches. His wide hat shaded his face, but Caroline could have sworn she saw curiosity in his eyes.
“How long has it been since you’ve seen him?” Hattie asked.
“We recently renewed our acquaintance,” Caroline said. “Some things don’t improve with time.”
“Shush,” Hattie whispered as Frisco reached them.
“Mrs. Hennessey, Miss Adams.” He sauntered up without so much as a tipped hat. “I expected you to stay on the post until the run was over.”
Caroline’s jaw clenched. Of all the people who should know better. It was like he’d forgotten who she was. “Why would we do that?” she asked. “I’ve traveled to the Gulf of Mexico and back. Darlington isn’t that far away.”
What was wrong with him? Frisco used to tease her, call her pretty, warn her father that he’d have to chase the beaux away when Caroline was grown. Now she was grown, and he treated her like a pesky gnat to be shooed. As if to prove her point, he dipped his head. “My apologies, Miss Adams. No insult meant. Just trying to make polite conversation.”
Hattie’s eyes narrowed as she looked from Frisco to Caroline. “Polite conversation is always admired around here. So tell me, Mr. Smith, what are you going to do with yourself once the land gets settled and trespassing is no longer called for?”
Frisco planted his feet wide and clasped his hands behind his back. “I’m pleased you asked. Despite what my criminal record might imply, I’ve been successfully planning my next steps for years. To begin with, I’ve plotted out—”
“Oh, excuse me.” Hattie leaned forward on her stool. “I hate to interrupt, but that’s Sergeant O’Hare with a supply wagon. Would you mind flagging him down? The heat is stronger than I bargained for.” She stood and dumped out her wash jars as Frisco caught the driver’s attention. She motioned Caroline close and whispered, “This is your chance. Don’t waste it.”
“My chance?” Caroline glowered at Hattie. “I don’t want to be with him. Don’t leave me—”
“Thank you, Mr. Smith. If you wouldn’t mind seeing that Caroline gets home safely, I’d be in your debt.” Hattie leaned on him as he helped her into the fort’s supply wagon. “And I’ll tell Mrs. Adams to expect a guest for dinner, Caroline. I’m sure they’ll be glad to see Mr. Smith again.”
No, they wouldn’t, and neither would she.
Frisco loaded the easel, chair, and painting box, then watched the wagon creak away. He stood with arms crossed, the soft leather stretching across his shoulders, the fringe dancing in the wind. Then, with a jaunty spin, he faced Caroline with the same patient appraisal he’d just given the supply wagon.
Caroline’s chin went up as she adjusted her shawl. For all the lessons her grandmother had given her, she’d never mastered simpering. Nothing was more against her nature.
“Mr. Smith, to what do we owe this pleasure?” That sounded a lot nicer than Mr. Smith, are you looking for more rubes to hoodwink into buying plots for a city that doesn’t exist?
“Is it a pleasure, Miss Adams? From our meeting in Purcell, I’m under the impression that you don’t approve of my activity.”
“Is your happiness dependent on my approval?” she asked.
“I certainly hope not. From what I remember, you possessed a capricious nature even at a tender age.” His eyes were framed by black lashes that any woman would envy.
“I can’t claim to have improved over the years.” She pulled her skirt free from a clump of goat’s head stickers. There’d be no mistaking her conversation for flirtation. Of that she was sure.
His scruffy jaw slid to the side as he considered. “Since your friend went to heroic lengths to leave you stranded with me—”
“Not at my behest, I assure you.”
“And yet here we are, and you need an escort home.” He motioned her toward the road to Fort Reno. Caroline noticed that he didn’t offer his arm this time. He was being rather prickly. Then again, so was she.
“Don’t feel obligated,” she said as they both took to the stagecoach trail.
“You threw some serious charges at me in Purcell. Aren’t you going to let me explain my plans for Redhawk?”
“Redhawk?”
“The town I’m founding. It’s named after the red-tailed hawk that has winged its way over this grassland for centuries. The town already has a plethora of craftsmen, financiers, and merchants pledged to settle there.”
“What do you mean pledged?” she asked. “How can you make them live in your town?”
“They’ve bought lots. The lots cost between one and three dollars, depending on the location. It’s a bargain, but I’m carefully picking who I want to be my neighbors.”
“Location? There’s nothing out here.” Caroline motioned around them, causing her shawl to flap in the breeze. “What makes one acre worth more than another?”
“That is the genius of being a town father. All you do is part the grass, draw a line, and give that line the name of Main Street, and then you have property value. On Monday there’s going to be people dueling over where those lines are. Instead of settling it in the heat of the moment, I’m taking the initiative and getting it mapped out beforehand.”
“It’s so strange to think that there are going to be towns, cities, and farms out there. I just can’t picture it.” They’d left the settlers’ campsites behind and were out in the open with the fort ahead. Caroline found herself wanting to slow down. He was talking more sense than anyone she’d met on the way.
“I’ve pictured it for years.” His voice had dropped. She looked up, surprised to see sincerity on his usually flippant face. “It’s what I’ve been working toward, what I’ve fought for, what I’ve been arrested for. And it’s going to happen. It’s really going to happen.” He rolled his shoulders as if shrugging off a weight. “It should be quite a spectacle. History before your eyes. You’re lucky you’re here to see all us poor saps fighting for a square of land to call our own.”
Caroline turned around and looked at the masses of people camping along the border. Occasionally there’d be a break, some empty space, but then another grouping would start. Campfires, grazing horses, buggies, wagons, tents in a line that stretched into a blur. But she was just a member of the audience, watching from the safety of her daddy’s protection. The comment stung.
She pushed an auburn strand of hair behind her ear. “There are a lot of people here. What makes you so sure you’re going to get a claim?”
“Not just get a claim, but I’m going to get my claim. How long have you known me, Miss Adams?”
Caroline blinked. She knew exactly the first time Lieutenant Hennessey had escorted Frisco Smith into the guardhouse on the fort. “Six years,” she said. “You were little more than a lad with curly dark hair and patched britches following David Payne. I thought maybe you were his son—”
“It has been six years,” he interrupted. “Six years of preparing for this day. All those times your father had me arrested, I wasn’t just sitting under a tree enjoying the sun. I was assessing the land, watching to see which rivers stayed strong even in the summer, digging wells to see how deep the groundwater was, testing the soil to see where the most likely place to produce for a farmer was. I wasn’t idle.”
“I never thought you were.”
“When the opening became imminent, I started working in earnest. I picked out the best location for my city and the best plot in the city for myself. It’s set on a riverbank and is practically guaranteed to have a railroad depot within the next three years. The land is good, water plentiful, and there are trees nearby for construction and fuel. And then do you know what I did?”
Once upon a time, Caroline would have wished that she was the cause of the fire in his eyes, but his excitement was contagious nonetheless. “What did you do?” she asked.
“I put in a garden. It’s not a farm, but it’ll be good supplement for one man. When everyone arrives, there’ll be enough civic and law business that I won’t have time for planting after the race.”
“But what if someone else gets there first? Then all that work will be lost.”
His devilish grin made her heart skip a beat despite her resolve. “There’s no way that’s going to happen.” He held her gaze for a long, delicious moment, then seemed to reach his decision. “You’re familiar with Cutthroat Canyon, aren’t you?”
Caroline’s head shot back. “Don’t insult me, Mr. Smith. I ruined my first pair of white leather half boots trying to climb Holland’s Point.”
“Well, people running from the west border will run right into that canyon. They’ll have to maneuver either through it or swing around to the south and cross the river.”
“No,” Caroline blurted. “There’s a cut-through where the canyon narrows on the north side. You can get across without breaking stride. I’ve done it a hundred times. If you go that way—”
“But who will go that way? Who knows that? Only a boomer who’s spent years exploring the area.”
Now she saw it, and it was brilliant. “Your land is past the canyon? Of course. That’s where the river turns. The land is good there, and there are trees enough.” A town on the prairie heights would get nice breezes in the summer. There was a valley that led to the river. It’d probably have water. And hadn’t her father talked about the railroad building a track through there?
Somehow she’d stopped walking, and somehow Frisco was standing in front of her, watching with a satisfied glint in his eyes.
“Oh, the beauty of a dream shared,” he said. “Does it make it worth all the trouble you went through to arrange this private time with me?”
Caroline’s face warmed, and she sputtered. “That’s not true. I would’ve never conspired to see you alone.”
“Never? Oh, there was a time. . . .” He shook his head as if disappointed in her. “There’s no shame in a youthful infatuation, Miss Adams. No reason to act embarrassed around me.”
“I’m not embarrassed. I haven’t done anything wrong, but you . . . you should be ashamed.” Her shawl was knotted in her hands.
“Me? For what?”
“For leading a young girl on. All that flattery, and you didn’t mean a word you said. You were just playing with my emotions.” She didn’t mean to sound so adamant. It was anger, not hurt, that had her fighting back.
“Is that what you think?” He blinked rapidly, and for the first time she could tell she’d landed a jab. “You couldn’t be more wrong, Miss Adams. I choose to think that I was paying tribute to an extraordinary young lady. One who had the world at her feet. One who had all the courage and mettle to accomplish anything she set her mind to.” He removed his hat, ran his hand through his hair, then crammed it back on his head. She’d never seen him so agitated.
“Just stop.” She turned her shoulder to him. “I’m not a child anymore. Your regard means nothing to me.”
“Then you’ve changed.” He uttered a harsh laugh. “Of course you’ve changed. That girl I admired, I don’t know her anymore. Instead of a beautiful wild vine, all I see now is another potted plant, trimmed and pruned to look like every other one out there. One that will only survive when handled delicately.”
Her ears burned. Her heart filled with every vile insult she’d heard over two decades of living at military posts, but all her tongue would pronounce was, “How dare you!”
“Did I crush a petal? My apologies.”
“I’ll have you know that I’m just as capable as anyone here at succeeding in the race. I don’t need to prove myself—”
“Don’t be a fool, Miss Adams. There are thousands of people out here who think the land is theirs for the taking.”
She’d listened to enough of his insults. What had she ever done to him to deserve his scorn?
“I’ll inform my father that you regretfully declined the supper invitation,” she said.
“I’ll assume you can find your own way from here?”
With the fort’s commissary practically looming over her? If only there was a door between them that she could slam and block out his voice.
“If I don’t see you before Monday, wish me luck,” he said.
Had there been a trooper close enough, she would have grabbed his saber and charged Frisco. When she refused to answer, he turned and walked away.
Caroline watched him go, her sense of outrage growing. He had no right. She kicked a rock and sent it tumbling through the grass. She wished him at the bottom of the deepest river in the territory. But if everything went the way he planned, he’d be the leader of a town just outside the fort’s boundary, while she’d be stuck inside her father’s parlor.
Chapter six
It was one of those perfect days on the prairie. The sun warmed the grass enough to make it smell sweet. The breeze chased away the sweat, which made you not smell sweet. Perfect in every way, but Caroline was furious. What Hattie had meant as a kindness had turned into one of the most infuriating encounters of her life. And Caroline knew a thing or two about being infuriating.
She’d walked the road past the barracks, little caring that her shawl was dragging on the ground, when she noticed a commotion in front of her house. Those weren’t troopers or soldiers crowding the road by her porch but city men, some in rumpled suits that looked like they’d traveled far.
“Major Adams, what odds do you give to the success of these gamblers?” This man had a lilting accent. British? Caroline didn’t think so. Maybe Irish.
As her father spoke, the men scribbled notes on pads of paper. Journalists? Must be, and why not? It was the biggest story they’d cover for years.
Her father towered above them on the porch steps, but even without the platform and his sharp blue uniform, he would have exuded authority. “That’s impossible to tell. Certainly there are some who don’t have the resources to last until harvest, but a man’s financial decisions are not the government’s responsibility.”
“How do the Indians feel about getting new neighbors?” The swarthy man’s mustache drooped like a rooster’s tail feathers in a rainstorm.
Caroline might be the only one who noticed the weariness cross her father’s normally stern face. “How do they feel about thousands of land-hungry white men taking up residence next to their nations? Do you know what happened the last time they found themselves surrounded by land-hungry white men? That’s why they no longer have their homelands in Georgia and Mississippi and the Dakotas. . . . I could go on. How do you think
they feel?”
The mustached man was persistent. “But some say it’ll bring industry and railroads to them. They’ll have more opportunity.”
“It will bring industry and the railroads,” her father said. “Whether that will benefit the tribes, it’s too early to tell.”
They clamored for his attention for the next question, but Caroline’s attention was directed elsewhere. Amber was tiptoeing away from the house with a nervous glance over her shoulder. What was she up to?
Caroline held her skirts against her side so they wouldn’t swish as she jogged around the house. Beneath the bobbing parasol, Amber scurried ahead with that peculiar gait one adopted when trying to go as fast as one could without being noticed. But Caroline had noticed.
Amber didn’t hear her coming until Caroline had snatched her by the arm.
“Ow! What are you doing?” Amber growled through gritted teeth.
“What are you doing? This quadrant of the post holds the barracks, the guardhouse, and the stables. To which of those are you heading?”
“To the stables,” she said. “I’m going to steal a horse.”
Caroline couldn’t help but be impressed. Her friend had spunk. “Do you know the penalty for stealing government property?”
Amber’s jaw was set. “If I knew someone who could get me a horse without breaking the law—someone like the daughter of the fort’s commander—then I could avoid the penalty, right?”
Caroline noticed that she and Amber were attracting attention from the troopers drilling on the parade grounds. Since she didn’t yet know if she was abetting a criminal, she lowered her voice.
“Did you and Bradley quarrel?”
“No, I’m doing this for him.”
“Stealing a horse? That’s not going to help his career.”
“This isn’t about his career—it’s about our homestead. I’m going to run in the race.”
Caroline’s eyes widened. She didn’t have to ask whether Amber was serious. She knew. And she didn’t have to wonder why, because the same compulsion had tempted her since they’d stepped off the train in Purcell.
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