Always, Ransom

by Reina Torres

  The young man pushed his hat back on his head before crossing his arms on the horn of his saddle, letting his wheat blond hair fall forward onto his forehead. “You have a good memory, Miss Burroughs.”

  Delia smiled and shrugged. “No more than you,” she hedged, “since you remembered my name.”

  With his dark grey eyes focused on her, he tilted his head toward Ransom. “Well, as Ransom here will tell you, there were nearly two score of men at the meeting,” he sighed, “but only one pretty woman, beside Mrs. Hawkins.” Wyeth looked at Ransom. “I’m sure you thought so too, eh, Ransom?”

  Ransom opened his mouth and then closed it again, seeming to think through his thought before speaking. “Yes, miss.”

  Delia was startled at the words. Sparse though they were, they were words, but not very friendly ones. Somewhere underneath her tentative smile, Delia worried that Ransom’s opinion of her had been tarnished the night before. “Well, I thank you for your kind words, Mr. Bowles.”

  “They’re not kind, miss.” Wyeth gave Ransom a look, but the slightly older man stayed quiet. “They are the truth.”

  Ransom tucked his knees into the sides of his mount and the gelding moved to the side, pacing along the back wall of the lean to. “Have you had any trouble lately?”

  Delia’s smile faded quickly and she moved to the edge of the corral, her eyes following the golden Morgan’s steps. “No.”

  Sliding down from the saddle, Ransom looped the reins over the top rung of the corral and walked along the wall, his hand trailing over the wood.

  Delia rounded the corral, setting a gentling hand on the shoulder of the gelding while she waited for Wyeth to loop his reins beside the bay.

  Wyeth gestured for Delia to move before him, and followed behind her, just a step off her pace. Delia stepped up beside Ransom and she instantly saw the damage. “What happened?”

  “I think Ransom was hoping you’d have the answer to that, Miss Burroughs.”

  Shaking her head, Delia dropped the egg in her hand into a pocket hanging from her belt. Stepping up shoulder to shoulder with Ransom she reached out a hand and felt the rivet in the wood. The tip of her finger rubbed over a small smooth pellet. Using her fingernail she dislodged the tiny metal piece.

  Ransom’s hand slipped in beneath hers and caught the pellet in his palm.

  Wyeth found another mark further down the wall and called Ransom’s attention to it. “There’s another one. Looks like a third took out a piece of the corner.”

  Turning to Delia, Ransom met her concerned gaze. “The horses?”

  She shook her head. “Fine. Just fine,” she answered him. “I fed them this morning. They were fine.”

  “This happened during the meeting yesterday,” Ransom’s words weren’t a question. He turned to Wyeth. “We have to check on the other stations.”

  He moved to his mount and stopped just shy of swinging up into the saddle. Turning back to Delia he put his hand on her shoulder. “You know what those are, don’t you?”

  She nodded, not wanting to be right. “A shotgun.”

  Delia saw Wyeth step up beside his mount. Instead of his carefree grin, the young man’s mouth was set in a tight line. “You’d best get your father, Miss. He’ll need to know.”

  “I’ll wake him,” she stopped and saw the look of concern in Ransom’s eyes, and she tried to explain and ended up lying to them both. How could she tell them that her father was still sleeping off the alcohol he'd consumed the night before? Her father needed this job, more than just the money, he needed to believe in himself. And she was going to help him anyway she could. “He laid down for a moment to rest his eyes. I’ll wake him. You two should go.”

  Wyeth swung up into the saddle and backed his mare up away from the fence. “You take care, Miss. We’ll be back through this afternoon to check on you.”

  She nodded and gave him a half-wave. “I’ll be fine. I have my father here with me.”

  Wyeth moved away, taking a chance to circle the corrals and check the house.

  When Delia turned to look at Ransom, she saw concern in his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t see it.”

  “You came back after dark,” his voice was full of reason, but she heard something else in his tone. “You wouldn’t have seen it.”

  She gave him a hint of a smile. “Thank you for your concern. You don’t have to come back.”

  Ransom stepped closer, sparing a look for Wyeth who was still riding a wide circuit around the property. He looked into Delia’s eyes, lifting his hand toward her face.

  Standing stock still, she waited to see what he would do. When his fingers touched her cheek she blinked back at him.

  “You have dirt on your cheek.” He held up his fingers in front of her and she saw the smudge on the pads of his fingers. “What were you doing under those bushes?”

  She felt a blush creep across her cheeks. “Eggs,” she explained, “the chickens have taken to hiding in the strangest places.”

  He looked around the station. “Plenty of room to set up a coop.”

  “I plan to. But first, I should see to my father.” She saw the concern in his eyes deepen. “My father has a rifle inside. I know how to use it. I can take care of myself.” She brushed a stray hair back behind her ear.

  “What happened to your hand?”

  When he took hold of her hand and turned it over to see the back, she didn’t move. She couldn’t. It had been one thing to have him touch her cheek, but to feel his fingers resting lightly on hers, the warmth of his palm against hers, it stole her breath. “The egg.” The words fell from her lips and she heard the hollow sound of her voice. “The thorns.’

  “I can stay,” he reached into his pocket, withdrawing a kerchief he set it over the scratch, pressing it gently against the bloody scratch on her hand, “help take care of things.”

  “Ransom?” Wyeth had circled back around and ridden his horse up beside them. “If you’re about done holding Miss Burroughs’ hand, we need to check on the next station.” The red mare tossed her head. “We’ll come back through, and we’ll stay as long as we can before we head back to the station.”

  There was a tremor that passed through Ransom’s body and she saw his eyes narrow slightly. “Please forgive my friend. He may have all the pretty words, but he lacks some in his manners.”

  Wyeth’s laughter lightened the mood. “And he said I have the pretty words.”

  Ransom took her free hand and set it atop the kerchief. “Keep this.”

  Stepping back, Ransom tugged lightly on the reins, loosening them from the rail. He swung up into the saddle and tipped his hat. “Miss Burroughs.”

  She felt her smile lift the corners of her mouth. “Mr. McCain.”

  The two rode off a moment later and Delia was left standing in their wake, Ransom’s kerchief held between her hands.

  Chapter 5

  Ransom and Wyeth found little to smile about up the trail. The swing stations between Three Rivers and the next home station had all seen trouble. Those that had been left behind to mind the stations during the meeting, had reported riders on horseback, harassing the horses and anyone brave enough to come out of doors. Shots were fired, but over their heads.

  “Enough to force a man’s head down.” Ransom spoke up above the heavy stomp of hooves over packed dirt. “I doubt they showed their faces while they did this. They strike me as cowards.”

  Wyeth rode along, his mind working through the problem. “They weren’t out to hurt anyone.”

  “I don’t agree.” Ransom touched his heels to the horse’s side, increasing their speed. “They could have easily spooked the horses. That could have injured the people at the station.”

  “The shots they took at the lean to could have gone right through the wood if it had been any thinner.” Wyeth’s horse tugged on the reins and Ransom watched as Wyeth eased up on the leather strips. “They could have easily hurt Miss Burroughs,” he looked over at Ransom and his jaw tightened, “if
she had been home when they came through.” His mount sped up to follow Ransom’s as they moved down the trail. “But she wasn’t,” he called out to his new friend as they rode back toward the Burroughs’ Station. “She’s fine.”

  Ransom looked over his shoulder and shouted back. “I’m going to keep her that way.”

  When they reached the station, Frank Burroughs was at the corral fence, watching the two of them with interest. Before they reached him, he swept off his hat and brushed the back of his hand across his face. “Nice knowing you boys have a good seat. Back in the day there wasn’t a horse I couldn’t ride. There wasn’t a mustang I couldn’t break.” He shook his head, the hiss of disappointment bleeding from his lips. “Those days are long gone.” He tilted his head toward the house. “My Del says you boys stopped in earlier, saw the damage to the lean-to.”

  Ransom slid down from the saddle almost in time with Wyeth. Together, the two men walked up to greet Frank with a handshake. “We wanted to come back and see if you needed help with the repairs.”

  Frank seemed to think it over. His lips pursed together as he bobbed his head and then shook it. “I’ll take care of things. You boys can head back to Three Rivers. I’m sure Levi wants you back soon.”

  Wyeth jumped into the conversation. “Not a problem, sir. Besides the fact that we’re happy to help, Mr. Hawkins sent us down the trail to help with things.”

  There was a shadow that seemed to pass over Frank’s features, his lips pressing into a hard line before he stepped away from the fence. “I can take care of the damage. I just need to get the wood,” he insisted. “You boys can hurry on back home.”

  The two riders shared a look. Just until a few moments ago, Mr. Burroughs had been happy to see them. “We’re happy to give you a hand, sir.” Ransom looked toward the house. “And see how Miss Burroughs is doing. We were concerned for her safety.”

  Frank lifted a brow and skewered him with a look. “My daughter can handle herself. My boys may not have liked living out here but she’s capable. All of my children were.” The words passed his lips in a rush, his gaze darting back and forth between the two riders. He narrowed his gaze at them and nodded toward the trail. “You two best be on your way. Give my old friend,” his tone tightened a little on the last word, “my regards.”

  Ransom saw Wyeth’s confusion and knew that the other man was waiting for him to make a decision. If this were just a social visit, they would have turned around and left, but they were there for other reasons as well. Ransom hesitated and looked at his new friend. If he read the odd pinch at the corners of Wyeth’s eyes correctly, neither of them wanted to leave.

  And yet, they didn’t want to overstay their welcome, and Frank Burroughs, even with his prickly temper, was a good friend to Levi and Olivia Hawkins. They were walking a tight line.

  But it was Delia Burroughs that saved them from having to make a decision at all. Stepping out onto the porch of their tiny home, she held a plate in her hands, covered in a checked cloth. Ransom held his breath as she called out to them across the way, stepping down from the porch with a smile on her face.

  She didn’t seem to notice the darkening look on her father’s face as she walked up to the fence. “Hello again.”

  Wyeth found his voice first. “Miss Burroughs.”

  “I thought you both might be hungry.” She pulled the cloth from the plate and held it out. Fresh biscuits with slices of ham created a tempting aroma and Ransom leaned closer before he could think better of it, drawing in a deep breath.

  “That’s real kind of you, Miss.”

  Wyeth looked at his friend and shook his head. “I think we’re meant to eat it, not breathe it in.” At Delia’s nod, he reached for a biscuit on the plate and lifted it to his nose. “Although, I agree with my stoic friend here, Miss Burroughs, these biscuits are worth a long sniff.” He took a bite and chewed it a few times. “And a few more bites,” he lifted his empty hand to cover his mouth. “Sorry, bad manners.” He looked at Ransom and gave him a pointed look. “It’s really good. If you don’t want yours-”

  Ransom’s grumbling was answer enough, but when he looked up at Delia, he gave her a hesitant smile. “Thank you, Miss Burroughs. This is very kind of you.”

  “Kind?” She shook her head. “I wanted to thank you and Mr. Bowles for stopping by earlier.” She avoided her father’s curious gaze. “If I had found the damage on my own,” color rose in her cheeks, “I would have been afraid. Too scared to look over my shoulder.”

  “You shouldn’t have to,” Ransom responded, “be afraid that is.”

  She nodded and lowered the plate down, tucking it against her hip. “Do you think it was a prank of some sort?”

  Ransom and Wyeth shared a look, but it was Wyeth that spoke. “You weren’t the only station that had a problem yesterday. The others had masked riders that harassed their workers, firing shots to keep their heads down, making it difficult to tell who was responsible. But here-”

  “Your brother should have been here, Del.” He turned his head over his shoulder and gestured to the wall of the lean-to and its pock-marked exterior wall. “It’s because he left that this happened.”

  Delia looked away from her father’s anger. “If he’d been here, Pa,” her tone was light as if she had to make an effort at the tone, “he might have been hurt.”

  He waved off her concern. “He should have been here.”

  Ransom saw Delia give her father a pointed look and that's when the older man startled and caught himself. It was almost as if Mr. Burroughs aged before his eyes. He seemed to shrink a little. The fire that had risen at first was snuffed out, pushing from his lungs like a bellows, leaving his energy depleted.

  “He should have been here.”

  Ransom saw the change that came over Delia as well. Her smile faded, her eyes full of worry for her father.

  “Papa, I can take care of things.”

  Whether he heard her or not, he gave no outward indication. Frank Burroughs lowered his head and moved toward the lean-to. “I've work to do with the horses.”

  She watched him go, they all did. And Ransom felt Wyeth’s confusion, but he felt Delia’s worry keenly.

  “Miss Burroughs, I will speak to Mr. Hawkins about what we saw today. He may send one or more of us out to help you.”

  She took in his words as if she were reading them in a letter, processing each syllable and then each phrase in turn. “If he can spare you,” Delia met his eyes and then looked away toward the lean-to, “my father and I would appreciate the help. He’s a proud man and while I share many of his concerns, Mr. McCain, I’m not too proud to understand that with just the two of us preparing this swing station for the Express, you may worry that with the added repairs to make that we won’t be ready.”

  He saw the hesitation in her face, the flicker of her gaze over his features, and he saw it in the stilted movements of her hands.

  “After today,” she looked at Ransom and Wyeth in turn, “you both must have some reservations of your own. But I will make both of you a promise.” Holding the plate flat against her middle, her arms folded over the tin as if it was some kind of armored plate. “Even if I have to spend sleepless nights working here, we will be ready for the riders when the Express is open. My father is struggling and my brother left the morning we attended the meeting in Three Rivers. But I will find a way to make things work. You have my word.”

  She held out her hand and Wyeth was the first to speak.

  “Miss?”

  Delia smiled and Ransom felt the tension in his shoulders ease the littlest bit. “Do we have a deal?”

  Wyeth caught on first and stepped up to the young woman. “Deal.” He took her hand in his and gave it a hearty shake. “I like the way you think, Miss Burroughs.”

  “I was the youngest, with four older brothers.” She flushed a little as she pulled her hand away. “I was lucky if they only shook with me on a deal,” she explained, “some of them would land a good punch on
my arm.”

  Ransom tensed at the thought, taking her hand in his with a gentle hold that was less of a shake than it was holding her hand with care and deference. “I believe you’ll hold up your end of the bargain, Miss Burroughs. I don’t think you’d give your word lightly.”

  She shook her head and he noticed that she held her head higher than she had a few moments before. He found that he really liked seeing the spark in her eyes and the broad grin that she gifted them with as he shook her hand.

  “But that doesn’t mean that you can’t ask for help,” he told her, “you’re one of us now.”

  Wyeth nodded his agreement.

  “I’m sure Levi will send us out to help when he can, but if you’ve a need for help, know that you can call on us.”

  A shuffle of sound from behind the lean-to caught the attention of all three of them and Delia’s father walked into sight, leading a sturdy mare through the first gate and up to the nearest corral.

  Ransom saw the man behind the struggles. There was something sure and solid in Frank Burroughs when he held a pair of reins in his hand, as if he truly came alive when he was working with horses.

  It was a feeling that Ransom understood and respected. The mare waited for the gate to swing open and only tossed her head when there was a squeak in the hinge. Keeping his attention on the mare and his manner quiet and deliberate, Mr. Burroughs brought the mare inside to walk her about the enclosure.

  Wyeth quietly made his way over and swung the gate closed, careful to avoid the dip of movement that had caused the noise just a few moments before.

  Delia looked up at Ransom, a smile on her features. “He’s a good hand with horses,” she assured him.

  Ransom nodded. “I can tell.”

  The smile that she gave him next had him flustered and confused. The curve of her lips wasn’t the full beaming smile he’d seen from her before, but instead, it was a softer expression, as if she wasn’t sure that she should. And yet, he noted, it was the look in her eyes that he found himself focusing upon.