Always, Ransom

by Reina Torres

  Always, Ransom

  Book One of the Three Rivers Express Series

  Reina Torres

  Always, Ransom

  ©2017 Reina Torres

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any other means without written permission from the author.

  Do note, this book is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, real places, or real events described or coincidental and if not are used fictitiously.

  All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are property of their respective owners and are used here for identification purposes only.

  Created with Vellum

  Much love and Aloha to Nan O’Berry - our shared loved of Westerns and stalwart heroes and strong heroines facing the rigors and dangerous of a life in 19th century America. Thanks to joining me on this journey!

  My Readers - those that slog through the drafts and give me that precious first through - Carrie and Thuy - you have my thanks so many times over!

  My Reviewers - what does it matter if I have a story to tell if there’s no one to read them - so THANKS for reading my stories and even more for Reviewing them

  Tasha Melia Murashige – named Ransom’s horse Jackson as a prize for romance readers who love Sweet Western Romances.

  Contents

  Introduction

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Coming Up in the Series -

  Always, Clay - Book 2 - Summer 1860

  Books by Reina Torres

  Introduction

  The Three Rivers Express Series is a set of Sweet Western Historical Romance which will be written alternately by Reina Torres and Nan O’Berry

  Starting with the Spring of 1860 when the Pony Express began their service of mail delivery between St. Joseph, Missouri and Sacramento, California, each of the Three Rivers Express books will take on a new season and a different rider.

  Spring 1860 - “Always, Ransom”

  Summer 1860 - “Always, Clay”

  Fall 1860 - “Always, Wyeth”

  Winter 1860 - “Always, Stone”

  Ride the trails with our intrepid heroes and heartwarming heroines of the town of Three Rivers, Wyoming

  Prologue

  March 20, 1860 – Tuesday

  My dear Aunt Kate,

  It’s been a little more than a year since you have been gone. I still write to you each month. But instead of writing to you on paper, I have a journal that I keep in my pack. It would seem strange to most, but I feel as though as long as I continue to write to you, that I have not completely lost you.

  It feels as though my words are somehow reaching you in the great beyond. Perhaps that sounds odd, but it is the thought of putting down these words to you, comforts me.

  I hope it might comfort you as you always put such store in letters and my education.

  I know you always feared what would happen to me once you were gone, but you no longer have to worry. After working every spare job that I could from Bozeman to Saint Jo, I have now found myself a job that I believe myself wholly suited for.

  I have taken a position with Russell, Majors, and Waddell, as a rider for the Pony Express. It may be worthy of noting that the advertisement makes some mention of danger, but what is there west of the Mississippi that doesn’t pose a danger for all. And while a few of the men that lined up at the office yesterday morning had to rethink this position as a rider for the Pony Express after I read the poster to them as we stood waiting in the cold. I am still as enthusiastic as I was when I saw the news in a paper while I was in Fort Kearny.

  When I lived with you and sought work in town, I still remember Mr. Culver’s words when I worked with him for the first two weeks after you passed, he had quite a few words to say to me. None of them were very kind nor would you believe them very Christian, but I believe they were honest. And while he didn’t find me very skilled at selling handkerchiefs and hair ribbons, I was good at sweeping up and cleaning off the windows. You showed me how to do that when I lived with you and they weren’t the only lessons I learned from you. Your lessons, and those I learned from Uncle Allan have always served me well.

  But when he decided to let me go from the store he did have something of use to say to me. Mr. Culver said I was not any good at his kind of work, but I was better off working with the animals. I think he meant it as an insult, but I heard the truth in his words. I have always had an affinity with animals. Uncle Allan’s milk cow was a handful and was wont to kick the milk bucket out from under me until I learned to hold it between my feet, but your chickens seemed to like me well enough when I had kitchen scraps. The pigs were all pretty much the same way, but it was the horses who always seemed to like me. So, what better position could I have hoped for than to work with the fine Morgan ponies that I was told would be a part of the Express. I do so fancy myself owning a Morgan pony of my own someday, and if the company is serious about the wages they offered in the advertisement, I shall be able to afford a few of these fine ponies on my own.

  I hope that these words find you well, and smiling, and that they bring you peace.

  You no longer have to worry about me anymore, Aunt Kate. I know you are looking down upon me with a smile and a prayer.

  I remain your sad and loving nephew.

  Always, Ransom

  Chapter 1

  It was the first day of spring and the riders had been up from an hour before dawn seeing to preparations for the meeting. Levi Hawkins, the Station Master for Three Rivers had been on the porch of the bunkhouse waiting for them to stumble out into the darkness with a list of the final chores in his hands. He gave the first set of marching orders to Ransom as he was always the first to step up, and beside him was Clay Adams, an inch thinner than Ransom but an inch taller in height.

  That meeting had been a few hours earlier and now, Ransom gladly set the last of the chairs in place in the first row of the church. The long wooden benches that always occupied the tidy building were enough for the normal crowd of residents, but today it would be site of a meeting that involved nearly fifty people, who were coming in from miles around the town and they needed every available inch of the building to fit them all, including borrowing some chairs from the General Store and Levi’s own, leaving his dining room and living area nearly bare.

  Stretching to ease the dull ache in his back, Ransom McCain lifted his head and rubbed the back of his hand over his brow. Even in the early morning chill, it was easy enough to work up a sweat given all the work they’d had to do. He caught Clay’s eye and gave him a nod. “Almost done?”

  Clay shook his head and turned around, heading outside into the warm dawn, and coming back a moment later with a chair that looked like the legs had been cobbled together from several different chairs, each turned leg had its own unique pattern. “Just this one left and we’re done.” Setting the chair into place with a satisfied nod of his head, Clayton looked up and nodded. “Now I’m done.”

  Ransom dug the paper list out of his vest pocket and ran his eyes over the penciled marks before he folded it back up and tucked it away. “And we’ve finished the list.”

  He made his way through the sea of chairs to his friend’s side and together they made their way back outside. The church sat at the end of town, almo
st like a sign marker that proclaimed civilization in the middle of the vast expanse of land that was Wyoming. From the front steps of the church, you could see all the way down the main street, all the way down past the General Store, the bath house, and both saloons that called Three Rivers home. And even now, with the sun’s rays warming the ground and rousing the normal residents, there were a number of wagons and riders on horseback entering the town.

  Beside him, Clay blew out a long whistle. “There’s still one thing we need to do.”

  Ransom looked at his friend and shook his head. “The list is done, remember?”

  Clay’s smile was just a shade under a grin. “Levi’s not the only one in charge.”

  “Oh,” the truth of his words hit Ransom square in the chest, “that’s right. Mrs. Hawkins.”

  The two shared a look and dashed off across the street between a pair of riders who were entering town on an easy lope. With a wave from Ransom, they made their way through the maze of corrals and fences and into the bunkhouse with laughter shaking at their shoulders. Both men snatched up the bundles of clothes that they’d left out on their bunks that morning and took off again across the dusty street.

  Standing just inside the door of the bath house was Jeb Miller, an older man with an easy manner and a sharp razor. He was currently at work on Levi himself, laid out in the barber’s chair with a froth of white across one cheek.

  “Nice to see you boys again.”

  Ransom smiled at the sight before him and tread carefully into the room. “Good to see you, Mr. Miller. Sorry to rush in like that.”

  Clay set his bundle down on a counter. “We wanted to beat the rush and a get a head start on Mrs. Hawkins’ rolls for breakfast.”

  Levi chuckled in the chair and Jeb had to lift his razor away from the man’s cheek. “Well, I’m sure my wife will be happy to know she inspired your behavior even if it took her baking to do it.”

  Jeb clucked like a mother hen. “Now hold still, Levi, I’ve got work to do.” He tossed some words over his shoulder as he cleaned his razor. “Go ahead into the other room. I’ve two baths drawn up and ready. You’ll get first dibs on the hot water.”

  Well that’s all it took to get the boys moving. Even though they were full grown men, the prospect of a tub full of hot steaming water all to themselves was enough to prod them into action.

  Delia Burroughs sat beside her father on the front seat of the wagon and tried to ignore the pinched expression in his face as she gathered her shawl about her shoulders. “I’m sure they kept room for us at the Livery, Pa.”

  The only answer was a swift crack of the reins and grumble from the man beside her.

  Earlier that morning, her father had been full of excitement for the day ahead. He was old friends with Levi Hawkins, the Station Master at Three Rivers, and if truth be told, the reason why her father was manning the swing station just a few miles outside of town. But when her father had gone outside he’d found that not only had his son hitched the wagon for the trip into town, but he’d also saddled his own horse and had packed his saddle bags to the hilt.

  Delia hadn’t heard the beginning of the conversation, but she had heard the end of it. James had made his feelings quite clear and while her father had stood there, glaring at his son, his hands fisted at his sides, she knew the confrontation had hurt him deeply.

  She could hear it in the shuffle of his steps on the kitchen floor as he’d rummaged through the cabinets and she’d heard it in the hollow thud of the empty bottle as it had fallen from his fingers before he’d emerged again from the house.

  But she had no way of fixing it then, for James had already ridden off down the road, leaving the both of them behind.

  Even though that had been several hours before she knew her father was still struggling to deal with the loss.

  “I’ll help you, Pa.” She sat on the seat, grimacing as the wagon hit a rut and continued on. “I can saddle the horses. I can brush them down and feed them.” She tried to catch his eye, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. “You taught me how.”

  “I taught you to saddle a pony,” he scoffed at her words, leaning further over the reins as if it would make the horse move faster, “you can feed them, and muck out stalls, but these are Morgans, Delia. They’re strong and most of them half broke. They want them for speed. You’re not used to that. You’ll get caught up in the reins and break your neck.”

  She heard the venom in his words and shrank back from the cold cut of his voice, but she refused to cower. She kept her back ramrod straight as they continued on, but she closed her mouth and kept it closed for the rest of the trip. There was no reason to utter a word. She smelled the stiff crawl of alcohol on his breath and knew that if she pushed him anymore, he’d likely seek out more in town. She’d done her level best to hide the stuff and dispose of it when her father was gone from home. But she always seemed to find another bottle when he’d return.

  At least on this trip into town, she knew her father would be there with Levi at the meeting and then they would have supper with the Hawkins family. With luck, they’d return early from the meeting, now that James was gone. There would be more work to do and two less hands to do it.

  A stiff wind blew sideways across the trail and her father’s shoulders rose to block the wind from his neck where the sliver of skin was exposed above his collar. Beside him on the bench, Delia felt the wind go straight through her like a knife. She had her mother’s old woolen jacket that she’d managed to cut down to size, but even with that added layer, the wind was vicious and felt like needles prickling against her skin.

  When they were within sight of the town, Delia let out an audible sound of relief and she saw her father turn toward her. She flinched, her hand grasping at her skirts, not because she was afraid of him, but because she didn’t want to hurt him any more than he’d already been hurt.

  “I’m sorry, Del.” Hearing him call her the childhood nickname he’d given her was another pang of pain in her heart. “I’m sorry for this morning.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Pa.” She struggled to give him a smile and ease the tension between them. “You weren’t expecting James to leave.”

  The wagon rumbled on, slowing when a horse rode in from the south and pushed in front of their path. “He didn’t say anything ahead of time, but I suppose I should have seen it coming.”

  Delia wanted to nod and agree, but she kept still and quiet. James and her father had been growing apart since her mother passed on a few years before.

  “He didn’t want to live there. He didn’t want to be so far away from everything.”

  “We’re not so far away,” she added in, eager to make things better for him, “it didn’t take us long to come into town, even with the wagon.”

  Her father nodded and he whistled, turning the horse’s ears back. With a tug on the reins, the gelding ambled toward the livery barn on the left. “Still, it wasn’t what he wanted, so I guess letting him go was for the best.”

  There was so much more that Delia would have wanted to say, but none of it would have made a difference to her father. “You’ll not breathe a word of this, Del.” He didn’t sound angry. Her father sounded desperate. “If they ask where James is, you tell them he stayed behind.”

  She nodded. And when he narrowed his gaze at her, his eyes glittering with intense pain, she opened her mouth and told him what he wanted to hear. “He stayed behind.”

  Her father’s expression eased like a cramp, a rush of a grin across his lips caught her off guard and when he brought the gelding to a stop at the door of the barn, she wasn’t ready for the sudden stop and nearly pitched forward off the seat.

  “Whoa there.” A soft voice caught her attention and her hand as she reached out to steady herself. “Careful now.”

  Turning to see her rescuer, she was taken aback. The man at her side was a stranger to her. “Thank you,” she felt her chest constrict beneath her corset, the bite of the stays eased up as she drew in a
breath.

  “You don’t want to fall from there.”

  She looked down from his face to the ground and nodded, feeling like a silly goose. She knew precisely how high she was from the ground. She’d been climbing in and out of the wagon for years. But sitting there, her hand in his, gazing down into the face of the man who’d sprung into action to keep her from pitching forward from the bench, she was suddenly unsure of herself.

  She tried to draw her hand away, but he held on. His hold wasn’t painful, but she questioned his touch with her eyes and a curious curve to her brow.

  He answered with a soft chuckle and slight bow of his head. “I might as well help you down if you were planning to get out of the wagon. Since I already have your hand.”

  She blushed and felt the heat tickle her skin from her cheeks to her ears. And that’s when she wanted to take her hand back, only to bury her face in both of them and hide until the awkward moment was over. She turned to her side, hoping that her father would help, but he was already climbing down from the wagon, deep into conversation with Levi Hawkins.

  “I can assure you,” he turned her head with his humor-laced tone, “that you can trust me to help you down.”

  “I trust you,” she began and her mind took a moment to catch up to the words she’d sputtered at him, “I’m just not sure I trust myself.”

  Picking up her reticule from where she’d tucked it under her skirts, she stood, keeping a hold of his hand as she stepped down onto a runner. Her second foot followed the first and with an indrawn breath she felt herself lifted down to the ground. She felt her skirts swirl around their legs, coming to a stop in one direction and roll back in the other as she covered his hands with her own.