And so saying, she disappeared through a doorway that Teressa guessed led to the kitchen.
She glanced around the room. There wasn’t much to see. A long plank table with wooden benches on either side. A well-worn overstuffed chair covered by a faded blanket, a lumpy sofa. A rifle hung over the fireplace mantel. There was a small picture of some flowers tacked to one wall. A pair of oil lamps hung from the ceiling. Dusty yellow curtains covered the single window.
With a sigh, Teressa ran her hand over her hair, then took another sip of her drink, wondering if they had sarsaparilla in San Francisco.
A short time later, Mrs. Morganstern reentered the room carrying a tray laden with chipped, mismatched dishes, mugs, and flatware. She smiled at Teressa as she set the table, then went back into the kitchen. Several more trips put dinner on the table.
Mrs. Morganstern stepped outside and rang the dinner bell. Minutes later, Jacko entered the station followed by a tall, skinny man wearing a pair of baggy overalls over a chambray shirt.
Mrs. Morganstern introduced her husband and then they all took their places at the table. Mr. Morganstern said grace, then dug into the bowls placed in the center of the table.
Dinner was roast beef, potatoes, tinned peaches, and biscuits hot from the oven.
Jacko and Mr. Morganstern ate with a great deal of gusto. Mrs. Morganstern’s manners were considerably better. She made small talk during the meal, remarking on the weather and how difficult it was to keep the house clean with all the dust in the air.
Rosalia made polite replies. Jacko and Mr. Morganstern grunted from time to time.
Teressa paid no attention to the conversation at the table. Keeping her gaze on her plate, she ate in silence, her thoughts centered on Wolf. She couldn’t shake off her disappointment that he hadn’t come after her. Doubts plagued her. Maybe he didn’t love her. Maybe she had misunderstood what had happened between them. Maybe it had meant more to her than to him.
It was that depressing thought that followed her to sleep that night.
* * * * *
They reached Crooked River three days later. It was a large town, larger than Buffalo Springs, but getting there had been the longest, most uncomfortable journey of Teressa’s life. Long days on bumpy roads. Long nights spent in crude way stations. She was glad that that part of the journey was over.
When they went to the station to buy tickets, they learned the train had been delayed a day due to a tree that had fallen on the tracks. Looking at the train schedule, Teressa noted that if the train had not been delayed, they would have missed it altogether. Had that happened, they would have had to wait two weeks for the next one.
Teressa was glad for the delay. It meant being able to bathe in a tub, being able to sleep in a real bed. It meant one more day to hope that by some miracle Wolf would arrive.
* * * * *
Teressa glanced over her shoulder one last time before boarding the train. She had been so sure Wolf would come for her. So sure. Though it had taken them four days by wagon to reach Crooked River, she knew he could have made it sooner on horseback.
“Come, Tessa.”
“Yes, Mama.”
With a sigh of resignation, Teressa climbed the last step into the passenger car and followed her mother down the narrow aisle to a pair of vacant seats near the near of the car.
Teressa sat down near the window and stared out, a tiny part of her still hoping that Chance would ride up and steal her away. She searched the faces of the people gathered on the platform to bid goodbye to friends and loved ones, but she didn’t see a tall man with long black hair and copper-hued skin.
“We’ll be there soon,” Rosalia said, taking the seat across from Teressa. She smoothed her skirt, patted her hair. “It will be wonderful to be home again, to be back among civilized people.”
Teressa said nothing, just stared out the window. The people in San Francisco wouldn’t think she was civilized. She remembered very little of what she had learned in school, but her mother had assured her that didn’t matter. Once they returned home, a private tutor would be hired for her. She would have a new wardrobe, they would redecorate her bedroom, introduce her to polite society.
The fact that Teressa had no interest in any of those things mattered not one whit. She was the daughter of a wealthy businessman; she was expected to be a credit to her family, to marry well and raise a family. Her father already had a list of men he considered worthy suitors.
With a sigh, Teressa pressed her hand to her stomach. She could be pregnant, even now. Closing her eyes, she imagined a baby growing inside her. Wolf Shadow’s baby. None of the suitors her father thought so highly of would want to marry her if she was carrying another man’s baby, especially if that baby was part Lakota.
Her eyes flew open as a shrill whistle pierced the air and then, with a great grinding of wheels, the train lurched forward.
People on the platform waved to their friends. Horses snorted and shied as the train moved down the track, picking up speed as it went.
Teressa glanced back one last time, felt the hot sting of tears in her eyes as the platform, swathed in a great cloud of hazy gray smoke, slowly faded from view.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Teressa stared at the huge, three-story house located at the top of a high hill. She counted five chimneys as the hired hack carried them ever closer to their destination.
Tall trees lined both sides of the winding road that led up to the house. The sight stirred memories. Once, she had pretended that the tree-lined road was a path to an enchanted kingdom where a wicked witch kept her imprisoned, waiting for a handsome prince to come and rescue her.
Teressa sighed. Her fairy tale hadn’t ended the way she had planned. Instead of rescuing her from a wicked witch, her handsome prince had taken her away from the only life she truly remembered. Who would rescue her this time?
The carriage halted and the driver opened the door and handed Rosalia out of the carriage.
Teressa offered him a shy smile and a word of thanks as he helped her alight. For a moment, she could only stare at the house as memories flooded her mind. She recalled her last Christmas here. Mama had given a party and the house had been ablaze with lights and people and presents. She wondered if her pony was still alive, if Mrs. Rochefort still made gingerbread men, if fish still swam in the pond in the backyard, if her runaway kitten had ever come home.
She smiled faintly as she followed her mother up the wide stone steps. Such childish thoughts and memories but then, she had been a child when she lived here before.
The massive front door opened and Hart stood there, looking much as Teressa remembered him, except that his hair had turned gray and he seemed shorter and heavier than she recalled.
“Miss Teressa!” A huge smile of welcome spread over his face. “Welcome home!”
“Thank you, Hart.”
He beamed at her and then, to her complete surprise, he embraced her. Moments later, Mrs. Squires and Mrs. Rochefort and Marie were there, too.
“My dear, oh my dear,” Mrs. Rochefort murmured as she gave Teressa a hug. “How beautiful you are!”
Marie kissed her on the cheek. “Welcome home, mademoiselle.”
Tears rolled down Teressa’s cheeks as she hugged them all in return. “I missed you,” she said. “All of you.”
“Tonight, all your favorite foods,” Mrs. Rochefort said, and then looked over at Rosalia to make sure it was all right.
Rosalia nodded. “That is a wonderful idea, Mrs. Rochefort. Would you please heat some water? I should like to bathe, and I am sure Tessa would also like to clean up after our journey.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mrs. Rochefort said.
“Marie, please light the fires in the bedrooms. There’s a bit of a chill in the air.”
“Oui, madam.”
“Come, Tessa.” Rosalia moved toward the wide curving staircase that led to the upper floors.
Teressa followed her mother up the stairs. Ten years s
ince she had been in the house, she thought, and yet it was all so familiar. How could she ever have forgotten this place? Her mother turned left at the top of the stairs. Teressa smiled as they passed the tiny alcove where she used to hide from her father.
She took a deep breath when they reached her room, and then she opened the door. Her room was just as she had left it.
“We will have to buy you a new bed,” Rosalia remarked, entering the room behind her.
Teressa smiled faintly as she looked at the narrow bed she had once slept in, with its frilly pink canopy and matching spread.
“We shall go shopping tomorrow,” Rosalia said. “Tonight, you can sleep in one of the guestrooms. I will have Marie make up the bed for you.”
“Yes, Mama.”
Rosalia came up behind her and gave her a hug. “I am so glad you are back home, la mia piccola ragazza.”
Teressa wandered around the room after her mother left for her own chambers. Everything a little girl could have desired was in this room—no doubt she’d had every toy and doll and game known to man.
She ran her fingertips over the bedspread, smiled at a doll that had once been her favorite, ran her hand over the back of the small rocking chair in the corner, picked up a favorite picture book.
She paused at the window that looked out over the backyard. She wasn’t sure what she had expected to feel when she got here, was surprised to find that she had missed the house and its people and yet, even amid a sense of homecoming, she was lonely for Chance, for the vast rolling plains, for the smell of smoke and sage, the sound of the Lakota language in her ears.
She didn’t know if Wolf Shadow would come for her or not, but she knew she wouldn’t stay in San Francisco long. She would be eighteen soon, old enough to do as she wished. Her parents couldn’t force her to stay here if she chose to leave. Even if she didn’t go back to the Lakota to stay, she would go back. She had roots there, too, deeper in some ways, than the ones she had here.
A knock at the door scattered her thoughts. “Yes?”
The door opened and Marie stepped into the room. “Your bath is ready.”
“Thank you, Marie.”
With a smile and a curtsey, the maid left the room.
Teressa glanced around the room. She was home again, in her own room again. And all she wanted to do was cry.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chance tossed his hat on the rack, shrugged out of his jacket, ran a hand through his hair. He had spent ten hours in the saddle and he was tired and hungry and angry enough to drive his fist through the wall.
For the last two and a half weeks, he had tried talking himself out of going after Teressa and into going after Finch. Finally, three days ago, he had decided he couldn’t live without her. His decision made, he had been packed and ready to go when Dreesen had come in with a report that two hundred head of cattle had been rustled off the east range.
Chance had taken Dreesen and four of the ranch hands and ridden out to the east range. At first glance, it looked like the cattle had been stolen by Indians. Had that been the case, Chance would have let the matter drop. Granted, losing two hundred head would have cost him a good deal, but he couldn’t blame the Indians. Thanks to white hunters, the buffalo weren’t as numerous as they had been.
Chance had been about to turn back when some inner prompting urged him to follow the trail a little further. They had ridden about five miles when he found it, a Bull Durham sack, the remains of a hand-rolled cigarette, and the imprint of a boot heel. It wasn’t much in the way of evidence. Indians liked tobacco, too, and there were a dozen ways some warrior could have gotten hold of a sack of tobacco, or a pair of boots, but deep in his gut Chance knew it wasn’t Indians who had stolen his beef.
Chance and his men had ridden hard. It hadn’t been hard to overtake the rustlers, slowed as they were by the herd. Chance and his men had waited until nightfall, taken out the nighthawk, then thrown down on the four men huddled around the campfire. The rustlers must have all had loved ones waiting for them because they had surrendered without a fight.
Dreesen had been all for hanging the lot of them on the spot. Chance had to admit the idea was tempting but, in the end, he had sent Dreesen and the rest of the hands back to the ranch with the cattle, and he had taken the rustlers into town.
He swore softly as he ran a hand through his hair. After dropping the rustlers off at the jail and signing the necessary papers, he had stopped by the hotel, only to find out that Rosalia and Teressa weren’t registered there. He knew they hadn’t left town by coach, since the next stage wasn’t due for another couple of days.
It had been Sorenson over at the livery who had told him that Rosalia had hired a rig and driver and left town, headed west.
Chance shook his head. He’d bet his last dollar they’d lit out for Crooked River to catch the next train to San Francisco. Damn. Why had he waited so long to go after her? By the time he made it to Crooked River, they’d be long gone.
Dammit!
Feeling like an old man, he climbed the stairs to his room, opened the door and stepped inside.
Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. Was it his imagination, or could he still smell her scent? Murmuring her name, he recalled the hours they had spent in each other’s arms just days ago. He knew he was no good for her, but she was sure as hell good for him. She had made him laugh again, made him dream again, made him long for a life he had turned his back on.
“Teressa.”
She would be in San Francisco now, living in her old man’s fancy house, being waited on by servants, wearing expensive clothes, eating lavish meals, having her every wish fulfilled, her every need met. Hell, why would she want to come back here? But, one way or another, he had to see her again.
Shedding his clothing, he washed off in the water Cookie had heated for him, then pulled on a clean pair of long handles.
After blowing out the lamp, he crawled into bed. She had slept here. The thought of her in his bed left him hard and aching. Murmuring her name, he buried his face in his pillow.
Sleep was a long time coming and when slumber finally claimed him, his dreams were filled with images that did nothing to ease his longing for a dark-haired beauty with deep blue eyes.
* * * * *
Chance woke at first light, reluctant to leave the dream he’d been having behind. Rising, he dressed quickly and went down to breakfast with the men. After issuing the day’s orders, he took his foreman aside.
“I’ll be riding out as soon as I saddle up,” he informed Dreesen. “When I get to ‘Friso, I’ll let you know where I’m staying. Have some of the men stick close to the east range, and send McCarthy and Boyd up to the number four line shack to relieve Farrell and Ackerman.”
“Right, boss. Anything else?”
“That’s all I can think of right now.”
“I caught Henley out behind the barn last night. He was dead drunk. You want I should fire him?”
“Yeah. I’ve warned him three times. Take his pay out of the cash drawer in my office.”
Dreesen nodded. “That’s gonna leave us a man short.”
“Put out the word we’re hiring. I’ll leave it up to you.”
“How long you think you’ll be gone?”
“I’m not sure. I hate to leave again so soon, but it can’t be helped.”
“Don’t worry about it. Except for those rustlers, things have been mighty quiet.”
“Thanks, Dave.” He clapped his foreman on the shoulder, then headed for the barn.
Thirty minutes later, he was riding hard for Crooked River.
* * * * *
He reached the town three days later. He had ridden hard and fast and his first stop was the livery. Once he’d made certain his horse would be well cared for, he went to the train depot. As luck would have it, the train for San Francisco had pulled out a week ago. According to the time table posted on the bulletin board, the next westbound train was scheduled to leave town the day afte
r tomorrow at noon, and he intended to be on it.
Leaving the train depot, he strolled down the boardwalk. Crooked River was a good-sized town, bigger and more settled than Buffalo Springs. He passed by a Chinese laundry, a couple of saloons in full swing, a fancy restaurant, a soda shop, another restaurant, a millinery shop, a general store, a barber shop.
Chance ran a hand over his jaw, thinking a shave and a haircut probably wouldn’t hurt.
He paused outside a saloon. Peering over the batwing doors, he glanced around the room. It was obviously an establishment for serious gamblers. There were no doves in cheap, low-cut outfits to distract a man. He stood there a minute, wondering whether he should go in and idle away a few hours playing cards or just go find a hotel room. In the end, the whisper of cards being dealt and the prospect of a quiet drink drew him inside.
He stood there a moment, getting a feel for the place, his gaze wandering from one table to the next, before he made his way toward a table near the back of the room.
“Evenin’, gents,” he drawled. “Mind if I sit in for a few hands?”
The four men sitting at the table looked up, each one taking his measure before inviting him to sit down. They introduced themselves as Mort Warner, Axle Foley, Bob Sunderland, and Jules Sturgeon.
Chance sat down in the vacant chair and bought his way into the game. Warner was dealing a new hand when Sunderland removed his jacket. It was then that Chance saw the star pinned to his vest.
Sunderland caught his gaze. “Hope you don’t have any qualms about playing poker with a lawman.”
“Not at all,” Chance said with a wry grin. “I reckon it assures an honest cut and an honest deal.”
Sunderland grinned wryly. “Reckon so.”
Chance picked up the hand he was dealt and for the next hour or so, lost himself in the pleasure of playing cards with four men who appreciated a good game. From time to time, one of the men bought a round of drinks, and Chance took his turn.
The conversation was sporadic. Warner talked about falling beef prices, Foley complained about the lack of rain, Sturgeon expressed some concern about the new store opening across the street from his own.
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