Well, mostly loved.
If she had loved everything about her life—and, most especially, everyone—she might still be comfortably ensconced in her suite of rooms at her parents’ house on Haven Hill. The salt-air breeze coming off the bay wafting through her open windows, stirring the lacy eyelet curtains and filling her mind and heart with treasured memories. Birdsong from her mother’s flower gardens would stir her soul.
Instead her nose felt assaulted by the scent of sweat-soaked horseflesh. The cacophony of barrels being unloaded from a delivery wagon across the street, every movement like a shot from a cannon, made her temples throb. Fortunately her stomach had settled some and the butterflies she had first hosted beneath her ribs slumbered, leaving her slightly unnerved but cautiously curious about the wild world she had just so unceremoniously leapt into.
Still, curiosity had little to do with survival. And, one way or another, Kristen was determined to survive. She was intelligent, reasonably attractive and, thanks to her mother’s insistence that she attend only the finest schools her father’s money could afford, very well educated. It was more than enough, she believed, to open any door she wished to enter.
A niggling fear that in the rugged western frontier the doors she hoped would be thrown wide might only be minimally cracked sent an icy fingertip up her spine.
Kristen gave herself a brisk internal shake. There was no sense dwelling on what was behind her, or mulling over doom-and-gloom possibilities that might never come to fruition.
If she was to succeed, she had to focus on the path ahead.
In her mind, she heard her beloved Aunt Irene’s words, spoken softly but with such down-to-earth eastern wisdom they could not be ignored. Chin up, child. Take whatever God gives you, and make the best of it. It’s all any of us can do, remember that. There’s no use sniffling over things that cannot be changed.
With renewed resolve, Kristen turned on the heel of one hand-tooled black leather traveling boot and reached to retrieve her satchel. It was the first time she had ever carried her own bag but she was sure it would not be the last. She had made this journey without her private maid or a chaperone of any kind. All of her needs were her own providence now—beginning with toting her baggage. Thank goodness, she had packed only the barest necessities.
“I’ll take my valise now, if you pl—Oof!” The air left her lungs in a fast whoosh as she collided with a hard form. For an instant she teetered, dangerously close to tumbling off the walk. Then she took one small step backward and regained her footing, but not before a pair of strong hands reached out to grip her upper arms.
Kristen pulled in a shaky breath, her right hand going instinctively to cover her hammering heart. It felt ready to burst from her chest! She looked up to meet the gaze of the owner of the solid wall of flesh she had just bounced off of—and recognized the man instantly.
Her heart began to dance double-time.
“You!”
His lips quirked upward at the ends, giving his slow smile an impertinent edge. For some reason his amusement annoyed her more. How dare this common gunslinger beam impudently at her?
“Miss Marsh.” His voice was as smooth as warm honey dripping down the sides of an oven-hot biscuit. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again—and so unexpectedly, at that.”
With a small twist, Kristen pulled herself out of the man’s grasp. His hands fell away naturally. She should have felt freed without his touch on her but instead a fresh wave of unsteadiness swept over her. The man reached for her arm a second time, but she gestured him away, feeling more foolish than ever that she had nearly swooned right before his eyes.
Get hold of yourself!
“I didn’t see you standing there. I, um, wouldn’t have turned so quickly and—”
He cut her off smoothly, a teasing glint sending pinpricks of light dancing in the depths of his deep brown eyes. “Tried to knock me down? Attempted to bowl me over is more like it.”
“I did no such thing!”
She would have protested further but the sincerity of his gaze and the intensity of his smile dazzled her. The hardness of his chiseled features softened when he smiled, as he was doing now. The cold initial impression he had imparted, handsome rescuer arriving in the nick of time, pistol drawn and shooting to kill, gave way to a less frightening image in these less formidable circumstances. Certainly, he was still a rugged, rough-and-tumble figure but with a smirk twitching his lips and the sparkles in his eyes turning Kristen’s legs wobbly, he seemed more cowboy hero than gunslinger.
Remembering her manners, Kristen put less vinegar and more honey behind her words. After all, he had saved her barely an hour earlier. And now, he had held her steady when she might have taken a nasty tumble. That had to count for something, didn’t it?
“I assure you, Mr. Sterling, I did not try to knock you down. Quite the contrary, in fact. Why, it would appear that you placed yourself between my baggage and me in order to bowl me over. After all, I was the one who nearly went down on my…uh, well, I was the one who nearly fell.”
He stood at least a foot taller than her five feet, so it was a simple maneuver for him to peer pointedly over her shoulder toward the portion of her anatomy she would have fallen onto if she had, in fact, fallen. The glance would have been scandalous back in Boston, but on the grimy street of the Wyoming frontier it seemed fitting.
“Jack.” When she quirked an eyebrow upward, he held out one hand. His palm faced her and she caught a glimpse of the lines and calluses on its surface. This man was no stranger to hard work. “‘Mr. Sterling’ seems pretty strait-laced at this point, don’t you think?”
“But—”
His hand snapped up again, but went down again just as fast. A smile tickled her lips at the gesture. Again, it felt so far distant from the rapid-firing rescuer that her heart warmed.
“Now think about it, Miss Marsh. You and I have not been properly, drawing-room style introduced, but I would say we have gotten pretty close in the past couple of hours. I mean, I did cover your body with my own—if I can be excused my boldness for bringing that up. And, as you so delicately pointed out, I may have nearly knocked you onto your—” He raised an amused brow before he continued. “Well, let’s just say I almost knocked you down. So from where I’m standing, you and I have formed a fast friendship. I don’t know about you, but I’m new to Brown’s Point and I could surely use a friend. So, what do you say? Could you see yourself calling me by my given name?”
It was impossible to refuse him.
“Jack,” she said with a heavy sigh. Why fight something that seemed almost destined? Propriety could not be totally forgotten, however, so she added, “But although I am pleased to make your acquaintance, I am afraid I cannot agree that we are fast friends. Not yet, anyhow. Why, I don’t even know anything about you, other than your name.”
“There’s not much else to know, believe me.”
“I find that a stretch.” Aunt Irene had always said Kristen had a gift for seeing beneath the surface of people and situations. Instinct told her now that Jack Sterling was a man with many layers, and with some closely guarded secrets. She didn’t know how she knew that about him, only that she did. ‘The gift’, she supposed. Aunt Irene had it, and apparently she did, too.
“Why don’t we take our time getting to know each other? Maybe then you’ll see that the most interesting part of this man really is his name.” He chuckled, the sound so disarmingly masculine that Kristen forgot the question she had been about to ask.
Jack reached up and grabbed Kristen’s traveling bag from the stagecoach attendant. When she attempted to take it from him, he shifted it from one hand to the other and held out an arm to her. “So where are we headed, Miss Marsh? It seems only fitting that I see my new friend safely to her destination.”
Weariness swept over Kristen like a blanket. The journey had been long and tedious, the excitement of the stagecoach robbery bringing her nearly to the point of exhaustion.
&nb
sp; With a resigned sigh, Kristen placed her hand through Jack’s open elbow and rested it on his arm.
“The boardinghouse. Brown’s Rest, I think it’s called. I’m told a ‘Mrs. King’ is a woman of some grace, and runs a very respectable establishment. I certainly hope it is the truth, because I am sorely in need of a place to rest.” Manners couldn’t be ignored, so Kristen added, “That is, if you’re certain you don’t mind escorting me.”
As they began to walk, Jack shook his head. “Believe me, I can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing right now than escorting you home. Not one single, solitary thing.”
Chapter Three
Dust swirled around his boot tips the moment he stepped into the street but it stopped rising into the air before it hit his knees so Jack chalked it up to mere inconvenience. He had heard talk of drought, rainmakers and ruined crops in the dining room the evening before but he hadn’t paid the locals discussing the weather much attention. He had other, more pressing, matters on his mind.
The lack of rain in this ramshackle town had no bearing on what he had to do, so why concern himself? If he were lucky he would be long gone before the place either dried up and blew away or got its rainfall. Besides, there had been worse things coating his boots in his lifetime, particularly during his stint fighting Indians back in the Kansas Territory. A little dust wasn’t anything he couldn’t endure.
Leaving his horse at the stable, he set off on foot toward the center of town.
A grizzled old man wearing the requisite miner’s garb jerked his stubbled chin in greeting as he passed. Jack responded in kind, and then listened to the tools dangling from the fellow’s belt jangle as he sauntered away. South Pass City, a large mining town where gold had turned paupers into men of means, wasn’t far north of Brown’s Point. Idly Jack wondered if the man had a claim there. It might be a good place to visit before heading home to Kansas.
But now wasn’t the time for planning trips. His concentration focused on Brown’s Point and its inhabitants—one person in particular. Getting a feel for the place, he strolled leisurely just beyond the wooden walkway as if he was just out for a morning constitutional instead of scanning for clues.
Long ago he learned that defeating an opponent was far less demanding when he recognized the other’s weakness. It was to his benefit to find out all he could about Randall Brown—and hopefully uncover a soft spot or two that would make his recovering the deed to his grandmother’s property less difficult.
Grandmother. The memory of the sweet woman who had raised him tugged at Jack’s heartstrings. Everything he had, all that he was, he owed to the woman. She had taken him in when his parents were killed, loved him as if he were her own and taught him almost all he knew.
The devotion Jack had for his grandmother was surpassed only by his resolve to reclaim what was rightfully hers. No unscrupulous con man was going to steal her home out from beneath her—not while he had even one last breath in his lungs.
“Good morning.” He tipped his hat to a stout, middle-aged woman emerging from the mercantile store. The skirt of her brown dress swirled, sending a small cloud of dust into the air. She smiled in return, so he said, “Nice day, isn’t it?”
“Would be nicer if it was a fair bit wetter.” Pulling a cotton hanky from the sleeve of her dress, she lifted it to her nose and sighed dramatically.
Jack glanced at her work-worn hands, then at the burlap sack she carried tight against her bosom. From the bag’s lumpiness, he guessed she had seeds. Most folks in Brown’s Point had small garden patches in their backyards, the same way families in most other frontier towns did.
He nodded. “You’ve got a point, ma’am. I’ll keep it in mind to pray for rain before I close my eyes tonight.”
With a final blot of handkerchief to nose, she began to walk away. She called over her shoulder, “That would be greatly appreciated, sir. Have a nice day!”
The exchange lightened Jack’s mood considerably.
Countless miles, between Carroll’s Junction and the Wyoming Territory, had given him plenty of time to think. He had built up the image of a lawless, Godforsaken, thieving town in his mind. Meeting ordinary people living everyday lives wiped the idea almost completely away.
Maybe this fellow Brown is the exception, rather than the rule.
****
Despite an unwavering attention to her circumstances and a newly developed sense of frugality, Kristen’s modest nest egg was dwindling—fast. Passage on the coach, as well as meals and lodging, had taken a bigger bite from her savings than she had bargained on.
The paltry sum spread out on the faded blue counterpane before her would barely provide for her existence beyond the next month or so. Granted, her dinner meal was included in her monthly rent with Mrs. King but there were other expenses to consider.
Kristen scooped up the money, dropped the change and bills into her coin purse, then tucked the soft leather pouch inside her bodice. It nestled near her heart, held in place by her tight corset. When she had first stowed her valuables on her person the feeling had unsettled her. Now, even with the money purse further reducing the movement of her chest, it felt as natural as the rib-crushing undergarment did.
Until she was more firmly on her feet, and certain of her safety in this frontier town, she planned to keep her cash right at hand. That way she would be ready to flee if her pursuers tracked her down.
Maybe one day, if she were lucky, she might be able to shed both strictures.
Chin up. She grabbed her bonnet and put it on her head. That’s what Aunt Irene would say right about now.
Opening the door with one hand while she adjusted the bow beneath her chin with the other, Kristen hurried from the room and down the staircase. No one saw her leave, and she was grateful that the boardinghouse seemed deserted. It saved her from having to make idle conversation, a task she did not feel up to now. There were too many other issues on her mind for her to stop to discuss the weather.
The morning’s dry heat slapped her cheeks. Recognizing hesitation as an adversary rather than an ally, Kristen did not let the stifling air deter her from her errand.
She hurried down the wide steps onto the wooden boardwalk and turned resolutely toward Brown’s Bank. A telegraph, folded neatly inside her money purse, assured her that upon her arrival one Mr. Randall Brown would be at her service, ready to accommodate both her financial and employment needs. At this moment her meager finances were hardly in need of accommodating but she fully intended to secure a promised position at the local schoolhouse.
Her boot heels clack-clack-clacked against the worn wood as she made her way past a steady stream of people. The braying of a miner’s persnickety mule, its feet planted stubbornly in the center of the street, momentarily caught Kristen’s interest. She watched, amused by the spectacle. There weren’t many mules—especially ones obviously intent on taking bites from their owners’ hats—on Boston’s streets.
Had Jack not spoken, instantly capturing her attention, Kristen would have probably slammed into him—again. But he did speak, so she turned to face him and avoided an embarrassing situation.
“Good morning, Miss Marsh.”
Kristen’s gaze met his and for a heartbeat she couldn’t speak. The dark richness of his eyes encouraged her to linger beneath his stare.
She felt pulled by the man in a way she could not begin to explain. The attraction both intrigued and frightened her. It wouldn’t do to form attachments to anyone given her situation. Who could tell when she would be found, or have to flee?
Still, Kristen could not resist Jack Sterling’s magnetism. She smiled broadly, her corset suddenly tighter and the air degrees hotter, and tipped her head slightly.
“Good morning, Jack.”
Chapter Four
Years spent at his grandfather’s side during business negotiations had honed Jack’s ability to size people up. While he tried never to jump to conclusions, it was a rare occasion when he could not at least formulate
an accurate character evaluation in pretty short order. Gut instinct, his grandfather had called it. He always assured Jack that following his gut’s instincts would serve him well in both his business and personal endeavors.
Thus far, Jack’s grandfather had been correct.
Jack’s gut—or his mind, for that matter—had not stopped hammering at him since the moment he met Miss Marsh. That selfsame area alerted him to the lovely woman’s approach. His stomach took a queer lurch just moments before he heard her footsteps.
The world fell away during the scant seconds before he greeted her. Her natural beauty seemed out of place amidst the dust, grime and hardened citizens swirling around them. She looked delicate but Jack had already surmised that hidden beneath her ruffled petticoats was a spine of steel.
And, for a reason he could not put his finger on, he sensed she had a secret—or two or three, even—hidden from view. Discovering the mystery of Kristen Marsh was high on his list of priorities. It shouldn’t be, he knew, not with the deed fiasco hanging over his head. Still, his interest was piqued and with each chance meeting his attraction for the woman grew.
His gut tightened now as she lifted her gaze and he fell effortlessly under the spell of her aquamarine eyes.
How could it be that one small woman could bring such a powerful response—with barely a glance?
A question for the ages, Jack thought with a wry smile.
“We seem to have a propensity for bumping into each other, don’t we?” He could not resist the bit of teasing, and was delighted when it brought a fast flush to her smooth cheeks.
“We do.” A small shrug brought her slender shoulders nearly to the lowest edge of her bonnet.
A foolish thought swept through Jack’s mind, and for an instant, he was tempted to push the bonnet back on her head just so he could get a glimpse of her hair and be reminded of endless glowing acres of prized Kansas wheat. Of their own volition, his fingers uncurled, his wrist came up slightly and he began to reach for what lay so close—yet so far. Before he could make a fool of himself, her voice brought him pleasantly back to reality.
Sterling's Way (Lawmen & Outlaws) Page 2
