For a Sister's Love

by Paty Jager

  Guilt rose in her throat, making it hard to swallow. It wasn’t right to deceive the town folks, if it hadn’t been for them, Mrs. Baumgartner and she would have starved during the years they lived here. But she had to leave, had to find Maggie, therefore, she had to be sneaky about it.

  “He’s fine, dear. Just fine. You helped so much during his illness. We so appreciated it.”

  “I’m glad I could be of assistance.” Her gaze traveled to the door, to where Ruth sat on the narrow boardwalk. The new knapsack she’d sewn for the trip was safely settled on the dog’s back. This one she’d made out of a deer hide Two Buttes had given her, knowing it needed to be strong to withstand the long travel to Idaho. One strap was sewn together below the dog’s neck, another just behind her front legs. It looked somewhat like a miniature saddle, and Ruth, used to such a collar, didn’t mind it in the least.

  Ruth didn’t like Mr. Baumgartner, and he didn’t like the dog. To this day Loralei was a little surprised the man never figured out the money she managed to make from assisting folks was hid in Ruth’s pouch. If only she’d hidden the necklace in there.

  Urgency raced along her skin. Mert had said that lawyer was looking for Ty Bancroft. If he found the gambler before she did, she might never get her necklace back.

  Chapter Two

  “Mert, I gotta be heading out now.”

  “Lora—”

  “Mrs. Sutherland most likely has a large order for you to fill. I won’t keep you any longer.” An impulse had her wrapping her arms around his massive middle. “Bye, Mert.”

  He squeezed with the strength of a grizzly, and his voice cracked when he said, “Bye, Loralei.”

  She gave Mrs. Sutherland a quick wave, afraid if she looked up the woman would see the tears slipping out of her eyes. Wiping her nose with the back of her hand, she walked out the door. The town was a blur as she mounted Raindrop and rode up Main Street to the winding road that would take her north to the trail marked by the deep ruts the trappers and wagon trains had carved in the earth over the years.

  Sam pulled the dusty curtain aside to watch the horse, rider, and dog move up the street. She was Baumgartner’s daughter, adopted daughter anyway, and now the owner of the man’s mining claim. She was headed north, yet her property was on the other side of town, back down the hill. As far as he knew, there was nothing north of town for miles on end.

  “Thank you, Mr. Homer, I appreciate the information.”

  “My pleasure,” the man said, folding the dollar bills Sam had given him.

  Sam left the assayers office and made his way into the dry goods store. The trip so far had turned out to be more expensive than he’d planned. Not that it mattered. Lorna Bancroft wanted her grandson, and no amount of money would stop the old woman from getting what she wanted. He’d have to stop at the bank, cash one of the drafts in his saddle bag before he left town. Like it or not, he’d most likely cross half the nation to find Ty.

  An older woman, dressed in a common, drab-gray skirt, read off a list of items from the slip of paper she held as he entered the dry goods store. Her other hand pointed to items on the shelf behind the tall German store owner. Sam had met the jolly Mert over a glass of beer in the saloon last night.

  “Aw, Mr. McDonald, I talk to you in one minute,” the man greeted.

  Sam gave an acknowledging nod, and roamed to check out the selection of ammunition inside a small glass counter.

  The woman, Sam now recognized as Mrs. Sutherland from the hotel he’d spent the night in, continued to specify exactly which can she wanted. Assuming it would take some time, Sam moved over near the small barrel stove. Dwindling heat radiated off the metal. He sat on a rickety stool to wait until Mrs. Sutherland completed her order.

  Legs stretched and arms folded, he almost stumbled from the stool when Mert pulled the door shut with a bang after the woman left. “You,” the man said, “come.”

  Sam glanced around for a split second.

  Mert waved a hand, walking toward a curtain that separated the back area from the front of the store. Sam rose, and quivering a touch, followed. The backroom was darker than the front of the store. A layer of dust clung to the little window attempting to light the room that was twice as crowded as the front room of the store.

  “Why you go to Orson Baumgartner’s place?” Mert wanted to know.

  “I told you last night, Mert,” Sam hoped saying the man’s name would make him sound like a friend. “I’m looking for Ty Bancroft.”

  “Ya?”

  “The bartender said Ty gambled with Baumgartner last winter. Said if anyone knew where Ty headed when he left here, it would be Orson.”

  “Orson’s dead.”

  “I discovered that this morning.”

  Mert folded his meaty arms across his chest. “What’s the family matter you got with Bancroft?”

  Sam had the urge to look for an escape route. It wouldn’t help though, the room only had one way in or out, and Mert’s large body blocked it quite adequately.

  His pause must have lasted too long. Mert pointed a finger at him. “You tell me the truth, son.”

  Sam swallowed. He hadn’t thought of telling Mert a lie, but something about the man, probably his massive size, had Sam sweating in his boots like a school boy gathering the gumption for his first fist fight. “I’ve been hired by Ty Bancroft’s grandmother to convince him to return to New Orleans. The woman wants to see her grandson one more time before she dies.”

  Mert eyed him from head to toe—it wasn’t a kind stare. “You’re a lawyer?”

  Sam nodded. “Yes, I work for my father’s law office. Mrs. Bancroft has been a customer of his firm for decades. The last correspondence she had from Ty came from Timberland.”

  “He headed out long ago,” Mert supplied.

  “I found that out. I’ve been told he headed to Oregon.” Sam said, growing frustrated. “I hoped Orson Baumgartner knew which route he took. The sooner I find Ty, the sooner I can return to New Orleans.”

  “The north route,” Mert said abruptly.

  Perplexed, Sam frowned. “How do you know that?”

  “No one in their right mind would go straight west from here. There’s no pass. And only a man wanting to get scalped would go south.”

  “Oh,” Sam answered, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Then I guess I’ll be taking the north trail as well.”

  Mert rubbed his chin so hard the area turned bright red. “You say Ty Bancroft is heading to Oregon, no?”

  “Yes, he’s heading to Oregon.”

  The man’s eyes sized him up from head to toe for the umpteenth time. “You know how to shoot?”

  Sam stopped his eyes from bugging out of his head. Surely the man wasn’t calling him out in a dual for looking for Bancroft. “Yes,” he admitted, but then added, “I’ve been shooting game since I was old enough to carry a rifle.” He didn’t bother to tell Mert his father had forced a gun into his hands the night New Orleans was captured. That Civil War event had changed his life in many ways, even though he’d been too young to realize it at the time.

  Mert’s eyes lingered on his polished boots. “This your first time in the mountains, no?”

  “Yes, it’s my first time in the mountains. I’ve lived most of my life at my family’s farm outside of New Orleans.” He didn’t bother to add that he’d only joined the law firm last year, after his older brother died, and he’d been forced to give up raising horses to take over the family business. This trip west, the job for Mrs. Bancroft, was his chance to prove to his father he was as capable overseeing the law firm as Thomas had been.

  “Well, I guess you’ll have to do,” Mert said, interrupting Sam’s musing.

  “Do for what?”

  Mert shouldered past him and pushed aside several crates to expose a large safe, the kind most banks had. The man didn’t answer. Instead he knelt down and twisted the big dial on the door. After he swung the door open, he pulled out a small drawer. The sound of shuffling pap
er echoed off the metal. With a grunt, Mert stood and swung around, thrusting a wad of bills toward Sam. “I hire you.”

  “Hire me for what?” Sam didn’t take the money.

  “There’s a little gal,” Mert said, “she just left town on a black and white pony with a little black and white dog. She’s headed for Idaho.” He shoved the bills beneath Sam’s nose. “You make sure she gets there.”

  “I-ah-you-she,” Sam stuttered. “Idaho?”

  “Ya. She needs to get to Silver City, Idaho.” Mert bowed his head, and Sam could have sworn tears glistened in the man’s eyes. “She’s a sweet little thing, and I’m afraid of her traveling all that way by herself.” He once again waved the wad of money. “It’s good money. You do this for Mert, no?”

  “Mert,” Sam started, hoping he could make the man understand. “I wish I could help you, but I can’t. I have to find Bancroft. Take him back to New Orleans. I don’t have time to get a girl to Idaho.”

  “I got more money.”

  “It’s not the money,” Sam assured. “It’s the time.”

  “Idaho is on the way to Oregon, no?”

  “Well, yes,” he had to admit.

  Mert grabbed Sam’s hand and shoved the wad of bills into his palm. “Then you see Loralei gets there, and then find Bancroft.”

  For a large man, Mert moved fast. Sam was still staring at the bills. Mert had already bolted into the front of the store. Sam walked into the other room. “Mert, I can’t take your money. I can’t help that girl get to Idaho. I’m on a tight schedule.”

  “Loralei Holmes,” Mert said, taking cans off the shelf and wiping them with his apron. “The girl’s name is Loralei Holmes. She was on a wagon train that was attacked by Indians several years ago. Her sister went with one family on the northern trail. She came with the Baumgartners on the southern trail. They ended up here, in Timberland. She’s a good girl. Been real good to everyone.” He made a fierce grimace. “But that Orson. He was a hard-headed fool. Those poor women practically starved to death, may have if’n Loralei hadn’t offered herself up to do odd jobs, taking care of the ill now and again.”

  Mert replaced the last can. “Nellie Baumgartner got the pneumonia this winter. Half the town did. She hung on longer than most. Pert near broke all our hearts watching Loralei keep that woman alive as long as she did. When Nellie died, I knew Loralei would leave. And she would have the next day, ’cept a snow storm hit. Suppose it’s just as well that she saw Orson into the ground, too.”

  Mert folded his big hand overed Sam’s still holding the money. “You gotta take that money, and help that girl. This whole town will come down on me if’n you don’t. There’s not a soul here that don’t love that little gal. And when they find out I knowed she left town and didn’t see to her protection, they’ll turn on me like an angry grizzly.”

  “Mert,” Sam started to object.

  “I think you’re a good man, Sam McDonald. You do this for, Mert, no?”

  Sam sighed.

  “Please.”

  The six foot giant sounded so much like one of Sam’s little nieces, his heart started to melt just like it did when one of the girls begged him for something or another. He hung his head—already regretting what he knew would come out of his mouth.

  “Yes, you do this?” Mert asked, somewhat excited.

  “Yes,” Sam said with a sigh. “I’ll do it.”

  Chapter Three

  Raindrop ambled along, and Loralei let the reins, tied in a knot, hang loose on the saddle horn. It would be a long trip and there really wasn’t anything she could do to shorten it. The wagon rutted trail would take them north into Wyoming where they’d connect with the Oregon Trail and take it all the way to Idaho. She knew all this, not from years ago when her family had been together and traveling west, but from the years of assisting the injured or ill that left the trail and found their way into Timberland.

  There had been many over the years. Pregnant women close to delivering, elderly travelers too weak to continue, and a vast array of aliments and injuries. Her gaze landed on the little leather pouch riding on Ruth’s back. She didn’t have a lot of money, but held hope it’d stretch over the next month. Urgency zipped up her back. Somehow, somewhere, she’d have to find Ty Bancroft and get her necklace back before reaching Silver City.

  Maggie had given her their mother’s necklace the day they’d separated. She had to have the locket when they met up. It was all they had left. Of course, if she knew what Ty Bancroft looked like it would help tremendously. All she knew was the man won her locket from Orson Baumgartner in a poker game. Mrs. Sutherland told her to be thankful the gambler hadn’t taken Baumgartner up on his second wager. Her. The woman said Edwin Stiller, the bartender and owner of The Wet Whistle, said Bancroft left extremely disgusted after Baumgartner’s wager.

  That too should make her happy, let her know the gambler might have a conscience, but it didn’t. Instead the knowledge rolled in her stomach like an illness, telling her she wasn’t wanted by anyone. Hadn’t been since the day her parents died on the Nebraska prairie.

  Her stumble down memory lane was interrupted by Ruth’s bark. Loralei swiped away the tear that sat on her cheek with the heel of her hand. Ruth, stiff straight, gazed down the trail behind them. The sun had started its decline in the west, and knowing it would soon be time to look for a spot to spend the night made a lump form in her throat. Though she hadn’t been wanted over the years, she’d never been alone. The last six weeks, since Mrs. Baumgartner had passed, she’d lived by herself at the soddy, but that had been different, she’d had a sense of home and familiarity with the farm no matter how decrepit it had been. This would be her first night of being utterly alone and open to the elements.

  Ruth barked again, and Loralei nudged Raindrop toward a small cluster of pines. She better get used to being alone, it was a long road to Idaho, and she better trust Ruth’s insight. Someone was on the trail.

  Crouched in the trees, with the pungent, pleasant scent of pine pitch all around, she peered at the road. Raindrop, several yards behind her, well hid, didn’t so much as snort, but Ruth, perched at her side let out a vibrating sound. It wasn’t a growl, more like a whimper of excitement. Loralei laid a hand on the dog’s head. “Shh.”

  The steady clip-clop of hooves sounded before the horse and rider appeared. Loralei clutched both hands to her chest. Riding his big roan, the lawyer, Sam McDonald trotted down the trail, his head turned left and right, scanning as he rode.

  Ruth, with a surprising act of truancy, shot out of the trees. Loralei dove to catch the dog, but her fingers barely touched the black tail as the dog scampered below the boughs, barking excitedly.

  “Hello, Ruth.” The man brought his horse to a stop.

  Ruth yapped a greeting. Loralei gritted her teeth. Since she’d carried the pup home in her skirt pocket, the dog had never deserted her, not once, ever.

  Sam McDonald climbed off his horse, and Ruth lapped up the attention he bestowed upon her. “Where’s your mistress, little lady?”

  Loralei knew the instant he caught a glimpse of her. A river of pin pricks flowed over her body.

  He let out a chuckle. “She needed to use the facilities, did she?”

  Ruth barked again.

  The stinging grew as if she’d just been shot by a million porcupine quills. Slapping her hat on her head, she rose and crashed her way out of the pines. “What do you want?”

  His grin made her shiver, and the quills dug deeper, but this time they didn’t sting, instead created a slow stirring of her insides.

  “Hello, Miss Holmes.” He touched his hat with one hand.

  He wasn’t as tall as Mert, but still a good head or so taller than her, and his frame was lean in a well-developed sort of way. His narrow brimmed hat sat low on his dark brown hair, partially hiding the sky blue eyes gazing at her. Another tingle rippled her body. She’d never thought a man was handsome before. Why now—when she had a million other things to worry abo
ut.

  “Would you like to check my teeth?”

  “W-what?” she stuttered.

  “You were looking me over like I was a horse and you a potential buyer.” His grin gnawed on her nerves—which were already raw enough.

  “I was not,” she insisted.

  He shrugged, and gestured toward the pines. “Have you finished your business? Shall we get back on the trail?”

  “I-my-we,” she stammered, blood burning her cheeks. “What do you mean shall we get back on the trail?”

  One corner of his lip curled upwards, increasing his grin and saying he noticed her blush. “Since we’re both headed in the same direction, we might as well travel together,” he said with a matter-of-fact tone that stung. He couldn’t possibly know her fears.

  “I don’t think so.” She whipped around and let out a whistle for Raindrop. A moment later the pony ambled onto the road. “Ruth,” Loralei said, slapping her hip.

  The dog darted her head back and forth, between her and Sam McDonald. Loralei’s ire rose. “Ruth!” she commanded.

  Ruth bowed her head and tail between her legs, trudged forward. Loralei climbed on Raindrop and without so much as a nod in the lawyer’s direction, steered the pony down the trail.

  It was only a matter of seconds before his large roan fell in step beside Raindrop. She pulled the rim of her hat lower. “We, Raindrop, Ruth, and I, like to travel alone. I’d be obliged if you’d leave us be.”

  “Why?”

  What kind of question was that? Why? It was none of his business why. She bit her lip, not wanting her mouth to answer before her mind made up what she wanted to say. The thought of traveling with someone was mighty inviting, but he was the last person she could travel with. She needed to find Ty Bancroft before he did. Besides it would be improper, a single woman and a single man—at least she assumed he was single—traveling together. Lightning might as well strike her here and now.