Expressly Yours, Samantha (Cotillion Ball Saga Book 7)

by Becky Lower

  Val sopped up the remainder of the beef gravy on his plate with a slice of bread and stuffed it into his mouth. He sat back, staring at his empty plate. He had downed the succulent roast beef, mashed potatoes, carrots, and gravy in record time. He returned to the kitchen and asked for a refill. But instead of eating it himself, he walked it out to the barn. He’d get Sam to eat if it was the last thing he did before he fell into bed.

  Sam was finishing up his work when Val returned to the barn with the plateful of roast beef and potatoes. Sam glanced at the plate in annoyance, then at Val himself.

  “Told you not to bother, Val. I can fend for myself.”

  “This is no bother. It’s a plate of food, for God’s sake. You are so skinny you’re about to drop over, and then what would happen to the horses? I’m doing this for the horses you care for, not for you.”

  Sam got a ghost of a smile on his face and set aside his pitchfork. “Well, since you put it that way, don’t mind if I do.”

  • • •

  Valerian sat at a table in the Seneca station’s dining room, penning a note to his mother, finally. The Pony Express had fulfilled its promise of delivering the mail across the country in ten days time, so another run was scheduled. There had been some trouble farther west. The mountains were clogged with snow, and despite the fact the mule train was there busting through the snowdrifts for the riders, it was hard going. Along the Kansas stretch of the route at least, nothing had happened to put his life in danger, wolves notwithstanding. So, a letter was due.

  Sam joined Val as he was finishing up. “Is that the dreaded letter home?”

  “Yep. I am telling Mother she has nothing to worry about. All I need to do is sign it and get it to St. Joe to mail. How’s this for a closing? Expressly Yours, Val.”

  “Clever enough. But I’m sure she’ll want to be told you love her, too.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Women always are eager to hear the word love. I’ll add a line before the closing.”

  “It’s been my experience.” Sam ran his hand over his smooth chin.

  Valerian tipped back his chair and stared across the table at Sam. “How old are you, anyway? Sixteen? Seventeen?”

  Sam didn’t meet his gaze. “Somewhere around there. Why?”

  “I’m trying to figure out exactly how much experience you could possibly have had with the ladies to be able to have such vast knowledge of them.”

  “I’ve had enough,” Sam ground out through gritted teeth.

  Valerian quit his line of questioning and finished the letter. He blew on the ink to dry it and then folded it into his pocket. “It’s a pity the Express mail pouches are locked up at either end of the trail and we can’t gather up letters along the way. I’ll need to take time once I get to St. Joe and get my letter to the post office. I sure hope I’ll have at least a day or two before I’m due back on the trail.”

  “Maybe you should also take the time to visit one of the bordellos in St. Joe. Get yourself some experience with women.” Sam grinned at him.

  Valerian bristled. “Hey, unlike you, I don’t need to pay to get attention from the ladies. I’ve spent the past year with the Lafontaine brothers. Joseph and Etienne may be married, but Gaston isn’t. He’s got women swarming around him all the time when we’re in town.”

  “Doesn’t explain how it benefits you. You’re not the one they’re attracted to.”

  “I do all right. Gaston makes his pick, and there are lots of forlorn ladies left behind. I swoop in after him and take the prettiest one. It’s happened dozens of times.”

  Sam barked out a laugh. “Dozens of times? I don’t think so. Maybe once.”

  Valerian stood, the chair scraping across the floorboards. Sam was perilously close to the truth, and Val’s cheek twitched as he held in the rude comment he wanted to make. “Think what you will. But I bet you I’ve had more experience. A lot more. You’re just a kid.”

  “Think what you will. I’ve got horses to tend to.” Sam sauntered away with a swagger in his step.

  Valerian didn’t believe the young man’s bluster. No woman would be attracted to such a whippersnapper. Hell, he didn’t even have whiskers yet! When Valerian had let his whiskers grow a bit while he and the Lafontaines had been on the trail, he’d thought it’d helped provide him with an edgy, dangerous demeanor that appealed to so many women. But even with some beard stubble, he’d had a hard time finding one who had been willing to show him the delights of the flesh. Gaston had made it seem so easy. But then, Gaston had the advantage of being a mix of Indian and French-Canadian. His skin was olive in color, a trait from his father, rather than dark like Joseph’s. He had the high cheekbones and straight nose from his mother. He was tall and strong, and had his pick of the ladies.

  Valerian, on the other hand, was small. As it turned out, it was a good thing, since it made him eligible to be a Pony Express rider. In order to keep the horses running at top speed, the weight a horse was to carry was capped at 125 pounds. That included the weight of the saddle, the mochila, and the rider.

  But he sure hoped he’d hit his growth spurt soon. He didn’t want to be a shrimp all his life. He wanted to be able to attract women in the same way Gaston did. Maybe not as many, though. One woman, one really fine, feisty woman, would be enough for him. His six sisters, each in her own way, had defied the conventions that ruled the day with regard to women’s rights. They’d taken their place alongside their men and had become truly productive members of society. He had a banker, a schoolteacher, a dressmaker, and an author as sisters. Pepper had her hands full raising a passel of boys, and Saffron was still too young to know what she wanted from life. But it was a pretty impressive list of accomplishments. He would expect no less from whatever woman he eventually settled down with.

  Thinking about his sisters made him a little homesick. He took the letter from his pocket again and unfolded it. He read it through one more time. Sam was right. He needed to tell his mother he loved her. But he was leaving the closing line. It had a nice ring to it. Expressly Yours, Valerian.

  • • •

  What had she been thinking? Goading Valerian into a pissing contest about their individual prowess with women, of all things! She took off her hat and combed her hair with her fingers, tugging on it to vent her frustration. If it weren’t such a topic to be avoided, it would be almost comical, since Samantha figured neither of them had set any world records for attracting the opposite sex. Unless you counted Uncle Jack, and she certainly didn’t place him in the same category as other men. Men whose glances she would relish. No, Uncle Jack was certainly not in that camp. She could only imagine if she continued to taunt Valerian, he’d be asking her to whip out her man part so they could compare who could best please the ladies. She’d need to find other topics of conversation from here on.

  She’d been fortunate thus far. Valerian had become a friend—well, as friendly as she could let anyone become—in the past few weeks. Because she retained her sleeping quarters in the barn, she didn’t have to share a room with him and the other riders who slept in the attic space of the hotel. She’d been able to wash herself in private and go to the bathroom without prying eyes watching her. She’d be exposed quickly if she had to share a chamber pot with four men.

  The knot between her shoulder blades had relaxed a bit, but she was still on high alert every time a stagecoach or wagon from the east rolled into the inn’s driveway. She couldn’t avoid being seen, since she took care of the horses and every time there was an exchange of riders from the Pony Express, guests from the hotel came outside to witness the handoff. They could then brag to their friends back home about how they were witness to a part of history. She kept her head down, her large hat obscuring her face, and worked hard.

  No sign yet of Uncle Jack. Ten months and twenty-one days to go.

  She washed up for the night quickly, unbinding her breasts and turning away from the door. She slept with them bound since she never could tell when a Pony Express r
ider would come through or when a late-night guest would show up. She longed for a bathtub full of hot, soapy water and a leisurely soak, but she hadn’t had a good bath in more than a year. Since she’d caught Uncle Jack staring at her once while she’d changed clothes, she’d figured the less time she spent naked when Uncle Jack was in the house, the better. She climbed back into her clothes and got ready to sleep. But not yet. She could tell there were some people in the barn.

  Samantha moved to the center of the barn, where she encountered Valerian and Gus, their boss. Gus glanced at her, and she squirmed under his gaze. She’d forgotten to put her hat on, and her hair was getting long again.

  “We’re expecting the rider from the west in a couple of hours, so Val and I came out here to decide on the horse he’ll ride out on. We want your opinion.”

  Samantha walked up and down the aisle. She had picked out the horse earlier that the rider would use next but she needed to put some distance between herself and the two men. She wished she had put on her hat.

  “I already selected the chestnut horse to be ridden next. He’s the freshest one, and he’s eager to get out and stretch his legs. But, if you’d prefer another one, Val, take your pick. I’ll have him ready for you.”

  Valerian moved into the stall where the chestnut horse was standing, and ran his hands over the richly colored coat. “This one’s a fine choice, Sam. I trust your judgment.”

  Gus left the barn, and Samantha joined Val in the stall, who had picked up a brush and began working on the opposite side of the horse. She wanted him to go away, at least until she could cover her face with her hat.

  “You don’t need to help me, Val. It’s my job, and you need to get some sleep since you’re next to go.”

  “I’m not tired, so I don’t mind helping you out a bit. Besides, there’s no better place to be than next to a horse. All I’ve ever wanted to do is ride.”

  Despite herself, she was drawn into the conversation. “Don’t you want to settle down someday? Get married? Have some kids?”

  “Maybe someday, but not now. A wife and kids would be too much responsibility. All I want to do is be with horses. I want to train them, as I did when I was back in New York, or round them up, which is what I did with Joseph and his brothers. And now, as a rider on the Express. Life can’t be much sweeter than it is right now.”

  Samantha glanced across the horse’s withers to Valerian, whose face was in shadow. She didn’t care for having him so close, especially when her head was naked. But her head was barely discernable over the big horse. So as long as she kept him talking, she thought she’d be all right.

  “You do realize, don’t you, your job right now is a highly responsible one?”

  “Riding across the plains at top speed?”

  “Carrying the mail, you idiot. You’re guarding the mail with your life. That’s the true reason you’re riding hell-bent across the plains.”

  Valerian grinned at her. “Well, right now, it’s the only responsibility I want. I’m going to take your advice, Sam, and grab a few hours of sleep. See you later.”

  Samantha breathed a bit easier after Valerian exited the stall. After her stern talk to herself about not goading Val, where did she steer their conversation? Into talk about marriage and children. For God’s sake. And her without her hat. Her hair was growing way too fast. She couldn’t go to sleep until she cut it again. And trimmed her eyelashes, which were much too long for a boy. Valerian and Gus both had stared at her hard tonight.

  No more letting down her guard. Just because Uncle Jack hadn’t shown up yet, it didn’t mean she was safe. She still had months to go before she could breathe easy. It might not be a bad idea to keep those scissors handy.

  A few hours later, the blasts of the horn pierced through the darkness, signaling an incoming rider. She jumped out of her bed, placed a bridle on the chestnut, threw the saddle over him, and led him out into the darkness. Valerian emerged from the hotel with two cups of coffee and handed her one. Together, they waited in the chilly, pre-dawn hours for the rider and his spent horse. Valerian would take off for St. Joe, and she wouldn’t see him for another couple of days. Fine with her. He was getting much too close for her comfort.

  Chapter 8

  A few days later, Valerian was antsy, eager to get back on the road for the return trip to Seneca. He could take St. Joe and civilization only so long before he needed to get out into the open again. The tall buildings and crowded walkways reminded him, in some small measure, of New York City, where he’d grown up. He’d always thought he didn’t belong there, and now St. Joe was constricting to him as well.

  The streets were jammed with wagons headed west. People yelled at one another. Horses reared up in front of women and children, putting everyone in danger. All the noise and confusion made him grimace. He guessed he’d end up as far west as he could go sooner or later. Maybe head to the gold fields after his days as an Express rider were done. He had seen the workers building the telegraph line along the Pony Express route. Stringing the lines through Indian territory was going to present a problem, since the Indians realized opening communication with the vast West would bring even more white people to live on what was rightfully their land. Right now, Val was siding with the Indians. The longer it took to get the telegraph going, the longer he could remain in the saddle. He still couldn’t believe someone would actually be willing to pay for him to gallop across the prairie at top speed. What a fortunate set of circumstances had developed for him by the simple act of not returning to New York last year.

  Sam’s words before he left Seneca stuck with him. He may not have thought about it when he signed up to become a rider, but damned if the boy wasn’t right. Val had focused on the riding part of the job, thinking he would be in heaven if all anyone expected of him was that he ride as fast as he could for as long as he could. But Sam had pointed out he also had a responsibility to deliver the mail to the next point on the route. That was the true purpose of the Pony Express, and he was charged with protecting the mail with his life if need be. He guessed he was growing into a responsible adult. Maybe he should make the point known to his parents in his next letter.

  As he settled in for one more night in St. Joe, he thought about home and how his mother would react to the letter he posted earlier today. She’d have something to tell the other ladies in her circle, that’s for sure. But only after her fury at him died down would she brag about him. Best to have her work through her anger while the Express was still young. He smiled into the darkness as he thought of his family back in New York.

  Then his thoughts turned to Sam, who hadn’t mentioned any family in the time they’d known each other. Could he be an orphan? The Pony Express poster specifically requested orphans. Maybe he was. And if that were the case, Val would continue to befriend him, maybe ask about his family when next they met up. Val made friends easily, a trait he assumed Sam didn’t have. A more guarded person he’d never come across.

  Val couldn’t ditch the feeling Sam was running from something, or someone. How could he have done anything against the law? He was a small, wiry kind of guy, so he couldn’t possibly have bested anyone in a hand fight. What could he have done to make him so skittish? Used a gun on someone? Maybe that was it. He had killed someone in cold blood and was on the run. So he was expecting the law, or maybe Pinkerton’s agents, to ride up to the inn and arrest him every time he turned around. That would explain why he preferred to never leave the barn. Maybe that was it. Perhaps the scrappy bit of a fellow was a hardened gunslinger on the run.

  As Val pulled the covers up over his shoulders, he chuckled to himself. His mind was spinning out a tale about Sam that would be a fitting story for one of his sister Rosemary’s dime novels. Maybe he’d write to her and give her the idea. Because a crazy idea was all it was. Nonsense. An over-the-top fabrication of events. Suitable for a potboiler, but not for real life.

  Sam was no more a gunslinger than Val. But he was in trouble of some kind. Val wo
uld be willing to stake his life on it. So, if he were on the constant lookout for a sheriff or Pinkerton’s, Val would lend his eyes to the cause and help make sure Sam remained undetected.

  • • •

  Since the night in the barn with Valerian, Samantha made certain not to leave her little room in the barn without her hat. She didn’t think Val or Gus noticed, or suspected she was anything other than a young man, but she needed to be more careful.

  She stared at herself in the mirror as she began to cut her hair. “You’ll have to trim your hair every week or so, Samantha. Damned if it doesn’t grow inches overnight.”

  It was the little details that could trip her up, make her duplicity be known. And, if she were unmasked, she’d be fired from the Pony Express without so much as a warning or her back pay. She’d taken the oath along with all the riders in which she swore not to lie to her employer. Even as she’d taken the oath, she’d been lying. And without the Pony Express, what would she do? Where would she go? None of the horses in her care were hers. She couldn’t ride away from Seneca without stealing a mount, which would further complicate things. Could she hop into one of the covered wagons headed west and hope she wouldn’t be detected? Fat chance. Same with the stagecoach.

  So, she’d hold her breath, continue to work so hard no one would question her abilities, and pray the next ten months and seventeen days sped along as fast as the last weeks had done.

  In her spare moments, she wondered why Val had befriended her. At the time, he had been a godsend, helping her get to Seneca and secure a job. But their chance encounter had blossomed into something akin to a friendship—and she hadn’t had a friend in a long time. Not since she went to live with Aunt Hilda, anyway. People avoided befriending Hilda and, by consequence, her, because of Jack’s volatile personality. So while Val freely shared stories of his life in New York City and his exploits during the past year when he’d helped his brother-in-law round up wild mustangs, Samantha told him nothing. What could she share? That she was an orphan? That her uncle wanted to defile her, and, so far, she’d managed to escape his filthy clutches? That she was, in fact, a girl? No, she was better off leaving him to wonder about her background. She’d keep her head down, work so hard every day Gus would have no reason to hire another stable boy who would invade her space. Then she’d fall into a dreamless sleep at night so she wouldn’t have to lie in bed awake, staring at the ceiling and wondering what her relationship with Val could be if she could present herself to him as a woman.