The Pony Express Romance Collection

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

  A shudder swept through Kimimela. Being a Pony Express rider was dangerous enough; add in some ruthless outlaws with a hateful agenda and Gabe’s job just grew worse. She hoped Gabe had been shot by a lone gunman looking for an easy payday, and that the gunman would soon be apprehended by the authorities. But now she wasn’t so sure. Worry burrowed deeper into her heart.

  Another shiver rolled through Kimimela. She couldn’t endure losing another person close to her. Fear enveloped her. She gulped. “What are we going to do, Gabe?” Mr. Bromley, their station manager, had said he’d be gone for a while.

  “Nothing we can do except tell the new station manager and keep riding.”

  Three days later, Gabe mounted the gentlest mustang in the corral and rode away, despite Kimi’s objections. That woman acted just like a mother hen. He had a job to do, for goodness’ sake.

  Spending time with her while he recuperated had been enjoyable. They had exchanged many stories of their people. She showed him a necklace that had been passed down to her from her grandmother. He showed her the Bible his grandmother had given him and shared a few scriptures with her. She hadn’t been very receptive, but there were deep wounds cutting through her soul. Hopefully, God would someday heal those broken places in her life.

  Gabe usually kept his long hair tied back with a strip of leather when he was out on a run, but not this time. He wanted the freedom to be a bit less conventional today. After being cooped up for nearly a week, he had forgotten how good the earth smelled. He inhaled deeply, still mindful of the ache in his shoulder.

  An image of Kimi filled his mind. She had nursed him well. Maybe he could pick up a gift of appreciation for her when he had time to get into town. It was a shame she didn’t believe God cared about her.

  Kimi mistrusted a lot of white folks. He understood her feelings. More than once he’d been called a string of derogatory names. One time he’d been thrown out of a general store because the owner didn’t care to do business with a half-breed. But his grandmother had taught him long ago that you shouldn’t judge all folks by the bad actions of a few. This prompted him to ask God for patience where Kimi was concerned.

  Gabe also prayed for his fellow riders. “Please, Lord, keep them safe, especially Thomas, and everyone who works at my home station.” His horse loped along. If the rumors he’d heard were true, there could be a whole mess of trouble for the Pony Express. He continued his meditations until feelings of peace settled in his soul.

  A wan winter sun did little to warm the crisp morning air. In the summertime, a mass of wildflowers in a palette of multiple colors would cover the landscape, but today only gray rocks and an occasional mound of snow met his eyes.

  A sharp crack from somewhere yanked his attention to the present. Taking a few seconds to glance around for someone wielding a gun, he saw no one. Still, not wishing for another hole shot through him, Gabe kicked the sides of his horse and urged him into a gallop. He gripped the reins tight, crouched low in the saddle, and tried to ignore the pain radiating in his shoulder. One hand rested on his pearly handled pistol.

  “Please, God, I don’t want to have to use this,” he said.

  Minutes later he spied the next way station, Castle Rock, in the distance. He tried to tell himself he was being silly, but another crack in the air convinced him otherwise. The small dwelling wouldn’t offer much protection if a gunfight erupted, but it was better than a shoot-out in the wide-open country.

  A quick glance over his shoulder and he could see a man riding only a few hundred yards behind him, and he was gaining fast. Gabe caught sight of the man’s shiny pistol and spurred his horse to go faster.

  When he rode closer to the station he saw someone saddling a horse. He hoped another rider could take the next leg of the journey because his shoulder now throbbed. If he reopened his wound he’d miss even more work, and he couldn’t afford that.

  But he could stay behind and hold off any crooks with ill intentions. That would give the next rider a chance to get away. With luck, and God’s mercy, the sight of a few hands milling about would change the mind of anyone intending harm.

  The mustang’s labored breathing told Gabe that the poor animal was getting tired and couldn’t last much longer. With how hard he clutched the reins, his shoulder burned with agony. He couldn’t arrive at the station any too soon.

  Chapter Four

  Tired and mildly anxious about Gabe’s safety, Kimimela trudged to the water pump. A pile of lunch dishes needed a good washing. Tomorrow, if the sun decided to make an appearance, she’d draw even more water to give her work dress a scrubbing and hang it on the line to dry. Gabe would be back by then. Maybe he had clothes that needed washing, too.

  As Kimimela worked the handle up and down, Greta approached. Sadness lurked in her friend’s wide eyes.

  “Greta, what’s wrong?” Kimimela hated to ask. Here in the wild frontier any number of things could be amiss.

  “Father fell and broke his arm, and my brother ran off to join the army. There’s nobody besides my mother to run the family’s store in Sacramento. She needs the help, so I’ll be leaving right away.”

  The air seemed to fly from Kimimela’s lungs. Greta, leaving? Something sharp pierced her heart. She let out a small cry.

  Greta’s eyes grew wider still. “Don’t worry, Kimimela. I won’t be gone long. I like it here and make good money working for Russell, Majors, and Waddell. I’m coming back as soon as Father recovers.”

  “Okay, but promise you’ll write to me.”

  Greta reached over and gave her a warm hug. “I promise. Now I have to pack. The stage will be here later this afternoon.”

  Kimimela watched her friend rush into the house. She tried to tell herself Greta would only be gone a short time. After all, family was important, but that sharp thing that pierced her only a moment ago worked its way deeper into her heart.

  Only two days had passed since Greta left for Sacramento, and already the work piled up around the station. Kimimela struggled to keep up with the laundry and dishes, but it looked like the riders and hired hands would have to pitch in with chopping firewood and possibly mending their own torn clothing.

  A pile of dishes waited for Kimimela one afternoon when she trudged out to the water pump with two buckets. It would take all afternoon to wash them, and she wondered if that would leave her time enough to cook supper before sundown.

  When the buckets were full, Kimimela sighed as she lifted them. She made it three steps toward the house when the sound of horses approaching caught her attention. Puzzled at the noise, she paused. The stage wasn’t scheduled to pass through until the next week, and the next rider wasn’t due for a while. She didn’t think the man who’d shot Gabe two weeks ago would be foolhardy enough to ride into the station and wreak havoc. But then one never really knew for sure.

  The temporary station manager, Marcus Jacoby, stepped from the house. “Who do you suppose that could be? I’m not expecting the next rider until later this evening.” He peered down the road as he spoke.

  Feelings of uneasiness crawled over Kimimela. “Sounds like more than one person. You can handle this. I’m getting inside to do the dishes,” she said as she proceeded into the house and shut the door. She wasted no time stoking the cookstove and setting a pan of water on top to heat. If a band of crooks were headed for the station, she was glad Gabe wasn’t here and was out of harm’s way.

  Maybe Marcus should send someone for the sheriff. Kimimela leaned against the wall and sucked in a huge breath. She told herself to stop being such a worrier. Maybe the folks were just a bunch of homesteaders passing through.

  Without giving the matter another thought, she went into the pantry to retrieve the dishpan. When she came back into the kitchen, she heard the sound of several horses coming into the yard. Marcus addressed the newcomers.

  “Evening, sirs. What can I do for you?”

  “You can tell us what that good-for-nothing half-breed that I shot did with the mail pou
ch last week.”

  The dishpan Kimimela held clattered to the floor when she heard that voice. It was the man who shot Gabe. She rushed to the window, pulled the curtain aside, and looked out. The skunk pointed a gun at Marcus. A rather unladylike growl rumbled past her lips. She’d had enough of this mealy-mouthed coyote!

  Kimimela hurried to her small room and threw open her wardrobe doors. She pulled her little derringer from the small drawer and slid two bullets into the chambers. She would march out there and shoot that man dead.

  Hiking up her skirts, she flew to the front door and flung it open. Four men, grungy like they had been living outdoors for a spell, rested atop their horses. Their leader sat at the front and center of the bunch, his finger poised on the trigger of a rifle. He spat streams of tobacco juice, used cuss words she had never heard before, and leaned low in the saddle while glaring at Marcus.

  Kimimela tried not to be frightened as she took two steps forward. However, she didn’t get the chance to shoot the varmint. He rode past Marcus and cracked him on the head with the end of the rifle.

  Marcus staggered but quickly righted himself and grabbed the end of the weapon. He tried to wrestle it from the intruder, but the man whacked Marcus with another blow. The station manager groaned and fell to the ground.

  Two men with pistols bolted from the bunkhouse at this time. Shots were fired. Bullets ricocheted off the bunkhouse and at least one window blew to smithereens. The two men fell to the ground and then crawled back into the bunkhouse.

  Kimimela managed to fire off both rounds from her derringer, but both shots sailed right over the heads of the gunmen. They fired back at her.

  A lantern hanging on the front porch shattered and fell to the ground with a clang. Kimimela screamed and ducked back inside. She scrambled under the table as thoughts of Gabe’s God zipped through her mind.

  The shooting stopped. Quiet filled the air, and then she heard shouting. Curious to what was going on, she crept to the window and peeked outside. Two members of the gang rode their horses behind the barn. The other gang member jumped from his horse and ducked behind a nearby wagon.

  The leader tried to open the corral where three horses whinnied and pawed at the ground. Kusi was among them. Kimimela presumed the man was about to steal their horses.

  Kusi! She couldn’t let them take Kusi.

  Another shot, coming from the direction of the bunkhouse, pierced the air. The man taking cover behind the wagon let out a yelp and fell to the ground.

  “Brent!” The leader sprinted from the corral and bolted to his comrade. Kimimela watched as he helped the wounded man up onto his horse. Brent wobbled in the saddle but managed to hold on and ride away. Kimimela couldn’t bring herself to shoot an injured person, no matter how badly he acted. She was out of bullets anyway.

  “C’mon, men, let’s get out of here,” the leader yelled and jumped on his own horse.

  The two men who had hidden behind the barn rode off, taking with them the best mustang at the station. She was glad to see them go but would be furious with the loss of a good pony. At least they hadn’t taken Kusi.

  Her eyes turned to the man who called himself the leader and wondered what he wanted.

  She heard him mutter as he rode to the barn and yanked a lantern hanging on the open door. One of the hired hands fired at the leader but hit the side of the barn instead.

  The man lit the flame and then tossed it onto the stack of hay bales. The remaining horses in the corral continued to whinny and buck. The noise tugged at Kimimela’s heart. How frightened Kusi must be in the melee, but then she heard an even more frightening sound.

  “Tell the army that Rayford Montgomery will have his revenge.”

  The villain now had a name, but that knowledge did her little good at the moment. Flames blazed through the barn and were spreading toward the corral.

  The skittish mustang pawed the ground when Gabe attempted to climb into the saddle.

  “Easy, boy.” He spoke quietly to the animal, hoping to soothe the frightened beast. With all the danger that had plagued the trail lately, between Indian fighting and criminals roaming the countryside, it wasn’t any wonder some of the horses were getting agitated.

  Gabe managed to get the horse moving forward. He wasn’t due to get back at Weber Station until later that night, but the last rider was ahead of schedule and so he would be, too.

  At his last way stop, he’d spoken with the station manager. Gabe told him about the man who’d shot him. The station manager said two of his riders were chased by someone fitting that description. Together they had passed the information along to the authorities.

  Hours later, a bounty hunter named McCray and his three sons arrived to speak with Gabe. He couldn’t give the men much information, but he assured McCray that if he saw the criminals, he’d let McCray know. It didn’t take a scientist to figure out something awful was rolling over the prairie.

  Gabe shivered as he drew his mind to the present and focused on the miles he passed. Thoughts of a warm bunkhouse and a hot meal prepared by Kimi now filled his mind. Oh, how that woman could cook. His home station was only a few miles away. Gabe urged his horse to go a bit faster.

  As he approached the area, he saw an orange blaze lighting the sky. That was odd. It couldn’t be the sun. It settled on the distant horizon and just a bit to his left. When he got closer, he heard a cacophony of noise. Panicked shouts, whinnying horses, and a deafening roar met his ears. He kicked his horse into a gallop.

  When he rode into the yard, the sight of flames engulfing the barn caused the blood to race through his veins. Through the smoke and chaos Gabe saw Thomas leading a frightened pinto toward him. They pulled the mochila from one animal and placed it on the other.

  “Good luck getting this fire under control,” Thomas yelled, then he spurred the horse into a gallop.

  Gabe led his horse to the hitching post and tethered the reins to it. The animal bucked, probably with fear, but couldn’t get away. Gabe would comfort the poor creature later. Now, he rushed to help with the bucket line.

  “What happened?” he shouted at Kimi.

  The sweaty girl worked the water pump like a steam engine. “The man who shot you came through, raised a ruckus. Him and his gang shot two hired hands and set the barn on fire.”

  Marcus added, “We managed to get all the horses out but we can’t save the barn. All we can do is pray the fire doesn’t spread.”

  A bloody bandage haphazardly wrapped around the station manager’s head spoke of the harrowing incident he’d endured.

  Marcus continued, “I know you just got in from a run, but if another rider comes in and isn’t able to go on, you may need to take his place.”

  Gabe nodded, understanding fully that no matter what happened the mail pouch had to get through. He reached for the full bucket thrust at him and passed it to the man, who threw the water onto the flames.

  One of his friends, a fellow Pony rider, wore a shirt with a torn and bloody sleeve. Guilt seeped into him. He should have been here to protect his friends. He pushed the feelings aside. There was work to do.

  Three men Gabe didn’t recognize swung wet blankets and beat out flames threatening to take the bunkhouse. He helped slosh water over the structure in a desperate attempt to save it. A minute later, with an ear-piercing roar, the barn’s roof and two side walls gave way. Sparks spewed through the air along with clouds of thick black smoke.

  Gabe and the rest of the men coughed and wheezed. He beat out tiny cinders attempting to ignite the front of his shirt.

  “Ouch,” he cried. The burning embers singed his hands, but he kept working.

  His shoulder had healed up, mostly, but it ached after about twenty minutes of hauling buckets. He switched places with a weary-looking Kimi at the water pump. Her black hair had worked loose of its braid and swung around her shoulders and back. Gabe had always thought her beautiful, even at a time like this.

  “At least the skunk has a name now,�
� she sputtered as she grasped the empty bucket thrust at her and held it under the flow of water. “And I plan on going directly to the sheriff first thing in the morning.”

  “What’s his name?” Gabe asked. Twice now the man had put Kimi in danger. Anger boiled in him. If the sheriff couldn’t take care of the criminal, Gabe would do it himself.

  “Montgomery. Rayford Montgomery,” Kimi said as she heaved for breath, “and somebody else he called Brent, and two others I didn’t catch the names of.”

  Rayford Montgomery.

  Gabe shuddered. For some reason that sounded familiar.

  Chapter Five

  The wood beams Kimimela held upright left splinters in her hands and an ache in her back, but the barn had to be rebuilt before they lost the horses. For three days the animals had been tethered outside, which meant someone had to stand watch at night. That still left the animals out in the cold weather, and easy pickings for horse thieves.

  Two men working on the roof’s frame broke a sweat, even in the frigid temperatures. The new structure wouldn’t be fancy, but every available pair of hands was still needed to accomplish the job. The Pony riders pitched in when they weren’t out on a run. That’s where Gabe was at, taking runs as far east as Nebraska Territory. She didn’t know when, or if, he’d be back.

  Kimimela groaned from exertion, from missing Gabe, and from regret at the harsh words she’d spoken to him. When the barn fire had been put out, she’d voiced some smart remarks about his God. He hadn’t taken kindly to her opinions. The next day he rode out.

  “Marcus, did Gabe tell you when he’d be back?”

  “No, he didn’t.” Marcus hammered a stubborn board into place. “Said he was visiting his friends Billy and Daisy Cook somewhere near Fort Laramie. He didn’t tell me to put in for a replacement, so I assume he’ll head back eventually.”

  Nebraska Territory was so far away; she wondered if he’d ever return. Guilt assailed her at how cruel she’d been. She hoped for a chance to tell him she was sorry.