by Joyce Armor
Wyoming Engagement
A Novella
Joyce Armor
Wyoming Engagement
Copyright 2018 Joyce Armor
Smashwords Edition
Cover: Vila Design
Trusty Reader: Chris Gale
Expert Formatting: Jesse Gordon
Wyoming Engagement
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are purely fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
About the Author
Chapter 1
On the transcontinental railroad, Wyoming Territory, 1873
What could Carter possibly have to say to her that she needed to leave the comfort of the Pullman car and meet him in the next car? Jenna Dunne smoothed the skirt of her navy blue traveling dress as she looked over her shoulder. Her father, Rexwell Dunne, had retired early. She turned, walked back and peeked behind the privacy partition concealing his upper berth to confirm that he seemed to be sleeping peacefully. She smiled at his weathered face and hair so gray she could barely see a few flecks of his once luscious black mane. Even in repose, she still could see the strength that remained. And the character.
They had not discussed it—it was not his way—but she knew her father was dying. Each day he seemed to walk a little slower and sleep a little longer. On this grand continental railroad trip, they had stopped in Chicago to visit his sister and in Omaha to see an old friend. It’s his mortality tour. It was a morbid thought, but she knew in her heart it was true, and she was trying to treasure every moment of this journey. When her brother, Carter, wasn’t complaining or pointing out her flaws—never in Father’s hearing, of course—for most of the trip he had left the Pullman car for hours at a time. She suspected it was to gamble or imbibe spirits or both. He seemed always to be able to find equally desperate and dissolute people wherever he went.
She thought, for perhaps the hundredth time, that the two siblings could not have been more different. Jenna was rather short, yet lithe, with auburn hair and green eyes. Carter, though tall, was awfully spongy, not muscled, no doubt from avoiding any type of work whenever he could. She had to admit he was a handsome man, however, with sandy blonde hair, a straight nose and a strong jaw. He dressed impeccably, looking like he stepped out of a clothing catalogue, at least at the beginning of each day, which was typically the only time she saw him. And he had brown, soulful eyes. That in itself was an irony, since she was not sure he even had a soul.
All her life, Carter, who was two years older than her 22, had tormented her, though never when their father or any other adult was around to witness his cruelty. She could not prove it yet was all but certain that he had killed her puppy when she was seven. He had tripped her when she was ten, causing her to fall down several stairs and break her arm. After that she became a master at avoiding him. She was no match for him physically, but that didn’t mean she didn’t fight back. She was not even sure she was smarter than her brother. She was possibly more devious, however. Her small victories were limited to a little salt in his coffee, a little sand in his bed, a little spider in his shoe. It was enough to annoy him, yet not enough to convince him she was sabotaging him. In fact, she was almost positive he did not believe she had the gumption. Ha! His mistake. Even as she had the thought, she knew her behavior was petty and beneath her. It felt so good, though.
Their mother had died when she was 16, and life was never the same after that. Their father was never unkind, but he worked long hours and was often gone to meetings and conventions related to his construction, engineering, architectural and transportation businesses. Although he was not the kind of man to outwardly show his affection, Jenna did not doubt that he loved her in his own guarded but steadfast way. In fact, he was the only person in the world who did. Her aunt, the one they had visited in Chicago, was a pretentious cold fish if ever there was one. If her hair had been pulled back any tighter, half her face would be behind her ears. Amusing thoughts like that had kept her sane during their excruciatingly long visit. And the pompous Aunt Demetria and her equally starchy daughter Claudia were Jenna’s only other living relatives.
“Come on, Jenna, this is important.” Carter stood at the door, tapping his foot impatiently. He better not be planning to ask her for money. She was not about to support his gambling habit ever again. As it was, she had to hide her own pin money, lest he steal it. Once burned. Actually, thrice burned, but who’s counting?
Sighing, she pushed a recalcitrant clump of curls behind her ear, dropping her ivory hairpin on the floor in the process. She picked it up, restrained the curls with it and walked toward him. Somehow she knew, once their father passed on and his will was probated, she would most likely never see her brother again. And sadly, she knew it would almost be a relief. Oh, who are you kidding? Not even almost. It would a glorious turn of events. Still, she had to find out what he wanted, lest it related to their father, and did not want to disturb his sleep.
Carter opened the railway door and gestured for Jenna to precede him. He was turning gentlemanly at this late date? If she had not been so surprised, she might have been suspicious. If he wasn’t going to ask for money, he would probably berate her for something. She almost chuckled. She had long since become immune to his criticism. Mostly.
Jenna steadied herself as she took her first step onto the platform between the Pullman and the next car.
“Wait,” Carter said, and she stopped.
He came out onto the platform, looking back into the Pullman and then into the next car. Then, to her utter astonishment, he pulled out a pistol and pointed it at her.
“What are you doing?” Her hand involuntarily went up to her throat.
“I’m sorry, dear sister, but I’m not willing to share my inheritance.” His lip curled up in that sneer she had seen many times before.
It all happened so fast. As Jenna watched his finger closing in on the trigger, she barely had time to scream, a scream that was swallowed by the sounds of wheels on the track. She tried to jump out of the way, but felt a searing pain in her side, and she staggered, trying to keep her balance as blood began spreading across her front. Her brain had barely conveyed the horror of what had happened when Carter’s foot came up and his boot made contact with her gut, causing her to shriek in pain as she catapulted off the train. The last thing she saw was Carter’s teeth. He was smiling.
For a split second she felt rather than saw the ground approaching, and had just enough time to think “oh, no” before she hit it with a jarring impact that instantly turned her world black.
Back on the train, Carter put the pistol in his pocket and walked through several cars to the dining car. He ordered himself a Manhattan, the newest rage in drinks, smiling at the waitress he knew he would bed soon. He thought about speeding the old man to his reward—it would be easy enough to hold a pillow over his face—but decided he could wait now that his biggest problem was out of the way. His father could not last more than a few weeks anyway.
* * *
Her head was pounding, her sid
e was on fire, and just about every other inch of her body hurt. It took her several minutes to realize she had no idea what happened to her or where she was. She closed her eyes for several moments before slowly opening them. No, it isn’t a nightmare. You’re really here and really hurting. Slowly, so as not to aggravate the pounding in her head, Jenna looked around. She was in a gully of some sort. Had she fallen down the little rocky hill to the bottom? How? Why? Just the exertion of those thoughts tired her. She lay back down and slowly checked her body. She was wearing some kind of dark traveling ensemble, which was torn in several places and muddy in others. Her jaw dropped as she looked at various scratches and the beginnings of bruises on her arms and legs, and her left wrist was seriously swollen. When she tried to move it, she gasped in agony. Okay, that’s broken. But it was her side that really hurt. She looked down and only then realized she was bleeding. She must have hit a sharp rock.
She pondered this turn of events for another minute before she decided she better try to stop the bleeding. It was alarming at how slowly her mind was working. She could have bled to death before the thought of stemming the bleeding even occurred to her. She had no idea how long she had been in the gully or how much blood she had left in her. She finally came to the conclusion that she would have to rip her petticoat to provide some bandaging. That was a great plan, until she discovered she was too weak to tear it.
On to Plan B. Her chemise below the petticoat was made of filmier material. Surely she could manage to rip that. She did, but it was a struggle, particularly with one hand. Bracing it with the elbow of her injured arm, which was still quite painful, she tore off several strips from the bottom of the chemise and folded one to act as a pad. Then she wound the others around her waist and tied the pad in place. If she had had the strength, she would have made a sling for her left arm and wrist.
She rested a few more minutes and came to the unalterable conclusion that she needed help. Who would help her? She listened and heard nothing. No sounds, not even a bird. She would have to climb out of the ravine to be certain, but she had a sinking feeling she was in the middle of nowhere. And then she felt even more panicky because, not only could she not think of anyone to help her; she suddenly realized she could not think of where or even who she was. How could that be?
If no one is going to help you, you are going to have to help yourself. She had a strange feeling the voice she heard in her head would help her. Was it God or just her own resolve? Maybe it was a little of both. Whatever it was, she had to get out of the ravine. Noticing the sun over her shoulder, she tried to figure out what time it was. Was it early morning, or almost nighttime? Since the sun was almost directly above her, didn’t that mean it was about noon? That meant she could not tell which way it was moving so had no idea which direction was which. It didn’t look like any part of New York. New York? Was that her home? She winced, feeling more pain in her head the harder she thought. Where was she? She yearned to know. On the other hand, since she had no idea where she was or where she was going, did it really matter which direction she went? She wasn’t sure that was logical, but it was all she had. First things first. She had to get out of the ravine.
Slowly she sat up, holding onto her side, which seemed to help, although she still gasped at the pain. Realizing she had forgotten to exhale, she let out a shaky breath. So far so good. At least she hadn’t fainted. The pain was vexing, not to mention draining, but bearable. Next she used her right hand to try and ease herself to a standing position. That took several tries, but at last she was on her feet. It took a moment to get the ground to stop spinning. Looking down, she almost laughed. Why hadn’t she noticed she had been lying in mud? Perhaps because it felt kind of comforting, especially since it was rather warm. She looked at her muddy hand almost as if it belonged to someone else. She should probably be upset that she was so filthy, but pain had a way of making most everything else seem unimportant. She knew she was in a bad way, and her actions, or inaction, now could very well lead to her salvation. Or her death.
“You can do this,” she said much more emphatically than she felt.
She took several plodding, muddy steps across the ravine, for some reason enjoying the suction sound as she pulled her once-blue pump out of the mud. Pump, as in one. Where was her other shoe? She had no idea and decided she didn’t care. It was all good until she started uphill on the other side of the ravine. It quickly became obvious she could never walk it. So she hiked up her skirt and crawled up the hill. She might not know who she was; it was awfully clear, though, that she had gumption.
Once she reached the top of the ravine and rested, she surveyed her surroundings. The first thing she noticed was how blue the sky was, with little fluffy white clouds that seemed to be moving. Actually, the ground seemed to be moving as well, so maybe that was just her. She was on some kind of prairie or grassland, and there was a little breeze that was waving the grass, which was maybe a foot and a half high. It really was rather mesmerizing. She stared at it for a while, and then turned in a circle. No matter which way she turned, she could not see a building, not a home, not even a silo, anywhere, just railroad tracks. In the distance, though, were scenic snow-capped mountains. If she had been in her right mind, she would have followed the railroad tracks. Although she had no idea why, she started walking toward those mountains instead. Yes, she had spirit and some hidden strength. She hoped they would take her far enough.
Chapter 2
Bodie Farnham loved his mother; he did, but for the love of heaven, the woman tried his patience. He was 28 years old, had been on his own since he was 19, had built Two Forks, one of the finest ranches in all of Wyoming, and she deemed him a failure, apparently, because he was still a bachelor. Oh, and he was not an attorney. His twin sisters had died as toddlers from cholera, and he understood he was the only egg in her basket, her only opportunity to provide grandchildren and a vicarious sense of accomplishment. This was not medieval England, however; he did not have a title to pass on or need an heir to secure historic lands. And his choice of vocation was his own.
He surveyed his land as he rode the south fence line, looking for breaches. He had started with 100 acres, using a large portion of his inheritance from his father to stock it with horses and cattle and then expand the operation over the years. Not every year had been profitable; cattle and crops were subject to the whims of nature, including blizzards, droughts, fires and floods. One year he’d had a problem with rustlers. Ranching was challenging. It also was so much more satisfying than a career in law, which is what his mother had assumed he would pursue. In truth, she was waiting for him to give up this “folly” and finish law school.
How could she raise him and know so little about him, that he would suffocate in an office? He glanced down at his blue plaid shirt, leather vest and denim trousers and smiled. He was about as far from an attorney as he could be and glad of it. As for women, he liked them. He had courted Melinda Cotton for over a year and planned to propose the week she ran off with a traveling jewelry salesman. Then there was Julia Evans. That was six or seven months, until she became too clingy and moody. And there were a few others of even shorter duration before he decided to give it a rest. Perhaps he was meant to be a lifelong bachelor. He would never want a woman who saw the ranch, or his background, as a stepping stone to something else. Or one who was overly dramatic. Or simpering.
He would not remain unmarried if his mother had anything to say about it, of course. He stopped his stallion along the fence line and pulled out the letter he had stuffed in a pocket. Yes, unfortunately, it said exactly what he thought it said. His mother, Auralee Farnham, was traveling from Omaha and bringing Miss Caroline Cutler, a “lovely, refined woman from a prominent, upstanding family,” with her. They should arrive in less than a week. He wanted to scream. Even before he left home, she was plying her matchmaking skills to throw at him any number of lovely, refined women who did not interest him at all. He would never settle down with any woman who did not have
…he didn’t know what, exactly. Personality, charm, intelligence, independence. No clinging and no coyness. No agreeing with him no matter what he said.
Truth be told, he wanted someone who would tell him he was being a jackass when he was being a jackass. Just the fact that his mother had chosen this woman told him she would not suit him. They had diametrically opposed views on what his mate should be. And what of the woman? What was she thinking? Why would she travel from Nebraska to Wyoming when she had never even met him? That they were already betrothed, that the proposal was just a formality? He knew his mother would not answer if he sent her a telegram. She was stampeding toward him from Omaha with Caroline whatever-her-last-name-was, and there was no stopping her. He wanted to bellow. Or hit something.
It was hard enough to meet women when Two Forks, named after a creek that split twice on the property, was nearly 12 miles outside of Medicine Bow. He went to the socials, barn raisings and what-nots occasionally and knew the women found him attractive in a rugged, outdoorsy kind of way, he supposed. He was not a dandy and had never aspired to be one. He suspected they found his wallet even more attractive than his person. He was a successful rancher, after all. He sighed, taking off his hat and running a calloused hand through his light brown hair, which was flecked with gold, especially in the summer. It was mid-July and hot. He looked around at his property, now totaling nearly 12,000 acres, and felt his heart swelling with pride. He had a foreman, six ranch hands and Mrs. Glines, who did the cooking and housekeeping for him and treated him like a son.
He was about to turn around and head back to the ranch house when he thought he spied something in the distance. It was on the ground and dark. Was it a bear? An elk?
