by Craig, Emma
He hunched over his map again. She sat there petting her dog and didn’t speak for a minute. At last she said, “I never thought of it in exactly that way.”
“Didn’t think so,” he said dryly.
She cleared her throat. “So you don’t believe we’ll run into any trouble with Indians on our way?”
“Don’t expect any.” Slanting her a glance, he qualified his statement. “That’s not to say there might not be some renegades along the way. Or a white bandit or two, either, for that matter. The territory’s kind of a refuge for certain kinds of people from the States. We’ve got to go a long way over unsettled land, ma’am. I thought you knew that.” Hell, that’s why she’d hired him, wasn’t it? He decided not to ask, since he already knew the answer. Anyway, she’d probably only screech at him again.
“I—I did. Of course.”
He nodded. “All right. Then, after we get through the mountains, we’ll—”
“But look here, Mr. Hardcastle.”
Sighing yet again, Jed saw her dainty little finger point at the map. He anticipated what was coming but let her say it anyway.
“It looks like this would be a shorter route. Why do you want to climb up into those mountains when we can go this way, and it’s straight across to El Paso. That route looks much closer. Aren’t you taking us a good deal out of our way? Why do we have to go to Ala—Ala—Ala—”
“Alamogordo.”
“Yes. Why do we have to catch the train there? Why can’t we catch it in El Paso?”
“Water.” Jed didn’t elaborate because the one word said it all.
At least it did to him. He should have known better than to expect Miss Tacita Grantham to understand.
“I beg your pardon?”
He heaved another great sigh. “Water, ma’am. We have to follow the water. The southern way’s shorter, but there’s no water. Out here, water’s the most important consideration when you plan a trip. More important than food, even. As it is, after we leave the mountains, we’re going to have two or three days’ hard going before we hit Alamogordo. We’ll have to carry water with us.”
“Oh.”
“For us and the horses and mules. And your dog.”
She looked at him in silence for several seconds. He looked back and decided he had the better view.
“That—that sounds like a lot of water to carry, Mr. Hardcastle.”
“It is. And we won’t get to drink much if we expect it to last. It’ll be thirsty going during that leg of the trip.”
“Are you sure we can do it?”
Jed rolled his eyes. “Ma’am, I expect water will be our main problem, but we can do it. I wouldn’t have taken the job unless I knew we could do it. I don’t aim to die any more than I aim to let you die.” Because she was an irritating little baggage, he added, “Although you might want to keep an eye on your—dog—there. Don’t want no—any coyotes to snatch it up for supper.”
Tacita uttered a tiny shriek and hugged Rosamunda to her bosom.
Rosamunda tried to lunge at Jed again, but her mistress wouldn’t let her.
And so it went. Although a patient man by nature and one educated by his parents to be well-mannered, particularly to ladies, Jed wasn’t sorry when the ordeal finally ended. Lord, what a bull-headed woman. And every second they sat there, while he tried to keep from thinking about how he’d like to eat Miss Tacita Grantham for breakfast, that damned dog of hers looked like it were plotting just exactly how best to murder him.
She wasn’t. Although the thought held great appeal. Rosamunda was no fool, however, and she knew Tacita needed Jedediah Hardcastle if she expected to get to San Francisco. And so did she, if what he said about coyotes was the truth. She feared it was. The admission made her ears droop and her tail drag.
# # #
“Perhaps he’s not such a terribly brutish man, Rosamunda.”
Tacita sounded thoughtful as she pulled the brush through Rosamunda’s silky coat. Rosamunda lifted a brow and cocked her head, unsettled as much by Mistress’s tone as by her words, which were patently ridiculous. Of course, Jed Hardcastle was a brute. That went without saying.
“I don’t mean to say that there’s any excuse for his dreadful behavior towards you, darling, but at least he seems to have a heart.” She frowned, set Rosamunda down on the bed, and picked up a leather saddle bag. “Although whether his heart extends to darling doggies, I can’t say. He certainly seems to appreciate heathen Indians.”
Tacita sniffed indignantly, so Rosamunda relaxed. At least Mistress seemed to value the proper order of things, unlike some human beings Rosamunda could name. She watched with interest as Tacita propped the saddle bag against a pillow and stuffed it with folded fabric strips.
“Still, at least we’ll be traveling with a man who has earned a good reputation as a western guide. The people I spoke to in this town seem to respect him. I expect we shall be safe, even if the company lacks refinement.”
She picked up a piece of fluffy fur, and Rosamunda brightened. Hoping for a game, she grabbed an end of the fur and began to tug, growling and wagging her feathery tail.
“No, no, dear,” Tacita said, vexing her. “This is for our little sweetie pie’s carriage seat. You,” she said, gently prying the fur out of Rosamunda’s mouth, “shall ride with me in this saddle bag. I’m fixing it up for you now. Would you like to test it?” She stuffed the fur into the bag.
No, she would not like to test it. Since Tacita spoke no Yorkshire, an acute failing in so generally superior a human as she, Rosamunda was unsuccessful in getting her point across. Instead, she found herself being lifted in Tacita’s small hands and placed in the saddle bag. Immediately, she sank down into a soft dark fluff of rabbit fur and sneezed.
“Oh, dear,” she heard from outside her fuzzy prison. “I guess it needs more stuffing.”
Gently, Tacita lifted Rosamunda out again. Rosamunda shook out her coat and tried to do the same for her wounded dignity. She wasn’t altogether successful.
After a minute they tried again, and this time Rosamunda decided the saddle bag was comfortable enough, if one had to endure a journey of this nature with a brute who called her so unsophisticated a name as Rosie. Still and all, she knew it was Jedediah Hardcastle’s fault that she was being forced to ride in this contraption. When she tallied up the black marks already accumulated against him, the total was impressive.
This was going to be a long trip. As she curled up on the pillow next to Tacita’s head and prepared for her nightly beauty sleep, Rosamunda wasn’t looking forward to it.
# # #
They set out early the following morning, Tacita perched sidesaddle upon a placid white mare, Jed on a huge rawboned bay. She scorned his renewed suggestion that she ride astride, telling him in no uncertain terms that she was a lady, whatever kind of female he was accustomed to dealing with in this heathen territory, and ladies did not ride astride. He hadn’t argued, and Tacita silently savored her victory.
She was quite proud of the clever conveyance she’d rigged for Rosamunda. Her sweet darling looked as perky as the new day with her little head poking out of the saddle bag, her clever eyes taking in everything. Tacita had tied up her topknot with a pink bow this morning in honor of their new beginning. This entire trip was for her; Tacita’s heart fluttered a thrilling beat in her breast.
Last night, she had chatted with Rosamunda until the wee hours about the upcoming ordeal, and she was determined to be strong. Tacita could do this; she was sure of it. For the sake of Rosamunda and herself, she could do it. After all, once they got to Ala—Ala—wherever it was, they’d be able to travel the rest of their journey in the relative comfort of a railway sleeping compartment. Certainly nothing could happen to them on a train, could it?
Newspaper accounts she’d read about train wrecks and robber attacks began to snake their way into her brain. She frowned.
“Mr. Hardcastle?”
Jed grunted. Tacita took his grunt for an acknowle
dgment and an invitation to continue.
“Do you know how safe the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe trunk-line trains are? As a rule?”
He rode slightly in front of them, the reins of the two pack mules that were trailing along behind him tied somehow to his own horse. Tacita didn’t understand such things but trusted him. Her trust in him rather surprised her.
At her question, he turned his head slightly and eyed her from under the brim of his broad hat. She detected a certain degree of irritation in his glance, and took immediate exception.
“I don’t believe my question to be the least bit irrelevant, Mr. Hardcastle, so you needn’t look at me in that manner.”
He turned his head again, and appeared to be surveying the land stretching out in front of them. It seemed like such an unstudied gesture to Tacita, yet so utterly Western: The stalwart guide scanning the horizon for hostile savages. Or outlaws. Or coyotes. Or something. He was dressed to perfection for the part, too. His worn buckskins clung to his muscled limbs in a scandalous manner. One looped rope dangled from his saddle and another from his belt—why, Tacita had no idea, although she figured he must use those ropes for some rugged Western purpose. A rifle resided in a saddle scabbard, and a large hunting knife rested in a leather loop on his belt. In spite of her annoyance, some romantic part within her trilled a response.
After a moment—the man was frustratingly slow to respond sometimes—he said, “Just wondered why you were bothering to ask now, Miss Grantham. ‘Pears to me you should have thought about train safety before you started out on your trip.”
Instantly, all of Tacita’s fanciful images of Jed as a romantic figure went up in a poof of ire. If that wasn’t just like him! Tacita sorted through the indignant retorts swarming through her mind, searching for the most scathing.
Then she suddenly realized he was right. The wind vanished from her sails in a heartbeat, leaving them dragging in the dust of honesty. Her mouth snapped shut. Lifting her chin and settling it at a defiant angle, she declared, “It doesn’t matter. I should have undertaken this trip had it been ten times as dangerous.”
“Must be pretty important for you to get to San Francisco,” Jed observed.
“It is.”
“Mind if I ask why you’re going, ma’am?”
Tacita glared at his back and almost blurted out the truth. Recalling his aversion to her beloved Rosamunda, however, she decided he didn’t deserve it. Besides, if she told him the truth, he might just turn around and head back to Powder Gulch. She wouldn’t put it past him, especially since they hadn’t gone very far yet. She knew good and well he wouldn’t understand the imperative that drove Tacita and Rosamunda to San Francisco.
Because she had an aversion to outright lying, she said truthfully, “We are going to San Francisco in order to consummate an alliance.”
His head jerked around again and for a brief instant, Tacita’s insides clenched and she feared she’d been right: He was going to terminate the journey right now. She was, therefore, relieved when he said merely, “Huh?”
“I said, we’re going to San Francisco in order to consummate an alliance.” She sniffed. “That means, we’re going to . . . undertake an allegiance.”
She frowned, peeved at having to skirt the issue this way. She was even more annoyed when he said “Huh?” again.
Feeling harried, she snapped, “We’re going to tie the knot.”
Drat! She hated fibbing. But actually, she told herself as she tried to spread balm on the scratch her prevarication had just inflicted to her conscience, her declaration wasn’t too far from the truth.
“Oh. You gonna marry that Jeeves fellow?”
Oh, dear, what could she answer to that? Her head down, she mumbled, “Reeve. Edgar Jevington Reeve.” Then she said, “Something like that.”
“Something like that? You mean you don’t know?”
She lifted head again, infuriated by his inquisition. Thinking fast, she said, “We’re going to see if—if there is compatibility first.”
That was relatively true. And in truth, she did harbor a faint tendre for Edgar. There were, after all, very few people in the world who shared her aspirations. Although she’d only met Edgar twice, she considered him an excessively handsome man and imminently suitable prospect for husbandhood. Actually, she’d been having daydreams for some months now about marrying him and setting up a breeding kennel for Yorkies. The thought made her insides glow. Of course, she’d have to wait for him to get through with his silly western territories tour. She’d been waiting for people all her life, though; another little wait wouldn’t hurt her.
“You don’t know?”
Deciding that in this instance, honesty could serve her purpose as well as subterfuge, she said, “He lives in England, Mr. Hardcastle. We haven’t been privileged to spend much time in each other’s company.”
“Oh. That kinda makes sense.”
Thank God!
He continued, beginning to supply his own fictions to Tacita’s story, “Reckon that’s why he didn’t come out here to get you, too, if he had to come over from England.”
“Exactly.” Almost. Still, he was coming from England to San Francisco in order to meet with Tacita there, so Tacita didn’t feel too bad about agreeing with Jed in this instance.
“I still can’t figure out how you ended up in Powder Gulch, though. It’s kind of out of the way, isn’t it?”
Tacita had no need for fibs now since the truth would serve quite well. “Indeed it is. It’s the end of the world, in fact. But my uncle couldn’t take us any farther. He brought us from Galveston to Powder Gulch, but after concluding his business in Powder Gulch, he had to head back to San Antonio. There was some urgency to his business.”
“Your uncle? Would that be Mr. Williamson? The fellow whose attorney wrote to me?”
“Yes. Mr. Luther Adams Williamson.” Tacita sighed. “He and my father were in business together, importing arts and crafts from the Orient.”
“Your father, ma’am?”
Tacita fought the rush of sadness thinking about her parents always brought on. “Yes. My father passed away a year ago. He and my mother, both, in a shipping accident. It was a dreadful tragedy to me. Mr. Williamson is my last living relative.”
Jed peered at her and lifted a brow. Considering his generally laconic demeanor, he looked almost sympathetic. “That so? Sorry to hear it.”
Although she could hardly believe it, she was sincere when she said, “Thank you, Mr. Hardcastle.”
“Wonder why he didn’t take you to El Paso, though.”
Tacita had wondered about that, too, although she’d felt guilty about wondering, since she fully understood how little her own desires and imperatives mattered to anyone else in the world. Hearing a veiled criticism in Jed’s question, however, she forgot about her own doubts and bridled. “My uncle is a very busy man with an important business to run, Mr. Hardcastle. It’s been especially difficult for him since my father’s untimely death. His business took him to Powder Gulch. Therefore, he took me to Powder Gulch, and I’m very grateful to him, too.” She punctuated her declaration with a brisk nod.
“He was selling imports from the Orient in Powder Gulch?”
The incredulous question fired Tacita’s already-shaky temper. “Yes! Yes, as a matter of fact, his business takes him everywhere in the United States. And the territories.” So there, she thought, then wondered why she was allowing this irritating man to make her behave in such a childish manner.
Jed merely grunted. After a few minutes, he scowled and added, “Too bad he couldn’t have waited with you, though. Don’t hold with leaving ladies alone to fend for themselves myself.”
Tilting her head at an angle calculated to depress the pretensions of any lurking lower orders—and Jedediah Hardcastle, as well—Tacita said frostily, “I can assure you, Mr. Hardcastle, that women are quite well able to take care of themselves. Some progressive states and territories have even seen the light and given w
omen the vote.”
Jed grunted again. He followed up this grunt with, “You a suffragist, ma’am?” He asked the question as if a positive answer would neither please nor amaze him.
“I believe women are fully capable of deciding their own destinies.” Just as she was doing now, in fact.
He nodded and didn’t answer. Tacita took his silence for censure and her anger bloomed anew. “Well?” she asked in a challenging tone. “What do you have to say to that, Mr. Hardcastle? Have I succeeded in shocking you?”
Squinting over his shoulder, Jed said merely, “No,” which fired her ire further.
Sensing that she’d not best him in a battle of words since he used so few of them, Tacita decided to save her breath and merely glared at his broad back.
After a minute or two, she realized it was an extremely broad back. Indeed, it was about the broadest back Tacita had ever studied. Not, of course, that she was in the habit of studying gentlemen’s backs. Or any other masculine physical attributes, for that matter. One couldn’t help but notice some things, however, and at the moment she was noticing how very broad Jedediah Hardcastle’s back was.
Swallowing, she noticed how huge his legs were, as well. Mercy sakes. The largeness of his thighs betokened either muscle or fat. As she’d espied no fat on him thus far during their brief acquaintance, she decided their size must be due to muscle. An involuntary thrill sparkled up her spine.
Not, of course, that she fancied large, muscular men, particularly since in this case, his muscles seemed to extend to his brain. Still and all . . . Tacita discovered her mouth had gone dry.
She was glad to be traveling in company with a man who could obviously afford such great protection for herself and her darling Rosamunda.
Yes. That’s the only reason she was pleased with those muscles of Jed Hardcastle’s. Protection. She was sure of it.
Tacita tore her gaze from Jed’s manly form and frowned down at her hands, which were folded over her sidesaddle’s leaping tree. What was she thinking of, to be admiring him in this shocking manner? Why, the gentleman to whom she was heading was infinitely more—well—gentlemanly than this man.
