The Pony Express Romance Collection

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

  Chip jumped from the wagon as the Halpin family reunited. He helped Adora to alight after she threw a blanket over her shoulders. He knew she would have countless questions, but he had more pressing duties first. He took her to Major Dekkel’s side, the officer who had helped ensure whatever trouble Jackson brought would be effectively squelched.

  “Did he get away?” Chip asked without preamble, in spite of it being two weeks since he’d spoken to the major before leaving San Francisco. Adora surely had no idea what they were talking about.

  “My men are collecting the culprits now,” said the major. “We’ll soon know.”

  Chip would have begun his explanation for Adora, but a shout reached his ears before he had the chance. His hearing was still muffled from the Ketchum Grenade that had exploded outside the children’s wagon, but he identified the voice as easily as Adora must have.

  “Are you all right, my darling?” Though Stanford was limping, he appeared mostly unharmed as he shrugged off the soldier holding his arm. He stumbled toward Adora.

  “I—I’m fine. But, Dirk! What are you doing here?” She looked at Chip then, adding, “I’m astounded to see both of you!”

  Chip kept his tongue, wondering what tale the man would spin.

  “I couldn’t let you go! I’ve been following this transport ever since you left San Francisco. I couldn’t wait for an Overland Coach—I came all on my own. When the attack began, I was frantic! I didn’t know where you were, which wagon—”

  “That’s not true,” said a new voice, one coming up behind them. Chip knew him as Donny, and he was dressed much the same as Chip, and was likely just as dusty considering they’d shared the same specially hired Overland Coach this past week. But their coach had gauged its daily distance on Major Dekkel’s transport instead of traveling nonstop. Donny pointed at Stanford with the same make of rifle that Chip balanced in his own grip. “This man was the only one of the lot not dressed as an Indian, but he was with ’em, all right.”

  “That’s a lie!” cried Stanford. He shook off the soldier holding him and grabbed Adora by the shoulders. Chip stiffened, reloading his repeating rifle as a reminder to Dirk to use his manners.

  “I’ve been following because I want to go to Ohio with you, Adora. To meet your family, to marry you. I knew I couldn’t insert myself into this army transport, but who could stop me from following? No one! I had no idea there would be an attack.”

  “Then how do you explain why you were with the men who attacked? There’s one or two not dead or fled,” added Donny. “I’m sure they can identify you easily enough.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” said Chip, pulling out a telegram he’d been carrying in the very spot where he’d hidden Adora’s letter not so long ago. “This is a description of Clancy Clark, better known as Jackson, and most recently calling himself Dirk Stanford. He’s wanted in Missouri, Denver—and Julesburg, for robbery and the attempted murder of a Pony Express rider.”

  He held out the paper with a vivid description that perfectly matched Stanford. Chip dared not look at Adora, for fear he’d see sympathy laced with her surprise—or worse, disbelief.

  “A description!” Stanford laughed. “That could match any number of fellows.” He turned back to Adora, still holding her shoulders. “You believe me, don’t you, darling? I’m here only because I love you!”

  “You’re under arrest,” said Major Dekkel. “Even if you aren’t this Jackson fellow, you’ve been identified as having attacked the US military, no doubt in hope of stealing our shipment of gold. If Mr. Nolan hadn’t suspected who you were and what you were up to, we might have been severely handicapped if he hadn’t traveled with reinforcements behind. Who knows how much more damage your erstwhile ‘Indians’ might have caused?”

  At last Chip let his gaze fall on Adora. She did indeed have a measure of sympathy for the man before her—but he was sure she believed every bit of the charges against him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Adora had barely had a chance to steady her breath all afternoon. The extraordinary day was at an end at last, and despite all she had seen, she could scarcely believe any of it had taken place. After Chip revealed that Dirk’s partner from the Pony Express robbery would identify who had been in on it with him, Dirk surrendered to arrest.

  He was, as Chip had once accused, not only a liar but the very sort of fortune hunter Dirk had once accused Chip of being.

  Now she and Chip rode in the same wagon as the transport moved on. The children, at least for today, shared a wagon with their parents, who didn’t want to be separated from them. The entire company was fortified by the men Chip had ridden with in the borrowed Overland Coach, which would see them safely all the way to Ohio.

  “Perhaps you might grace us with your voice and pennywhistle tonight,” Adora said, hoping to end the extraordinary day on a far lighter note than it had begun.

  He smiled. “Yes, I might very well. If it will please you.”

  Her own smile slowly broadened, buoyed by a truth she couldn’t help but share. “That seems to be part of your mission: to please me. How did I warrant being so blessed to know you?”

  He turned, letting the horses follow the line of wagons in front of them as he took both of her hands in his. She had no choice but to face him—exactly as she wanted it to be. “It’s been easy wanting to please you,” he said, then he let go of one of her hands to run a fingertip from the top of her temple to the tip of her chin, watching its progress as if studying her face. “I have a confession to make. I think I started falling in love with you from the moment I read ‘My dear Adora’ on your letter.”

  She held his gaze. “In that case I have my own confession. I think I starting falling in love with you from the moment you handed that letter to me. You were more correct than you realized when you said it brought good news. It brought you to me.”

  He kissed her then, and Adora let her arms go around his neck, pulling him close as his arms encircled her. There was just one thing left on her mind, though at the moment she hadn’t a doubt in the world that Chip was kissing her for her—and not for what he might believe from the contents of the letter.

  “Chip,” she whispered as he held her with one hand while the other loosely palmed the reins. She rested her cheek on his chest, reveling in the sound of his heartbeat so strong and steady. Would that beat sink with disappointment from what she was about to tell him? “There is something about that letter, something that might not be entirely clear to someone who doesn’t know my family.”

  “I know enough to believe they love you.”

  She nodded, but didn’t pull away. She was still listening to his heartbeat. “It’s about my inheritance.”

  His heart still beat steady. “I hope you know I don’t care about that.”

  She smiled but kept listening. “But I think you do care, Chip. It’s the most important inheritance of all, one you share in, too.”

  He pulled her to arm’s length to stare at her intently. “Adora, your family’s money means nothing to me. I want you, not—”

  Her eyes held his with matching intensity. “But that’s just it! My family has no money. Well, no more than enough to enjoy a small house sitting near a neighbor’s pond, one wagon, and to employ one maid-of-all work who does most of the cooking because she’s so good at it. The inheritance my father spoke of is spiritual, the most precious anyone can have because it comes from God Himself. My father seemed to doubt my faith whenever I disagreed with him. If I wasn’t honoring him, at least insofar as he believed, I was dishonoring God, too. I pray the letter is true, that distance has helped both of us to appreciate each other better.”

  Chip pulled her close again with a laugh, and she pressed her ear to his heartbeat. It beat ever strong and steady.

  “If Stanford had any inkling about the truth of this inheritance,” Chip said, “he wouldn’t have been half so much trouble.”

  Her arms tightened around him, and he leaned in for a kiss but
must have noticed her frown because he pulled back. “What is it? Why such a serious look on your face?”

  “I should have seen him for the kind of man he was.”

  “Adora,” Chip said gently, “stealing your inheritance might have been what brought that scoundrel to you in the first place, but I have no doubt once he met you he wanted you as his own regardless of any money.”

  Tears stung her eyes. “You always know just what to say, don’t you?”

  “I’m not sure about that, but I intend trying to live up to that when it comes to you—always.”

  Then he kissed her, and Adora’s heart soared with all the hope of a future filled with faith and love.

  Maureen Lang writes stories inspired by a love of history and romance. An avid reader herself, she’s figured out a way to write the stories she feels like reading. Maureen’s inspirationals have earned various writing distinctions including the Inspirational Reader’s Choice Contest, a HOLT Medallion, and the Selah Award, as well as being a finalist for the Rita, Christy, and Carol Awards. In addition to investigating various eras in history (such as Victorian England, the First World War, and America’s Gilded Age), Maureen loves taking research trips to get a feel for the settings of her novels. She lives in the Chicago area with her family and has been blessed to be the primary caregiver to her adult disabled son.

  Ride into My Heart

  by Debby Lee

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to Mary Davis for working so diligently on this project over the years. Mary, you never gave up on this book and your devotion has brought it to fruition. You’re an inspiration to me. Thank you Donna Schlachter, and Cj Barwin for providing me with so much information on the Pony Express. You made it a pleasure to write this story. Thank you to my amazing agent, Tamela Hancock Murray for continuing to work with me. And, as always, thank you to my beautiful family, my husband Steve, and our children Michelle, Devon, Toni, David, and Steffen for your undying support and encouragement. My love for you knows no bounds.

  Chapter One

  Weber Station, Utah Territory February, 1861

  Kimimela Hansen wrapped her shawl around her thin frame to ward off the icy February wind, but it did little to thaw the frozen layers coating her heart. She hurried away from the Pony Express relay station as fast as her legs could carry her. The demands of her job, among other things, weighed heavy on her, and she needed some time alone to unwind and shoot at some empty sarsaparilla bottles.

  “Where you off to, Kimimela?” Greta called as she scattered feed to a batch of hungry, clucking chickens.

  “I’m just going for a short walk to do some target practice. I’ll be back long before dinner.” Kimimela waved at her friend.

  “All right, but be careful. If you’re not back soon, I’m sending somebody after you.”

  “That’d be fine,” Kimimela replied. The freezing air burned her lungs as she inhaled. Greta possessed a special sweetness to care for people like she did. Touched by Greta’s concern, Kimimela warmed a little, in spite of the cold.

  Kusi, her beloved horse, stood tethered to a nearby picket line. He halted his nibbling at a pile of straw and whinnied, as if to ask if he could come along. Kusi’s breath left puffs of steam in the frigid late afternoon air.

  “Not this time, ol’ pal,” Kimimela soothed as she picked her way around the patches of snow covering the ground. She rubbed his fuzzy nose. When she took a step to leave, Kusi whinnied again and reared his head. “I’ll be right back. Take it easy.”

  She hustled past a corral at the fringe of the station where two men worked to break in a new horse. One held a rope while the second flung a blanket over the mare’s back. A couple of sharp bucks and the blanket flew off, landing on the hard ground. The second man retrieved the blanket and the process began again. The animal’s snorts of protest filled her ears.

  The first man hollered to her as he struggled to hang on to the horse’s reins. “You be careful out there, girl, you hear?”

  “I’ll be fine.” Kimimela tucked her chin against the wind as she walked away, leaving the station behind her. She patted the little double-barrel derringer pistol in her skirt pocket. Granted, she only had two shots before she had to reload, but if circumstances warranted, she had good aim. She abhorred violence and couldn’t imagine a scenario where she might have to shoot somebody. But she wasn’t going far and didn’t plan to be gone very long. What could possibly happen?

  As she pushed aside thoughts of danger, a mental list of chores filled her thoughts: laundry, cooking, and a heap of torn shirts and trousers to mend. The riders were sure hard on their clothes. She tried not to focus on overwhelming responsibilities, but things needed doing. The fact that the station was shorthanded by two men didn’t help matters. One rider had just quit after a band of outlaws chased him for more than six miles. Another man was recovering after getting bucked off a newly acquired mustang that had rebelled against the rider’s inexperience.

  “Ouch!” A sharp pebble had cut into her foot as she walked. “I’m gonna have to get a new pair of moccasins with my next pay,” she muttered and stepped with greater care.

  She hadn’t taken more than two limping steps off the main road and down the rocky path toward the creek when the pounding of horse’s hooves caught her attention. Her fingers clutched the weapon tucked in her pocket. The next rider wasn’t expected until evening. When they arrived ahead of schedule, it usually meant trouble. Bandits, renegades, or hungry wild animals were usually in pursuit. It looked like she’d be firing at something else other than empty sarsaparilla bottles today.

  The pistol slid from her skirt pocket with ease as she glanced down the snow-dotted path. Kimimela ran her fingers over the cold steel of the weapon, wondering who might be approaching. Whoever it was, they were sure in an all-fired hurry. A dark brown mustang galloped toward her with frightening speed. She took two quick steps sideways to avoid the thundering hooves. As the horse flashed past her, she caught a glimpse of the mochila, or mail pouch as it was called. A Pony Express rider, but which one she couldn’t tell.

  The crack of a gunshot pierced the air.

  Kimimela threw herself to the ground and stifled the scream threatening to burst from her lungs. Danger had been hot on her heels ever since taking a job with the Pony Express, but the constant threats hadn’t deterred her. Still, her thudding heart hadn’t grown accustomed to the perils and risks associated with earning her pay.

  With her face pressed to the cold ground, Kimimela uttered a simple prayer for safety, something she rarely did. She scrambled behind a nearby boulder. Would it be enough to shield her from the hot lead whistling through the air?

  Another gunshot boomed. She heard a yelp and the heavy thump of the rider slamming onto the rocky landscape. Kimimela clutched the sharp surface of the boulder in her hands. She peered from her hiding place. The frightened pony, minus the rider, raced off to parts unknown, with the mochila hanging precariously off one side.

  Gabe Jackson, one of her special friends, lay several yards from her, crumpled in a heap. Even with the distance, she could see blood staining his tan clothing. She had to get to him, but how could she without the risk of getting shot?

  Hair on the nape of her neck bristled as she huddled behind her rocky protection. Who would want to hurt sweet Gabe? He had never harmed anyone. He was just doing his job delivering the mail for the Pony Express. These thoughts rolled in her head like tumbleweeds. Fear gave way to indignation.

  The sound of galloping bounced off the canyon walls. A menacing form atop a tall, dark-brown horse rounded an outcropping of rocks. The sight of the sun glinting off his drawn pistol galvanized her into action. With the shooter nearly upon her, Kimimela cocked her pistol, ready to protect her friend. Steeling her heart and reaching deep in her soul, she tapped into the same strength that had flowed through her ancestors’ veins and laid her arms over the top of the boulder to steady her aim.

  “Git out of here, and let us be!”
She fired a shot just over the shooter’s head to let him know she meant business. She had never taken a life before, not even that of an animal, and frightened as she was, she didn’t care to commit murder now unless forced to.

  With pistol in hand, the shooter ducked. He glared at her with grimy, grizzled features. His lips curled in a sneer, exposing stained yellow teeth. His graying, uncombed hair was long and matted, and his clothes were mere filthy rags. He raised his revolver to fire. Kimimela ducked back behind the boulder for shelter. The click of an empty barrel met her ears, and she exhaled with relief.

  Kimimela stood again and braced herself. “Go on, git!” She held up her little pistol, more than willing to use it again despite the quiver deep in her belly.

  With narrowed eyes, the shooter wheeled his horse around and stared at the rider he’d just shot. Kimimela cast a quick glance at Gabe. His eyes were closed and he didn’t move at all. He looked dead. Rage unbridled her emotions and left common sense in the dust.

  “I said git out of here, before I shoot you dead!” Kimimela aimed her gun straight at the shooter. Her mind flew to her friends back at the way station who might be in peril as well. Though worn to a frazzle by the responsibilities of running the station, they still took the time to be nice to her and teach her how to perform her duties. Not one soul had said a derogatory word to her for being half Indian. That meant something, and she was determined to protect them.

  The pistol-wielding villain aimed a menacing sneer at Kimimela. She gritted her chattering teeth. He spit a stream of nasty-smelling tobacco juice in her direction. It landed near her toe with a sickening splat, but she held her ground. She wasn’t about to let this maniac get one step closer to her friends back at the way station, not if she could help it.

  The villain fumbled with the ammo in his belt. Kimimela pulled the trigger. His arm jerked, and a second later, his weapon dropped to the ground.