by Lisa Prysock
Thankfully, Hazel caught a glimpse of the church steeple in the distance as the driver reached up to give her a hand down from the coach. The sight offered some bit of immediate comfort even as her eyes traveled to see who had arrived to retrieve her and another look around. A gust of wind blew her skirts about while she observed the town. Perhaps there is civilization here after all.
Other than a brief peek through the window at the town of Belle when the driver had finally pulled to a stop, she hadn’t seen much of it from inside the coach. Now she could see a row of buildings, a town square, and more buildings beyond. The driver had pulled the blinds down inside when he had checked the coals. He’d said to keep them down to add a layer of warmth during the wait. Each minute had seemed like an eternity. She spotted the covered wagon, a team of horses, and what appeared to be a very handsome cowboy waiting on the ground beside the driver, ready to take her hand.
“Lady Hazel Brayden?” he inquired, a pair of steel blue eyes beneath tufts of light brown, short hair looking into her green ones even as she nodded while trying to keep her teeth from chattering. When had she grown so cold? And where had this handsome, rugged man come from?
Wearing a cape with a hood trimmed in fur and holding a fur muff, Wade thought he was staring into the face of an angel. She had creamy pale skin, an ivory smooth complexion, vivid and sparkling green eyes wide with wonder, and wavy curls of golden hair framing her heart-shaped face. She was a vision of perfection. He had to remind himself to close his mouth and not stand there with nothing to say. Try to sound intelligent instead of stunned, he told himself.
“Wade Jefferson from Silver Aspen Ranch, at your service, ma’am!” He shouted as wind from every direction seemed to converge on them. Her skirts and her cape whipped and swirled around, revealing shapely ankles wearing dark woolen stockings and the most adorable heeled boots—heels he knew wouldn’t make it on the icy streets of Belle for five minutes.
“Nice to meet you!” she called back at him.
He nodded as the driver hefted her two trunks and portmanteau into the Silver Aspen wagon. The driver finished his tasks and patted Wade on the back, hollering, “I wouldn’t try to drive to the ranch in this! We can barely see across the street!”
Wade Jefferson nodded as the driver began walking toward the livery doors. He obviously intended to park the stage for the night. Turning back to Lady Hazel, Wade attempted to explain. “We’ve got to stay in the hotel. It’s too dangerous.” He kept his words short because of the howling wind, hoping she’d understand.
“No!” Her eyes filled with a look of exasperation. “I want to go home, to Silver Aspen, today, now!”
Wade shook his head and yelled back, leaning closer so he wouldn’t have to holler as much. “It’s too dangerous! The horses won’t make it! We could get lost and die in this tundra!” He was joking around with her by using that word to try to keep things lighthearted under the circumstances, but she would have none of it.
“Tundra?” she repeated.
“Snow! Blizzard! Whiteout!” he explained, yelling, pointing toward the hotel. “Follow me!”
He reached for her hand, but had to settle for her wrist since her hands remained tucked inside her fur muff. Then he attempted to lead her toward the hotel, keeping a firm but gentle hold on her wrist, but her small frame resisted.
He stopped and turned to face her in spite of the wind blasting him in the face when he did so.
“I want to go to the ranch!” she hollered up at him over the winds. “Now!”
“So do I, but it’s too dangerous!” he yelled back. “Let’s talk inside the hotel!” He reached out for her elbow.
Something akin to lightning flashed through her eyes as she pulled away from him and took a step back, but even the highborn English lass had to bend her will to cooperate with the weather. When some of the snow stopped blowing around long enough for her to see the hotel, she marched off in the direction of the new building, yanking herself away from his hand again. Before he could blink, she was three feet ahead of him.
“Women,” he muttered to himself under his breath as he shook his head, knowing the wind would carry it away before she could hear him.
Chapter 4
* * *
When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears and delivers them out of all their troubles. The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit. Psalm 34:17-18, ESV
Once inside the hotel, Hazel blinked and looked around at the comfortable and elegant surroundings. She took in the atmosphere and began to relax. Perhaps remaining at the hotel didn’t seem like such a bad idea after all, but there was no way she was sharing a room with that brute! Who did he think he was, telling her what they should and shouldn’t do? What kind of lady did he take her for? Blizzard or no blizzard, what exactly had he meant by his suggestion to stay at the hotel overnight? If the coach had made it all the way to Belle without much trouble in this weather, couldn’t his wagon make the rest of the journey?
He stomped his feet on the carpet in front of the door and she observed some of the snow clinging to him beginning to melt and slide off his boots as they stood there recovering from the wind.
“Let’s warm up by the fire,” he suggested as they spotted the fireplace in the spacious drawing room to their left.
She nodded. At least he had some sense in him about keeping them warm. Once they’d crossed the room, she held her hands out toward the fire, allowing the muff to dangle from her wrist. As the warmth began to thaw her fingers and face, she began to think maybe he was right about staying at the hotel until this storm passed. She didn’t want to admit it, but now she realized she was cold, hungry, and weary of traveling. None of her emotions would make a very good first impression on the cousin she hadn’t seen for the last few years. It’d been ages since she’d visited Bridgehaven Hall, her cousin’s country home in England.
The cowboy slid his hat off after he’d warmed his hands. In a low voice, since he didn’t have to shout at her to be heard anymore, he began his argument again. “As I was trying to explain, Lady Hazel, unfortunately, we’re caught in a blizzard. I think it wise to seek refuge here in the hotel and wait it out. It’s grown much worse in the last hour. The snow is nearly blinding.”
Hazel pushed her hood back, allowing it to fall around her shoulders, studying his handsome, chiseled face. She bit her lips, some part of her still wanting to put him in his place. Should it not be her decision? Was he not an employee of the ranch? How weary she was of traveling. How far away from Belle was Silver Aspen anyhow?
The wrangler had a strong jaw and towered over her by nearly a foot. Was he perhaps about six feet and several inches tall? He had blue eyes, short light brown hair, and he looked strong and muscular, likely from hours of hard work on the ranch. Watching the muscles constricting in his cheeks, she briefly considered a few things.
Perhaps she shouldn’t disagree with him as he was attempting to safely escort her to the ranch. Though accustomed to having her own way, it occurred to her that if she angered him, she didn’t know a single soul to come to her rescue. As much as she wanted to make it to the ranch, she didn’t have the energy left to track down some other stranger to do her bidding. The hotel could provide her time to have a hot bath, some rest, and a good meal.
“I suppose you are right,” she reluctantly admitted with a pouty sigh. “I am merely anxious to be settled. It’s been a long, arduous journey. Is the ranch far away from Belle?”
“About an hour’s drive I’m afraid, an hour that could cost us our lives in this weather. I’m sure it has been a trying journey, Lady Hazel. Mr. Stanton, your cousin’s husband, gave me enough funds to purchase hotel rooms in case the weather took a turn for the worst. I assure you, you’ll have your own room. We can order a meal in the dining room after you’ve had a chance to rest. First thing in the morning, if the storm has cleared, I’ll take you to Silver Aspen after breakfast,” he promised.
“I suppos
e that’s fair enough, uh, did you say your name was Mr. Jefferson?” she inquired as she held tightly to her fur muff.
He nodded, holding out his hand to shake hers. “Wade Beauregard Jefferson. Please, call me Wade.”
“Wade,” she repeated, shaking his hand. Then she allowed the muff to hang freely from the wrist cord and stretched both hands out toward the fireplace again, thankful for the warmth generated by the crackling flames.
Holding his hat in his hands, he added, “I’ll speak to the concierge about our rooms. The place looks busy with a lotta folks stuck in town like us. Hopefully they have two rooms left. I’ll just be a few minutes if you’d like to wait here by the fire. Then I’ll get your trunks and take the horses to the livery.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jefferson, I mean Wade,” she corrected, certain she didn’t like the idea of leaving her trunks in the livery. She’d prefer to have her things close at hand, and especially if the storm lasted more than one day. She watched the tall, muscular fellow approach the hotel desk. At least he had some semblance of manners.
Wade secured a wide stall at the livery, large enough for the horses and the small wagon. Then he hefted the trunks back through the drifting snow into the hotel foyer. A bellhop joined him to carry first one, then the other, up the grand staircase. He couldn’t imagine what Hazel required from those heavy trunks for just one night. At least he hoped the storm would only last the night. Hopefully it would pass over the Wyoming plains and dissipate as it continued moving in an eastern direction. Over the years, he’d seen storms last as long as four or five days with blinding snow as they swirled across the prairie, wide and slow like a lazy cow on a hot summer day.
Hazel followed them upstairs as they carried the second trunk, obviously anxious to be settled. He wasn’t going to bother her with the fact the hotel was completely booked except for one room. The other hotel in town and the boarding house around the corner had been full, too. However, Paps Johnson had said he could bunk the night in the livery. All he had to do was manage to find his way across the street after their evening meal. He could wait in the drawing room for Hazel until then. He had the extra quilts Mia had given him, so he could sleep in the wagon bed quite comfortably after dinner.
“What room are you in?” she asked as he handed her the room key.
He hadn’t expected her to care, but he didn’t want her reputation to be compromised by asking to share her room. He decided a vague answer was best for now. “Uh, they have me around the corner down the hall.” He nodded in the direction of the livery, praying for God to forgive him for leaving out all of the facts. Changing the subject, he asked, “By the way, Lady Stanton said there’d be a companion traveling with you?”
“Ah, yes,” she sighed, turning the lock in the key and opening the door. Glancing inside the room, the furnishings looked pleasant and inviting. Then she leaned on the open door while he brought her trunks inside. “Miss Mabel Workman. Unfortunately, my companion ran off with a sailor. I haven’t seen her since arriving in New York.”
Wade’s eyebrow shot up. “A sailor?”
“To be perfectly frank, we weren’t getting along that well, and Mabel was in love with a rather, shall we say, vulgar sailor. Father won’t be too happy she abandoned me, but there was no stopping her.”
“No, I don’t imagine he will be.” Wade appeared lost in thought for a moment before he asked, “What time would you like to meet in the dining room for dinner?”
“Is seven o’clock all right?” She yawned. “I think I could sleep for hours. I’m suddenly very tired.”
He nodded. “Seven is fine. See you then.”
Chapter 5
* * *
More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. Romans 5:3-5, ESV
Wade dozed off into an uncomfortable upright nap on one of the silk sofas in the hotel drawing room. He had stretched his long legs out, crossing his boots at the ankles. He tried to block out the small but steady sea of patrons wandering in and out of the room by placing his hat over his face and leaning back into a corner of the sofa. Thankful for the warmth, he could hear the crackling fire in the large fireplace behind him.
If he didn’t feel compelled to accompany Lady Stanton’s relation to dinner, he would have eaten a meal by himself from the picnic basket and gone to sleep in the livery. However, he knew he couldn’t abandon Lady Hazel. She didn’t know a soul in Belle and appeared overwhelmed by the journey. Joshua Stanton and his wife, Mia, would never approve if he didn’t look after her now that he’d discovered her travel companion was missing.
Wade felt it his duty to step in to keep her calm, and to look after her to some degree; though he’d rather not be forced to remain in Belle with her type. She was out of his league, and far too strong-willed and fancy for his preference in company. She’d probably not struggled or suffered a day in her life.
The tone she’d spoken with and the look she’d flashed him outside made him wary of her temperament. He suspected she possessed a smoldering, fiery temper behind those eyes. Instead of fleeing for home on a dangerous journey, they’d have to make the best of it, like the other folk caught far from home in the midst of the storm.
His own snoring woke him half an hour before Lady Hazel glided down the hotel staircase in a brown silk gown at the top of the dinner hour. The gown featured an elaborate bustle cascading in long silk layers to some kind of fancy brown lace, piping, and dangling trim that swayed with her every move. He believed they called it fringe. She certainly didn’t look as though she was taking refuge from the howling wind and blinding snow, caught unawares in an unexpected blizzard at the feet of the Rocky Mountain range.
He studied her figure, captivated by her presence. Everyone in the drawing room stared up at her. She looked too beautiful not to be noticed. The long sleeves had about ten puffs of fabric all the way down each arm. Each puff was gathered and tied beneath a brown silk bow. She had donned a pair of matching silk gloves. His eyes appreciated her hairstyle, her golden waves swept into a snood at the nape of her neck. Even her hat looked too elaborate for the wilds of Wyoming. It was a tiny silk brown hat, tilted to one side on her head, and likely pinned perfectly in place over the snood, with a bit of black veiling over her eyes. My, but she was a vision!
He scrambled to his feet, hoping his usual attire of leather boots, tan dungarees, tan suede vest, and red with navy plaid shirt would be sufficient for dining with such a lady. He carried his old, worn work coat and hat over one arm. Thankfully Hazel didn’t seem too concerned about his attire as he held out his other arm and escorted her into the dining room.
A waiter seated them near the fireplace at a linen covered table beneath a simple, but elegant chandelier. It was his second dinner at the hotel, but this time he wasn’t wearing his Sunday suit and tie. Miss Cora Fox had informed him at the New Year’s Eve dinner that the chandeliers had been shipped from Italy. It’d been his first outing with her and certainly Miss Fox was a lovely lady, but something about Hazel stole his breath away.
Once they’d both ordered the special for the evening consisting of Waldorf spinach salads, corn chowder, roast beef, boiled potatoes, gravy, and pickled beets served with warm yeast rolls, he wondered what to say. However, he soon discovered Lady Hazel was either extremely inquisitive or talented in dinner conversation techniques, if there was such a thing. To him, it rather seemed like some kind of art. His tongue was always tied shut with few ideas. He soon realized with a great deal of relief that he wouldn’t have to work at coming up with whatever might be deemed polite, small talk. She always had a question for him or something interesting to share.
“So tell me about Silver Aspen, Wade Beauregard Jefferson. You mentioned you are from the ranch, is that correct?” she asked as the waiter dashed off
to return moments later with glasses of sweet tea.
He nodded, trying to resist the urge to toy nervously with the silverware. He was still trying to remember which fork to use for the salad and which for dinner. “Yes, that’s right. I’m kind of new to working for Joshua Stanton. I’ve been there since late October, early November I guess. The Stantons and the other wranglers and I get along so well, it feels like I’ve always been there.”
“So you’re not from around here?” Hazel inquired.
“I grew up in Cheyenne,” he explained, “in the southeast corner of Wyoming Territory. I guess my folks moved here before it was a territory.” He decided not to tell her what had become of them. Something about her seemed kind of frail, in spite of her spirited manner.
“I see.” She smiled as the waiter appeared with their salads. “Do you like Silver Aspen thus far?”
Wade nodded, observing her use of the outside fork at the place setting. He followed her lead and picked up the fork furthest away from the plate. Then he tasted some of the spinach salad with the walnuts and apples. “I do.”
“Is it a large ranch?” she asked, reaching for the pepper shaker.
“One of the largest in Belle.” By the time he’d finished telling her about the ranch and how it was situated about an hour away near a pleasant creek, the waiter brought out their bowls of corn chowder and yeast rolls.
