The Pony Express Romance Collection

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

  “I heard the telegraph is working in Fort Laramie.”

  “Indeed it is. And we’ll be setting posts along this route in the days ahead.”

  “That soon?” Stewart straightened.

  “Yes, and we need good men to run our telegraph stations. You’ve been highly recommended by the Pony Express management in Fort Laramie. We’d like to keep you on once the wires are up.”

  “I don’t know anything about telegraphs.”

  “None of us did until recently.” Hiram laughed and leaned back. “You can read and write. The rest you’ll pick up quickly enough.”

  Stewart rubbed his hand across his jaw. He started to decline the offer, but stopped.

  Is this Your answer, Lord?

  “You need some time to think about this. How about if I put my horse in the corral? We can eat and then discuss this at length. I must have an answer before I leave tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  Alannah pressed her hands over her mouth. That telegraph man intended to stay here for the night. She darted a glance around the loft. There was no other way out but down the ladder and through the front door. Even if she could sneak past the men while they slept, where would she hide?

  Of all the nights for her desire to be clean to override her need for caution.

  She wasn’t foolish enough to trust her baggy clothes and a little dirt to cover her identity for long. The look on Stewart’s face tonight had proven that.

  “Let’s get your mount stripped and settled for the night.” Stewart raised his voice.

  Did he think she was deaf?

  The benches scraped across the floor.

  The floor. She waited until the door banged behind them. Then she grabbed a bundle of blankets. She dropped the ladder and hurried down its length. After lowering her bedding into the root cellar, she tossed the ladder back up into the loft. She’d figure a way to retrieve it later.

  It took two trips up and down the wooden ladder, but she tucked away a pitcher of water, a bowl full of stew, and a chunk of the bread she’d baked yesterday. She resisted the urge to grab a candle. The light would show through the cracks in the floor. A shudder worked the length of her back. The darkness, however, was less frightening than being caught alone with a man in the middle of the Wyoming Territory.

  Word of that would spread far and wide, far enough to catch the ear of Hugh Bergman.

  Chapter Seven

  Just tell him you’ll take the job and shoo him on his way. Alannah remained curled into a ball on her nest of blankets in the root cellar. The cramped space wasn’t long enough for her to stretch out, not even to her meager length. With the barrel of salt pork, another of pickles, and several crates of potatoes, turnips, and onions, she barely fit at all. To make things more uncomfortable, the men tromping over the floor above her had sifted down enough dirt to reestablish her disguise.

  “It’s a fair offer,” Stewart said.

  “Then you’ll take it?”

  The bench creaked. Fingers drummed against wood.

  Tell him yes.

  “Yes.”

  Thank goodness.

  “That’s grand. I’ll be back in a few days with an official contract from the Western Union Telegraph Company. I’ll also bring you a manual to study. Please make yourself familiar with everything in that. The wires will arrive as soon as we have enough poles set in place, and then our instructor will be here to train you on the equipment. Any questions?”

  “I’m sure I’ll have plenty when you return.”

  Mr. Norwood laughed, and the slap of a palm on fabric followed. “You’ll do fine.”

  Alannah heaved a sigh of relief when the door banged shut behind them. She stood and brushed the worst of the dirt and grit from her hair and clothing. After stifling a sneeze, she pressed her ear against the trapdoor. No sounds reached her, but she didn’t open the door. Stewart would come back in to grab his pistol before going in search of her.

  She smiled in the dark closeness of the cellar. He would search for her, but not like Hugh and Edward. Not because he wanted to own her or control her. Because he cared for her. She pressed her hand against her cheek. Not as a man cared for a woman he loved, but as a man cared for someone in need. Why did that cause a knot in her middle?

  The faint tattoo of hoofbeats was followed by the slamming of the cabin door.

  “Come on, Zeus. Let’s find her. If anything has happened to her—”

  “Nothing has.” Alannah pushed open the trapdoor and came nose to nose with Zeus. His tongue washed her chin.

  The trapdoor flew from her hands.

  “Have you any idea how worried I’ve been about you?” Dark brows drew together above his smoky-brown eyes.

  Alannah climbed out of the root cellar and straightened to her full height, which stopped just short of his nose.

  Stewart swept his hand in an arc, and she ducked and flung her arm over her head. Heart pounding, she peered at him. Gone was his anger. In its place, a mixture of shock and sadness.

  “I’d never strike you.”

  Was that hurt in his voice? She relaxed muscle by muscle until she stood before him, her hands still trembling at her sides.

  “I wasn’t angry,” he said. “I was worried.”

  “About me?”

  “Is that so hard to believe?”

  Why should it be? She’d almost forgotten a man could be kind after all those months living under Hugh Bergman’s rule. She closed her eyes and saw again her father’s slow smile and jaunty wink.

  “No.” Stewart had shown her nothing but respect and kindness. “Sometimes I forget.” She touched the left side of her face.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed.

  They stood in silence for a moment. She wished he’d say something more. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, turning his face to the side. Silence.

  “I’ll start my chores.” She slipped from the cabin with Zeus on her heels. Stewart’s stare heated a spot between her shoulders until the door closed behind her.

  He was such an idiot. Of course she’d assumed the worst. She’d been on the receiving end of a fist with the last man she’d lived with.

  A twinge of guilt had him rubbing the back of his neck.

  That was another thing they had to change, and soon. With the telegraph coming, there’d be no need for the Pony Express. No need for a stock tender. No logical way to pass her off as anything other than what she was. An incredible young woman who needed his protection. One who was monopolizing his thoughts, especially at night when her even breathing above him stole any possibility of sleep.

  He plunged his fingers through his hair. Maybe Conn would ride in today with news that he’d found a place for Lanny. That’s what Stewart wanted. It was. She’d been here almost a week already. A week too long.

  He shot to his feet and jammed his hat on his head. He had work to do.

  Stewart took a break and stretched his back. Artemis shook her mane and stomped one of her freshly shod hooves on the packed dirt. He scratched her rump just above her tail, in that one spot a horse couldn’t reach by herself. The mare bobbed her head and leaned into him.

  “Doesn’t take much to keep you happy,” he said.

  Lanny came around the side of the cabin, leading Strawberry.

  “It’s a bit early to get him ready, isn’t it?”

  She raised her eyebrows and jerked her head toward the east. A rider approached. How had he missed that?

  “He’s early,” he said.

  “You’ve said that the past three mornings.”

  He raked Lanny’s appearance from battered hat to oversize boots. Her shirttail rustled in the breeze. It concealed her figure but brought him little peace of mind.

  “Why don’t you hide in the lean-to? I’ll saddle Strawberry.”

  She shook her head. “He’s already seen me. What stationmaster saddles a horse with a stock tender on the place?” She fetched the saddle.

  Arguing with her was futile, p
artly because she was right and partly because she was a stubborn woman. A beautiful, stubborn woman. Changing her name, cutting her hair, and covering herself in rags didn’t hide the fact from him.

  She had the saddle on Strawberry when Marcus Dillingson pulled his mount to a dust-billowing stop.

  Stewart tried to get along with everyone, but there was something about Marcus that he didn’t like. Didn’t trust. The little man was older than most Pony riders, and it didn’t help that he had the look and demeanor of a weasel. At least he didn’t spare Lanny more than a glance before he jumped from his tired mount.

  “You’re early today,” Stewart said.

  “Get used to it, chum. The telegraph is almost here.” The rider slung his mochila onto Strawberry while Lanny buckled the bridle.

  “What news do you have of the war?” Stewart asked.

  Marcus spit into the dust near Stewart’s boot. “What do you care? Talk is you ran from the war. Refused to fight.” He wiped the back of his gloved hand across his mouth. “Coward, they call you.”

  The anger building with each word left in a rush at Lanny’s soft gasp. Under the layer of dirt, her face paled. She dropped Strawberry’s reins.

  “’Sall right, kid.” Marcus gathered the reins and swung into the saddle. “Nobody’ll blame you for workin’ with the likes of him.” Lashing the horse with the ends of the reins, Marcus galloped to the west.

  As the dust cloud settled around them, Lanny shook her head and backed to the hitching post. She untied the weary mount and hurried behind the cabin.

  Zeus whined.

  “Follow her.” Stewart pointed after Lanny, and the big dog trotted off. She wouldn’t turn Zeus away, even if she never wanted to see Stewart again. Perhaps it was for the best.

  If that were the case, then why did his chest ache at the thought?

  A coward. She’d put her trust in a man who wouldn’t fight for his country. A man like Hugh Bergman. Although everyone had known Kentucky would stay neutral during the war, back home men were expected to fight for the side they believed in. But Hugh and his sons had joined the wagon train to Oregon.

  Nobody had accused Hugh of being a coward. Not to his face, anyway. Still, there had been plenty of whispers about his sudden decision to move to Oregon. Alannah had asked Ma about it once, but she’d been shushed and told to never speak of it again. While Ma’s words had been harsh, it was the fear in her eyes that had convinced Alannah to obey.

  Now her life rested in the hands of a man accused of cowardice. An accusation he hadn’t refuted.

  Alannah stripped the saddle from the tired mount and led him into the far corral. She should have brushed him out, but he’d dry soon enough in the breeze. Cyclops walked to her as she slipped the bridle from the other horse. The leather in her hands gave her an idea. She slipped the bridle on Cyclops. He tossed his head, making it difficult to get the bit in his mouth. After two tries, he lowered his head and took the bit. She settled the blanket and saddle on his back. In moments, they were racing behind the station, Zeus barking at their heels.

  At the first bark, Stewart dropped his pen, grabbed his shotgun, and ran out the door. He scanned the road to the horizon, both east and west. Nothing. Another string of barking came from behind the cabin. He rounded the corner and lurched to a halt. Cyclops charged up the hill, heading for the summit. That fool girl. In full daylight, she’d be visible for a mile or more.

  He ran to the corral. Breathing hard, he stopped at the gate. Lanny was running from him. She feared Bergman, but she’d loathe Stewart now. He didn’t know a lot about Kentucky, but everyone knew those mountain people were a fighting lot. Any respect he may have gained over the past week was gone.

  Pivoting, he marched back to the cabin. He slammed past the door and pulled his leather satchel from underneath his bed. Grabbing his spare clothing from the pegs where they hung, he stuffed them into the satchel. He turned around in the cabin, looking for anything else that was his. The shotgun was, but the Sharps rifle and the Colt Dragoon belonged to the Pony Express. As did all the cooking utensils except one frying pan and a battered coffeepot.

  He plowed his fingers through his hair. What was he doing? He couldn’t leave. Not now. He had to get a replacement first, tell Norwood he wouldn’t be staying to run the telegraph, and he couldn’t leave until Conn returned. The boy needed to take care of his sister. She wouldn’t want anything to do with Stewart anymore.

  Alannah let Cyclops crop the brown grass that surrounded the grove of pines. The breeze had grown cooler since morning. Gray clouds paraded across the sky. Rain would be welcome. From her vantage point below the crest of the hill, she could see for miles. A thin plume of dust rose from the horizon.

  Cyclops jerked his head, no doubt in response to her tightened grip on the reins. The forked prongs of an antelope took shape in front of the dust cloud. She blew out a long breath.

  What was she to do? What was she to believe? Why hadn’t Stewart denied the rider’s charge of cowardice? She let the reins rest over the saddle horn and rubbed her temples with her fingertips. It didn’t make sense. He’d stood up to Hugh and his sons, not once, but twice. Nobody from here to Kentucky had done that.

  Another dust cloud puffed into view to the west. Not enough dust for more than a single rider. She cast a glance at the sun, partially visible behind a cloud. It could be the next Pony rider. She hesitated, hands on the reins.

  The rider wasn’t hunched over the neck of the horse. It looked like he was clinging to the animal’s saddle. She squinted as the pair approached, then thumped her heels on her horse’s sides. The waving red hair, devoid of a hat, could only be her brother.

  The way he slumped in the saddle could only mean trouble.

  Chapter Eight

  Hoofbeats roused Stewart from the chair he’d fallen onto. He cocked his head while his heart skittered a beat. Whoever it was approached from the west. He sighed and heaved himself to his feet. Lanny wouldn’t return from that direction, or be in such a hurry to see him.

  He pulled open the door. One glance told him something was terribly wrong. Conn, for that hair could belong to no other, bounced against the side of the saddle in an unnatural slump. Stewart ran to meet the horse as it slowed to a bone-jarring trot. He reached the animal’s side as Conn came loose from the saddle. Stewart caught the boy in his arms. Blood soaked the front of Conn’s shirt.

  “Conn, can you hear me?”

  Eyelids flickered with a glimpse of green.

  “Hugh.”

  Stewart wasn’t certain he’d heard the word, but he’d read the boy’s lips. Approaching hoofbeats spiked a moment of fear. He twisted to see Lanny fling herself off of Cyclops.

  “Conn!”

  “He’s been shot.”

  “Hugh?”

  “Who else?” Stewart strode to the cabin with Conn in his arms. Lanny got there first and opened the door. Stewart laid the boy on the bed and tore open his shirt. Blood covered his left side. Too much blood.

  Lanny choked back a sob.

  “Get a clean cloth,” Stewart said, “a towel, anything to stop the bleeding.”

  While she crossed the room, he pulled the shirt open wider. Only the one wound, but it was enough. He rolled the unconscious boy onto his right side and ran his fingers around his back. No exit wound. He sighed. He had no experience removing bullets. They needed a doctor. He closed his eyes and tried to pray, but the only thing he could squeeze from his pounding heart was Help! The nearest doctor was at Fort Laramie.

  Lanny thrust a towel at him. He wadded it into a pad as he’d seen his mother do once. He pressed it onto the wound, holding it in place.

  “We have to get the bleeding stopped, and then I’ll ride to Fort Laramie.”

  “But…” Lanny’s eyes, blue-gray saucers of worry, searched his face.

  “The bullet is still in there.”

  “Can’t you take it out?”

  Stewart shut his eyes against the pleading in hers. “If
I tried, I might do more harm than good. He needs a doctor.”

  Lanny stood. “Then I’ll go.”

  “No.”

  “If Hugh did this, he knows Conn is a Pony rider. He’ll be coming.”

  “I know.”

  “I can’t stop him.” Her chin wobbled. She touched the side of her face before looking at him again. “You can.”

  His heart jolted against his ribs. “You believe that, even after—?”

  “I do.” She gripped his arm. “I don’t know why you left the war behind, but you’re no coward.”

  Her hand warmed his arm and scrambled his thoughts. “I can’t let you go. Even if Hugh doesn’t find you, there are still too many dangers. It’ll be dark before you could make it to Fort Laramie. You couldn’t switch horses at the other stations.” He knew he was rambling.

  Her chin dropped to her chest.

  “Take care of Conn’s mount,” he said. “Maybe they didn’t get a good look at which horse he rode.”

  “It’s Patch.”

  Stewart’s shoulders slumped. He’d been so focused on Conn, he hadn’t paid attention to the horse. Nobody could mistake the flashy pinto once they’d seen him.

  “He still needs to be put up. Cyclops, too.”

  She nodded and hurried out the door. He’d expected her to argue to stay by her brother, but he didn’t want her holding the bloody bandage in place, feel the wetness oozing from her brother’s side.

  Lord, please, stop the bleeding, or this boy will die.

  Patch stood with his nose hanging almost to the ground at the hitching post. Alannah peeled off his saddle and replaced the bridle with a rope halter from the lean-to. She looked the small horse over. He’d fit in the lean-to and be out of sight. Cyclops munched off the dwindling haystack. She elbowed him out of the way and grabbed an armload. After setting a half bucket of water next to the pile of hay, she tied Patch in the lean-to where he could reach both.

  Cyclops had followed her, the tall horse looking into a doorway he didn’t fit through. He still wore his saddle and bridle. Alannah glanced at the saddle and mochila she’d pulled from Patch.