by Reina Torres
“The second from the left. That’s where the Westons will be living.” Wyeth turned and looked up at the second floor of the Boarding house and saw a faint lamplight in a window. “And for now, Tillie’s in that room right there.”
Stone remained silent beside him for a moment. “Tillie?”
“It’s a good sight easier to say than Ottille, but after this morning’s…”
“Excitement?” Stone shook his head. “Have you thought about this?”
Agitated, Wyeth started to walk down the main street of town, with a quick look at Benders and then the Assay Office.
Stone caught up with him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Hold up.”
“I don’t want to hear about it.”
“Hear about what?” Stone’s voice was clear and sure. “The Westons are a monied family, Wyeth. They don’t just open accounts in banks; they own the bank.” He took a moment, cleared his throat. “If you like, her that’s good and fine. If she likes you right back, even better. Ottille Weston isn’t someone you just smile at and give her pretty words.”
Wyeth’s mouth opened but nothing came out.
“If you have a mind toward something like Ransom and Clay have found, you’ll have more than Ottille’s heart to worry about.”
The words weren’t something he wanted to think about. He certainly didn’t want to think about George Weston.
His heart, not that he was planning on telling anyone else, had already turned his own life upside down. After watching Ransom and Clay marry their ladies, he’d meant it when he said he didn’t have a mind to do the same for himself.
Meeting Tillie had made him a liar. She was as different from him as she could be, but he didn’t care. He found himself craving her presence, a look, a word… a touch of her hand.
Wyeth hadn’t just fallen fast; he’d fallen, tumbled, twisted, and lost his devil-may-care attitude, all because of her gentle smile and the sound of her voice.
Standing there in the dark of night, a stone’s throw from the Crystal Dawn Saloon, he felt shaken all over again. Heat crawled over his skin as he remembered the way she felt cradled in his arms, her damp forehead kissing the bare skin of his throat.
“Wyeth?” Stone’s voice was full of concern. “What’s wrong?”
“Wrong?” His laughter wasn’t harsh. It was barely a scratch of sound. “The only thing that’s wrong is that you, my friend, are right. I don’t like being the one on the wrong side of an argument. You’ve given me quite a bit to think about, and that’s got me nervous. And I’m used to laughing through my life. But this,” he managed a breath, “but this means…”
Wyeth faded out, his thoughts still jumbling in his head.
“With my luck,” he chuckled, “I’m going to stumble right into some kind of trouble, and I won’t even have to worry about her Papa.”
Almost as if Wyeth summoned trouble by giving his worries voice, a crash of glass turned their heads. The front window of the Crystal Dawn was now missing a small square pane near the door.
“I wonder what that’s about?” Stone started toward the saloon first and stopped short when Reuben Pierson stumbled out of the front door of the Crystal Dawn Saloon. The light of the interior seemed to cast him out on its own, but before they could posit an answer, the opening was filled with the silhouette of a familiar figure in Three Rivers.
Stepping out onto the porch with his fine woolen pants and combed wool jacket, was Laiden McMasters. Pulling his hands back onto his hips, he revealed the long golden watchchain that swung from a carved bone button on the front of his vest to the finely stitched welt of his vest pocket. His long silvering hair caught the light from the porch lamps as he shook his head. “I told you, Pierson. You had one chance to sit your sorry backside in my saloon and make me forget the unfortunate events in Sacramento.”
“Time and distance,” Pierson slurred his words a bit, “who says your memory is any good?”
Laiden took a few steps closer to the man crumpled on the porch and bent over just the littlest bit. “I don’t drink until my brain is swimmin’ in swill.”
There was a little chuckle that broke into the hard silence between the men and Wyeth realized it was his voice that he’d heard. Luckily, the two men were locked in a battle of wills and didn’t seem to notice.
Pierson was struggling to get to his feet. “At least you ad-admitted it, finally.” He managed to get on his knees, huffing and puffing. “You sell swill; so much for your fancy ways.”
Wyeth saw the way Laiden’s eyes narrowed at the top of Pierson’s head.
“You’re tryin’ to bait me, you drunken fool.” Laiden’s Creole accent had more of an edge when he was angry. “But I’m not gonna bite. You keep your sorry self out of my saloon, Pierson!”
“Ha!” Pierson got one foot on the ground but couldn’t seem to put the other one down. “Then I guess you won’t need me to pay for that window.”
Stone and Wyeth looked at each other, wondering what had gone on before they’d come upon the little tableau.
“Oh, you’ll pay for it, you sodden reprobate!” Laiden took a few steps toward Reuben and the motion was enough to startle the drunken man.
Staggering to his feet, he stumbled down the steps to the dirt.
“Then, how the hell do I get money to ya?”
Peering out into the dark, Laiden smiled. “Give it to one of those Pony boys. They’ll bring it over to me so I don’t have to look at your ugly face.”
Taking a step down, Laiden gave the two riders a look. “You boys out keepin’ the peace tonight?”
Wyeth knew that Stone wasn’t going to offer up much comment. “Yes, sir, Mr. McMasters. It’s our turn to check up on things.”
“Well, I’m sure that no one wants this drunken fool stumbling about. So, why don’t you two see him home, hmm?”
Pierson lurched to his feet with a hiss of pain and what sounded like a half-finished curse on his tongue. “You pony boys mind your own… mind your own business!”
Wyeth looked at Stone with a half-smile and a shrug. Pierson was waving his finger around, but he wasn’t anywhere near pointing that finger in their direction.
Hating the effort it was going to take, Wyeth knew they were honor bound to do what the saloon owner asked. “Sure thing, Mr. McMasters. You want us to let him sleep it off in the cell?”
Laiden’s laughter was as loud as Pierson was drunk. Very drunk. “That would serve him right, but I just think we should get him out of the street.”
Stone nodded beside Wyeth. “You think you can walk, Mr. Pierson? Or do we have to carry you?”
Wyeth elbowed his friend with a glare. “Don’t give him the option.”
“Oh, I can walk,” putting his hands on the ground, Pierson managed to get his legs under him, “just as soon as the ground stops rollin’ ‘round.”
With a shared sigh, the two stepped up to him and took an elbow, hauling him up onto his feet. Wyeth nearly lost hold of Pierson when the man threw his arms out wide, trying to catch his balance.
“Easy now, Pierson.”
The man in question swung his head around and glared at him. “You shut your mouth when you talk to me.”
“Fine by me.”
“Hush, I said!”
Without another word, the two riders moved Pierson down the dirt street, dragging him between them as he moved his legs in a walking motion that had little effect on the actual movement forward toward the Stage Depot.
By the time they were at the door, both men were sweating and struggling to draw in a breath. Together, they leaned him up against the outside wall. Stone pressed a knee against the older man’s leg, hoping he’d stay put as Wyeth searched the man’s pockets for a key to the depot’s front door. They’d asked the man a few times where the key was, but he was half asleep, and what he managed to mumble was unintelligible.
The key ended up in the lining of his vest, having fallen through a hole in the pocket, only adding to their frustr
ation. By the time they’d managed to move Pierson through his crowded quarters, both of their bodies were aching with the effort of moving the dead-weight to the bed.
With a concentrated heave ho, they managed to get him laid down on the bed, but Pierson’s boot tangled between Wyeth’s legs and the young man had to slam his knees together to keep himself from a world of pain; a relieved bark of laughter burst from his lips.
The sound revived Pierson who sat up, his eyes wide in shock. “You!” He grabbed Wyeth’s shirt and pulled him closer. “This is your fault!”
With Stone’s hands holding his shoulders and keeping him on his feet, Wyeth struggled to untangle the grasping fingers from his shirt. He wasn’t in a mood to mend a rip from drunken hands. “Let go, Mr. Pierson.”
The man seemed to hold on even tighter. “You better keep this to yourself, boy.” He pulled himself up even higher, the scent of alcohol and spittle covered Wyeth’s face. “You keep it to yourself, or you’ll pay. I will… make you pay.”
Wyeth and Stone stumbled back as Pierson sank into a deep sleep like a stone dropped into a calm pool. He went down hard.
Stone recovered first, slapping a companionable hand on Wyeth’s shoulder. “It’s just the drink talking.”
Wyeth turned and looked at his friend. “I dunno. That man has a nasty streak wider than a main street. I have no interest in getting on anyone’s bad side… but I don’t know if I can avoid it now.”
They left his key on a nearby table and left the room a moment later, eager to breathe clean air again.
Chapter 7
Wyeth Bowles was fit to be tied. He’d drawn the short straw three days ago and taken an over-night assignment that had extended an extra day due to a storm that delayed the other courier. The extra time was like a double-edged sword. He had extra time he didn’t want to spend away from Three Rivers, but he’d tried to make the delay worthwhile and searched the stores for something appropriate to give to Tillie when he returned.
And now, finally, back in Three Rivers, he was about to climb out of his skin. He’d completed his ride, put up his mount, turned in his dispatches. And yes, had a good scrub in the bath house. Dressed in his Sunday best, he’d combed and fussed and set off for the boarding house with his heart in his throat.
A present in his pocket.
The door was opened after a few energetic knocks. The older man on the other side gave him a side-long glance. “May I help you, son?”
Swallowing his nerves, Wyeth straightened his shoulders. “I’d like to see Miss Weston, please.”
Mr. Poston’s eyes narrowed a bit, peering back at him as if the older man questioned his intelligence or his sanity. “But she ain’t here.”
Nerves knotted in his stomach. “What do you mean she’s not here?”
The older man’s expression twisted a bit, just under his nose. When the words came out, they marched out as slowly as the man walked. “Pretty sure that’s as plain as it comes. You came to call on the young lady and she ain’t here.” The man’s voice rose ever so slightly. “So you can leave now.”
A familiar form in gray appeared beside Mr. Poston in the doorway. “Thank you, sir. I’ll speak to the young man.”
The boarding house manager looked from his guest to Wyeth. “Not alone. Not in my place.”
Wyeth’s mind reeled back from the implications. “I’ll keep my feet firmly outside the door, sir.”
With one last look split between the two, Mr. Poston disappeared back inside with a grumble under his voice.
“I’m sorry to disturb you. I just-”
“Mr. Weston took his daughter to the Merrick Ranch. They left this morning, and I would not expect them back before early evening.”
“Oh.” When he’d heard Mr. Poston tell him that Tillie wasn’t there, it had been an odd sensation, as if the words had knocked him off balance just listening to them. Still, there had been hope that he was wrong or had just made a mistake.
Hearing the words from Mademoiselle gave it more gravity, sinking what was left of his enthusiasm and hope for the day.
“If you would,” he swallowed and wondered what he wanted to say. “Would it be too much to ask…” a sigh fell from his lips. The whole disappointing moment had really stymied his excitement. He changed his mind, worried what Tillie’s father might think of his visit. “I am sorry for the confusion. Please don’t mention anything to Ottille or her father about my visit. I will find them later.”
She nodded and he could swear there was something akin to sympathy in her eyes. He was surely seeing things. “Absolutely, Mr. Bowles. Mister Weston was very eager to take Miss Weston to see the Merrick Ranch and to make the acquaintance of the Captain.”
Wyeth had nearly reached the first step when he swung back around. “You mean his sister, Miss Rachel Merrick.”
Mademoiselle Dubois gave him a careful look and spoke her words deliberately. “It is Mr. Weston’s express wish that his daughter make the Captain’s acquaintance as soon as possible. I am not sure if he has explained his exact reasoning to Ottille, but I believe that after this afternoon, she will understand her father’s hopes for her future.”
He was hearing things. Nightmarish things.
Wyeth shook his head and barely avoided smacking his hands up to his ears like he did when he got too much water stuck after a bath or a swim. From what he knew of Tillie’s companion, he would have expected the woman to crow the words at him. He would have expected a cold satisfaction. Instead, by the look on her face and the careful tone of her voice, he was almost sure she was trying to lessen the pain of her revelation.
“And her future…” he should have left well enough alone, but Wyeth had always been one to irritate a sore just to feel the pain, “is marrying the Captain?”
“If her father has his way,” the corners of her mouth twitched up a little, “and he usually does. Then he’ll be walking her down the aisle before the year is out.”
There was a suspicious silence in the center of his chest where his heart had been only moments before. His thoughts echoed in his head, turning over and over inside of his skull, finding no real exit. Married. Married he could handle. Wasn’t he himself blissfully ready to make himself a suck-egg liar and get down on bended knee before the young woman who had captured his heart? He could imagine Tillie married, but the man slipping the ring on her finger, pressing the first married kiss to her lips, was going to be him! At least, he swallowed, that’s what his plan had been.
“I thank you, Mademoiselle,” his voice rasped out his throat on sheer force of habit. “I am sorry if I’ve bothered you.”
He didn’t wait for a response. Couldn’t possibly stand there another minute.
Wyeth turned and left the boarding house, his hands pressed to his chest hoping whatever was left of his heart wouldn’t fall out into the dust.
The front door of the ranch house opened up and Tillie looked up from her book. “Captain? Father?” She darted a look at the marble clock on the mantle. “I would have expected your tour to take hours.
Captain Merrick removed his hat and set it on a hook beside the door, reaching for the buttons on his coat. “Your father and I decided it would be much more entertaining to come back to the house and spend some time with you.”
She flushed at his words and the timid smile that she could see beneath his mustache. “I would think the beautiful land of your ranch would be much more interesting than sitting inside with me.”
Her father seemed to fade into the background as the Captain moved to the sitting area.
“It sounds like you would rather be out seeing the ranch than remaining in here.” He spared a glance to her father before continuing. “Maybe I should have taken you on the tour instead of your father.”
Tillie couldn’t help the excitement that bubbled up inside of her. Turning slightly on the settee, she looked into the Captain’s eyes. “I would have loved to go, but there would be one problem.”
He smiled at
her look of concern. “Not on my ranch. If you’d like to ride, then you will ride.”
She closed her book and set it on the cushion beside her, looking up into his earnest expression. “I can’t ride,” she saw his confusion, “because I’ve never been on a horse.”
Her words seemed to take their time making their way to his ears, but when they finally settled in, they gave him a shock. “Never?”
Tillie darted a look over his shoulder. “Father thought it was a bad idea.”
The Captain smiled at her. “Well, out here in Wyoming, it would be a very good idea for you to learn to ride. Like I told my men in the army; if you can walk, you can ride. If you can breathe and count, you can shoot.”
He held up a hand between them. “Don’t worry. I won’t insist that you shoot, but you really should learn to ride.” He leaned his arm on the back of the settee. “If you’d like I can have one of my men teach you.”
She tried to summon up some excitement for the idea.
“Not your idea of fun?”
She shook her head. “Please, Captain, I mean no offense.”
“None taken, Miss Weston.”
“It’s just that,” she worried her lip as she worried over her words, “I have someone in mind that I might ask to teach me.”
That caught his attention. “Is this a good friend of yours?”
Tillie’s gaze swept up and across the ceiling, noticing the plaster molding affixed above their heads. “I’m not sure what he is exactly.”
The Captain smiled. “That sounds… complicated.”
She flushed.
“But isn’t love always complicated?”
Tillie’s hands flew to her cheeks and she felt like she was on the verge of a fever. “I didn’t say I was in love.”
Captain Merrick smiled at the younger woman. “You didn’t have to, Miss Weston. Your flush, your smile, the very light in your eyes speaks volumes.”
She lowered her voice, even though she knew her father couldn’t hear her from his seat. He certainly hadn’t heard anything before, or he would have reacted to it. “I was hoping it wasn’t obvious.”
