by Merry Farmer
“All right, I tell you what,” Pete stepped in. “Greg, I don’t want you talking to Conrad or interacting with him or so much as looking at him until we get to Ft. Bridger, you hear me?”
“But, Pete,” he started to protest.
“No buts.” Pete raised his hand. “Don’t talk to him. And you, Conrad.” He raised his voice so that Conrad could hear him across the space that separated them. “I don’t want you talking to Greg or dealing with him or looking at him at all, do you hear?”
“As long as he stays away from me, we’ll be just fine,” Conrad sneered.
“Good.” Pete nodded. “And I don’t want you talking to or bullying or raising a hand against Miss Howsam either, understand?”
Conrad’s smug grin faltered. “She’s my wife. I can do whatever I want with her.”
“No she’s not and no you can’t,” Pete told him, striding across the distance to drive his point home. “Not on my wagon train, at least. You will treat the woman with respect, no matter what you think about women in general.”
Conrad glowered, then sniffed and spit.
“If I hear so much as a peep about you causing any more trouble,” he paused and turned to Greg, “either of you, I’ll leave you behind in the mud to sort yourselves out. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes,” Greg said, even though he resented it.
Conrad just sniffed and turned to walk off with Bruce.
Pete grumbled, as though the problems were far from over. He turned to Darcy. “I’m sorry about this, Miss Howsam, but it seems to me that you’ve got a heap of trouble to sort out.”
“I know,” Darcy sighed. She did her best to smile, though watching the effort that it took broke Greg’s heart. “I’ll do my best, sir,” she finished.
“Good.” Pete nodded. He turned to give Greg one last warning look, then marched off, shaking his head.
The rest of the men who had gathered to watch the fight dispersed as well. Greg was left standing there in the mud, hands throbbing from landing so many punches, face stinging with the blows Conrad had gotten in, and soul frustrated because every time he tried to do what he thought would be right, it ended up being wrong. He had to put an end to his bad decisions and Darcy’s dilemma as soon as possible, but every which way he turned, the choices seemed wrong.
“Greg.” Darcy yanked him out of his thoughts as she stepped up to him. “I’m grateful that you would fight for me,” she said, managing a weak smile, “but nothing will be solved if you get hurt. We can figure out a way through this. It will just take a little time.”
“Time’s the one thing we don’t have, Darcy,” he said, taking her hand. He didn’t care whether anyone was watching them or not. “I love you. I don’t want to lose you.”
Her smile broke through the wariness in her expression, but just as quickly faded. “I love you too, Greg. So much that I don’t want you to get hurt. We can figure this out if we’re patient.”
Greg smiled and raised her hand to kiss her knuckles. That was it. He had to man up and make some difficult decisions. All he knew was that he couldn’t let things go on the way they had been.
Chapter Nine
It was just Greg’s luck that Ft. Bridger and the point where everything would come to a head was only three days away. He didn’t share the whispers that went around the camp blaming Darcy for the bad luck, but he was beginning to think that they might have been on to something, that bad luck was in the clouds. For three days, he walked only a few yards behind Conrad’s wagon, forbidden to speak to the man. It was probably for the best. Pete was right, he would only have ended up fighting him again if they said so much as hello to each other.
He may not have said a word to the dirty rat of a bully, but he did observe him. Conrad ordered Darcy around like a slave, making her cook for him and take care of every little thing around the wagon and the oxen, but at the same time, he barely talked to her. He was more interested in keeping company with Bruce. The two of them were off somewhere most of the time, guzzling down whiskey. Greg now began to notice what Darcy had hinted at before: that Conrad was more interested in Bruce and the bottle than on laying a hand on Darcy in any way that would make Greg want to cut his balls off. It set him to thinking. There was more than one way to skin a cat.
When Pete called out, “Ft. Bridger! Ft. Bridger ahead. Line your wagons up along the east wall, and make sure your oxen don’t trample anything important,” Greg flagged him down.
As soon as Pete noticed him, he wheeled his horse around and trotted up to Greg’s side.
“How long will we be staying at the fort?” Greg asked.
Pete steadied his horse, then said, “We’ll move out again tomorrow morning.” He paused, and then said, “I know this is your last chance to do something about Miss Howsam, and I’ll give you as much time as I can, but we have to keep moving. We’ve lost more than a week of the journey already because of that blasted rain.”
“At least the rain seems like it’s through,” Greg said, then nodded and added, “Thank you.”
Pete stayed where he was. “You got a plan for that girl of yours?”
Did he? It was hard to tell. All he had to go on was vague suspicion. “I’ve got something,” he said at last.
“Good.” Pete nodded. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“Maybe,” Greg frowned, thinking hard, “Maybe if you distract Conrad once we get to the fort. There’s someone else I want to talk to.”
Pete gave him a wondering look from atop his horse, then shrugged. “If you say so, though I can’t imagine you and Miss Howsam have much more you can discuss.”
“It’s not Darcy I want to talk to,” he said.
It wasn’t. It had taken Greg those last three days to come to the conclusion that there was one other person who might be able to influence the situation, one other person who might have been influencing the situation all along.
As soon as they reached the fort and parked their wagons around the edge of the palisade, as soon as he’d taken his pair of oxen to the small stream that ran nearby to let them get a drink, Greg got down to business. He fixed his hat on his head, squared his shoulders, and headed toward the fort.
“Where are you going?” Darcy asked him as he passed Conrad’s wagon. Sure enough, Pete had taken Conrad aside and was walking him around the far end of the fort.
“I need to talk to somebody,” Greg told her.
Darcy bit her lip and gave him a worried look, falling into step with him. “Please, Greg. Please don’t get into another fight with Conrad. You still have a black eye from the first fight.”
Greg slowed his steps and smiled to reassure her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m not going to fight with Conrad. I’m not even going to talk to him.”
“Oh.” Her face brightened and fell. “Who are you talking to, then?”
He grinned, taking her hand and kissing it with a wink. “I’ve got a hunch,” he said. “And if my hunch is right, then I’m sure I’ll be able to set things right.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” he said, feeling the confidence of that answer down to his toes. “I promise you, by the time the sun goes down today, I will have figured out a way to get you out of this deal with Conrad. Then we can be together.”
“We can….” Her eyes went misty and she squeezed his hand as though her life depended on it. “I do love you, Greg. Really and truly.”
“And I love you,” he replied. “More than anything.”
“But won’t you tell me your plan?” she asked. The sweet pleading in her eyes was almost enough to get him to spill everything, but he couldn’t quite do it. There was still a chance his plan would fall on its face, and if it did, he’d be at the end of his rope and likely to do something desperate.
“You’ll see soon enough,” he promised.
With a quick kiss, he let her go and turned to head toward the fort.
“Are you sure I can’t help you?
” she called after him.
“Not this time,” he answered with the biggest smile he could manage.
She returned that smile, filling him with light and confidence. This would work. This had to work.
He found who he was looking for, unsurprisingly, in the corner of the fort’s supply depot that served as a makeshift bar when wagons were there stocking up. Bruce leaned against the rough counter, a whiskey glass already in hand and a bottle on the counter beside him. His face was red and his nose like a radish hanging on his face. Greg put on his best smile anyhow, sidling up to the bar beside him.
“Bruce,” he greeted the man by nodding his head.
“What do you want?” Bruce grumbled.
“I’m here to talk business with you,” Greg replied. This had to work. His hunch had to be right.
“What if I don’t want to talk to you?” Bruce looked him up and down, then turned away, downing the liquor in his glass.
He gestured to the bartender and said. “Another glass, but I’ll pay for that bottle.”
Bruce peeked sideways at him. The bartender brought out another glass, looking between the two of them as if he was in for a treat. “That’s a dollar,” he said.
Greg reached into his pocket and took out one of his hard-earned dollars. There were others there, others that he was loathe to part with. They were his future, his land, and his dreams. They were his last chance at happiness. He had the feeling those bills were all about to go away, replaced by a new dream that both frightened and thrilled him.
As soon as the money was handed over, Bruce turned his head to stare at Greg. Then he slid the bottle along the bar to him. Greg poured himself a drink.
“You a California miner too?” Greg asked as casually as he could.
“What of it?” Bruce snapped.
A jolt of victory made Greg’s blood pump harder. He’d been right on that account.
“You and Conrad work together?” he asked on.
“So?” Now Bruce was on the defensive. Another point in Greg’s favor.
“Mining life must be hard,” Greg went on with a shrug, pouring himself a drink.
“You gotta work if you want to strike it rich.” At last, Bruce was opening up to him.
“I’m sure you do. I know all about hard work. I’m about to buy land and start a ranch or a farm myself.” Although whether that would actually happen now was a big question. “I suppose you get to be mighty good friends with the fellows you work with when you’re working that hard.”
Bruce frowned. “Yeah. What of it?”
Greg shrugged. “Some people think that the bonds of matrimony are the closest a man can have, but sometimes I wonder if that’s not wrong. Maybe the bond of friendship is stronger sometimes.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bruce’s frown darkened to a scowl.
“Suppose a man had his mine, was looking for his gold. Maybe he has a nice patch somewhere, everything just the way he wants. And he has his buddy to share it all with. Times would be good, wouldn’t they?”
Bruce narrowed his eyes. “They would.”
“And it would be a crying shame to bring a woman into the middle of that, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
But Greg could see that he did. He could see it in the way the color came to Bruce’s face as he reached for the whiskey bottle and poured himself another glass.
Greg leaned closer to Bruce, even though the man stank of whiskey and sweat.
“Come on, Bruce. I know you don’t want Conrad to wreck things by bringing a woman into your patch.”
Bruce clenched his jaw and hunched his shoulders as he cradled his drink. “So?”
“So I don’t want him to take Darcy out to California either. We both want the same thing here.”
There was a long pause. Bruce lifted his glass and drank slowly. He sighed when he smacked it down on the bar.
“There’s plenty of whores in the camps,” Bruce said as if he’d been thinking about it for a long time. “And there’s cooks and washerwomen for hire. I don’t know why Conrad let Duke talk him into sending East for a woman anyhow. The one Duke’s got is a witch and makes his life hell.”
The victory of that statement was so sweet that Greg felt it like cannons blasting in his chest. With Bruce to back him up, he was certain Conrad would change his mind.
“Then it’s time you spoke up,” he said. He needed just a little more of a push, so he said, “Because if you let him take Darcy with you when we all move out tomorrow, she will drive you and pester you, make you bathe every day and take your shoes off before you enter the house.” Bruce was crumbling, he could see it, so he added, “And she’ll make you go to church and leave off drinking, I know it.”
Bruce turned to him, eyes wide in horror. “She wouldn’t.”
“She would,” Greg nodded, grim as the grave. “You’ve seen the way she’s always smiling at everything. That’s the smile of a good woman. Do you really want a good woman on your patch?”
“Hell no,” Bruce said, slamming his hand on the bar. He stood, swaying more than a little with the alcohol he’d already consumed. “I been too soft on Conrad. I gotta stop this!”
Bruce took a few unsteady steps away from the bar, then cleared his throat, pulled himself to stand straighter, and marched out of the supply depot and into the cloudy afternoon. Greg jumped up and rushed after him. His future with Darcy was so close now that he could almost grasp it.
Darcy hung back around the milling crowds in the fort’s main yard. She tried to talk to the women she’d been traveling with these last few weeks, asked about the McTavish family and some of the other snippets of gossip she’d heard. Her eyes stayed firmly on the door to the supply depot, though. She’d seen Greg go in earlier and wondered who he had gone after.
The answer came as soon as Bruce burst out into the yard. He looked as though he could hunt down a wolf and strangle it with his bare hands.
“Conrad,” he bellowed, swaying slightly when he stopped to look around. “Conrad, where are you, you old coot?”
Darcy searched the yard for Conrad herself, but he was nowhere to be found. When she turned back to Bruce, he was staring right at her. He sniffed, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, then spit. He headed right for her. Darcy gasped, turning to look for a way out, but when she saw Greg coming out of the supply depot a few steps behind Bruce, she gathered her courage. If Greg was there, she could face Bruce. She could face anything.
“Where did you put him, you little witch?” Bruce demanded, striding toward her.
Darcy stood straighter at the insult. She would have been worried, but Greg was catching up fast, and he was smiling. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she told Bruce.
“I won’t let him do it,” Bruce said. “I won’t let him mess things up like this.”
“You…won’t?” The hope that soared in her chest was so potent that it made her dizzy.
“It seems that someone else talked Conrad into the idea of sending for a bride from back East,” Greg said as he reached Bruce’s side, just as he stopped in front of Darcy.
“So you can go your way, missy,” Bruce said, jabbing a finger at her.
“What’s going on here?”
All three of them turned to find Conrad striding toward them from the front gate, Pete Evans at his side. Mr. Evans wore a curious look, but it wasn’t a look of surprise.
“I’m not gonna let you do it, Conrad,” Bruce said, marching to meet his friend. “We’re already stuck with one witch at the camp, I won’t let you add another.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Conrad glowered at his friend. He turned that look on Greg and kept walking. “This is your fault, isn’t it?”
“Hold up there, Conrad,” Pete jogged to catch up with him. They all came together in a tense circle in the middle of the yard. “I told you not to talk to Greg anymore.”
“I’ll talk to him if
he’s messing with my business,” Conrad snapped.
“If you’re so concerned with business being messed with,” Bruce said, “then why’d you go messing with ours?”
“Huh?” Conrad turned to him, looking like a bull that didn’t know which way was up.
Darcy was just as confused. She sent Greg a questioning look, but he only shook his head and nodded to Conrad and Bruce.
“This whole mail-order bride thing was a terrible idea,” Bruce said. “You can’t stand Duke’s old woman any more than I can.”
“No, but she does cook good,” Conrad answered. “So does this one.” He jerked his thumb at Darcy as if she was a dog standing nearby.
“Yeah, and so does old Cookie. You never complained about his chow before,” Bruce argued.
“Now hold on just a minute,” Conrad crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at his friend. “I paid good money for that one there, and I ain’t never been one to go wasting money.”
“You’re a fool who likes to spend your gold so that people think you’re a big man,” Bruce sneered at him. “Remember that prize heifer you bought last spring?”
Conrad sniffed and shuffled, on the defensive. “That was a good milk cow. A man needs property to show he’s made something of himself.”
“You idiot, I got more milk in me than that cow,” Bruce said. “The poor thing died inside two months. You got snookered, and you know it.”
“I did not!”
“Just like you’re getting snookered now.”
“Hold on just a second there. I paid for this here woman to come out here to be a wife to me. A man’s gotta have a wife to prove that he’s something,” Conrad argued.
Darcy caught her breath as understanding dawned. Conrad didn’t want her at all. He’d taken one look at her back in Ft. Laramie and decided that she wasn’t good enough—not for him, but to impress his friends. Conrad was only interested in impressing his neighbors and making himself look good. And now Greg was acting like he would marry her in spite of his plans. He’d said as much when he promised they could be together. There was a chance she could get out of the whole mess and marry Greg after all, if she could just convince Conrad she’d be more of a burden and an embarrassment than a boon.
