by Paty Jager
She crossed her arms as if she had some attribute to hide and stared forward.
“I can turn around and get you on a train back to Kansas.” He used as neutral a tone as he could muster. He didn’t want her to think his talk about the miners was only a means of scaring her back home.
“You would like that, wouldn’t you? Then you could find Father’s map and have that mine for your own.” She shifted her arms tighter to her body. “I am not going back. I’ve washed my hands of Kansas. I’ll either find the map and produce enough gold to send equal portions to my siblings and to support me, or I’ll not find the map and continue on until I find a place I like and a job.”
This bit of information piqued Isaac’s curiosity. “Why aren’t you returnin’ to Kansas?”
She shot him a narrowed glare. “That is none of your business. Just as most of this conversation is none of your business.”
“Well then, I guess since you don’t believe me haulin’ you to Morgan’s Crossing is my business, you could just get on out of this wagon and walk.” He pushed on the brake and hauled back on the reins, halting the horses.
She sat up straight and faced him sputtering, “You wouldn’t dare leave me out here. It’s miles to Morgan’s Crossing.”
“Yes, it is. And if you ain’t a mite nicer to me, I will leave you sittin’ by the road.” He glared back at her. He’d never leave a woman alone out here, but she didn’t know that.
Alamayda stared into Mr. Corum’s gray eyes. He’d seemed a good-natured person, but this threat to leave her sounded real. She had offended him by accusing him of stealing her father’s map.
“Fine. I’ll refrain from talking to you. That should be the same as leaving me alongside the road.” She pressed her lips tightly shut and peered forward.
She could have sworn she heard him chuckle before clicking to the horses and starting the wagon forward.
They traveled an hour in silence when he stopped the wagon again.
“If you need to stretch your legs or take care of any business, there’s some bushes over there.” He pointed beyond her to a small patch of blooming chokecherry bushes.
Alamayda placed her reticule on her valise behind the seat. The wagon swayed as Mr. Corum climbed down.
She stood and backed to the side of the wagon, preparing to climb down. Once again, hands encased her waist and her feet touched the ground within seconds. The hands retreated, and she spun around to ask him to keep his hands to himself. But his long legs and quick strides were already carrying him to the opposite side of the wagon.
It was much easier getting on and off the wagon with his help. But his touching her…she shouldn’t allow that. If the miners witnessed him touching her, they might think she wished to have a man handling her. She shuddered as she walked to the chokecherry bushes. She didn’t need a man in her life to walk out on her when she needed him most, like her father had done.
Walking closer to the plant, she held her sleeve in front of her nose. If she hadn’t grown up around the chokecherry plant, she would have thought this spot was used frequently by travelers. The bush, while having beautiful, cheerful, white blossoms with yellow centers in long clusters of blossoms, had a powerful pee scent.
She walked several yards beyond the bushes where she didn’t have to hold her sleeve in front of her nose to do her business. Thankful she had no need of a corset and wore only one underskirt with her walking skirt, she was finished quickly.
The area around her was pretty. So unlike Kansas, she stopped and stared, wishing she’d brought her reticule with her so she could do a quick sketch of the area.
“You ready?” Mr. Corum called.
She scanned the area one last time, hoping it would remain in her mind, so she could sketch it tonight when they stopped. Hurrying toward the wagon, she found Mr. Corum standing on her side of the wagon, no doubt waiting to help her up.
“I can climb onto a wagon on my own,” she said, standing a good arms-length back from him.
“I’m sure you can. However, bein’ a gentleman, I prefer to help you up.” He tipped his hat as if to emphasize he was a gentleman.
She crossed her arms. “A gentleman would have asked first before putting his hands so intimately on a woman he barely knows.”
His face brightened a nice hue of red. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I figured you’d be thankful for the help and didn’t consider you might not want me touchin’ you.” He stepped away from the wagon. “I’ll just wait here in case you lose your footin’.”
She started to reply she wouldn’t lose her footing but bit her tongue. She didn’t want him threatening to leave her on the side of the road. He could easily swing up on the wagon and leave her standing.
This morning she’d put off the long reach to the wagon seat as the fact she was still tense from all that had transpired. But as she stretched to reach the wagon seat, she realized this wagon was taller than the wagons they used on the farm. Stretched to her fullest, her fingers barely curled around the iron spring the seat sat on. Heat flashed into her cheeks. She did need help getting onto this wagon.
Lowering her arm, she faced Mr. Corum. “With you lifting me up each time, I hadn’t realized this wagon is larger than the ones we used on the farm.”
“It’s a company wagon. It’s used to get supplies and haul ore. It’s sturdier than a farm wagon and built to carry more.” He stepped forward. “Miss Wagner, may I help you up?”
She knew he was mocking her in a way, but he held his hands out as if pleading with her and she couldn’t get mad.
“Mr. Corum, you may help me up.” She smiled, hoping it reassured the man she didn’t hold any grudges.
“Isaac.”
“What?” She peered into his eyes.
The wrinkles at the corners crinkled more, and he smiled sheepishly. “I’d prefer you call me Isaac. Or Corum. Nobody calls me mister, not even the kids in Morgan’s Crossing.”
She ducked her head and blushed. She’d never called a man by his first name, not since her childhood was ripped from her and she had to take over the responsibilities of her siblings and the farm.
“I may have trouble with that request, Isaac.”
“Why’s that?” he asked.
“The last time I called a male by his first name I was a child in school and they were my classmates. Calling a man mister, shows I want to be called Miss. It’s more business-like.” She glanced up at him. “I’ve had to work to be respected by the townsfolk and the businesses I dealt with to keep my sisters and brother together and fed.”
He nodded. “I can understand that. How about you can call me Isaac when we’re alone and mister when there’s others about?”
“I think I can do that.” She thought a moment. “While I’ll allow you to help me up into the wagon, I would appreciate it if you keep your hands to yourself when we arrive in Morgan’s Crossing. I wouldn’t want any of the miners to think I like a man’s hands touching me.”
His eyes widened a bit. “Ma’am, I would have been the first to mention you would be best to get off the wagon on your own when we get to Morgan’s Crossing.”
“Then we understand one another?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Alamayda,” she said. “You calling me ma’am makes me feel even more of a spinster than I am. I don’t mind if you call me Alamayda.” She hastily added, “When we’re alone.”
“Ma’—, Ala—” He sputtered. “Do you mind if I call you Allie? The other name is as spinster like as ma’am and a mouthful.”
“My ma might be turning over in her grave. She insisted I not be called by any nicknames, but I’d like it if you called me Allie.” Her heart felt freer than it had in years. She wasn’t going back to Kansas and she had a nickname. This was a new fresh start. Well, it would be when she found the map to the mine and could take out enough to help her siblings and keep her fed, clothed, and housed for the remainder of her life.
“Let’s go. I’d like to get to the cric
k by dark. It’s the best place along the way to camp for the night.” Isaac stepped close to the wagon.
She turned to the wagon to grasp the side bar on the seat as he grasped her around the waist and lifted her.
Alamayda smiled as she waited for Isaac to climb up the other side of the wagon. She’d made a friend, and perhaps a confidante, in her search for a map and the mine.
Chapter Five
Isaac enjoyed the afternoon. They’d shared the sandwiches he’d brought with him as the wagon rumbled down the road. He’d discovered Allie was a talented artist when she pulled out a small sketch pad and started drawing the scenery that captured her eye.
She preferred to sketch in silence. That was fine by him. He’d learned a lot about the woman that morning and needed the quiet to think about what he’d learned.
She caught him sneaking glimpses at her drawings. Each time she’d smile and her eyes lit up. There was another woman underneath the tough spinster she portrayed.
The horses turned off the dirt path at the small cabin used by travelers on this road. It had bunks, a creek behind to wash up, and a privy, of sorts. The two geldings stopped, letting out a combined sigh.
“Is this where we’re stopping for the night?” Allie asked.
“Yes. It’s better than sleeping in the wagon.” He wrapped the reins around the brake handle and climbed down, hurrying around to help Allie. Her backside was poked out as she held onto the seat irons and stabbed at the spokes with a foot, looking for a foothold.
He reached up, grasped her waist, and lifted her to the ground. She weighed about as much as a sack of grain. He wondered if her thinness was from feeding her siblings and neglecting herself, or just her body.
When he didn’t release her as quickly as the times before, she swiveled her head, spearing him with a narrowed gaze. He opened his hands and moved his feet back a step.
“Because I relented to allow you to help me, doesn’t give you the privilege to take advantage of touching me.”
“I didn’t mean anythin’ by it. Honest. My mind was thinkin’ of somethin’ and my hands went idle.” He took a couple more steps back. “You can freshen up at the crick. There’s a privy of sorts. A short wall of rocks with a hole in the ground.” He motioned behind the cabin. “It’s back there. You can take a stroll but don’t go too far, it’ll be dark soon.”
He hurried to the horses and started unharnessing them. Once the geldings had drank as much water as they wanted, he tethered them to trees to eat the grass. He hadn’t planned on bringing the woman back with him. That meant he’d have to sacrifice his bedroll for the night. He’d purchased enough sandwiches this morning to feed them again this evening and in the morning. He’d brought along a can of beans for both meals, when he’d thought he’d be coming back by himself.
The box under the seat held the coffee pot, cups, blankets, and sandwiches. Isaac climbed into the back of the wagon and dug under the seat, pulling out the box. He dragged it to the back of the wagon, retrieved Allie’s bag, and carried the box and bag into the cabin. Checking for critters living in the cabin, he was happy only a few mouse droppings were all he found. He swept them out of the cabin and set out to gather wood for the small fireplace.
He caught a glimpse of Allie walking through a grove of cottonwood trees about thirty feet away. I should have asked her to collect firewood. He set out in the direction he saw her to collect fallen limbs and to ask her to do the same.
Ten feet from where he’d last seen her, Isaac noticed mountain lion tracks in a patch of dirt. He couldn’t tell if they were fresh or several days old. Dropping the limbs he’d picked up, he settled a hand on the revolver in his holster and scanned the grove of trees.
“Allie? Allie!” he called. His voice would alert the animal if it was in the area and possibly scare it off. He listened. Allie didn’t appear and he didn’t hear anything.
“Allie?” he called again.
Nothing.
Worry pushed him deeper into the grove of trees along the creek. Where could she have gone?
The piercing scream of a mountain lion lifted the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck.
“Allie!” He shouted louder and with more impatience.
“Down here!” she called to his right.
She was down by the creek. He took off at a run through the trees and stopped at the edge of the tree line.
Allie sat in the middle of the creek on a large rock, sketch pad on her lap, the wind whipping strands of her long brown hair around her face.
He walked to the edge of the water and discovered her boots and stockings sitting on a rock.
“You need to come back to the cabin,” he called over the murmur of the water.
Alamayda waved a hand at Isaac. There was a school of trout with beautiful rose-colored gills and black speckles down their backs, increasing in quantity over their silver tails and fins. Using her crayon pencils she was feverishly trying to capture their colors.
A piercing scream, not of human making, shattered her tranquil state.
She jerked, making a red line across her drawing. Her scalp tingled.
Splashing to her left jerked her attention from her drawing. Isaac was running across the knee deep creek toward her.
“Come on! I need to get back to the cabin and make sure that lion ain’t after the horses.” He plucked her off the rock and into his arms.
She didn’t struggle for fear he’d drop her in the water. Clutching her sketch pad and colors to her chest, she watched as he hurried but didn’t run back across the slippery rocks.
At the creek bank he bent. “Grab your things,” he ordered.
“If you put me down I can put my shoes on and walk to the cabin,” she struggled to get down.
“It will take you too long to put them on. I’m not leaving you out here alone.” He reached to grab them.
Alamayda slapped his arm. “I’ll grab them.” She snatched up her boots and stockings.
Isaac righted himself. His long legs carried them through the trees as quickly as she could run. When the cabin and two horses came into sight, he slowed his pace.
“See, everything is fine.” She pointed to a downed tree. “Why don’t you place me there and I’ll put my shoes and socks on.”
He stopped by the tree but peered in all directions before placing her on the bark-covered log.
Setting her pad and colors on the log beside her, she rolled one stocking, preparing it to pull on. When Isaac didn’t move away, she cleared her throat. “You can check the horses or whatever you need to do.” She wasn’t about to raise her skirt and reveal her skinny legs to him or any man.
“When you get those on, go in the cabin. I’m going to gather some wood.” He started to walk back the way they had come.
“I can help when I get my boots on,” she called.
“Cabin.”
She huffed at his nonsense and pulled on her stockings and laced her boots. Not ten feet from her were several sticks. It was foolish for her to walk to the cabin without taking those with her. She shoved her sketch pad and colors in her skirt pockets and bent, picking up the sticks scattered across the ground.
With her head down, searching the ground, she followed the scattered sticks, filling her arms. When her arms were full, she straightened and couldn’t see the cabin or horses. Listening, she heard the faint splash of the creek. I’ll head for the creek and then make my way to the cabin from there.
Facing toward the sound of water, she started walking. The sound grew louder, and she found herself peering at the creek. She was pretty sure, given where she’d started from, turning right and following the creek would bring her to the cabin.
A shrill snarl, snapped her attention to the far side of the creek. A large, tawny mountain lion faced her. Its black-tipped tail switched. His golden eyes narrowed as he snarled again.
She’d never out run the creature. She dropped the pile of sticks and picked up the longest one.
“
Get back! Go! Get!” she yelled, slapping the stick on the water.
“Allie!” Isaac’s voice bellowed from behind her.
BOOM! The thunder of a rifle discharging echoed.
The cat spun around and raced into the trees on the other side of the creek.
Hands grabbed her shoulders, spinning her around. Isaac’s face was inches from hers.
“I told you to go in the cabin. What were you doing down here again?” The creases at the corners of his worried eyes had deepened.
His censure meant nothing. The worry she saw softened her retort. “I was only going to grab the sticks closest to me. Then I looked up and couldn’t see the cabin, but I heard the creek. I came to it and knew I needed to go right to get to the cabin.”
She placed a hand on his cheek. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to help and not be a burden.”
His eyes widened at her submission. “I’m just glad I heard you yellin’ and found you before the cat decided you’d make supper.” He released her arms and stepped back. “Come on.”
Alamayda bent to pick up her sticks. She needed a moment away from his gaze to collect herself. It had been a very long time since she’d had someone worry about her. Seeing the concern in Isaac’s eyes and his grip on her arms, as if he’d feared she’d be eaten…Her insides quivered, not from fear of the mountain lion, but the warmth she felt building in her chest.
“Let me help.” Isaac bent, cleaning up the rest of the sticks on the ground at her feet.
They both stood and walked back to the cabin, neither one saying a word.
She followed Isaac’s lead, dumping the sticks on the ground near the door beside another pile of sticks.
He held the door open. She entered and discovered two sets of bunk beds against the two side walls. A small fireplace stood at the end of the cabin. No chairs, no table. A lantern hung from a hook in the ceiling. The box she’d noticed under the wagon seat sat at the end of one set of bunks and her valise was on the bottom bunk of the other set.
“It’s not much, but like I said, it beats sleeping out in the wagon knowing there’s a mountain lion prowling around.” Isaac hung his hat on a peg by the door and leaned a rifle up alongside the door. “There’s more sandwiches. I can start a fire and heat up a can of beans if you’d like.”
