by Eden Carson
Ruth didn’t give him a chance to finish his teasing words, as she quickly jumped up off her rock seat and gave him her back. She was mortified to have been caught staring, telling herself it was just the shock of the trip that had allowed her to forget her modesty.
Jackson laughed silently at Ruth’s attempt to put distance between them, when there was barely room for two pack mules to huddle close in the sorry excuse for a shelter. He told himself – repeatedly - that now was not the time to flirt with a young woman, who was no doubt a virgin or near enough to it, to be shocked by his carnal thoughts.
He sighed in regret as he quickly finished dressing in dry long johns, heavy pants, and two wool shirts. About the only good use for weather like this was warming up with a beautiful woman, but he figured a gutsy woman like Ruth would have no problem reminding him of his manners if he were to forget them.
It was much too soon to start convincing this amazing woman that his intentions were good and long term.
He knew Westerners were infinitely more practical and down to earth than eastern society, even after the terrible conditions the War brought to most. And he figured his fast moving plans in regards to Miss Jameson would likely shock her sensibilities.
If she’d spent more time out here, she’d have learned that men didn’t waste any time around an available woman, much less a pretty one who could shoot straight and face down an armed train robber. In most wilderness towns, it would have been perfectly right and proper for Jackson to propose already, short acquaintance and all. He swore himself to patience, knowing he could have all winter to convince Miss Jameson of his charms if the weather kept on.
“I’m finished, Ruth. I’ll give you my back now so you can get dry. You’re already shivering, even standing next to the fire.”
Jackson turned around and knelt on the ground, opening his saddlebags to start pulling out hardtack and biscuits for dinner.
She kept her eye on Jackson, making sure he kept his back turned. She instinctively knew she had nothing to fear from this man. He was no Jasper Smith. That poor excuse for a man would have left her to drown in the river or sold her off to the pursuing outlaws to save his own skin, if they had shared this journey. Still, her upbringing had been practical, if not puritanical. She probably knew more than most unmarried women her age, since she’d been helping her physician-father since she was old enough to talk.
Ruth paused in near shock when she realized she still thought of herself as unmarried, even though in the eyes of the law, she was good and properly wed. She’d been so concerned with mere survival since that fateful night on the train that she’d almost managed to forget the name Frank Masterson.
Chapter 26
Trudging through six plus inches of wet, sticky mud on a high strung horse had done nothing to cool Frank Masterson’s temper since leaving the site of his muddled train robbery. Smith had yet to wake up and tell him anything useful about the disappearance of his wife. Added to that, the midwife he had hired to revive Smith only shrugged in indifference when asked if she thought he would recover enough from his wounds to talk.
Masterson had stormed off in the direction of his ranch after that bitter piece of news, only to be caught in the worst rainstorm of the season. He spurred his useless horse onward, knowing the nag would surely lead him toward home and food. At the insistent dig of newly sharpened spurs, the frightened horse reared in protest and skidded on his hind quarters.
“God-damned beast – you’ll get us both killed.”
He pulled tighter on the reins, until the terrified beast reared one last time and dumped the infuriated man onto the ground. After trying unsuccessfully to gain his footing to pull a gun, Masterson threw his riding crop in furry at the retreating animal.
Ten minutes later, Masterson had his temper under better control, preferring to hold it inside for his unknown wife. He spied his homestead in the distance, cursing even the cost of glass windows he’d spent for his ungrateful new wife. Not that she’d asked for them, he conceded, but the important neighbors were impressed. Masterson silently counted the money he’d already spent on Ruth and swore on his dead father’s grave that she’d pay him back every penny, one way or another, if she failed to serve his purpose.
He slammed through his front door, demanding service from his scurrying servants. He cursed as clumps of mud and ice littered his entryway, knowing he’d have little chance of locating his missing wife once the snows started.
If she were dead, her body was long buried by now, and he’d need proof before he could replace her. No judge he knew would overlook that little detail less than two weeks after the proxy marriage, no matter how good the bribe.
And God help her if she were alive. He only hoped she had the good sense to be looking hard and long for him, with some damned fine excuse for not being where he’d put her.
Chapter 27
“Well don’t just stand there gawking like a virgin on his wedding night.” The ruddy-faced poker player motioned the gangly clerk inside. “Come over here and say what you came to say, so Nigel here can get back to his losing hand.”
Nigel Pierce laughed out loud at his long-time friend’s bravado. “You’d better hope your mistress loves your ugly face, Ludwig, because your pocketbook is about to get a great deal lighter. I call. Full House - Jacks high.”
The onlookers applauded as the railroad mogul spread three smirking face cards and a pair of fives directly in front of his opponent. He made a show of channeling straight through the middle of the large pile of gold coins and Yankee dollars to make room for his glorious hand.
“Get your greedy hands off my shiny gold coins, Nigel,” Ludwig demanded. “And pray to your Maker this boy is bringing you news of a long-lost uncle with no decent relatives to inherit his cash. This pile is about to be mine - four of a kind, all deuces.”
“Ahhh!” The crowd of fellow gamblers and friendly widows reacted in kind to the long-standing rivalry between the two gamers and lifted their glasses in salute.
Nigel was less than pleased with the results, and tossed his last good cigar across the room in disgust. His blood-shot gaze settled on the wary messenger still waiting for instructions. “Well, boy, you heard the man. Did I inherit millions?”
The young man pulled at his too-tight collar before stuttering a reply to the larger-than-life railroad owner. “Ahhh, n-n-no, sir. I’m sorry sir - terribly sorry. But I don’t think the news is good. Not that I read your telegram sir. We at the telegraph office take great pride in our discretion. It’s just that the operator that took your message didn’t look too happy. And he made sure I came over straight away to deliver this to you.”
“Well hand it over, boy. Bad news never waits.” Nigel grabbed the telegraph from the shaking hand of young man and proceeded to read.
Samuel Wright, Nigel’s right-hand man at the Union Pacific Railroad, handed the magnate one of his carefully selected cigars, pre-lit.
Nigel grunted by way of thanks and took three long drags before clearing the room of nearly everyone with a simple look and a wave of his brick-layer hands. “You, Jonas, stay behind, if you will.”
The retired lawman-turned-judge nodded and resumed his seat.
Samuel waited until the room emptied before inquiring, “Bad news?”
“What else?” Nigel took the time to re-read every line of the telegraph before forming his thoughts. He might be rash in poker, but never in business. “It’s news of another damn robbery. There’s seven dead on the tracks, including the engineer and two passengers. Another civilian – an old woman no less – is severely injured. The highly recommended Marshal Beauregard Jackson showed up smack in the middle of the commotion and managed to take down three of theirs before the rest escaped.”
“Where were our men?” Judge Mills asked carefully.
“According to this, they were lagging behind the good Marshal.” Nigel replied. “You got an explanation for this screw up?” Nigel demanded of Judge Mills, the man who had hir
ed all the men, with the notable exception of Jackson.
“My bet is the conductor got his facts mixed up. Could be the Marshal himself sent that telegraph and tried to shift their late arrival as the fault of my men. He’s the damn tracker, after all. If they were late, it was probably because he was chasing after the wrong damn train. He’s a Confederate, after all. They can’t be trusted.”
Samuel stood up to face Jonas Mills. “Judge, you’ve got absolutely no basis for your facts - none at all. Jackson is a damn fine man and one hundred percent reliable. If he says your hired men broke ranks and chased their tails out of pure stubbornness at following a former Confederate soldier - discharged with honors, I might add - then that’s what damn well happened. And your men are the ones we should be replacing - immediately. If they can’t follow orders, what use are they to us a thousand miles away?”
Mills turned three shades of purple and took a step closer to Samuel. “Damn you, Wright. Those are good men - all from the Pennsylvania Regulars. You got no cause to accuse them of insubordination. I tell you, it was this Jackson fella. His pride couldn’t stand a paycheck coming from his betters on the right side of the War.”
“Jonas, you’re full of hot air,” Samuel replied with the utmost calm. “I can personally swear to this man’s loyalty and tracking skills. Were you aware that in ‘63 he came across his cousin’s unit while on a scouting mission before the Battle of Chickamauga? And that after doing his duty to his commanding officer and country, and reporting back on enemy lines, he located his cousin not two hours before dawn and ambushed him. He saved his damn life, no doubt in my mind. And then when his kin was locked up in Blackshear Prison, Jackson arranged for his escape - bribed the near starving guards with three good Virginia hogs.”
“War tales,” Judge Mills scoffed. “At best, that was exaggerated greatly in the telling. Could even be pure fiction. How do I know it’s true?”
“Because I was the prisoner and he’s my cousin.” Samuel replied. “And seeing as our family ties survived the War intact, you can bet your last dollar they’ll survive your unfounded accusations too.”
Nigel intervened as this argument was getting them nowhere. “Enough guesswork,” he ordered sharply. “Mills, we fire no one - yet. No point in sending new men into strange territory to start over. What we need is good information, not piecemeal telegraphs and petty guesswork. I’m going out there myself and you both are coming with me. If there’s a problem in the ranks, it’ll be over when I show up. They can all follow my orders or collect a paycheck elsewhere. My private car will be ready to leave in one hour, gentlemen. Don’t be late.”
Chapter 28
“Sit down, gentlemen. This rain should clear up in an hour, two at most.” Marshal Abel Wyman glanced with little energy at the solid silver pocket watch he pulled out of his wool vest. “I’ll figure out our next move then,” he added in the general direction of Mike and Emmett.
If Wyman had bothered to make eye contact when handing down the verdict to sit and wait, he would have seen the look of disgust and frustration on both men’s faces.
“We can’t sit and wait doing nothing,” Mike protested. “This here’s a prime tracking opportunity. Those bastards we’re after are no doubt lazing away their time in some other watering hole - and giving us the chance to catch up.”
Emmett waited in patient silence for the arrogant Easterner to be predictable. He was not disappointed.
“Sit down and have a drink, gentlemen.” Wyman waved his hand absently in the direction of the rickety tables behind him. “There’s no point in tracking now. The signs are washed out and the local sheriff’s gone to ground twenty miles south of here. The men here say he’s waiting out the weather with a warm woman, and we should be too. Robbers aren’t going anywhere in this storm.”
The highly-decorated lawman barely spared them a glance while dismissing their objections. He ordered up a second drink, tossed a coin to the bartender, and took his ruined custom-made bowler up the nearest flight of stairs, to partake of the second floor entertainment with the rest of his men.
Before Mike completely lost his temper at the lazy fool they’d been saddled with, Emmett tapped the old man on the shoulder and motioned him out the front. They only had to take a few steps away from the swinging doors of the saloon to have their voices drowned out by the pouring rain.
“Who do we know in town that could help us?” Emmett asked, handing Mike a steaming mug of coffee he’d charmed from the nearest saloon girl, while Marshal Wyman was dousing his frustration in liquor.
“Give me a minute,” Mike replied. “I can’t think straight with my temper boiling. Can’t imagine why your cousin hired that jackass to do men’s work.”
Emmett had been wondering that himself, but remained quiet. More conjecture would not get them closer to their goal. He rolled them both a cigarette, to give Mike time to think over his long list of acquaintances.
“Don’t know too many decent folks here about - mostly because there ain’t many. This sorry excuse for a town ain’t got much to recommend it, unless you’re up to no good. Full of too many saloons serving tired women and watered down liquor.”
Emmett took a long drag, grateful for what looked to be the only warmth he’d be feeling this night. “Wasn’t that a cross I spotted on the building next to the General Store?”
“My point exactly,” Mike grumbled in response. “Do-gooder church goers don’t necessarily fall on the decent side of my list, you know.”
Emmett could tell Mike had recalled someone who could help them. But what he couldn’t figure out was why Mike was reluctant to tell him. “I don’t disagree,” Emmett replied carefully. “But I can see on your face that you’ve thought of someone who might help us. Why aren’t you giving me a name?”
“Humph,” Mike grunted. “If there was anyone else, I’d go to them first. We’d like as not get a better bargain from Lucifer himself.”
Mike tossed his cigarette butt aside and headed out to the stable, not waiting to see if Emmett would follow.
“Where we headed, boss?” Emmett asked, his curiosity piqued. There weren’t too many folks Mike didn’t get along with, at least well enough to ferret needed information out of them.
“Straight to Hell,” Mike muttered. “We’re headed straight down to bargain with the Devil herself.”
“But which way are we going?” Emmett asked as he struggled to keep up with Mike’s stomping mad pace.
“To the Widow Thornton’s place, my boy,” Mike shouted to be heard over the pouring rain.
Emmett chuckled to himself at the mention of a woman who’d been flirting with Old Mike for more years than Emmett could remember. That explained the old man’s foul temper. As he struggled through the boot-deep mud after Mike, he wondered how his brother was faring, bargaining with his woman.
Chapter 29
Ruth quickly piled on as much dry clothing as she owned, before quietly telling Jackson he could turn around.
He finished pouring Ruth a hot cup of coffee before meeting her unsure gaze. He knew she was still a bit nervous. He supposed her instincts were right, since he was still struggling with himself not to reach out and touch her smooth skin. He handed her coffee instead and contented himself with a light stroke along her fingers when he passed the tin cup to her. He quickly went back to dividing out the food when he saw Ruth’s eyes dilate at the contact.
“Sorry there’s no sugar for the coffee. I admit to being soft and packing some on short trips around my ranch, but this trip was Marshal-business from the beginning, so I packed light.” Jackson placed her share of the food on the small rock in front of her, avoiding temptation altogether. It was too damned cold to spend energy on anything but getting warm, he thought, trying to convince himself not to touch. He shifted uncomfortably, and got down to the business of eating.
“Where are we headed from here?” Ruth asked in between sips of coffee.
“We need to get you some boots - decent ones fo
r the winter. We’ll stop at Montgomery’s Trading Post on the way to my ranch. He’ll have something. Once we’ve got you supplied, we need to get to my ranch before the snow starts and closes all the passes. It’s early for it, but there’s no guarantee it won’t start tomorrow.”
At Jackson’s implication that she’d be staying with him all winter, Ruth felt her throat constrict. She didn’t know yet what had happened after she’d left the train and they found Jasper Smith’s body. For all she knew, there could be lawmen looking for her. She desperately wanted to keep moving, as far away from Frank Masterson’s home town as possible.
“I appreciate your hospitality and all you’ve done for me,” she said. “I truly do. But I need to keep moving and get to San Francisco as soon as possible. Can’t you take me to another train station?” That had been the gist of a rather vague and desperate plan forming in her mind since she took off after the Marshal.
He stared at Ruth one, two, then five heartbeats, knowing she was lying about this supposed fiancé in San Francisco. He couldn’t tell what part of her story was false, but knew from experience he was not hearing the whole truth.
At first Jackson had figured she was another naïve girl setting off after a man she fancied herself in love with. But knowing Ruth a little better now, she didn’t strike him as that young or flighty. He told himself now was not the time to confront her. If she was running from something, she was probably short on trust with a man she’d only known for a few days. He could wait. Her story would come out on its own, soon enough.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Ruth. I have a duty to join back up with Mike and my brother to hunt down the rest of the train robbers. And I’m not taking you along – for any reason. The safest place for you is my ranch, where I have people I trust and that you can trust. The passes will be closed in two or three weeks at most. By the time I return, it will be too dangerous to travel and face the possibility of being snowed in half way to the coast.”
