Jonas puffed with pride at the compliment and straightened his posture. A deep smile of pleasure crinkling his dark eyes, he replied, “No one would dare think you were rude, miss! It’ll be my pleasure to answer your questions. Only hope I don’t bore you with too much information! Shall I pick you up at six then?”
He was rewarded by another bright smile as Mariah assured him that she would be ready. Mariah selected her most demure gown. No use creating a bad impression on the other passengers. There would be time later for her more daringly cut dresses. This particular gown was high-necked, long-sleeved and trimmed in lace. The white watered silk contrasted sharply with a deep green tie that laced above her waist in imitation of an old, Elizabethan stomacher. It emphasized the flatness of her stomach and the green drew attention to her eyes.
Promptly at six, the captain appeared at her cabin, a deep flush suffusing his face as Mariah commented on the dashing figure he made. He’d dressed with the utmost care in a dark-blue dress coat and a starchy white shirt. When they entered the salon, Mariah saw that the other guests were already seated and awaiting their arrival. Burten brought her to the table and the lone gentleman seated with two ladies rose politely. Following the introductions, the dining attendant served the first course and Mariah discreetly studied the faces of her fellow diners.
She had been seated on the captain’s right and on her other side sat the young man who’d been introduced as Clayton Hamilton. His bored expression changed to obvious admiration when Mariah was placed next to him. Neatly dressed, with reddish-brown hair and blue eyes, he appeared to be a little bit older than she, perhaps a college student. On his right, desperately looking like she wanted to blend into the background, sat the reason for his initial, impolitely unconcealed boredom—one Sarah Alice Pritchey, spinster daughter of the brooding, black-gowned vulture sitting to the left of Captain Burten. Sarah had ventured a timid, tight-lipped smile at Mariah but her mother, sensing competition like a sly fox sniffing the wind, had merely nodded stiffly. During the meal, while Mariah innocently held both men entranced in an animated conversation, Agatha Pritchey vainly tried to interject her daughter’s name into the discussion.
Clay Hamilton ignored his food, concentrating on the fascinating creature on his left. Unhappy to be returning home after three years of unsupervised freedom at Yale, he’d been sunk in gloom, even more downhearted at Agatha Pritchey’s repeated attempts to foist her plain, dour daughter on him. The entrance of Mariah Randall had brightened his outlook considerably, even more so when he discovered she was headed for the Bitterroot spread. His family owned the next ranch, forty miles to the north, and it gave him a perfect opening to impress her with his knowledge of the area. The news that she was related to Lil Draper was a shock, but the fact that she was the only daughter of John L. Randall, the owner of the very boat they were traveling on, was even more tempting. He silently blessed the luck that had brought him home at the very time Mariah was traveling north. He’d have six weeks to become close to her. “Your sister is a very capable woman, Miss Randall. She has the largest herd of cattle in the territory. Matter of fact, when my family moved there ten years ago, it was Miss Lil who helped us start our herd.”
Mariah was delighted. Not only had Captain Burten satisfied her curiosity about Montana, but she had actually met someone who knew the mysterious Lilith! Diplomatically, she tried to divide her queries between the two men, involving them both in a discussion until they were volunteering information in competition. Following the last course, Burten suggested a stroll on deck.
“It’s nice and cool this time of night,” he promised.
Totally insensitive to her daughter’s shyness, Mrs. Pritchey offered Sarah’s company. “I’m sure Sarah would love to join you gentlemen. Don’t be shy, Sarah Alice,” she ordered.
The girl squirmed uncomfortably under the sudden attention her mother’s statement directed toward her. “I’m sure the company would be delighted, Mama, but if you’ll all excuse me, I’m a trifle tired tonight.”
Mariah would have enjoyed a chance to bring the girl out of her shell away from her mother’s watchful gaze and she almost smiled at the way in which Sarah had thwarted the woman’s domineering designs. Agatha was obviously startled at the refusal and frowned as she rose to follow Sarah to their cabin. Mariah was sure the poor girl was in for a long lecture.
Outside, the air was refreshingly breezy and a pleasant contrast to the stuffy salon. At a shout from the wheel-house, Jonas excused himself, lines of irritation showing on his face.
“I’ll leave Miss Randall to your care, Hamilton. Please see she’s properly escorted to her cabin.” Turning to Mariah, he bowed over her hand. “It’s a pleasure to have you aboard, miss. I’ll see you tomorrow.” The mate called to him again, and with a comically quirked brow Jonas commented, “If that young pup wasn’t such a good pilot, I’d fire him on the spot!” Mariah’s laughter followed him as he grudgingly climbed the stairs to the wheelhouse.
“Poor Burten…bound by duty. I, fortunately, have nothing to keep me from enjoying your company,” Clayton Hamilton said.
Mariah had already begun to like this polished young man whose conversation flowed with such easy compliments. If all the people she were to meet in Montana were as courteous, she would enjoy her stay. Already the fear of living in a strange new place had eased, and the frightening stories of violence and savagery she’d heard were receding from her thoughts. A full moon cast its light on the river, outlining the high bluffs and wooded shoreline. Beneath the boat, the black current gurgled and slapped in the boat’s wake and the distant hum of the huge paddle churning at the boat’s stem offered a comforting rhythm. The river at night had the appearance of a serpent, slithering northward, coiled into curves and twisting segments.
So swiftly had the hour passed since they’d come outside, it seemed like ten minutes. A chillier wind had sprung up and when Mariah found herself shivering, even with a shawl around her shoulders, she regretfully called it a night. Already she’d found out quite a bit about the elusive woman who was Susannah’s other daughter and the knowledge had only whetted her curiosity.
Leaving her safely at her cabin door, Clay extracted a promise that he could point out the passing sights on the river the next day. Mariah smiled her eager acceptance. Inside the cabin, she locked the door and leaned wearily against it, musing over the knowledge she had already gained. Perhaps this trip was the best thing for her. She was expanding her viewpoint, meeting new people and, beneath it all, she had a thrilling sense of adventure. Through the half-open porthole, a sprightly tune strummed by a fiddler on the lower deck filled the air. The music lulled her into the first restful sleep she had experienced in a month’s time.
Chapter 3
Five weeks had passed since the sternwheeler had pulled away from the dock at St. Charles and churned northeast on her two-thousand-mile journey. For Mariah, the time had flown, passed in a growing companionship with Clay Hamilton. Captain Burten had kept a paternally watchful eye on the budding relationship, approving only as long as Clay kept a respectful distance from Mariah.
A part of each day was spent on deck, conversing and viewing the passing scenery. Almost every day, Agatha Pritchey would claim the same deck chair, positioning a reluctant Sarah next to her. The angry click-clack of her knitting needles could be heard, clashing together in disapproval of Mariah’s easy laughter and winsome smile. Sarah quietly read her books and faded colorlessly into the background. In three days, when the steamboat reached the port of Fort Pierre, she and her mother were due to disembark and join her father. While apparently absorbed in reading, Sarah was able to study Clay and Mariah and she marveled at how Mariah’s breezy assured manner engaged the handsome young man’s complete attention. Now twenty-eight, Sarah had come to accept her spinster status and only occasionally felt a twinge of bitterness at the fate that had decreed her to be plain and awkwardly shy. Still, as long as she had her books to keep her occupied, she’d never
be lonely or unloved. Nothing could destroy the vivid imagination that sent heroes galloping up from the printed pages to rescue an imaginary Sarah even more beautiful than the real-life Mariah Randall. Reality dragged at her as she heard Mariah commenting on a large band of mounted Indians high atop a passing bluff.
“…seem so proud and noble, as though they were monarchs and we were their subjects passing in review!” Mariah turned to find a smiling Clay regarding her observation with tolerant amusement. She was a trifle embarrassed and tried to explain her admiration for the braves. “Despite the stories I’ve heard of savage brutality, those men don’t frighten me at all. I feel sorry for them. After all, we must seem like trespassers in a land that has always been theirs.” Even she was surprised by her impassioned defense of the Indians. A heavy silence followed and she found herself blushing from head to toe.
“You wouldn’t think ’em so noble, if you ever seen a massacre, young woman!” Agatha’s spiteful voice broke the silence and Mariah moved a step closer to Clay, instinctively seeking his protection against the old woman’s verbal attack. “You live up here a while, like I done, you’ll change your fancy, city ideas fast enough!”
Clay came immediately to Mariah’s defense, protecting her against the woman’s snide insults. “We haven’t had any serious trouble for a long while, Mrs. Pritchey, and most of that was caused by trappers poaching Indian lands. You’ll have to forgive Miss Randall’s trusting, compassionate nature.” He smiled encouragement to Mariah, who seemed calmer at his defense. Casting one last look of contempt at the pinched, tight-lipped biddy, he added, “Some of us could benefit from Miss Randall’s altitude, don’t you agree?”
Agatha Pritchey sputtered helplessly, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Mariah caught the silent laughter in Clay’s eyes and had to turn away to keep from further antagonizing her. A flabbergasted "Well, I never!” was all they heard before the companion-way door slammed on the retreating volcano looking for a place to erupt. A giggling Mariah sent a mildly reproving glance at Clay.
“She deserved it!” Clay grew serious gazing down at her with a protective intimacy that was almost like a caress. Taking one of her hands in his, he said, “Mariah, I’d be as hard on anyone who tried to harm you! I know I'm being forward, but I can’t help myself. You need someone to protect and watch over you.”
Mariah had grown fond of Clay in the past weeks, and away from the guardianship of her parents, welcomed the protection his friendship offered. Despite his obvious infatuation, she regarded him more as an older brother than a serious suitor. “I appreciate your concern. Clay, but Captain Burten is also watching out for me and when I reach Myer’s Landing, I’m sure my sister will be there.”
“At least let me call on you at the ranch. I’d never pressure you.” Clay’s changed attitude was surprising even to him. When he’d first met Mariah, he’d considered her beauty an added bonus to the wealth she would one day inherit. Now, in the short time they had known each other, her beauty and vulnerable innocence had come to mean more and he realized with a sudden shock that he must be in love. That must be the reason his heartbeat sounded like a drum in his ears and his palms grew damp at one glance from those lovely sea-green eyes. Mariah smiled, agreeing that he could call on her at the ranch.
Chapter 4
When the boat docked at Fort Pierre, the weather was as lovely and warm as it had been for most of the trip. Captain Burten credited their early arrival largely to the absence of any hampering storms. The small military outpost was set back from the river’s edge, as were most of the river settlements, due to the annual spring flooding.
Mariah stood on deck next to Clay, watching as Sarah and Agatha left the boat and were met by Major Pritchey and a small detachment of soldiers. Sarah turned hesitantly and gazed up in Mariah’s direction. Mariah ventured a friendly wave and the girl returned it, ignoring her mother’s glowering disapproval. Captain Burten was also ashore, positioned near the boat’s stern, overseeing the cargo of freight for the Fort and taking on supplies for points further up the river.
Jonas concentrated on the manifest he held, carefully checking the shipments against the list. These dockings were always the busiest part of his trip; he’d found out from past experience that it was best if he personally supervised the freight. Absorbed in his work, he was taken by surprise when a deep, resonant voice boomed close to his shoulder. Whirling, his surprise was quickly changed to pleasure at the sight of a close friend he hadn’t seen for six months or more.
Jared Bryant grinned at the sight of Jonas Burten’s lean, craggy face. He clasped Burten’s welcoming hand and found himself pounded heartily on the back. A cloud of dust puffed into the air, evidence of the long, hard ride he’d had.
“Don’t have to ask what brings you here, Jared. The young lady you came to escort is aboard and well. Miss Randall told me her mother had sent a letter ahead. You’ll come aboard ’til Myer’s Landing?”
Jared nodded wearily and removed his hat to swipe at the sweat beading his forehead. “I suppose I’d better clean up before I meet this Randall girl. What’s she like anyway?” He listened to the long description that followed, silently puzzling at Burten’s attitude. Ever since Jared had met Burten almost two years before, he’d considered him am inveterate bachelor. The only woman he’d ever seen him with was a “lady” Jared himself had brought aboard, along with a companion for himself. Now, if he could believe his ears, Jonas was endlessly listing Mariah Randall’s virtues. He still hadn’t given a physical description, which led Jared to believe she probably had an angel’s character but the face of a shrew. Jared grinned wickedly, his strong, chiseled face creasing with deep, etched lines. “Seems to me you’ve fallen under the spell of this paragon!” he said, shifting his stance. He managed to give the impression he was lounging against a support, with every muscle relaxed in easy grace. “You’ve whet my appetite, Jonas…can’t wait to meet the lady and see if you’re speaking the truth.”
Despite the fact that they had become close friends, Jonas frowned suddenly at the thought of Jared escorting Mariah Randall for two long days across the prairie. Jonas had never seen him in the company of a decent woman though he knew it was not because Jared lacked charm. “You’ll meet her at dinner. One thing though…Mariah Randall’s not a cheap bar girl. She’s a lady through and through and I won’t allow you to treat her as anything less. Matter of fact Clay Hamilton’s on board and he’s quite taken with her.”
Jared’s face tensed, his gray-blue eyes grew stormy, his stubborn jaw even more square. No one, not even a friend, had ever dared to dictate his behavior. Only the fact that he admired Burten and regarded the older man with affection kept him from losing his lightning temper. A rising curiosity about the girl who could arouse such a protective attitude from Burten made him cool his reply and ask instead for his cabin. “It’ll take me all afternoon to scrub this trail dirt off. Can’t meet this mystery woman looking like a dust devil!”
“Take cabin four and use the bath in my cabin.” Jonas smiled, relieved by Jared’s light attitude. “I know, somewhere ’neath all that dust, there’s a man who could charm the devil from takin’ his soul! Dinner’s at six an’ if I can get away later, we’ll get up a poker game in the salon.” He watched as Jared nodded and led his palomino stallion aboard the boat to be stabled. The manifest in his hand was forgotten for the moment as he stared after Jared and pondered the first meeting between Mariah and the young man. It was hard to tell whether sparks would fly.
An hour later Jared Bryant sat in Burten’s deep tin tub contentedly soaking away the dust and grime of the trail. It felt damned good to be clean again and the steamy water was relaxing his muscles. He absentmindedly rubbed at the two days growth of bristles covering his cheeks and decided he’d have to shave before he met Mariah Randall. Not that he was here to impress her; in fact his mission was to accomplish just the opposite. Lil had ranted for over an hour when she received the letter from her mot
her. He’d calmed her the only way she could be calmed…with his body. Later, when she was thinking more clearly, she’d come up with the plan for him to meet the boat at Fort Pierre and try to discourage the girl from continuing to the Bitterroot ranch.
Sully, the captain’s wizened old servant, grumbled at drawing the bath and grumbled even louder when Jared sent him off for a bottle of his employer’s best brandy. The old man was a sea-dog, an anachronism who belonged on the deck of a four-master flying the Jolly Roger. The ancient slits of eyes had glared distrustfully before he growled, “Check wi’ the cap’n, I will!” He tottered out of the room, muttering, “Comes in ’ere like ’e owns the place!”
Twenty minutes later Sully returned, bearing a tray with a crystal decanter full of aged brandy. He placed it on a table near the leather armchair where Jared lounged, his long, lean legs stretched comfortably in front of him. “Cap’n says you gets the best a’ everythin’,” he rasped, his tone implying he doubted the wisdom of Burten’s decision.
Jared’s grin twisted wryly. “Be gone, you old sea barnacle, before I lose my temper and have Burten make you walk the gangplank!” He enjoyed teasing the cantankerous old salt and the man never failed to respond by gnashing his few remaining teeth together and grumbling beneath his breath. Pouring himself a liberal dose of brandy, Jared paced to the window, gazing out as he considered the girl he must discourage.
Mariah Randall was intensely agitated as she walked down the corridor toward Captain Burten’s room. Twenty minutes before, Clay had suddenly paled and doubled over, clutching at his stomach. Even though he’d explained it was just his ulcer acting up, Mariah had insisted he rest in his cabin while she had the captain fetch a doctor from shore. So far she hadn’t been able to locate him and if he wasn’t in his cabin, she wasn’t sure where to look next. Nervously, she bit her lip and knocked, relieved to hear a deep, masculine voice call out to enter.
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