by Reina Torres
For one moment she thought of leaving it until the morning, but the very idea of scraping the plate clean after the food had a night to set on the metal surface started her feet toward the door.
The door swung open easily enough but one step out into the darkness she stopped short.
If someone had asked her what it was that had stopped her, frozen her in place, she wouldn’t have been able to tell them. She didn’t think she heard anything specific. Nor did she think she saw anything in the darkness. It was just an odd trembling feeling that had her placing her free hand to her middle and drawing in a slow even breath in through her nose.
“Hello?”
The yard was quiet. She didn’t even hear the horses, and on a clear night like this one, she should have.
“Is someone out there?”
Nothing. Not a sound, not a movement.
Nodding her head, and silently chastising herself for her silliness, Delia let out a relieved sigh and moved out into the night.
A flare of light from the direction of the lean-to seized her lungs and sucked the air straight out of her body.
The light caught, sparked and expanded from a flicker to a flame.
The lantern.
The lantern and the lean-to.
“Dear God.”
The lantern fell a moment later and her eyes were fixed on its path straight down to the ground. Dry grass and hay.
Throwing down the empty pitcher, Delia dashed across the yard and stomped at the flames, the smoke trailing up in little wisps to her nose. The flames grew, feeding hungrily on the dry material under her boots.
There was an ominous crunch of glass under her boot and she uttered a word of thanks for the thick leather soles under her feet. Another few stomps and the scent of the fire changed, and the trails of smoke multiplied. Looking down at her hem, the cotton caught with flame. “No!”
Taking a step to the side, she snatched a saddle blanket from the wall and bent down to snuff out the flame at the edge of her skirt and then smothered the flames that had threatened to spread through the lean-to. When the last traces of heat died under the blanket, she flopped down to the ground and let the blanket fall from her hands. Dropping her chin down to her chest, she let the shivers of fear that she’d been fighting off, roll through her body. “Thank goodness.” A half-sob turned into a cough. “Thank goodness I was here to stop it.”
The bunkhouse door opened and Ransom slowly opened his eyes. His bunk was tight against the front wall and even if the world outside were flooded in light, he would still be in a bit of shadow. Booted feet struggled to cross the room in silence, but once there, Ransom could see the hesitation in the form standing beside the other wall of bunks. The only available bed was on top and the man that filled the bottom bunk was Wyeth, who wasn’t a deep sleeper.
A muttered curse narrowed Ransom’s eyes. He knew the voice, or at least he thought he did. Grabbing a handful of his blanket, Ransom eased it down over his narrow hips and down past his knees. From there, his stockinged feet pushed it down to the foot of his bunk.
If he needed to get his gun, the Colt was still in his trunk under his bed. While Levi saw the necessity of the rider carrying guns, he didn’t believe in keeping them in the house. He didn’t like them displayed in the bunkhouse either, so if he needed his gun, it would be a quick scramble for the weapon.
The shadowy figure set something on the upper bunk, a coat perhaps, he wasn’t likely there to steal something.
But when he reached up and grabbed the end of the bunk and the mattress, he lifted a foot to step on the bottom bunk to hoist himself up. The first foot made it up, but the second, found a softer, less substantial foothold.
“What the hell?” Wyeth pushed away from the offending foot and pushed his back up against the wall with a thud.
The sound woke up a few of the other riders who sat up in their bunks, rubbing at their eyes. Ransom slid from his bunk and crossed over when he realized who it was.
“You’re late, Cordell.”
The other man turned to look him square in the face. “Don’t recall having to answer to you, McCain.”
Clay was up and by Ransom’s side, showing his support to the other rider by his presence. “It is late, Cordell, you have a ride tomorrow morning.”
Grabbing his jacket off of the top bunk, Cordell started to move back toward the door, but Wyeth caught his arm easily. “Where are you going?”
“I’m leaving, going to find myself someplace quiet to sleep.” He shrugged off Wyeth’s hand. “I had a day off. I don’t answer to you.” He looked around the room at everyone with their eyes open. “I don’t answer to any of you.”
“Hey,” legs pushed out from the bottom bunk further down the wall, landing barefooted on the bunkhouse floor, “I get the ‘stay out of my business thing.”
Ransom narrowed his gaze at the other man. He didn’t recognized him immediately, but when the rider stood, his hands pushing against his lower back in a stretch he saw who it was, a rider from the next home station toward the east, Allan Finn. Giving the others a pointedly tired look, Allan sat back down on his borrowed bunk. “You don’t answer to them, but you come in this late, and you wake us up? There’s bound to be a bunch of grouches. So say you’re sorry and let’s all get some shut eye, hmm?”
Cordell looked from one rider to the next, and Ransom, as tired as he was, and with as little light as there was in the room, he could see the anger boiling under the surface. “What I do on my own time, is mine.” Whipping his hand toward Ransom, he sent his jacket flying to the floor. “Keep your thoughts to yourself and I won’t knock you on your-”
“Hey!” Wyeth darted between them, picking up Cordell’s jacket after missing it the first time. When he stood up he held the jacket out. “Our oath said we’re not going to fight. I’m tired,” he pointed at Ransom, “you’re tired,” he looked around the room, “we’re all tired. So let’s get back in our bunks and sleep.”
Ransom nodded, knowing that what Wyeth was saying was right. “We can talk in the morning.”
He knew that he’d made a mistake the instant Cordell’s jaw tightened and his eyes nearly slid closed. “No, go ahead and talk, all you like.”
Clay looked at Ransom, his eyes full of concern.
“Because I’m going to find somewhere else to sleep, where I can get some quiet.” He didn’t bother to say another word as he stomped toward the door and yanked it open with a huff. “Damned busybody.”
When the door slammed shut behind him, everyone seemed to start breathing again.
Allan groaned and dropped his head on the pillow. “Does that mean we can get back to sleep?”
Wyeth waved him off and turned to look at Ransom. “What was that about?”
Ransom shrugged. “He acts like he has something to hide.”
The words seemed to take Wyeth by surprise. “Hide? I don’t know. He’s not really friendly, but that doesn’t mean much.”
“Keeping to yourself, isn’t the same thing as evasive.”
That caught Clay’s ear. The other man sat down on Ransom’s bunk. “Evasive?”
Ransom sat beside him. “I don’t trust him. He doesn’t look me in the eye.”
Clay and Wyeth shared a look and then turned back to their friend. Wyeth was apparently the spokesman for the pair. “You can be a bit… intimidating.”
Clay wasn’t going to be left out of the conversation. “You do take your job seriously.”
Ransom opened his mouth, but Wyeth jumped in again. “And that’s a good thing,” he assured his friend, “we all do, but you can be a bit-”
“Single minded.”
Ransom looked at Clay with a bland expression. “So, I should be nicer to Cordell?” He waited for a moment before turning from one man to the other. “Well?”
Wyeth and Clay shared a look, and it seemed to Ransom that they were holding an entire conversation in silence. Clay broke the silence, turning to look at Ransom with a grin. �
��No, he’s a grumpy old goat.”
“But he’s one of us.” The words came out of Wyeth’s mouth but he looked like he’d swallowed an old egg. “Even if he doesn’t act like it.”
“Speaking of which,” Clay got up and moved to the door, swinging it open just a few inches, “where is our ‘friend’ going to sleep tonight.”
Wyeth was the next to join Clay at the door, but Ransom wasn’t far behind, making some room beside Clay to stretch his neck toward the upper part of the door. “Do you see him?”
Wyeth tried to turn his head to look to the side and didn’t quite succeed. “Nope.”
“There,” Clay had to point with his nose because his hands were busy keeping the door open, “look beyond the corrals.”
They did and someone swore under his breath. If they had been in mixed company Ransom would have taken someone to task for it, but his attention was drawn across the corrals and in the direction of the waystation for the stage.
The front door opened and a scraggly head could be seen beside an oil lamp. Only Reuben Pierson had a head of hair like that and the sour look on his face was unmistakable. They watched as Cordell exchanged a few gestures with the other man and then they disappeared inside.
“Well,” Wyeth stood, moving off to the side and looked at the others, “that was unexpected.”
Clay tried to see reason. “Well the station does have a room to rent to passengers.”
“That is true,” Wyeth paced through the words, “but I’m not sure I liked the looks of that.”
Ransom agreed wholeheartedly. “I’ll talk to Levi in the morning.”
Clay nodded in agreement. “we’ll go with you if you need us.”
“Yeah, thank you.” Looking from Wyeth to Clay, Ransom nodded, feeling an odd kind of satisfaction building within him. He had friends here, he had respect, and he had hope for the future. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something looming in the distance, threatening the life he was trying to build. He just had to stop it from happening.
And that was what he was going to do.
Chapter 9
Dawn came too early by Delia’s reckoning. She would swear she’d only just closed her eyes when the harsh light of the morning pushed in through the window and forced her to cover her eyes with her arm. “Go away.” She struggled to go back to sleep, but the noises from outside the window refused to let her rest.
Flinging back her blankets, she shuffled to the window and looked out into the yard. Her father was walking into view around the far side of the lean-to with Levi, pointing out some of the repairs that he had made to the structure.
The sudden surge of pride she felt brought tears to her eyes. Her father had been working hard, and she had struggled to do more with the horses so he could have the time to fix up the buildings at the swing station.
She folded her hands on the window sill and leaned her chin on them as she remembered her first look at the property. The grass had overrun the yard, brambles lined the property and threatened to shred every decent hem that she owned, but she had heard the excitement in her father’s voice and she struggled to put a smile on her face and nod when her father explained what they'd do with everything.
The last owner had been a trapper, making some of his money capturing small animals to sell as meat to the people in the area. He'd had his best luck with the miners to the north of town, but it hadn't been enough to keep the land. The old shack that had been constructed by the river that bordered the property, had been the first of her father’s projects, and with two of her brothers home at the time, they made quick work of relocating the wood from riverbank to roadside.
And recently, after the careless damage of the buckshot on the back wall, they'd managed to find some usable sections of wood from the leftover boards to patch up the damaged sections.
Leaning closer to the window she blinked at the angle of sunlight streaming through her window. She'd slept in, that was obvious, but she'd left biscuits out for her father’s breakfast and a half-filled pot of coffee to warm. If Levi was out for a visit, then she should see to fixing some lunch for them.
Turning back to her room, she spotted her gown draped over the foot of her bed, tumbled with her quilt. She'd meant to wear it that day, but now it had creases in it, and some dirt from the floor smudged at the bottom. If there was one big difference to living in Three Rivers, it seemed that she was forever sweeping and failing to keep her floors clean.
Making the choice to use her dress from the day before, she hastily set to work, changing her chemise and drawers before she pulled on her dress.
It wasn't until she was in the main room of the house that she even thought to work on her hair. Levi had known her since she was a little girl. No doubt he'd have a good chuckle if she greeted him with her hair half down, but he'd probably appreciate a meal more than the skill she had with her mother's hairpins.
She'd just managed some slices of bread, generously given to them by Olivia, and a few hearty slices of cheese, when the door opened.
Caught unawares, and awkwardly holding a few metal pins between her pursed lips, Delia turned toward the door, and stared right into the eyes of Ransom McCain and nearly burst into tears.
Ransom wondered what had changed from the night before. Last night, he'd held her arm and looked into her eyes, so very close to kissing her. But this morning, even though he'd been eager for the chance to see her, it seemed as though Delia had no interest in seeing him.
Standing in the center of her home, she looked positively skittish, and if he was reading her expression correctly, she was about to burst into tears.
“Forgive me,” he wanted to say her name and hope that she might sigh the way she did in the moonlight, but he worried that he would make a fool of himself. “Miss Burroughs,” he saw a shadow cross over her features and he wanted to kick himself. He'd made a mess of this for sure. “Your father wanted me to come inside and let you know that we were here.”
“You came out with Levi, then?” She seemed to be struggling to find her words.
“And I’ll be back out tomorrow, on my ride.” He wanted to ask her what was wrong. He wanted to apologize if there was something he’d done or hadn’t done.
Ransom drew in a breath and shook his head when the answers didn’t appear in his brain. He wanted to know if she regretted her answer to him last night.
But he’d settle for answer of some sort that said he’d be welcome when he arrived tomorrow.
“We’ll be here,” she assured him, but her eyes didn’t meet his, “we’re expecting a rider to come through heading east to Three Rivers this afternoon.” Her eyes lifted over his shoulder and he turned to look at the large board that was attached to the wall beside the door. The Express schedule was detailed in both directions. “We’ll be ready for you tomorrow, and”-
“Delia, please.”
He heard her indrawn gasp as she turned to look at him.
“What’s wrong?”
She stood still, as if she was absorbing the words.
He stepped closer when she looked up at him and the pins she held in her hand shook loose and fell to the boards around her feet. Delia crouched down and scrambled to pick up the pins before they fell through the boards and under her floor. He saw the handful of pins in her palm when she regained her feet.
The sudden movements had done more damage, dislodging more pins from what was likely a hastily done coiffure. A heavy braid uncurled from the nape of her neck and fell forward over her shoulder, swinging almost to her waist.
Ransom watched the thick curl at the end of her braid brush and twist against her bodice before he lifted his gaze to her face.
Her skin was pink with a blush and before he could think better of it, he lifted his hand and crooked his finger around the heavy length where it laid across her shoulder and drew it back until he watched the end of the braid disappear into the shadows behind her. He was loathe to let it go, but he knew that he’d already t
aken too much of a liberty by touching her hair.
It was a memory, he knew, that he wouldn’t forget for the rest of his life. It was also a moment that he longed to live through again. For a man to see a woman’s hair down about her shoulders, to touch the natural beauty of her as they stood alone in a room together, was an intimate act that only a husband should enjoy. And he was sure, had been sure the night before when he had asked to court her. He could only hope that she hadn't changed her mind.
“Please talk to me.”
She started to turn away, but stopped and looked up at him with a wince of a smile on her face. “I'm sorry.”
“Sorry?” He held back his next question. He didn't want to upset her any more than she already was.
Turning to the table, she flattened her palms against the worn wooden top and he heard the soft scatter of metal. When she leaned away he saw the U- shaped pins discarded on the worn surface.
“I have to prepare something for everyone.” He saw her gaze shift to the sandwiches on the table. “I thought it was just Levi outside with my father.” She moved to the sideboard, reaching for the cloth-wrapped bread. “I didn’t know you were here,” she met his gaze for a moment and then looked away, “this isn’t how you should… how I wanted you to see me.”
He watched her lift her hand and brush her fingers through her hair, loosening strands from the braid that lay over her shoulder again.
“I would have,” she cleared her throat and waved him away, “I would have dressed in something else.” Her laughter was a nervous spate of noise. “This is what I wore-”
He took the chance and touched her shoulder, feeling her tense beneath his hand. “I wanted to see you,” Ransom looked at his tanned fingers against the bright green of her sleeve and felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “I offered to come with Levi because you were here. And it would give me a chance to see you, again.”
