by Reina Torres
“Mr. Bowles?”
He almost groaned at the formal address.
“Yes, Miss Weston?”
“What is it like having a large family?”
Anna set down her pole when Stone lifted a fish out of the water. Grabbing up the net, she stood and grabbed the back of her hem from between her knees and pulled it up high enough to tuck it in her waistband, revealing the lace trim of drawers and the bottom ruffle of her petticoat.
“Anna,” Ottille blushed, “careful!”
“I do this all the time. You should wade out with me; the water feels lovely.”
Wyeth saw Ottille balk at the suggestion.
“Don’t nag, Anna. Just go get the fish and come back.” Watching his young friend wade out the few feet to reach Stone’s side, Wyeth almost missed the distinctive tug and bob of Ottille’s line in the water.
“Tillie,” he spoke without thinking and turned her head with a gasp of shock, “you have a fish.”
Stunned, the young woman turned back to look at her line, and sure enough, there was a distinct tug on the line. They watched as the line darted one way and then another.
“What do I do?” She clutched the pole in white-knuckled fingers. “What do I do?”
“Hold tight.” Wyeth dug his pole into the ground beside him and leaned closer, reaching for the pole to help her.
Ottille was suddenly out of his reach. She’d stood up in a rush of movement, her eyes unblinking, leaning forward.
Wyeth’s fingers reached for her and came up empty.
He was left to watch in horror as she stumbled into the river.
Anna started to reach for her, but Stone held her back with a heavy hand on her shoulder. Luke all but crawled into the water from his place on the bank, but it was Wyeth who dove in alongside her heavy calico skirts. With a few powerful strokes of his arms he put himself in her path and came up sputtering a breath before she broke through the surface of the water, coughing.
“I’ve got you. Just relax.” Wyeth tried to give her a smile, but when she bumped into him, instead of allowing him to wrap his arms around her, she shuddered and tried to push him away. Blind panic widened her eyes and stole her breath. “Tillie, please.”
She kicked under the water and he felt her skirts buffet against his legs, and he couldn’t be sure, but he thought they might be tangling.
They were drifting out further into the center of the river and he felt fear gnawing at his heart.
Luke surfaced beside them and reached out, but Tillie’s eyes were wild, and Luke backed away looking to Wyeth.
“Stay close.”
Luke nodded and bobbed along with them as Wyeth used his hands to nudge Tillie toward shore. Her layers of clothing were pulling her down faster than they were moving out of the current, and Wyeth was nearly frantic with worry.
“Tillie, please. Please, let me help.”
“I don’t want to…” she pushed at his chest. “I’ll drag you down, too.” She sobbed, and it nearly split his heart in two as her few words seemed to exhaust her even more. “So heavy. I feel so heavy.”
Her head went under and Wyeth kicked behind him, dipping his head under the water. The river was fresh, clean water that made it easy to see with the sun blanketing the surface of the water. He saw her squeeze her eyes shut and throw her hands out. Her skirts were tangled dangerously around her knees, and she could barely move, even the bottoms of her legs.
Swearing inside his head, he also uttered a prayer.
He reached out and caught at her waist, his hands closing tight around the smallest bit. With a grunt, he lifted her up, pulling her free of the current enough to get her up to the air.
Once she got a lungful of air, he saw the fight tensing in her limbs.
“Come on, Wyeth,” Luke was at his shoulders. “What are we-”
His hands still on her waist, Wyeth kicked out his legs to the side, pushing them in the direction of the shore, and then tugged her closer. She was flush against his chest before either one of them knew what was happening.
She was board stiff with fear, and he knew it was only a second or two before they were in the same predicament of struggling with her instinctual fear, so Wyeth took a wild gamble.
Wrapping one arm securely around her waist, he tucked her into his side. “Forgive me, Tillie.”
Her eyes fluttered open in between oddly timed gasps from her lips. “For what?”
“This.”
And then, he kissed her.
He kissed with gentle lips.
Pleading with her to calm down.
She didn’t fight him anymore.
She didn’t push at him.
Tillie Weston wrapped her arm around his middle and cuddle close.
Before either of them realized what had happened, they were pushed up on the shore by the current and steadied by helping hands.
Luke held Tillie’s shoulders and offered her his handkerchief as Wyeth got to his feet and offered her his hand.
She accepted his hand and tried to stand, but she was exhausted. “My legs,” she looked up at him, incredibly pale, and her cheeks heated with a myriad of emotions, “they’re shaking.”
Wyeth smiled at her. “Shaking is good.”
Her eyes narrowed at him, her brow furrowing. “Why?”
With an indrawn breath, he leaned over and picked her up in his arms. He barely heard her admonishment to ‘take care of your back,’ as he gave her a grateful smile. “Shaking means you have feeling. That water is delightful to cool off in, but too much will steal your breath away.” He walked back up the bank to the blanket that they started on and he sat down with her still held securely in his arms. “Like you stole mine.”
If she realized that she was wrapped in his arms and seated squarely on his lap, she didn’t comment, nor did she protest. “How did I?”
He grinned at her as his heart thundered in his chest. “I was so afraid that you’d push me away and drown before I could get you to land.”
“Is that why,” she wondered as she lifted her hand to her lips, “is that why you kissed me?”
His eyes roamed over her face as if it was the table at home during Christmas Evening supper when every inch was covered in precious sweets. “I kissed you, my dear, because I needed you to calm yourself enough to get you safely to land.”
“It was a shock, perhaps,” she contradicted him, “but the last thing I felt was calm.” She pressed her hand to her chest, just scant inches from her collarbone. “My heart,” she confessed, “is thundering in my chest as if a great brass band came to life inside me.” She turned a hesitant frown in his direction, and he wanted to lift his hand and smooth away the lines with his fingertips. “That’s the only reason?”
He opened his mouth to speak, and she closed her eyes, shaking her head.
“Please, don’t answer. Pretend that I didn’t say a thing.”
Wyeth touched her chin with the tip of his finger and she stilled like a bird perched on a branch. “You asked the question. Let me give you the answer.”
She nodded, her expression wary.
“I will admit that there were other ways that I might have gotten your attention focused elsewhere, Miss Weston.” He could feel the heat on his cheeks and knew that he was blushing and didn’t care one lick who saw it. “Just in case we didn’t make it to shore,” he heard her soft gasp, “just in case I was pulled under the water, I knew I had to taste your lips, just once.”
He watched her throat work as she swallowed, and he saw the long cascading drops of water flow down her neck. “I will offer you my most humble apologizes if I upset you in the least, but I will not apologize for wanting one moment of your tenderness before I met my maker.”
She was an enigma, her expression changing from moment to moment.
When she opened her lips to speak, he managed to focus on her words rather than her lips. “You called me Tillie.”
The comment shocked him. He had only hoped that she wo
uldn’t slap him in punishment for his actions, but this? This was very confusing indeed.
“Yes, my dear, I called you Tillie. Should I offer you my apologies?”
She drew in a breath and let it go in a long exhale. “I breathe, because of your quick thinking and actions. I’m alive because you were willing to go into the water after me. In my head,” she whispered her words to him like a secret, “I like the sound of Tillie. It’s what I call myself when no one is listening. It’s what I imagine my friends would call me.”
“And if I wanted to be more than your friend, Tillie Weston? Would that be the name to use when I speak to you in private?”
“You saved my life, Mister-”
“Wyeth,” he corrected her.
“You saved my life, Wyeth, of course you may.”
Their nearly private moment was soon at the center of a number of people as Anna barely managed to get Tillie seated on the blanket before Mademoiselle woke up and saw her charge in Wyeth’s arms.
The quiet fun of fishing had become an entirely different event, but Wyeth thanked his lucky stars that it had all worked out in the happiest of ways.
Chapter 6
When Pierson walked into the Crystal Dawn Saloon he resisted the urge to tug at his collar. The starch had been itching something awful since he’d put it on back at the Depot. The collar was also a bit tight.
It made sense, he hadn’t put on the suit since he’d left Sacramento almost four years prior. Apparently, he’d put on a few pounds since he’d left. Perhaps it was the lack of quality liquor in his diet. A lack that he was certainly going to change tonight.
Giving a nod to the bartender, Pierson walked up to the table where George Weston was holding court and gestured at the chair opposite.
The other man finished a long drink before he set the glass down and nodded. “Pierson.”
He pulled out his chair and it took two attempts before he managed to seat himself without tugging on the back of his suit and choking the breath from his lungs. “Glad you could meet with me.”
One of the saloon girls stopped by the table and poured a healthy splash of liquor in Weston’s glass and when Pierson gave her his order, she paused and looked up toward the bar.
Pierson’s temper rose dangerously from his chest into his throat. “What’s the problem?”
The bartender turned toward the staircase at the back of the room and that’s when Pierson saw the problem, decked out in a fine suit and a smirk.
“Well, look who we have here!”
Laiden McMasters always liked to make an entrance. He always dressed like he was expecting Queen Victoria to walk through the door. And he never passed up an opportunity to look down his nose when he could.
“Reuben Pierson.” His smile was too smooth to be taken for real. “I thought we had an understanding.”
“I’m here with Mister George Weston. You know who the Westons are, don’t you, Laiden?”
Given that the man in question had turned in his seat to get a look at the newcomer, Laiden did an admirable job holding in his distaste.
Stepping forward with his hand extended, the Saloon owner was all charm. “I’ve heard talk that you were in town again, Mr. Weston, and I’ve half a mind to forgive you for not coming in sooner.”
“Oh?” Mr. Weston’s tone held more than a hint of warning in it.
“Yes,” countered the saloon owner, “let me buy you and your… guest, a round of drinks, and all will be forgiven.”
Mr. Weston laughed out loud before he shook the man’s hand with great vigor. “You strike a hard bargain.”
Straightening, Laiden gave him a shrug. “I’m a shrewd businessman, Mister Weston. I also have need of a bank with ample protection for my funds… and my gold.”
As the two continued to talk, the saloon girl came back to the table and filled Mr. Weston’s glass first. She filled another glass and set it close enough for Laiden to reach, and then tipped the bottle over Pierson’s drink, barely adding more than a splash into it.
Pierson grabbed her hand and kept it where it was so the stream of liquor filled his glass as much as the other two.
“I’ve seen you around,” he told her.
“Good for you,” she replied as she tried to pull free of his hold.
“But I don’t know your name. Maybe after I conclude my meeting you could show me upstairs?”
She shook her head. “No, sir. Laiden doesn’t allow us to have guests upstairs.”
His hand tightened on her wrist ever so slightly, and her lips parted on a gasp.
Someone cleared his throat and Pierson could have sworn it had that Cajun color to it.
“Charity?” Laiden’s voice held more than a little edge to it. “Is something amiss, darlin’?”
Pierson knew when to cut loose and sat back in his chair, folding his hands on his middle.
Her smile was perfectly brittle. “No, Laiden. Mr. Pierson was just asking for something we don’t serve at the Crystal Dawn.”
He nodded with a wink to the girl. “Don’t worry, m’dear. He knows what no means.” His tone made a liar out of his words, but Pierson wasn’t going to argue. Not in front of George Weston.
Moments later, Laiden was called away as a bunch of miners walked in, waving around their gold bags, ready to lose their gold like they were ready to lose their sobriety. Eager to get to the point before they could be interrupted, Pierson leaned forward on the table. “So, here’s what I had in mind.”
For his part, George Weston listened intently as Pierson laid out his idea. He listened, but he wasn’t quite sure he agreed.
“I can see the benefits of using your stage line, but I can’t ignore the speed that I could get from the express.”
Pierson waved off the idea. “They can only carry letters weighing a few ounces at a time.”
“Hawkins has a freight business,” Weston pointed out.
“Sure, heavy loads, but they’re not built for speed.”
“And the stage?” Weston drained the rest of his glass. “I hear quite a few stories of stages held up. Lockboxes raided and cleaned out. Wouldn’t I be safer with the Express for important messages back and forth? Perhaps using your service and theirs in tandem. The best, it would seem, of both worlds.”
Pierson leaned on the table and almost knocked over his glass. He ended up sloshing some of the alcohol on the table top. “The Express isn’t going to last long, Mr. Weston. They’ve been lucky so far, but there’s been some unrest with the tribes around Three Rivers. I think it’s only a matter of time before we see them suffer quite a number of losses, especially in this area.”
Twisting his fingers along the rim of the glass, George looked at Pierson and the depot manager kept a tight rein on his temper. He didn’t like waiting.
With a heavy sigh, George pushed back his chair and stood, waving Pierson back in his seat. “I’m a man who considers every decision over and over before I make up my mind. We will speak soon and I may or may not have an answer for you, even then. Go ahead and stay here for a bit, my treat.” He pulled a gold eagle from his vest pocket and set it down on the table. “Make no mistake about it, Pierson. You will have an answer from me when I am ready to give an answer, and no sooner. Come after me? Dog my steps? All you’ll get is a no.”
With that, the banker left the saloon with a sure stride.
Pierson didn’t like the way they’d ended things, but with the gold coin staring up at him from the table, his mood improved vastly. “Come here, girl.”
Charity walked up to his table with a forced smile on her lips. “Yes, sir?”
He picked up the coin and tossed it on her tray. “Keep ‘em comin’ ‘til this runs out.”
Quietly shutting the bunkhouse door behind them, Stone and Wyeth stepped out into the cool night air. Walking through the corrals, they circled past the Stage Depot. Even with the oilcloth laid across the inside of the window, there was enough of a gap to see into the structure.
While the riders only looked in to see if there was a light, they didn’t stray too close to the building.
“Wonder where Pierson is?”
Stone shrugged off Wyeth’s question.
“Probably Benders, I guess.”
Looking to the left of the street, the Weston Bank stood as silent as the Depot. The fine glass windows managed to reflect some of the moonlight off of their surfaces and a deep indrawn breath brought the heady scent of paint to their noses.
“You planning on opening an account when they open?”
Stone gave Wyeth a look. “You planning on talking the whole time we’re out?”
Wyeth shrugged, copying his friend’s earlier response.
And then couldn’t seem to stop there. “It’s late. It’s dark, and even with you walking beside me it’s deathly quiet. I don’t like feelin’ as though I’m alone with my thoughts.”
“Few and far between, are they?”
Stone’s soft laugh earned him a healthy shove from Wyeth.
“Very funny, Stone.” They walked up toward the empty marshal’s office. “I keep hoping they’ll find a lawman ready to move out here. It would be nice to have a man with a badge here in town.”
Surprisingly, Stone answered in words. “We’re still liable to be called upon to help from time to time. Every able-bodied man should help when there’s a need.”
Wyeth’s stride lengthened a little. “We are the most able-bodied men around here.”
Stone’s indulgent silence made Wyeth’s grin broaden in the darkness.
At the corner, Wyeth cut across his friend’s path and turned left down the street, stopping a good twenty feet beyond the corner of the Boarding House.
Wyeth knew his friend was waiting for an explanation. There was nothing to be gained from making him wait. “You see those houses over there?”
Leaning in the same direction, Stone peered into the darkness and saw the moonlight glinting off the river that bordered the north end of town. In front of the river were a set of houses, all in different stages of construction.
