The Pony Express Romance Collection

by Blakey, Barbara Tifft; Davis, Mary; Franklin, Darlene

  Wayne rested his rifle over his shoulder. “I hope so. But I fear he’s the type of man to hold a grudge a good long time.”

  That’s what Fox thought as well. This would not be the last any of them would see of Hall. He wasn’t the type to give up easily. If anything, this encounter would fuel his determination.

  “I’m going to saddle a horse and make sure he doesn’t double back.”

  “Whoa there, cowboy.” Wayne gripped his arm. “You’re up next to ride. You leave in six hours.”

  “I’ll be back before then.”

  Wayne shook his head. “I need you rested. I’ll send one of the other riders and a wrangler. There isn’t a man at this station who will let harm come to either of those girls.”

  That assurance would have to do. He prayed the Lord would keep that man away.

  Molly spoke from the station doorway. “Is he gone?”

  Fox smiled up at her. “He’s gone.”

  The girl ran off the porch and hugged him. “Thank you for making him go away. He’s a scary man.”

  That he was. “I won’t let him hurt you.” Her appreciation overwhelmed him.

  Pushing back, Molly peered up at him. “Or BethAnn neither.”

  He looked over the girl’s shoulder to her older sister standing on the porch with Rusty a step behind her. Fox wouldn’t let anyone hurt her. “BethAnn, too. You two are safe here.”

  BethAnn stepped forward. “We can’t stay. Not now that he knows we’re here. He’ll come back.”

  Wayne spoke up. “He’d be a fool to return.”

  Fox believed the man was a fool.

  “I’ll send a dispatch to the Salt Lake City Station.” Wayne climbed the steps. “I’ll have them notify the sheriff to keep an eye on him. It’ll go with Fox on his run tonight.”

  BethAnn sucked in a quick breath. “He can’t go. Mr. Hall lives in Salt Lake City.”

  Something inside Fox flip-flopped. She sounded as though she cared. “I’ve been in Salt Lake every week for over a year and haven’t seen him yet.” But then the man hadn’t had Fox in his sights before. Now he most certainly did.

  BethAnn didn’t appear to be convinced. She also looked as though she almost cared. Her expression held gentle warmth toward him.

  Fox hated to break the moment, but he had to ask. “What did Mr. Hall want with you?”

  “I—I don’t want to talk about it.” She pushed past Rusty and rushed inside.

  Later, as Fox stood ready for the rider to come in, the same rider who had almost run Molly down six weeks ago, like then, he didn’t want to go on this run. Not for his sake. He wasn’t afraid of Hall. Fox feared that during his absence the man might return. No one else kept as close an eye on BethAnn and Molly as he did.

  Wayne clasped him on the shoulder. “I’ll watch over them while you’re gone.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  “You’re really smitten with BethAnn, aren’t you?”

  Fox couldn’t afford to be smitten with anyone. Besides, BethAnn was smitten with Rusty. “They need someone—us—to look after them. They don’t have anyone else.”

  Wayne’s mouth hitched up on one side. “Right.”

  BethAnn came out carrying a plate with a slice of cherry pie. “Something before you go.”

  He accepted the offering and took a bite of the sweetness. What had they ever done before these two arrived? They had been eating like dogs and happy for it.

  “Is there anything I could say to make you change your mind about going on this run?”

  Plenty. That she cared for him like she did Rusty. That she would choose him over the blacksmith. That she would consider being his wife. None of which she would say. “I have a job to do. It’s an important job. With the war going on, it’s important to get these messages and dispatches through. I’m needed.” For once in his life, he was needed. He took another bite, bigger than the first one. If he was going to eat all this delicious pie, he would need to hurry.

  “Be extra careful.”

  What he saw in her eyes confused him. Once again, it sounded as though she cared. But he knew that wasn’t likely. She had feelings for the big, strong blacksmith. Fox couldn’t compete with that.

  “Promise me that you and Molly will stay right here at the station. The men will keep a lookout for you. If you leave, no one will be there to see to your safety.”

  She hesitated.

  “Promise.”

  She nodded.

  Molly came from somewhere and hugged him tightly as she had before. He hadn’t even realized the girl was there. “Be safe. I need my brother to return.”

  He liked the sound of that.

  BethAnn shook her head. “Molly. He’s not—”

  “That’s all right. I told her to think of me as a brother.” He turned back to Molly. “I’m honored to be your brother.” He wished he truly were.

  “Rider coming in!” someone yelled.

  Fox picked up the last of the pie by the crust edge and said to BethAnn, “Thank you.” He bit off half and chewed quickly.

  The horse came to a stop, and the rider jumped down.

  After a wrangler transferred the mochila, Wayne marked the time card in the way pouch. “Ready, Fox?”

  “Yes, sir.” He might be ready for the ride, but not for leaving BethAnn.

  He tugged on one of Molly’s blond braids. “You stay out of the way of incoming horses.”

  She beamed up at him. “I will.”

  He turned to BethAnn. “Stay close to the main station building and don’t go anywhere alone.”

  BethAnn agreed.

  He shoved the remainder of the pie into his mouth, swung up into the saddle, and gave BethAnn one last glance before he kicked the horse into a run. Though he raced west through Echo Canyon, his heart remained behind. Keep them safe, Lord.

  Chapter Six

  On the third day of Mr. Fox’s absence, BethAnn stood on the porch with Molly at her side, facing west. Where was he? Ever since she’d arrived, Mr. Fox had never missed coming in on time. Normally, after the rest of the men had eaten and she and Molly had washed up the dishes, he would return. He was already an hour overdue.

  Molly looped her arm around BethAnn’s. “He’s late. Do you think he’s all right? Mr. Hall didn’t hurt him, did he?”

  BethAnn didn’t have the answers to her sister’s questions. They were the same ones she had herself. “I’m sure he’s fine. He’s made this run many times.”

  Lord, please don’t let anything have happened to him.

  Mr. Greenberg approached from the barn. “Don’t worry. He could be running late for any number of reasons. He’ll be here.”

  It was those “any number of reasons” that worried her. Too many of them would not bode well for Mr. Fox. And others could mean his demise. Please be safe.

  Molly leaned her head against BethAnn’s arm. She should set her little sister to some task to keep the girl’s mind off what could have happened. But then BethAnn would have to keep busy as well, and she didn’t want to. She needed to wait. And watch the western horizon.

  Another fifteen minutes ticked by before the call went out. “Rider coming in!”

  Please let it be Mr. Fox.

  The echoing of hoofbeats bounced off the canyon walls. The horse was traveling faster than usual. Hopefully something or someone wasn’t chasing him.

  The rider came into view, but nothing pursued him.

  Was it him?

  She squinted. By the clothing, it could be, but then most of the riders and wranglers dressed alike. He didn’t wear his black duster on his return trips, just his night runs when the temperature dropped after sunset in this arid climate.

  Sunlight glinted off a shock of red hair poking out from under the man’s hat. It was him.

  BethAnn patted Molly’s arm. “It’s him. He’s back. He’s safe.” Her eyes watered.

  Molly released her arm and jumped up and down. “Yeah!”

  When the horse came
to a skidding stop and Mr. Fox jumped down, Molly ran out to him and hugged him. “You’re safe.”

  BethAnn wished she could do the same. She blinked to clear her vision.

  He smiled down at Molly. “I’m safe. Were you worried about me?” He shifted his gaze to BethAnn.

  Her insides danced. Yes, she had been worried. She gave him a small nod.

  Molly stepped back and planted her hands on her hips. “Of course we were worried. You are more than an hour late.”

  Mr. Greenberg chuckled. “I’m interested to know what happened.”

  Though Mr. Fox spoke to the stationmaster, he kept his gaze directed toward BethAnn. “The rider coming into Salt Lake was two and a half hours late. I was hoping to make up the time deficiency and was well on my way when my pony went lame after I left the East Canyon station. I trotted alongside the horse for five miles or so until I reached Wheaton Springs and got a fresh pony. But it sounds like I still made up half the time.”

  The mochila was transferred to the fresh horse and the tired horse walked to the barn. Wayne marked the time card in the way pocket.

  Kentucky swung up onto the pony. “I’ll make up the rest of the time.” He goaded the horse into motion, kicking up dust as he raced east.

  Mr. Fox strode to the base of the porch. “I’m glad to see you stayed.”

  BethAnn smiled. She was glad as well.

  “Any lunch left?”

  “It just so happens there is.” She had made sure to keep a goodly amount for him. Knowing that he’d trotted over five miles—and in this heat—she was glad she had kept a larger portion for him as well as a slice of pie and cookies. “You must be famished. Come in and sit down.”

  He dipped his head. “I am, but I need to wash up. I’ll be in shortly.”

  She nodded. “Molly, let’s get Mr. Fox’s lunch ready.”

  As Mr. Fox went to the pump beside the bunkhouse, Molly sidled up next to BethAnn in the kitchen. “Do you like Mr. Fox?”

  Where had that question come from? “Of course. All the men here have been nothing but kind to us.”

  Molly shook her head. “I mean like a beau.”

  She wanted to. She struggled hard to keep those feelings and thoughts tucked to the far reaches of her mind. Nothing good could come of having fanciful dreams about a man who would go on his way in a few months and forget all about her. She and Molly would be on their way as well. “Don’t talk nonsense.”

  “He likes you. I can tell.”

  “I doubt that.” BethAnn worked at keeping Mr. Fox at arm’s length by spending time with the blacksmith. Mr. Fox couldn’t possibly have feelings for her. Though she wished he did. She dished up a large helping of the ham and scalloped potatoes with peas.

  “He draws pictures of you all the time.”

  BethAnn spun to face her little sister. “He does not. Now slice him a couple of pieces of bread.”

  As Molly cut through the crisp crust, it crunched. “He does. I’ve seen him.” She set the slices on a plate. “He likes to draw your eyes.”

  What was so appealing about her eyes? A washed-out blue color, as though they had been left out in the sun too long.

  A bench scraping alerted her that Mr. Fox was in the dining room and waiting for his lunch.

  BethAnn filled a cup with coffee and picked it up, along with the heaping plate of ham and potatoes. “Bring his bread and the apple butter.” She strode out of the kitchen.

  Later, while BethAnn picked tomatoes to have with supper, Molly sat outside the garden fence with Mr. Fox, drawing.

  BethAnn squinted at the pair. He sketched pictures of her? She wanted to see. She left the garden with her basket of produce and set it in the shade by the kitchen door then crossed to where the artists were busy at work. “What are the two of you drawing?”

  Molly pointed to a line of ants on the sandy ground. “Ants. Mr. Fox is teaching me to sketch a moving…moving…target?” She tilted her head and looked at him.

  He smiled. “Subject. A moving subject.”

  “May I see?” BethAnn inclined her head toward Molly’s book.

  Her sister turned it over. “I’m getting better.”

  BethAnn flipped through the pages. Her sister’s drawings had improved over time. She handed the sketchbook back to Molly and regarded Mr. Fox. “You’re a good teacher. May I look at yours? To see what my sister is striving for.”

  He readily gave it to her.

  His drawing of the ants was better and more detailed. On the top half of the page he had done a large-scale drawing of a single black ant. The bottom half had the line of minute ones. They almost looked alive and as though they were moving. Just a trick of the eyes.

  She put her thumb to the edge of the pages to flip through the others. “May I?”

  Without hesitation, he nodded.

  From the most current drawing, she flipped toward the front. Sketches of rocks, birds, grasses, flowers, some little furry rodent she didn’t recognize, a hawk soaring in the sky with the landscape below, the creek she had crossed, the garden, horses, the mochila pouch, one of the wranglers spinning a lasso, another one brushing a horse, Rusty at his forge, a Pony Express rider racing across the landscape, Mr. Greenberg’s hand marking a time card, and every other person here at the station.

  Except her and Molly.

  Was that a simple oversight? Maybe Molly had mistaken these other pictures of people for BethAnn. Not likely. But what other excuse could there be?

  She handed the book back. “You’re a very talented artist.”

  He shrugged. “I’m no artist. I just draw stuff.”

  But not her, as Molly had insisted. That put to rest the notion that Mr. Fox liked her. She gave her sister a pointed look. “Ten more minutes, then come in and help with supper.”

  Four days later, in the room BethAnn and her sister shared, Molly held something behind her back and wore an impish grin. “I have something to show you.”

  “What?” BethAnn sat on the edge of the bed braiding her hair for the night.

  Molly produced her sketchbook.

  “Have you drawn something new?”

  Her sister shook her head. “This one isn’t mine.”

  “Then whose…? Did you take Mr. Fox’s?”

  Mr. Fox was away on another run to Salt Lake City.

  Biting her bottom lip, her little sister nodded.

  “Molly, that was wrong. If it wasn’t dark out and the bunkhouse full of men, I’d send you right over there to put it back where you found it.”

  “Look inside.”

  BethAnn took it and set it on the bed. “I’ve already seen it. Remember?”

  “Not this one. This is one of his other sketchbooks.” Molly picked it up and set it on BethAnn’s lap. “Filled with drawings of you. Open it.”

  BethAnn stared at the cover. Was this the sketchbook he’d offered her? It looked just like Molly’s. She should not look inside. “It wouldn’t be right to pry in Mr. Fox’s private things.” But she was curious.

  “It’s full of you. So that wouldn’t be prying.” Molly flipped back the cover before BethAnn could stop her.

  The first drawing was of a broad-leafed vine plant and a hand picking a green bean.

  Her hand.

  She knew because of the crescent-shaped scar on the back where a cinder had popped out of the stove and burned her when she was a child.

  This drawing had to be from the day he’d given Molly a sketchbook. This was likely the book he’d offered to her, but she’d stupidly turned it down. She wished she hadn’t refused, but she’d been too embarrassed about her lack of drawing ability. Since that day, she had regretted her refusal and now wanted to sit with him. To learn how to draw.

  She turned the page. Her again, but this time her full body, standing in the kitchen, a smile upon her face. Drawings of her and Molly together. Drawings of just her face. Just her eyes. Expressive eyes. Were those truly hers?

  Another picture of her. And another. One of
her crossing the creek on the stones. An outstretched hand from someone off the page, holding her hand to steady her.

  A drawing of her crouched on the ground, holding Molly. The boot of a man seated nearby. The sun setting behind her. She recognized this scene. That very first day, when Mr. Fox had saved Molly from the rearing horse. All three of them had been sitting in the dirt before he rode off. The detail. And from memory.

  Several more pictures of her with a man’s hand or boot in the picture but not the rest of him.

  And a lot of drawings of just her eyes.

  When did he have time to draw all these? He didn’t take his sketchbook on his runs. And when he was at the station, he was usually around her and Molly.

  “See. I told you he sketched a lot of pictures of you. That means he likes you, doesn’t it?”

  She supposed it could. What else would it mean?

  Another successful run to Salt Lake. Fox strolled along the main street in the city. He would be heading home in the morning. Heading back to BethAnn.

  She was the reason he didn’t like going on runs anymore. He wanted to stay near her. Every time he left, he feared she would be gone when he returned. Feared she and Rusty had drawn closer and closer.

  He thought about transferring to a different station so he wouldn’t have to see her with the blacksmith. But Head of Echo Canyon was his home. At least for the time being. He knew the Pony would end. The telegraph was nearly completed.

  BethAnn did spend more and more time with Fox. Or more like, she allowed him to spend time with her. She didn’t hurry off when he helped in the kitchen or garden. But when he was on a run, she could be spending every moment with the blacksmith.

  Molly had gotten over her embarrassment and returned to sitting with him to draw. But it was different now. She treated him more like a brother. He wouldn’t mind being Molly’s brother…in-law.

  One side of his mouth quirked up at that thought.

  Could someone like BethAnn ever think of him that way?

  Click.

  No mistaking the cock of a revolver. No doubt one with fanciful etching all over it. Metal jammed into his back.

  The breath froze in Fox’s lungs. He’d never been held at gunpoint before. Shot at a few times from a distance, but never this close.