The Pony Express Romance Collection

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

  Believing hadn’t done Ma any good in the end. Hugh Bergman had made sure of that.

  If the blue gray of her eye had been a lance, he’d be skewered to the wall behind the stove. That red hair of hers, wet and bedraggled as it was, warned of a temper loud and clear. He shook his head. What he knew about women would fit in a thimble and not crowd the finger. Raised in a passel of boys on a remote tobacco plantation, he’d always thought of women as a foreign species. This one, however, looked more like a skinny grizzly bear with a bad grouch on.

  He stirred the mush until it bubbled and thickened, then set the frying pan on the table before scooping a pair of bowls and two spoons off the shelf. He also grabbed a pot of molasses. Maybe it would sweeten her up a bit.

  “Got any cream?” Conn’s vivid green eyes held no animosity.

  Stewart grinned. The best way to a boy’s heart was through his stomach. “Sorry.”

  Conn shrugged and filled his bowl. His sister remained behind the chair across the room, unmoved since she’d taken her post there. A blast of wind rattled the timbers that framed the cabin, followed by more ground-shaking thunder. She might relax if he left, but he wasn’t about to go out in this storm.

  “Please, won’t you sit and eat?” He pasted on what he hoped was a welcoming smile. Between her silent scowls and the threat of men coming after them, he’d be happy to see the pair ride off as soon as the weather cleared. But they had nothing to ride and apparently nothing to eat. Likely they didn’t have a nickel between them either. He clenched his teeth to keep his smile in place.

  Her gaze flicked to the table and back to him, but she didn’t move.

  What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t make her eat. The way her brother slurped up the corn mush, there wouldn’t be any left if she didn’t decide soon. She just stared at him. Then it dawned on him that he was staring at her. Oh. Maybe that was the problem.

  He spied his extra pair of boots by the door. They needed a good greasing. He turned his back on the siblings, picked up his boots, then pulled his box of cleaning gear out from under the bed. Seated on the grass-stuffed mattress because Miss Fagan was using his only chair as a shield, he grabbed a rag and started cleaning the first boot.

  The floorboard creaked, but he resisted the urge to look. The scratch of the bench sliding across the floor and the click of a spoon against the pottery bowl brought a twitch to his lips. Maybe women weren’t so hard to figure out after all.

  With the second boot greased, Stewart sat back and took in the activity he’d been studiously ignoring. Miss Fagan had water heating on the stove, the dishes stacked on the dry sink. She swayed on her feet. Conn slouched forward until his head rested on the table.

  “You need sleep.”

  She whirled. Conn lurched to his feet.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He pointed to the rope ladder that hung near the foot of his bed. “You can sleep in the loft.” The blue-gray lance was back. “Go ahead. Pull the ladder up after you.”

  The pair exchanged glances. She tipped her chin the barest fraction, but it was Conn who answered. “Much obliged. We been on the move most of a day and pert near all night.”

  Stewart needed to know more about the men who would come after them, but not now. He doubted he’d get any answers from her, and the boy was all but asleep on his feet. The storm would buy them some time. “Go on up.” He nodded to the rope ladder.

  Conn held the ladder while his sister climbed to the loft. Then he shinnied up and pulled the ladder up behind him.

  Zeus padded over and rested his chin on Stewart’s knee. Scratching behind the dog’s silky ears, Stewart listened until the rustling overhead stopped. A soft snore assured him that they slept. It must be her snoring, with all that swelling. He tightened his hands into fists, but the damp nudge of Zeus’s nose released the tension.

  “Who would hit a woman like that?” Stewart whispered.

  The dog’s copper eyebrows twitched.

  “Have to give those two credit though. They stuck together. That’s more than I can say for my family.”

  Silence and heat were the first two things that registered before Alannah moved. The pain in her face brought her fully awake. She cupped her hand around her swollen eye and moaned. Conn lay sprawled across another pallet, his boots still on, hair poking up around his head like the feathers on a riled rooster.

  She sat up and ran her hands over her hair. She didn’t need a mirror to tell her what a wreck it was. Using her fingers for a comb, she untangled it as best she could and tamed her waves into a long braid. She had nothing to tie the end with. No matter. Trail dust had stiffened it enough to hold for now.

  Sweat trickled down her back. She longed for a bath or a dip in the river.

  The loft had no window, but light poured through a knothole under the eaves. She scooted closer and peered into the station yard. The rain had stopped, but clouds still darkened the sky. It must be past noon. They needed to make plans.

  “Conn.”

  He didn’t budge.

  She scooted beside him, the rafters too low for walking upright. “Conn.”

  He snorted and rubbed his knuckles over his eyes. “What time is it?”

  “Time to make plans. We need to figure out where we’re going.”

  He yawned and stretched. “Been thinkin’ on that.”

  “In your sleep?” She tousled his unruly hair and almost smiled when he batted her hand away.

  “Before.” He sat up and ran his hand across his face. “Remember them posters we seen back in St. Louis? About the Pony Express?”

  “When you tried to talk Ma into letting you join?”

  “I could do it, Lanna.”

  She shook her head.

  “Hear me out. I could take care of us. You know Ma’s kin don’t want us.”

  She couldn’t argue that point, but what choice did they have? Returning to Hugh Bergman meant at best being beaten to death and at worst being forced to marry Edward.

  Chapter Three

  Slogging through the mud from the corrals to the cabin, Stewart tugged a longeared roan behind him. Sporting knobby knees and a skinny neck, Strawberry wasn’t the best-looking horse in his Pony Express string, but the animal was sure footed and could handle the mud. Benji Crawford should be here within the hour, carrying news of the war back home.

  The familiar tightening in his chest started as he tied Strawberry to the hitching post and entered the lean-to to fetch a currycomb and burlap sack. He worked over the horse’s wet hide, drying and brushing until its coat gleamed. The mindless activity left his thoughts free to wander to his brothers. Would he ever see any of them again? He stopped and leaned his forearms on the horse’s back, breathing in the mingled odors of damp horse and earth. Should he have stayed and entered the war?

  With a snort of disgust, he pushed away from Strawberry and ducked back into the lean-to. He hefted a saddle to his shoulder then grabbed a blanket and bridle from their pegs on the wall. Within minutes, Strawberry was ready to go and dozing at the hitching rail.

  Stewart shaded his eyes and scanned the road to the east. The mud might slow Benji down. He hoped it also slowed whoever was chasing the brother and sister in his loft. He pushed his hat back and scratched his forehead.

  Lord, I haven’t done a very good job being my own brothers’ keeper. What am I going to do with that pair?

  Of course there was no answer. He believed in prayer, but experience had taught him that the Lord wasn’t in the business of easy answers or quick fixes. The preacher said tribulations built character. He ought to have enough character for two men by now.

  The cabin door opened, and Conn poked out his head. He had an empty bucket in his hand. “Which way to the privy and the well?”

  “Which one do you need first?” Stewart chuckled at the boy’s wry grin. “The privy is that way. I’ll fill the bucket for you.”

  “Thanks.” Conn tossed him the bucket and sprinted around the cabin.
/>   Stewart walked to the well a few feet from the lean-to. He was hauling the bucket up when the hoofbeats of an approaching rider reached him. Zeus rose from where he’d been enjoying a sunbeam and woofed a greeting. Stewart didn’t need to shield his eyes to see Benji pelting straight for him. Stewart set the bucket down and waved his arm over his head.

  “Benji! You made good time.” Miss Fagan would stay in the cabin, he was sure of that. Now if Conn would stay put, and if Benji didn’t need the privy…

  “Whoa!” Benji pulled up on a mud-covered horse with heaving sides. “Good, you saddled Strawberry.”

  “Figured he was the best choice for you.”

  “He’s a good one.” Benji leaped from his tired mount and unhooked his mochila, the Pony Express-issued mailbag. He ruffled Zeus’s ears.

  “What news of the war?” Stewart grabbed the horse’s reins and tied him next to Strawberry.

  “The Maryland legislature up and went home. Didn’t even vote on secession.”

  “They didn’t?”

  “No, sir. Lincoln done signed a paper what says the government can take any property used in the fight against the Union. Imagine that. Them Johnny Rebs ain’t gonna be happy when we liberate a bunch of their slaves.” Benji nodded as he fitted the mochila to Strawberry’s saddle.

  “No, they won’t be.”

  The boy slipped Strawberry’s reins free and vaulted onto his back. The horse tossed its head and danced in a circle. “See you in a couple of days.” With a shout, Benji thumped the horse’s sides and they shot off to the west.

  Stewart raised his hand in farewell.

  Maryland hadn’t seceded. The western counties of Virginia weren’t budging either. His family’s plantation lay between the two. If only he were there to try and reason with his brothers.

  Alannah allowed herself to draw a full breath after the rider pounded away. Not the Bergmans, but her knees trembled and her stomach knotted anyway. She climbed down the ladder.

  “That was a close one.” Conn’s voice drifted around the door.

  “We won’t get much notice of incoming riders on the wet ground,” the stationmaster said.

  Alannah pulled the door open. “We have to leave.”

  Conn and the stationmaster both turned and stared at her.

  “It’s not safe here. We have to go. Now.” Surely Conn would agree with her. If that rider had seen them…

  Conn turned to the stationmaster. “Pony Express still hirin’ riders?”

  “No.” She marched across the muddy yard and grabbed her brother’s sleeve. “No. We’ll head for Kentucky.”

  “Miss,” the stationmaster said, “Kentucky is a long way from here, and it’s—”

  “I know where my home is.” Anger flared inside her.

  “What I was going to say is that it’s smack in the middle of a war.”

  “Kentucky has remained neutral.” She lifted her chin and did her best to stare him down with her good eye.

  “It has, but the Union forces have already moved into the state. It’s a sure thing the Rebels will clash with them there.”

  Alannah pressed her hands to her stomach. No. Not her beloved Kentucky. Not where Pa rested beneath the grove of oaks at the corner of their farm. What had been their farm, before Bergman sold it. She blinked away the tears that threatened.

  “Kentucky will remain neutral.” They had nowhere else to go.

  “Even if it does, you can bet the armies aren’t going to tiptoe around it.” The stationmaster shook his head. “It’s going to be torn apart by the forces surrounding it.”

  That couldn’t be true. She shot a glance to the west, the Pony Express rider already long out of sight. He’d brought news of the war. She’d heard every word. She looked back at the stationmaster, and his expression hadn’t changed. He received the latest news from the riders. He knew what was happening back east. They couldn’t go back.

  “You didn’t answer me.” Conn faced the stationmaster. “Are they still hirin’ riders?”

  After casting her an apologetic look, the stationmaster nodded. “You’d have to sign on at Fort Laramie. That’s the closest Pony Express office.”

  “Isn’t this a Pony Express office?” Conn asked.

  “This is Horseshoe Station, a relay point. There are two others between here and Fort Laramie: Cottonwood and Star Ranch.”

  “Could I borrow a horse?” Conn’s voice cracked on the last word.

  The stationmaster pulled off his hat and ran his fingers around the wide brim. “What about your sister? Who’s going to look after her?”

  Alannah staggered backwards as if someone had punched her in the stomach. “We have to stay together.”

  “He’ll find us easier if we do.” Conn’s eyes had always been a happy-go-lucky green, but somehow, her little brother had grown up overnight. He stepped toward her and took her hands in his. “We’ll find a place for you at Fort Laramie. Someplace safe. I’ll see you every time I ride through. I’ll turn my paychecks over to you, and you can save them until we have enough to rent our own place.”

  “No.” If only she had time to think. She gripped Conn’s hands. He was all she had left in the world.

  “Fort Laramie is no place to leave your sister.”

  They both turned to look at the stationmaster. She couldn’t remember his name.

  “She’ll be safe at a fort,” Conn said.

  “Maybe once, but not anymore. Fort Laramie is a fort in name only. The best of the fighting men have been sent back to the war.” The stationmaster shrugged. “It doesn’t even have a palisade for protection.”

  “He’s right. I remember when we passed it.” Alannah pulled free of Conn’s grasp and leaned against the cabin wall. “It’s just a collection of buildings on the open prairie.”

  “Hide her here, just until I find a place,” Conn said.

  Alannah gasped and straightened, her hands clenched at her sides. “Certainly not.”

  Stewart couldn’t agree more, but the expression of horror on her face poked at his pride. He wasn’t some monster like the man who’d punched her, after all. Hadn’t he given her and her brother shelter when they were in need? Hadn’t he fed them from his own larder? Hadn’t he kept their secret from Benji?

  “Won’t be for long, just till I can find her somewhere safe.” Conn’s freckles stood out in bold relief below his earnest eyes.

  “Your sister can’t stay with me. It’s not fitting.”

  “You could hide her. She can help with the horses. She’s strong, and she can cook, too. You ain’t had a biscuit until you had one of hers.”

  “Next you’ll want to show him my teeth.”

  Stewart and Conn turned to face Alannah, her arms crossed, rigid in anger.

  “I’m not some horse you can barter off. And I’ll not be staying here with some man we don’t even know.”

  She had good sense, he’d give her that.

  “Have you forgotten Hugh?” Conn asked.

  Color drained from the unbruised side of her face.

  Stewart scanned the horizon and gestured to the cabin door. “He’s right. Let’s get inside and out of sight.”

  For a moment she looked like she’d argue, but she followed Conn inside. Stewart patted the weary horse on its rump. He’d have to care for the animal soon, but first, they’d better straighten this other matter out.

  “The only way I can provide for you, and stay out of Hugh’s way, is ridin’ for the Pony Express. We got no other option.”

  Stewart pulled his hat off and dropped it on the table. Brother and sister stood toe-to-toe with matching scowls. How had Stewart gotten himself into this mess?

  “We can disappear into the hills where nobody will find us.” Alannah’s voice lacked conviction. Worry, or maybe fear, creased the corners of her eyes.

  “How would we survive?” Conn asked.

  “We’d live off the land. Pa taught us how.”

  “We got no gun. We ain’t even got a kni
fe between us. All we got is a handful of biscuits and the clothes on our backs.”

  Stewart ran his hand down his face. The boy was right. From the look of her, she might not survive another meeting with this Hugh fellow. He might not know much about women, but he knew it was a man’s job to protect them. Even if it was a job he didn’t relish. “She can stay.”

  “What?” Her expression vacillated between horror and fury.

  Stewart turned to the boy. “You can borrow a horse to ride to Fort Laramie. You best get moving. That fellow can’t be far behind you, even with the storm to slow him down. Take the chestnut with three white stockings. She’s well rested.” The boy already had his hand on the door. “Pull the saddle off the horse out front and use it. You’ll find a dry blanket and a bridle in the lean-to.” The door banged shut on his last word.

  That furious blue-gray gaze pinned him to the wall.

  He swallowed.

  “My stock tender ran off. You can pose as the new one for a while. You’ll find a pile of castoff clothing in that trunk.” Stewart pointed to the corner of the cabin. “Find something that will fit, or make it fit. Scissors, needles, and whatever else you may need are in the can on my dresser. Keep your hair out of sight.” Those red locks were a dead giveaway. “From a distance, it might work. And when anyone approaches, you get up to the loft and pull the ladder behind you. With any luck, your brother will find a place soon.”

  It couldn’t be too soon for Stewart. He followed Conn out the door, already regretting his decision.

  Alannah stared at the back of the door for several minutes, digesting what had just happened. The stomp of hooves, the creaking of leather, and the jingle of a bit brought her out of her stupor. She wanted to rush out the door and pull Conn away from the horse, but what good would that do? The stationmaster was right. Hugh couldn’t be far away. At least Conn would be safe. Hugh had never wanted the boy anyway. He’d search high and low for her, but he had no interest in her brother.