by Eden Carson
“How did he meet your mother, if she was in New Orleans?” Ruth asked.
“Pure dumb luck, if you were to ask my mother. Fate, if you were to ask my father.”
At Ruth’s raised eyebrows, he continued. “The story goes that my father was invited to New Orleans by Colonel Nathan Childers for saving the life of his favorite nephew. My mother was a distant cousin to the Colonel, and was present at a dinner to honor my father. He claimed as many dances as propriety would allow, and one more besides, but he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to court her formally. The Colonel might have been in his debt, but he still saw my father as the son of a failed miner with limited prospects.”
“So what did he do?” Ruth prompted.
“He fell off her balcony rescuing her prized South American parrot, or so the story goes. My mother nursed him back to health in her father’s house, since he’d been injured rescuing her beloved pet and was without family in New Orleans. My mother always accused my father of taking that fall on purpose. My father would claim she’d let that damn bird out deliberately, to trap his handsome self into marriage.”
Ruth laughed at the story and settled more comfortably into Jackson’s warm embrace. Propriety seemed a cold companion this night, and she drifted off to sleep in Jackson’s arms, too weary to listen to the rules of a world she’d left behind.
He watched Ruth nod off, feeling much like his father must have felt on the fateful day he met Jackson’s mother.
Chapter 32
Jackson set about chopping the last of the firewood needed to replenish the shelter’s standing woodpile, glancing at Ruth every few moments, assuring himself she was close enough for him to protect. The weather had cleared overnight and they weren’t the only ones on the trail that knew of this shelter. He smiled at his actions, thinking he hadn’t ever met a woman who needed less protecting than Ruth Jameson.
From his first – very mistaken impression – Jackson had assumed she was just another naive city girl from back East, chasing a foolish dream of the West while fleeing a war-torn land that had no more dreams of its own to offer. Although he’d been attracted to her from the first, he’d been worried that life on his remote ranch wouldn’t suit her. But he’d been amazed at what he’d discovered in Ruth. She’d never shirked one difficult task he’d put before her, nor shed one tear through days of hard riding with men at their heels.
And Jackson hadn’t missed the sidelong glances she’d been sending his way. He supposed the timing was way off, but if he’d learned anything during the War, it was to take advantage of his time above ground. He’d been close to death too many times to count, and he wasn’t going to miss the chance to lay eyes on a beautiful woman.
He watched Ruth care for their horses, and walk back toward him with their bedrolls in hand. Even half-dead on her feet, she walked like a woman should walk - all curves and swaying hips.
He shook his head at his good fortune, not sparing more than a passing thought about the unknown fiancé. Jackson had known his share of seamen, and figured even if this character had actually proposed or his family had on his behalf, he’d make a lousy husband. Any man who spent ten months away from hearth and home was bound to find trouble in a skirt somewhere else. And never mind the trials the wife and kids would face on their own in a city as raw as San Francisco.
Jackson figured he had a hell of a lot more to offer Ruth right here in Colorado Territory. And some wandering sailor she’d never even met was no threat to the seduction Jackson was already half-forming in his mind. He’d win over Ruth first; then deal with her family’s hurt pride over a broken engagement.
Chapter 33
Mike and Emmett set a hard pace for the blacksmith’s next job and arrived at the Waterman Ranch in less than two hours. It was only seven o‘clock in the morning, but the ranch was humming with activity. It didn’t take the lawmen long to locate the visiting blacksmith, who had set up temporary shop behind a fallow pasture. They hailed the man by name as they rode up alongside the well-maintained fencing.
“Svenson Mars?” Emmett shouted above the hammering of the burly man.
“Who wants to know?” The blacksmith shouted back, never missing a beat as he finished nailing a new shoe onto a nervous young colt.
“The Widow Thornton sends her regards. She thought you might be able to help us. We‘re on the trail of three wanted men that might have passed through here, two, maybe three days ago.”
“What are they wanted for?” Sven checked each newly shod hoof for perfection before untying the skittish colt and sending him back to the herd with a slap to the rump.
“Murder and theft,” Mike replied. “They robbed the train six days ago, near Bakeman’s Pass. Cowards killed two passengers and a Marshal. Engineer’s dead too. They damaged the tracks so bad it’ll be weeks before another train can go through.”
Sven looked Mike and Emmett over carefully. “What’s it to you who got robbed? I know most of the Law around these parts, and I‘ve never seen you two.”
“Beauregard Jackson’s my brother. We‘ve been on the trail of these men for three months, and Mike and I here have been deputized for the duration,” Emmett explained as he handed over his badge to the cautious blacksmith.
“Nice workmanship,” Sven commented as he handed the forged metal star back to Emmett. “But I heard Jackson retired from the Marshal Service.”
“You heard right,” Emmett conceded. “He’s doing a favor for our cousin, who works for the railroad. They‘re a might upset at this latest string of robberies, just as they‘re getting ready to lay new track. I have a letter from the Widow Thornton, vouching for us.” Emmett gestured to his vest pocket, waiting for permission to approach the blacksmith with the letter.
Sven had already judged the two before him as decent folk with clear eyes and steady hands. He‘d crossed paths with enough liars and thieves in his time to spot their kind quickly enough.
He read the letter anyway.
“Looks like the good Widow vouches for you. Tell me how I can help.” Sven gestured them over to the fire. He had a coffee pot hanging next to his tools, which were kept heated at all times, ready for use.
“Much obliged.” Emmett and Mike dismounted and accepted the coffee with gratitude.
“The Widow thought you might know something about these men we‘ve been trailing. There’s three altogether. One’s a big man on a brown mare - pale skin, pale hair. One looks to be a Mexican, thin, about Mike’s height. He rides a black horse. Last one we‘ve never seen. We‘ve just tracked his mount - brown, with two white feet in the back. He’s maybe sixteen hands. He looks to have thrown a shoe about two miles outside of town.”
Sven nodded his understanding. “I‘ve seen that third man. He came by my shop in the middle of the night, two nights past. He needed a new shoe on his gelding. Woke me up in the middle of the night with a gun in my face, he did. If he‘d been smarter, he would have waited three hours, come in at sunup like normal folks, and handed me his dollar. I wouldn’t have paid him any mind.”
“Can you describe the man for us?” Mike asked.
“He’s my height, about twenty pounds lighter. Doubt he’s past his thirtieth year, but he’s already losing his hair,” Sven replied.
“Got any idea where they were headed?” Emmett asked.
“They didn’t say,” Sven replied, never missing a beat with his hammer, as he got to work on his next colt. “But I made it my business to find out. I hoped the Law might be coming close behind. I don’t much like guns or lazy bastards pointing them in my direction, no matter how much gold they toss at my feet. I notched the shoe I replaced. Left rear should leave a mark like this.”
The blacksmith drew a picture in the dirt for Mike and Emmett. “Find yourself a good tracker and pray for dry weather and you should be able to find him easily enough.”
Mike and Emmett shared a smile of satisfaction. “Much obliged. Most folks just mind their own.”
“Outlaws are bad for busin
ess,” Sven explained matter-of-factly. “Every outlaw who pays me double scares away ten decent customers who‘ll pay me reliable. The first time you let them scare you into keeping quiet, you figure you did the smart thing. Then another one comes your way, and before you know it, a dozen evil men own a piece of your soul. I didn’t fight the damn Yankees just to come out here and live amongst the worst of the trash the Army wouldn’t even take.”
The blacksmith pounded the last nail a bit too hard into the shoe of the gentle mare he‘d been working on, and he stood quickly to avoid her warning kick. “It’s okay girl. We‘re done here.”
Emmett and Mike thanked Sven once more before heading back to the blacksmith’s shop in town. From there, they hoped to pick up the trail of the three remaining train robbers.
Chapter 34
“My gut tells me I need to backtrack once more - just to be sure.” Jackson’s lowered voice immediately put Ruth’s senses on alert. “I can do it a lot faster alone. I’m going to leave you for a day, two at most. You’ll be safe here.”
Before Ruth could ask where they were, their horses passed through a copse of western pine. Beyond the trees, the trail opened up onto a dirt track nearly wide enough for a proper wagon. But the sight of a real road after nothing more than washed out animal trails for three days was immediately surpassed by the structure before her.
It was painted a pristine white, freshly so from the looks of it. With genuine glass windows and frilly curtains, it beckoned with warmth and comfort in the middle of an unforgiving wilderness. As Ruth took in more details, she realized there were also the normal sights she would expect from a trading post. There were stacks of grain and hardtack, barrels of whiskey and sacks of coffee. A dozen shovels were set against the porch railing. But then there were the flower boxes - a pretty, painted flower box under each and every window, overflowing with blossoms.
“What is this place?” Ruth asked in amazement as she nearly unseated herself from Caboose, turning and twisting every which way in order to see everything around her.
Jackson grinned at her reaction. “Not much like the railroad stops you’ve been seeing on the trip out, I’d guess.”
She shook her head in wonder. “Not much. I haven’t seen anything but clapboard shacks coated in dust for the entire trip. And a flower box I haven’t seen in years. Not since before the War, at our Church. They had roses there, too.”
Jackson pointed to the rich burgundy blooms that were tucked in next to the yellow roses. “I don’t know what they’re called, but those red ones grow wild all through the mountains. God only knows where Montgomery got the roses.”
“I guess if the proprietor can manage to bring roses out here, he can find me a pair of shoes that fit.” Ruth said.
Jackson had never viewed the roses like that before, in all the times he’d passed through. He wondered if all Easterners saw the flowers that way. “I guess that’s why Montgomery is the best businessman out here.”
“Who is he? What’s he like?” She was curious about a man who grew roses in the middle of the wilderness to be viewed by only the rough men who passed through.
Jackson took a minute to recall all that he knew about the trading post owner. “Montgomery’s a Southerner, I believe, but I never asked officially. He’s well-spoken, and I imagine had a more formal education that just about anyone out here. He showed up about six or seven years ago, in the middle of the War. Supplies were hard to come by, and he opened up shop at the busiest crossroads he could find. With little to no law around, he discovered early on that a more valuable commodity than even whiskey or bullets was safety on the trail. He decided to provide that, as well as supplies, for those passing through.”
“Do you mean he’s a gun for hire?” Ruth asked, a little perplexed at Jackson’s explanation.
“Some might say so,” he replied carefully after a moment’s pause.
“But you wouldn’t?” she nudged, sensing Jackson’s hesitation and wondering at the cause.
“No, I wouldn’t. He doesn’t work just for the asking. Not for the government, the army, or anyone else he doesn’t respect or like. I heard a rich cattle man tried to hire him for his exclusive use a while back, and was politely refused. Even after a lot more money was offered, the cattleman left empty handed. Montgomery works for himself. On the other hand, this is his business – and he isn’t shy about making a profit doing it. But he has long term vision. His word is more reliable than gold out here. If you leave a loved one here under his protection, that’s just what he does – protect, no matter what it takes. And out here, that can take a lot.”
“So I can trust him?” Ruth was short on trust these days, and having her person handed over into yet another stranger’s care was rubbing her nerves raw.
“Yes, you can,” Jackson replied without hesitation. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be leaving you here. But that being said, Ruth, you shouldn’t trust the trading post owner any more than necessary. It is simply safer leaving you in his care than leaving you alone in a wilderness you don’t know.”
Since he could encounter the outlaws and not come back.
Jackson kept that thought unsaid, since she seemed on edge as it was. But he still planned on making arrangements with Montgomery in the event that happened. Jackson would offer the trading post owner a nice bonus for taking Ruth to Emmett’s ranch if Jackson didn’t make it back.
As Jackson and Ruth rode closer, the largest and ugliest excuse for a dog she’d ever seen trotted in their direction, letting off three warning barks.
“Is that a wolf?” Ruth wondered out loud as she instinctively pulled back on the reins of her horse.
“Could be,” Jackson replied. “At least part, would be my guess. He’s been around almost as long as Montgomery.” As Jackson spoke, he kept his eyes on the front porch, waiting for official permission to approach.
“Come on down and rest a bit, Jackson. I see you.”
Ruth took her eyes off the almost-wolf, which had headed back to the side of the porch at the sound of his master’s voice. The sight that replaced him was even more shocking than the wild animal.
Montgomery Wilson might not have earned a second glance on the streets of Boston or New York. But out here, at the crossroads to the dustiest, dirtiest trail imaginable by the average city dweller, his shined shoes were a beacon to draw every weary traveler in.
He was tall – exceptionally so – more well-dressed than truly handsome. His build ran lean, but even under the carefully pressed suit he wore like a second skin, Ruth could tell he had strength.
As Montgomery approached Ruth’s horse, he ignored Jackson. Instead, he held his elegant hand up to Ruth, to help her dismount.
“Please, come in and sit a spell,” he offered politely. “You must be exhausted. I have fresh coffee brewing, or tea if you prefer.”
Before Ruth could close her gaping mouth, the gentleman in question was helping her down, offering her his well-appointed arm as he simultaneously chastised Jackson for his poor manners. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to the lady, Marshal?”
Jackson grinned and made the introductions, without offering the proprietor any details about just who Ruth might be to Jackson, and why she was traveling alone with him.
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Jameson. Please come in and rest a bit.”
“Thank you.” Ruth glanced back at Jackson, still a bit perplexed, as she was led up the front porch, past the shining yellow roses and purple wildflowers.
“Sit here, Miss, and make yourself at home,” Montgomery invited. “There is a private room through that door if you’d like to freshen up. There should be water in the basin. Have you decided on coffee or tea?” He inquired, politely awaiting her response, as if he had all the time in the world.
Since Ruth hadn’t tasted tea since she left her Aunt Kate’s house, she accepted a cup. It was promptly served, steaming hot and in good china.
“How did you know?” Ruth wasn’t quite
sure what she was asking as she paused, at a loss for words.
“That a lady would be arriving?” Montgomery asked, understanding what Ruth did not. “My dog. He can scent the difference, and is trained to let me know exactly who is coming down the trail. He’s half champion hunting dog, you know. Has the best nose this side of the Mississippi.”
Ruth felt herself nearly laugh at the comment, as if the beast’s pedigree on the hunting side was of more interest to strangers than his wild-wolf half.
“He’s quite the companion, your dog.” Ruth sipped slowly from the steaming teacup in heartfelt gratitude. All thoughts of the huge ugly beast were washed away by the flavorful aroma. After she’d finished half a cup in blissful silence, all the hardships of the last three days seemed part of some other woman’s life.
Jackson walked in after taking care of their horses. He helped himself to a mug of coffee off the stove and sat down next to Ruth and Montgomery, getting right down to business. “I need your services, Montgomery. I need to leave Miss Jameson here with you for a day or two, under your protection.”
“Of course,” Montgomery replied. “I happen to be entirely free at the moment. She can stay as long as needed.” He turned toward Ruth. “Miss Jameson, if I may say so at such short acquaintance, your company will be a lovely reprieve. If I’m not mistaken, that’s a southern accent I hear. It’s pure music to my ears.”
It wasn’t lost on Ruth that the trader didn’t ask one word about why Jackson needed to leave Ruth, or where he was going. She imagined discretion was a hallmark of his successful business. She silently wondered if any outlaws had left their women here for protection. They must have wives and kids too, she thought.
Jackson downed the last of his coffee, nodded his thanks, and handed over several silver coins as a deposit. The transaction was done so smoothly and with such little fuss, Ruth only felt like chattel for the smallest moment.
