Wild Horses, Wild Hearts 2

by Montana West

  “Miss Margaret McNeal and Mister John Baldwin, good morning, good morning!” he cheered, delighted at seeing two of Cheyenne’s most notable residents.

  “Morning to you as well, Mister Weatherby,” John said, clasping the man’s hand in a firm shake before Margaret did the same.

  “Please, Mister Baldwin, call me Jeremiah,” Mr. Weatherby insisted. “After all, you folks are practically family after you gave me one of the biggest stories of the year a few months back!”

  Margaret and John shared a sidelong glance with one another. Jeremiah Weatherby, editor in chief of Cheyenne’s largest newspaper, was a bit of sensationalist, occasionally exaggerating stories in order to draw more readers. His story on Margaret’s fall during the show-riding challenge and her subsequent rescue by John had made headline news.

  Despite his exaggeratory nature, he was a pleasant enough fellow who was just interested in telling a good story. One just had to get used to his bombastic nature before they started to take a liking to him.

  “So what brings you fine folks to my humble paper so early in the morning?” he asked genially, though he seemed to have caught the scent of a big scoop lurking in front of him. “News about cattle prices? Plans to expand the McNeal ranch? A lawsuit against one of the railroads? Stop me if I’m getting close.”

  Margaret held up a hand, halting the man’s tirade. From the look on her face, she was beginning to have second thoughts about having come to the newspaper in the first place, but she persevered.

  “Actually, Jeremiah,” she began patiently, “I’d like to place an announcement in tomorrow’s paper if you have any room left.”

  “Any room left?” Jeremiah echoed incredulously. “Why, for you Miss McNeal, always. What’s the announcement you’d like to make?” Jeremiah’s hands produced a notepad and pencil, ready to take down the details.

  Margaret looked over at John, the Kentuckian giving her an encouraging smile as his hand slipped into hers. Margaret took a deep breath and spoke in a firm, clear tone.

  “The McNeal Cattle Company would like to announce the impending marriage of Margaret McNeal of Cheyenne to John Baldwin of Kentucky.”

  Every typewriter in the room stopped cold as Margaret finished speaking, with several sets of eyes turning to regard the pair. Even Jeremiah Weatherby, usually impossible to quiet down, looked uncharacteristically at a loss for words from what he had just heard.

  “M-marriage?” the editor asked slowly, fumbling for words as he looked back and forth between John and Margaret. “You mean you...? And he...? And marriage...? How? When?”

  John laughed at the newsman’s confusion, deciding to clear things up. “That’s right, Jeremiah. I asked Miss McNeal to marry me and she said yes.”

  Margaret pulled her brim low to hide the blush creeping across her cheeks.

  It took another minute before Jeremiah and the rest of his staff recovered enough of their senses to begin applauding the two and cheering.

  “Announcement nothing!” Jeremiah crowed. “This is the story of the year! I gotta have the details on this!”

  Once again, Margaret held up a hand to stymie the editor’s excitement. “Please, Jeremiah,” she said quietly. “I understand your position, but I don’t want to make a circus out of this. Just a simple announcement in the appropriate section will do, thank you.”

  “Bu-but, Miss McNeal!” Jeremiah stuttered before launching into all the reasons that she should let him make the announcement a headline.

  While Margaret patiently let Jeremiah run his mouth, John wandered over to one of the walls where the staff had hung up and framed selected articles from the past. He allowed his eyes to move from frame to frame, picking out little tidbits here and there.

  Let’s see here, John mused, the noise of the background fading in his mind. Train carrying molasses derails outside Laramie, ranch hands threaten strike for better wages, railroad executive caught with partner’s wife, mayor promises improved roads for Cheyenne...

  John was just about to turn around and rejoin Margaret when a name jumped out at him: McAllister.

  Despite thinking that it was merely a coincidence, John peered closer to where he spotted it. It was under the announcements section of a larger headline about cattle rustlers being caught, but what it said caused John’s blood to run cold.

  Miss Janet Wilson of Cheyenne would like to announce her marriage to Mr. Charles “Chase” McAllister, he mentally read. It can’t be. It just can’t.

  “And furthermore, Miss McNeal, I think that it would be—”

  “Sorry to cut in like this, Jeremiah,” John pardoned, joining his fiancé at her side again and interrupting the newsman’s speech, “but I need to borrow Miss McNeal for a moment.”

  “Well I—” Jeremiah began.

  “Appreciate you understanding,” John said before pulling Margaret over to the wall full of articles.

  “John,” Margaret whispered. “Not that I’m ungrateful for you rescuing me from his long-winded bluster, but what’s gotten into you?”

  “Maggie,” John breathed quietly before pointing to what he had discovered. “You’re not gon’ like this.”

  Margaret squinted at where John’s finger was pointed, taking the information in. Her eyes widened as she read the name and her hands began to shake.

  “Why that two-timing, low down, double-faced carpetbagger!” she hissed. “I’ll skin him from end to end!”

  “Maggie, calm down!” John hushed pleadingly. “I say we run this by your mother first.”

  It looked as though Margaret wanted to argue further, or at least continue mentioning the ways in which she planned to put Chase McAllister into a world of pain, but she let John lead her back toward the door.

  “HEY! WHAT ABOUT MY STORY!” Jeremiah called out.

  “We’ll get back to you on that,” John called over his shoulder as he and Margaret hurried out the door and mounted Apollo and Longbow, spurring their horses to take them back to the ranch as fast as they could carry them.

  MCNEAL RANCH LAND, Near Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory, August 1885

  Leyla sighed dreamily as she waited for her sister and John to return. She wanted to make the big announcement of Chase’s invitation for her to perform with him that night with everyone present.

  She could still feel the joy of the previous afternoon. Maggie’s going to be so jealous, she thought. She knew there was a good chance that Maggie would be against it, but she had no intention of letting anything get in the way of her chance to perform that night.

  The sound of hooves beating a path toward the homestead woke her from her reverie. She eagerly awaited Maggie and John’s entrance so that she could tell everyone the news.

  The front door was thrown open with a sharp crack like thunder as Margaret entered, her boots thudding on the wooden floor with each step she took, a look of anger chiseled onto her lovely features. John followed closely on her heels, a grim look etched across his own handsome face.

  “Mother! Leyla!” Margaret called out. “I need you both in the parlor. Now!”

  Abigail appeared from the kitchen, regarding her daughter worriedly. “Margaret, what’s the matter? “I haven’t seen you this angry since you caught one of those cattle rustlers a few years back.”

  “Oh, we caught something, all right,” Margaret growled. “The parlor. Now.”

  Once all four were in the parlor, Margaret went straight to business. “Mother, do you remember the Wilson family at all?”

  Abigail’s look of confusion and worry darkened slightly. “Despite my wishes otherwise, I do,” she answered. “They owned a farm outside of Cheyenne up until five years ago. Greediest, most disrespectful people ever put on this planet. Can’t say I wasn’t pleased to see them go.”

  “Maggie, what does this have to do with me?” Leyla asked in an annoyed tone. “I kind of have an announcement to make and—”

  “Mother,” Margaret continued, ignoring Leyla’s question, “do you remember why they
left?”

  Abigail tapped a finger to her chin as she tried to remember. “Let me think. I believe it had something to do with their daughter Janet getting married to some longhaired farmhand. Chester, I think his name was?”

  “Charles,” Margaret growled out.

  “Charles!” Abigail said with a snap of her fingers. “Yes, that was it.”

  “Charles ‘Chase’ McAllister,” Margaret finished.

  The silence that followed that admission was deafening.

  No, Leyla thought, feeling her mind, body and spirit go numb.

  “I saw it in one of the framed articles at the newspaper office,” John said, his usually carefree tone laced with anger. “Seems that Chase McAllister is a married man.”

  This is a nightmare; it has to be.

  Abigail’s eyes opened wide as her memories came back to her. “Oh Lord,” she breathed. “I knew I’d heard his name before. And this explains why he seemed a touch evasive during his first visit. He seemed like such an honest young man. But to be married?”

  All eyes turned toward Leyla, expecting some kind of complaint from her or maybe even a half-hearted defense of Chase.

  There was nothing. Leyla’s eyes had gone hollow as her mind and spirit tried to sort out the information she’d been given.

  He lied to me, she thought mournfully. He doesn’t care about me. He just wanted to...to...

  Without even bothering to excuse herself, Leyla turned around and left the parlor, beating a path straight to her room and closing the door behind her.

  “MAYBE I SHOULD—” MARGARET began to say but was cut off by Abigail taking hold of her hand.

  “Let her have time, Maggie,” Abigail pleaded. “While it’s good that you discovered this information, we just saw that poor girl get robbed of her idol and a man that she was starting to grow close to.”

  “Grow close to?” Margaret parroted, her eyes narrowing in indignation. “When did she—?”

  “Maggie,” Abigail breathed wearily. “Please, just let it go.”

  Margaret huffed angrily, but relented as John clasped her hand in his. The three sat in an emotionally charged silence for some time before they heard the sound of a door opening followed by the soft patter of footsteps.

  Leyla appeared in the doorway to the parlor, her eyes red and swollen from crying. She moved purposefully toward John with a letter clutched in her hand.

  “Mister Baldwin,” she choked out, trying to keep her composure. “I hate to trouble you, but would you please deliver this to Cha— I mean, Mister McAllister?”

  Margaret looked like she wanted to protest, but John held up a hand as he slowly took the letter in his other, nodding his agreement to Leyla’s request.

  Without another word, Leyla spun on her heel and retreated the way she had come, not even giving so much as a sob over what she had written.

  CHEYENNE, WYOMING TERRITORY, August 1885

  Chase sat on a crate near the show’s tent and checked the worn pocket watch he carried again as he waited for Leyla to arrive. He had told the professor and the other performers that she had agreed to appear as a guest rider and that she would practice with them that afternoon. But so far, she hadn’t appeared.

  I hope she hasn’t had second thoughts, he worried, but he shook those thoughts from his mind. After they had awoken from their passionate endeavors the day before, it was as though she couldn’t say ‘yes’ fast enough to his offer. No, that girl was determined to have her show-riding debut.

  The sound of hooves pounding the dirt gave the show rider cause to smile. That must be her now, he thought brightly as he leapt up and made his way to greet her.

  As he came around the tent, he found himself face to face with the black muzzle of a powerful horse, blasting hot air from its nostrils as though it was from the fires of the deepest forge. Chase staggered back a moment in surprise before he looked up to berate the rider. His words died in his throat as he stared into the face of John Baldwin. The ranch boss met his gaze with one of barely veiled contempt.

  “Message from Leyla, Mister McAllister,” John nearly spat, extending his arm and the letter it contained out to Chase. “I don’t know what it says but I advise you to do exactly what she wrote on it.”

  Chase had barely grasped the letter before John spurred his ebony steed forward and around to make his way back toward the ranch.

  What was that about? Chase wondered even as a feeling of dread welled up in his stomach. He all but tore open the letter to see what Leyla had written. As his eyes scanned the words, he felt a hand like ice grip his heart and squeeze.

  Chase McAllister,

  I never want to see you again. Do not ever set foot on the McNeal Ranch again and do not try to contact me. Go back to your wife Janet McAllister nee Wilson, and forget that you ever met me because I’ll make sure that I forget you.

  Signed,

  Leyla McNeal.

  Before Chase knew what had happened, his legs had given out beneath him, causing him to collapse in a heap in the dirt.

  At that moment, all he could do was numbly wonder how Leyla had learned about the past he himself had worked so hard to forget.

  Chapter VI: Chase Returns

  CHEYENNE, WYOMING TERRITORY, August 1885

  “So long, fair Cheyenne, and may we one day meet again!”

  Professor Monro, hanging off the side of one of the train cars, waved a checkered handkerchief as the locomotive let out a double blast of its whistle before the pistons turned the driving wheels in a screeching rotation against the steel rails as they gained purchase and pulled the traveling show train forward with a jolt.

  It was early morning and the sun was just beginning to rise over the eastern horizon. Throughout the train, the performers and laborers were all settling into their various berths for some well-earned rest. They had finished their final performance in Cheyenne the night before to thunderous applause and cheers. The moment the last of the audience members had left their massive tent, all of the show’s members had set about disassembling everything and readying it for transport to the next town along the line. They had worked throughout the night and were now on the move once more.

  Within the car reserved for the talented show riders, all but one of the riders had fallen asleep the moment their heads had hit whatever they had that passed for a pillow. The lone soul who was still awake was none other than Charles “Chase” McAllister, and his hand still held the letter that Leyla had sent him the previous afternoon.

  How? he asked over and over again. How could she have learned about Janet? It doesn’t make any sense. There’s no way.

  Chase’s mind had been locked in that mental loop ever since he had read the letter the previous day. He had sat in the dirt for what felt like hours until Bull had stumbled across him. Though initially unresponsive, Bull and a few of the other riders had managed to get him back into some semblance of functioning just in time for the show that night. Though Chase had performed flawlessly in the show, knowing all of the movements through muscle memory, his mind and heart had been elsewhere, continually wondering just what Fate had conspired to rob him of the wonderful woman that was Leyla McNeal.

  Even as the show was being deconstructed and packed away, his body moved in a mechanical fashion, taking care of his usual responsibilities in a practiced fashion while his mind moved as though it were in a fog, grasping for something resembling a clue as to what had given him away.

  And now I’ll never have the chance to explain myself to her, he thought hopelessly. If there were just some way I could have more time and a chance to tell her everything. But I promised Professor Monro that the show comes first.

  He began wondering about dipping into Bull’s moonshine supply when the ear-piercing shriek of brakes being applied followed by the sudden jolt of halted momentum sent Chase and everyone else on board tumbling. A round of inventive cursing swiftly followed.

  Chase found himself at the bottom of a pile of show riders and could hone
stly say that he was not fond of the experience.

  Why is it that every time this confounded train starts or stops I somehow end up getting hurt? he groused as he extricated himself from the pile of riders. He stomped toward the end of the car and walked out onto the open platform to see what the matter was.

  A cloud of smoke and steam was pouring from the locomotive and not from the spots where they usually came from.

  That can’t be good, he thought worriedly as he hopped down to the ground and ran toward the engine to check on the crew there.

  When he reached the locomotive, he found the engineer and fire stoker coughing and cursing in tandem. Moments later, a few of the other show members arrived, as well as Professor Monro.

  “What the Devil happened?” Professor Monro cried out, looking between the train crewmen and the smoldering engine. “Giuseppe? Francois? Are you alright?”

  Giuseppe, the engineer, continued hacking for another moment before he was able to catch his breath. “Professor,” he began in his thick Italian accent, while his broad hands swept back and forth, “the locomotive, she throw a fit with no warning. Francois, you tell the professor, si?”

  Despite having inhaled a copious amount of smoke from the unexpected outburst by the engine, Francois, the fire stoker, started rolling a cigarette. “Oui, mon ami,” the Frenchman confirmed, laying out the tobacco on the paper in a practiced fashion. “As to what caused zis, je ne sais pas.”

  Though the engine continued to smoke and hiss in an almost primal manner, Professor Monro remained calm and turned to address the growing crowd gathering behind him.

  “Nothing to worry about, my fine fellows and ladies,” he bellowed cheerfully. “I’m certain it is nothing more than a minor mechanical hiccup. I’m more than certain that it shall be repaired forthwith and we shall resume our journey once more within the day!”