“All right, commence firing.”
The boy glanced just once at Trent and frowned. Then he angled his body and raised the rifle to shooting position.
The crack of the first shot snapped Trent alert, and he shook his head to clear the unusual thoughts. He set himself up with his left shoulder aimed toward the target, raised his weapon, and put the boy out of his mind. Instead, he focused on his aim, inhaled a deep breath, and held it. With precision, he did his best to group his six shots into the red circle.
When the firing stopped and the breeze wafted the smoke from the line of guns, he heard a soft-spoken exclamation, “Yes” that tightened his gut. Struck speechless, Trent could only gape at the vacant space to his left. Not only had his opponent disappeared from sight, but his opponent was not a boy.
He yanked off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. Should he expose the imposter to Mister Tale? To what purpose? The rancher ran the contest as he saw fit. If the organizer didn’t concern himself with checking each registrant, who was Trent to reveal what he’s just discovered?
Then a realization stopped any further speculation. And most likely, the awareness stopped any thoughts of sharing this experience with anyone back at the Rolling M. A flush of embarrassment crept up his neck. A woman had bested his shooting scores.
Chapter Three
Several days later, Vanora leaned forward in the wagon seat and noted pine and conifer trees lining both sides of the trail like sentinels. Some of the trees were so straight and tall that she got a bit dizzy if she tilted back her head to look at the tops against the blue sky. Sunlight filtering through the overhead canopy created dappled patterns on the dirt path where Dutch and Star walked. The beauty of the scene made her wish she’d asked Mama to teach her how to paint. When Mama couldn’t get out in the garden because of the weather, she’d painted it from memory. But Vanora had always imagined she’d have time in the future to observe more closely and learn. Until time for sharing no longer existed. She swallowed against the lump in her throat and glanced around.
The landscape here in Montana Territory was so different from the rolling plains of their last real home in Rapid City, Dakota Territory. For just a moment, she closed her eyes and thought of the yellow clapboard house at the north end of town. From the kitchen window, they enjoyed a view of Black Elk Peak at the other side of the Rapid Creek Valley. She remembered how Papa worked in his shop only a block away and how Mama loved tending her flower and vegetable garden. Until the illness struck that withered Mama’s strength like a plant deprived of water and sunshine.
Since skedaddling out of sight at the end of the shooting contest, Vanora had held out hope for their path to a new life. What a stroke of luck to have heard about the Paradise Valley Ranch festivities while buying supplies in Ennis. Papa had resisted her participation, but she’d been glad to use her abilities honed by shooting small game to keep them fed. She didn’t know of any other type of work that would earn such a return on so little time expended. If they could only get enough money saved, then they could find a town in need of a good farrier and rent a small house.
She picked up the fabric length from her lap and eased the needle from the edge. Centered in the black rectangle was the red dragon, Y Ddraig Goch, a symbol of her father’s Welsh heritage that appeared on the country’s flag. Papa requested she make something to hang on the inside wagon cover to remind him of home. She’d been happy to agree because he rarely asked her for any such personal items. Beneath the red shape were two layers of muslin so her stitches that gave detail to the limbs and wings also created texture to the animal.
Following the contest, Papa headed due east until they reached Bozeman. At the first mercantile, Vanora mailed half of the prize money to Stanwick’s Lucky Nugget casino. Seeing the clerk affix the stamp and then apply the postal mark to cancel it caused Vanora to flinch. As soon as Stanwick received the envelope, he’d know they’d been in Bozeman. Short of delivering the payment in person, which she refused to do, the postal mail had been their only choice. Now, if they could keep making regular payments, Stanwick had no reason to send out a search party.
Now, judging by the angle of the morning sun, they were headed northwest. For the past hour, she’d been evaluating ways to start a conversation. Since Mama’s death five years earlier, Papa could slide into a bad case of melancholy and remain silent for hours on end. So, her words needed to be chosen with care. She folded the fabric of her navy broadcloth skirt into pleats then smoothed them flat. Wearing her regular clothes again gave her pleasure. “Do you know where we’re headed?”
“Over the next hill and a ways beyond.”
At the vague statement, she gritted her teeth. His response was always something along those lines—around the next bend, past the next town, or across the valley—and then some. As if he’d know the place to stop when he finally saw it. Only they didn’t stop—at least not longer than necessary for him to work a few jobs in order to replenish their meager supplies. Then he hitched up the team, and they travelled onward. Always onward. “Suppose you’ll be stopping to find work in the next town.”
“Maybe.”
What she hoped for was a firm commitment to stop. A plan that they’d hit town within a day then stay for three before moving on. A schedule she could rely on. Was that too much to ask? “Or we might find another big ranch like Mister Tale’s with lots of horses.”
“Uh huh.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs.
“Finding farrier work needs to be our goal. We can’t really count on happening upon another shooting contest.”
Arching an eyebrow, he glanced her way. “I’m a grown man, Vanora. I don’t appreciate being lectured to.”
Irritation crawled up her spine. “Well, I didn’t like having that horrible man in Virginia City thinking he could claim me as his bride.”
Owain straightened and pulled a hand down his face, rattling the loops of the reins. “I wouldn’t have let that happen.”
She stiffened. “How could you have stopped him, Papa? Stanwick acted like he wielded power over you and over everyone in that place. We had no money to cover your chit.” We never have any money because you find it and throw it at your stupid gambling tables. “And now we’re on the run.” For the first two days out away from the danger, Papa had been apologetic and swore he’d never gamble again. But she’d heard those same words before.
By preying on Stanwick’s greed, they told him the rest of the money was at their camp. The henchman he sent with them must have been the stupidest one Stanwick employed. With very little trouble, Papa grabbed a lasso from the wagon, tied up the guy, and left him lying in the underbrush. Then they’d disappeared into the night with Papa driving the team and Vanora using tree branches to wipe out any signs of the wagon tracks. She inhaled a big breath and let it out slowly then focused on her stitching for a minute or two. “What I wanted to suggest is that we need to look for another opportunity to use my shooting skills.”
“Think you can provide better than I can?” His shoulders hunched by his ears.
His voice grumbled, but if he was angry she’d know by the volume. “That’s not what I meant. All I want is to get this debt behind us.”
He gave a quick nod.
Several minutes passed as the wagon rumbled along the trail. Vanora listened to the cries of various birds and spotted squirrels running along overhead branches. “So, do you know if we’re headed toward a city of notable population?”
“From what I learned about the part of the territory, we should be coming to Butte City before too long.”
She straightened and looked at his profile. “I’ve been thinking, and I wonder if we might create our own contest for shooting.”
“What are you talking about?” His reddish brows dropped into a frown. “We don’t have purse money like that rancher fellow did.”
“Not a prize purse, but you could get people to bet against my abilities. While in a saloon or pool hall,
you’ll talk up your boy who can shoot with nary a miss. Be it target circles, china plates, or old bottles. Maybe you’d get better response if you told them I was a girl—even compare me to Little Miss Sure Shot. Everyone’s heard about her skills and are amazed.”
At one time, Vanora wanted to be like Annie Oakley and tour in Buffalo Bill’s Wild West performances. She imagined the pride her father would feel at seeing her standing in an arena filled with spectators, shooting bull-eyes on targets or clay disks from the air. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel like such a burden in his life. “You could get ten men to bet a dollar each that I’ll miss before reaching fifteen items.”
“Why only ten?” He shot her a sideways glance.
“That way we can visit two or three places a night but still not draw too much attention. Can’t risk word getting back to Virginia City.” She leaned her forearms on her thighs. “If this next town is big enough, we could stay another night. That means within a couple of days, the debt will be paid off.” And I can finally enjoy a decent night’s sleep knowing Stanwick has no hold on Papa…or me.
He mashed his lips together but remained silent.
From experience, she knew to let him mull over her proposition. If she rushed him, he’d dig in his heels and his answer would be no. So, she set her boots on the front of the wagon box and heard a metallic clunk of the coins she’d sewn into the hem for safekeeping. Then, she let her thoughts drift—to the drone of insects, an occasional bird call, a soft breeze that riffled the curly strands of her long hair, and a pair of curious hazel eyes under a wayward shock of dark hair. Her closest opponent at the ranch’s contest. Straightening, she glanced to her left to see if she’d uttered anything in her dreamy state. But her father still gazed off into the distance.
More than once since that day, her thoughts had centered on the tall stranger. Normally, when she was in her boy’s disguise, no one gave her a second look. But, every time they’d been in close proximity, she felt the stranger’s perusal. In the second contest, she’d wanted to be positioned any place but next to the discerning man. Squeezing off her accurate shots demanded more concentration. She feared that in her excitement at seeing the placement of her shots, and guessing she’d again won the purse, she’d spoken her relief aloud. Although she’d probably never see the man again, she liked remembering the handsomeness of his pleasing features.
The futility of her thoughts struck hard. For the majority of the year, their wandering allowed her no time for church socials or harvest dances or theater performances or any other activity where she might meet an interesting man and strike up a conversation. Was having a beau too much to wish for? At the question, she suppressed a sigh and pushed the matter from her mind, the same way she always did. She wrapped her hands around her knees and shifted on the hard bench. “After we leave Butte City, we won’t have too much longer before locating a place to settle for the winter. I don’t know about yours, but my tent is getting cold at night.”
“Uh huh.”
“Last fall, we were lucky you got hired at Fort Whoop-Up just before the Great Blizzard hit.” Of course, he knew this fact, but she had the feeling he often didn’t know the current month. “Thankfully, we had four walls between us and the snows, in addition to the other folks at the fort for company and commiseration.”
“Yup, but not yet. Still have new places to see.”
Again, a vague answer. She clenched her hand into the banner then released it. “But we don’t—”
The horses crested a rise, and a valley opened below. Spread out on the flat lands lay what must be the city Papa mentioned earlier.
“Whoa.” Papa pulled the horses to a stop and set the brake.
“Oh, it’s so big.” Vanora looked at a city with a grid layout of a dozen streets going in both directions. The buildings were a mix of single story and multiple stories—the taller ones congregated in the middle of town. Several pyramid-like spires rose over what must be a variety of churches. A railroad track circled the eastern and southern boundaries, so they’d have to find a bridge to cross into the city proper. “We could almost get lost here.”
“Might find folks in need of my skills.”
This time, he was the one who made the suggestion. Hope flashed through her, and she sat forward. “I like that idea, Papa.”
Within minutes, the wagon rolled past the outlying buildings.
Surprisingly, the streets contained very few pedestrians for the size of the city. Strange. Then she noticed the same flyer displayed in the windows of several businesses. “Stop, please.” She hopped down and crossed the boardwalk to read the announcement for a harvest gathering with funfair attractions. The farther she read, the faster her heart beat. She hadn’t been to an event like this in more than a decade. “Listen to this.” She glanced over her shoulder to make sure she had Papa’s attention. Then she turned back to the window. “At the west end of town is a funfair with games of chance, horse races, animal exhibits, and lots of food.” The activities listed sounded like such light-hearted fun. The type of fun that was missing in their lives. She didn’t want to think about having to put on a shooting performance. Not just yet. So, she held back the information about a shooting contest. For now, at least. “Please, may we go?”
“Just a waste of money.”
Money that I won. She forced a smile. “Or a chance to relax and see the sights.” She returned to the side of the wagon and looked upward. Her tactic needed to be on another topic. Mama had been the one who brought laughter and fun to the family. When he focused, Papa proved himself a hard worker. “Maybe you’ll meet ranchers at the animal exhibits who need farrier work. Or at the horse races.” As soon as she spoke, she wanted to yank back her words. She sucked in a breath, bracing for an outburst.
His gaze hardened, and his chin jutted out. “Vanora Elen, you know my feelings about horse races.”
“Sorry.” Her cheeks heated. She hoisted her skirts and hauled herself up onto the wagon seat.
With a tongue cluck and a flick of the reins, Papa set the wagon in motion. His knuckles whitened from his tight grip on the reins.
Why had she mentioned races? Since that fateful day, she’d learned just the mention of the activity often set Papa into a deep melancholy. Even though her brother’d been warned by the member of his family and a few townspeople, Preece ignored everyone’s admonitions. He loved riding his pony at a full gallop across the prairie. One afternoon, he and a neighbor, Billy Pruitt, challenged each other to a race from the blacksmith’s shop to the cottonwood a half mile away and back. She’d begged them not to race, but they’d laughed at her worries.
Ten minutes later, Billy returned, sobbing about an accident.
Before that day, Vanora never saw her father cry. But Papa did when he climbed the porch steps, ashen in expression and with wooden movements, cradling Preece’s limp body. The delivery to the undertaker wasn’t any easier. A light went out in her parents’ eyes that day and never returned. On the morning of her brother’s funeral, she stood at the head of the stairs when she heard her parents in the kitchen, talking in low voices. Wanting to receive a bit of loving comfort from sharing grief as a family, she stole downstairs, her heart heavy and her eyes swollen from shedding tears. On the first floor, she understood the words of the conversation.
“Why was Preece taken from us? He should have heeded our warnings. Why did his pony step in a hole? Tell me, Efa, why?”
Papa’s voice was low and raw. She’d never heard such a rough tone, and the sound scared her. She wrapped her arms around her middle. That same question had tormented her through the restless night. She wanted Mama and Papa to know that she’d tried to keep him from racing. But as a young man of sixteen, Preece hadn’t listened to his twelve-year-old sister.
“What am I to do? Now, I’ve got no one to share the business with. Who will inherit my legacy? Oh, my strong boy.”
“Hush, Owain. Don’t let your grief swallow you whole.”
Mama’s vo
ice sounded more normal. Vanora pressed a hand on the door, needing to feel the touch of Mama’s gentle hands.
“We have to be strong for Vanora, Owain dear. Have you seen the guilt in the poor girl’s gaze?”
“My son’s gone. She couldn’t stop him or come get me so I could put a stop to the race. What use is a daughter?” Rasping sobs sounded.
Hearing that stole the strength from her legs, and she crumpled into a heap in the hallway. Air whooshed from her body, and she fought to suck in more. Papa blamed her? Had he stopped loving her? When she could trust her legs to carry her weight, she returned to her room and curled into a ball on her bed, heedless of how she wrinkled her best dress. The day Preece was laid in his grave a decade earlier was the day Vanora stepped into her brother’s shoes. Looking at the mound of brown earth, she had vowed to find a way to make her Papa proud. Ten years later, she still searched for a way to fulfill that promise.
Chapter Four
A short time later on the valley floor, Owain drove the team into a roped area set aside for teams and wagons.
Behind them stood the site of the funfair. Vanora glanced around, unable to remember when she’d last been in the midst of so many strangers. Their vagabond lifestyle kept them fairly isolated. Her stomach plummeted. “Papa, I bet you’d enjoy a couple of games of chance.”
He finished tying off the reins then turned. “I told you I—” He squinted and leaned closer. “You all right, Vanora? Your face is pale.”
“Probably just a bit hungry.” She pressed a hand to her middle. “Breakfast was hours ago.”
Nodding, he patted his stomach. “I could eat something, too.”
“Let me grab my reticule, and we’ll find us a meal.” The idea of tasting food she didn’t have to cook excited her enough she didn’t mind the expense. Vanora turned on the seat and climbed inside the wagon. Between the tents, bedding, and crates of supplies and kitchenware, she crawled back to the two brown valises that held her clothing. She located the burlap sack where she stored the cloth strips for her menses then dug deep to collect a big handful of coins. The hiding spot was much better than a tin can, and she doubted her father would ever look there. She had her hand on her navy shawl but decided she could always come back if she needed it.
Montana Sky: Love's Target (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Entertainers of The West Book 7) Page 3
