by Eden Carson
As Jackson stood up to leave, she almost followed out of instinct but stopped herself in time. “You’re leaving already?” She blurted out instead.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see about supper while you say your farewells.” Montgomery disappeared into the back of the store.
Jackson took both of Ruth’s hands in his much larger ones and squeezed them in reassurance. “Promise me not to worry. I’ll be back for you soon.”
She held on tightly for a moment, then reminded herself that she was still truly alone in this world. Marshal Jackson had no real ties or obligations to her. It was only instinct, or maybe bald hope, that had her believing him when he said he’d return.
Jackson held Ruth’s doubtful gaze another reassuring moment before lifting her chilled hands to his warm mouth. He warmed her palms with his breath before placing a kiss in the center of each. “Miss me a little, Miss Jameson.”
He tipped his hat to her in farewell before heading out the front door. He left at a good clip, and his dust trail vanished on the wind before Ruth had finished her tea.
“He’ll be back, Miss Jameson. Don’t you worry,” Montgomery reassured her from across the room, where he’d silently re-entered as soon as Jackson rode off.
“Do you know him well?” She asked, wondering how far back these two men went.
“As well as I need to. And even if I didn’t, he left his favorite horse behind. There aren’t many men out here who’d give up a favored mount, even to rid themselves of a lady’s unwanted company.” Montgomery grinned at Ruth to soften the sting of his comment.
Ruth smiled half-heartedly, knowing he was probably right. And she definitely fell into the category of unwanted company, although not for the reasons the clever trading post owner probably thought.
“So you weren’t harmed in the train robbery, I hope?” he inquired.
“How did you know the train had been robbed?” she asked in surprise. She was certain Jackson hadn’t mentioned it, and Ruth had been in Montgomery’s company since they’d arrived. “It only happened three days ago, and we just got here. I can’t imagine how someone else might have brought the news.”
“I wouldn’t assume anything out here, Miss. The reality is, with you in tow, Jackson was slowed down. It wouldn’t take but two days of hard riding for a man alone to reach my place. That being said, you are still correct. No one arrived before you with the news. But I did get a visitor from up the rail line, and he mentioned that the train hadn’t arrived on time. With it running nearly two days behind, we both figured another robbery was the reason.”
“I see. That would make sense. Jack – I mean, the Marshal said there had been half a dozen robberies in the area. And he thought the same man was behind them all.”
“Does he know who is behind them, then?” Montgomery asked.
“He didn’t say anything to me, if he does.” Ruth didn’t know if she should be repeating anything Jackson had shared with her on the matter. He’d said to trust this man, but only as much as necessary.
She walked over to the window and complimented the trading post owner on his roses, in an attempt to politely change the subject.
“Thank you. I grafted them myself from two more ordinary varieties, and they luckily took quite well to the cold here. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll start supper while you enjoy the view.” Montgomery stood, bowed politely, and disappeared into the back.
Ruth smiled at his departure. She liked the man with his good manners and reminders of a better life. She didn’t want to be evasive with someone she liked. But then again, she had chosen Jackson to place her trust in, and so far, he hadn’t let her down. She couldn’t fault Jackson in any way, since he’d saved her life not once, but twice. But now that she’d watched him ride away, and was alone with her thoughts as Montgomery prepared supper in the other room, she was starting to question her decision to trust Jackson, a man she barely knew. Trusting a stranger had gotten her into this situation and here she was, about to make the same mistake again.
Ruth tried to quiet her own nagging doubts, as she began pacing the length of the room, unconsciously comforted by the sound of her thick heels clicking across the polished floorboards. The boots Montgomery had found for her fit amazingly well. She comforted herself with the admonition that her instincts were good and they were telling her that Jackson was a fine man.
She could lie to herself saying that she’d had no choice in a desperate situation. But Ruth knew she would not have made the same choice to leave the train if a man like Jasper Smith had been her only alternative. She reminded herself that she had never felt right about Smith, but had let herself be pressured by her Aunt Kate into ignoring her own instincts. That was the first and last time she would ignore them, she promised herself.
She turned at the sound of footsteps.
“I’ve brought more tea, Miss Jameson. Supper won’t be ready for another hour or so.” He stood at the table, waiting to be invited before sitting.
“Yes, please. Won’t you join me? Another cup would be wonderful, as would the conversation. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed either luxury.” Ruth took her seat so Montgomery would be able to join her.
She was taken aback once more at how well-mannered – even formal – Montgomery was. He presented a stark contrast to everyone she’d met on her journey west. “If you’ll forgive my curiosity, may I ask what brought a man of your education out here?”
He smiled warmly at Ruth, but was not to be forthcoming. “Miss Jameson, I’ve learned to read people well and on short acquaintance in my years at this humble crossroads. And if you’ll pardon my forwardness, I must say I like you. So allow me to give you some advice, as a newcomer to the West. As people pass through here, they are motivated by a variety of things. At first, it was mostly gold. Or just a better life for the poor than the established East offered. But since the War, people’s motives have changed. They’ve become muddied, darker if you will. War makes men do unconscionable things, at times, Miss Jameson. And the West can be a fresh start for the soul, and not just the pocketbook, of those men. Never ask a man why or where he’s coming from. Instead, ask him where he’s going.”
Ruth hesitated for a moment before carefully replying, “Advice well taken, Mr. Wilson. I do appreciate your candor.” Taken to heart, she silently thought, as she also desperately wanted to leave her past behind.
The question was, would it leave her alone or come after her? Her husband had paid for her expenses, so far. And Ruth had a sinking suspicion that Aunt Kate had received something for herself as well. Frank Masterson might not look too kindly on that loss, not to mention being tied legally to a woman who had disappeared.
Ruth didn’t want to think about something she couldn’t change any more than her companion wanted to relive his past. So instead she inquired about the unusual business of coming to the aid of strangers like herself.
“So tell me more about this business you have of offering protection,” she said. “If I understand things correctly, you offer a safe haven to travelers, such as myself, even though you’re not the Law?”
“A not so unusual business, in my opinion, Miss Jameson,” he replied. “The town sheriff, the circuit judge, prison guards – they all get a paycheck, don’t they?”
At Ruth’s reluctant nod, Montgomery continued. “Tell me, Miss Jameson, did the men wearing genuine army uniforms necessarily represent safety for you during the War? I’m sure most of the men stealing your last meal had official orders in their pocket saying it was right and proper to do so in the name of some bright and shining cause. Did that make you any less hungry? Take one last piece of hard-earned advice from me, if I may be so bold. When you’re at the wrong end of a loaded gun, it never really matters whether the pistol is official government-issue or just a side piece purchased at the local trading post.”
“You sell side arms, too, I take it?” Ruth replied, only half joking. She had no real argument against his logic, having survived
what she had during the War.
Montgomery laughed at Ruth’s rejoinder. “I admire your intelligence and wit, my dear. It can take you far in this life when society as a whole is giving folks little to laugh about.”
Ruth shrugged off his compliment. “Since you’re in the business of providing protection, it just seemed reasonable that you would offer the proper tools to do so.”
“Naturally,” he said. “Life out West works for those who can take care of themselves. And from my experience, you either learn this lesson quickly or die by the side of the road, waiting to be rescued.”
“Amen,” Ruth muttered under her breath.
“I do my very best to put people at ease, as much as possible, out here in the wilderness,” he continued. “The curtains and the roses are all reminders of life back east. They give most people feelings of order and the safety of the familiar. That alone is worth quite a lot for travelers who are leaving something destroyed behind, rather than setting out on an adventure.”
“Running from rather than running toward, something new and exciting,” Ruth clarified.
“Exactly,” Montgomery said. “It doesn’t seem like such a big difference, as both types of travelers can end up in the same place. However, the difference in perspective can color not only your journey, but the destination as well.”
As Ruth wondered if she was destined to be a runner for the rest of her days, or if she could somehow return to being the seeker she’d hoped to be when she accepted Frank Masterson’s proposal, Mr. Wilson’s half-wolf let out a warning bark.
Montgomery was already standing to the side of the front window, glancing past the lace curtains at the approaching figure, before the beast had let out his second bark. Ruth hadn’t seen anyone move that quickly, except for maybe Jackson. She silently wondered if all men out West were this quick on their feet.
“No need to worry yourself, Miss Jameson. It’s just a local miner, coming by for his monthly supplies. Come out and I’ll introduce you. Harcourt’s a bit rough around the edges, but mostly a decent sort. You should get used to his kind, if you’re going to live out here in the Marshal’s world.”
She didn’t bother to correct Montgomery on her intentions, as she didn’t know herself where she would be living past tonight.
Ruth took the trading post owner’s proffered arm and was led out the front door to greet the newcomer.
“Harcourt,” Montgomery called out by way of greeting to the skinny, dust-covered redhead that was just dismounting from a steel grey mule. “Are you here for your usual supplies?”
Harcourt O’Malley grunted his assent as he unapologetically stared at the first woman he’d seen in close to a year. And this one looked to be a lady. Not that Harcourt knew much about ladies, unless you counted his Ma. But he at least knew enough to say for certain she wasn’t a camptown lady.
“Is she your intended, Montgomery? If not, I know a few locals that are in the market for a wife, including myself.”
At Ruth’s shocked look, Harcourt continued matter-of-factly. “Well, Miss, how do you expect folks out here to get kids, if they don’t find a woman to have them? Not to say you can’t buy those too, but it ain’t the same as having your own kin nearby. Some folks is funny that way, and will only stand for blood kin to be at their back. So are you hitched already or what?”
Ruth didn’t know how to reply to such a bald question, and Montgomery appeared too amused at the situation to be of any help. So she picked up the trail of O’Malley’s convoluted thoughts to, if nothing else, satisfy her curiosity. “What about the wives? They aren’t blood kin.”
Harcourt seemed to have no trouble following her train of thought. “Don’t mostly trust them for that very reason, Ma’am. But then not many of them last long out here, if you’ll pardon my direct talk. Those that do turn out okay. They got their young‘uns to look out for them once they lose their looks. But if you turn out strong, I’ll keep you - even when you’re old. I was real close to my Ma, and would want you nearby for any young‘uns.”
Ruth nodded her understanding, and did her best to keep a polite look on her face. “I see. That’s very practical, I suppose. And we all need to be a bit practical in these times, no doubt. But I’m afraid I’ll have to turn down your offer, Mr. Harcourt. I thank you, most kindly,” Ruth added quickly, recalling Montgomery’s advice about manners and safety. “But I’m already spoken for, you see. Otherwise, I’m sure my father would have been most pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Ma’am,” Harcourt muttered, tipping his hat. His shrewd eyes quickly calculated the fact that Marshal Jackson had passed him not two miles down the road. Being acquainted with Jackson’s reputation alone might be enough to stop any further advances on his part, although having a two-mile head start was enough to tempt a lonely man facing a quickly-approaching winter. But it only took one too polite look from Montgomery Wilson to have Harcourt O’Malley removing his dusty hat and executing a quick bow in the general direction of the lady in question. “I understand. Jackson’s a good catch for a lady like you. No doubt your pa was pleased. The Marshal’s the kind to have at your back.”
With the fleeting thought of woman-stealing dismissed, Harcourt’s mind let go the dream of his almost new wife and returned to the task of buying feed for his mule to carry them through the coming winter.
Chapter 35
Jackson found no trace of the last outlaw Ruth had wounded at the cabin. With the trail cold, and no idea which direction Mike and Emmett were headed, he rode to the main crossroads between the site of the train robbery and the army post at Fort Lyon. It was a five-hour detour, but worth the effort when Jackson received word from his brother.
With no mail service beyond the confines of Fort Lyon, the locals were in the habit of leaving messages tacked to a large oak. Whenever a traveler passed by, they’d search for familiar names and deliver any letters that were on their way.
Emmett and Mike left just such a message for Jackson. Although most of the travelers passing through were illiterate, Emmett penned his note in French, the language of their mother, as a precaution. Jackson knew right away that the letter addressed to “Beau” was from his brother. He quickly unfolded the paper and began translating.
No sign of our mutual friends. They either holed up for winter or headed south before the passes close. We’re searching the nearby towns and settlements for information. The old man says you should return home until we pick up the trail again. We’ll send word if anything changes.
Jackson wrote a terse reply that he and Ruth were headed to the ranch, then tacked it forcefully to the tree with Emmett’s knife.
Jackson liked the idea of cooling his heels at the ranch about as much as the prospect of delivering bad news to his cousin. But Emmett was as good a tracker as Jackson himself, and Old Mike knew every trapper, Indian, settler and outlaw in the territory. If the job could be done, they were the men to do it. In the meantime, Jackson had to get Ruth to safety and start preparations for winter, or they would all go hungry.
He mounted his stallion and set off at a brisk pace to fetch Ruth. With no immediate threat to contend with, Jackson debated if he could slow down their journey a bit. The horses needed the rest, as did Ruth.
But not one to lie to himself, Jackson acknowledged the added benefit of more time alone with her. He’d be a fool not to get a head start on the men at his ranch.
Chapter 36
Ruth was so busy concentrating on cooking over an open fire – a task she’d rarely done except to make coffee – that she didn’t notice Jackson preparing for a bath.
He’d pulled off his boots and socks and neatly folded his shirt by the time she turned in his direction, to ask where he kept the coffee. She nearly dropped the pot of water she’d started to heat when she turned to find herself directly in front of his naked chest.
“You can’t walk around half-naked in front of me,” Ruth insisted. “W-we kissed, yes, but I – oh, I mean,” she stopped
with a blush. Some married folks don’t even see each other like this their whole lives.”
“Would you rather we marry first?” he countered back, only half-joking. “My mama always taught me to respect a lady’s wishes.”
Before the War, Ruth would have dismissed Jackson’s talk of marriage as flirtatious banter. But since this was her second proposal in as many days from as many men, she wasn’t sure how to react. She decided to pursue the safer route. “I’m highly doubtful your mama taught you to go around proposing to a lady while you’re half-naked in the middle of the woods,” she retorted, trying hard not to stare openly as Jackson started to remove his belt.
“You’re right about that.” He smiled angelically to ease the bite of his next words. “But my daddy did mention that a bit of harmless seduction would go a long way to convincing a woman to accept a man’s proposal.”
Jackson stood up, holding out his hand, “Take my hand, Ruth. You’re safe with me - in every respect.”
She caught herself just in time. She snatched her traitorous hand back from Jackson’s reach just as the tips of his calloused fingers started to close around hers and pull her in. She held up her pot of hot water, hoping he might instinctively step back and leave her enough room to walk around him. If she tried now, she’d surely brush against his naked chest, which he was slowly scrubbing with a small bar of lye soap.
“Sue thinks it’s unfair and impractical to keep girls in the dark so much. She says half the reason some women don’t much like relations with their husbands is they were so scared the first time. Never get over that bad experience enough to like it.”
“Who’s Sue?” Ruth asked, sounding shrewish even to her own ears. “Is she your wife?”
Jackson chuckled at Ruth’s question, liking the sound of her jealousy. “I’ve never been married. Sue thinks it is past time that I give it a try. She’s about my mother’s age, so she tries her hand at mothering me once in a while.”
