Gabe took the left fork right behind her.
“Come back here!” Shannon shouted, and Gabe turned around and gave her a look of pure pity. Like she was an idiot and a burden and a brake dragging the whole expedition to a halt.
Well that was just too bad. It was her expedition. She’d be a burden and a brake if she wanted to.
She glared at the man who had saved her life. Something she deeply valued.
Gabe had bought her a horse from Doba.
Shannon was very appreciative.
He had also insisted on paying Mrs. Kinlichee for the washing and mending she’d done.
Grateful didn’t begin to describe her feelings.
She knew she was now in the company of a nice group of people who were good Christians, if a bit cranky, and who knew the land was a precious gift, and they wouldn’t be here if not for Gabe’s strong defense.
She was much obliged.
Honestly, he was such a generous man, things ought to be perfect.
They weren’t.
“We can make the shade of that stand of trees by midday.” Gabe pointed at a barely visible dot a long way in the wrong direction.
The man was bossy, and there was no denying it.
Shannon’s pinto snorted, wanting to follow Gabe. The metallic clink of the bridle and the horse’s tossing head stirred Gabe’s chestnut, but he brought his horse under control with an ease Shannon admired. She’d felt a lot safer with her arms wrapped around his waist.
She looked at the sun straight overhead. “There are plenty of trees for shade here. Let’s take a break now.”
“We can get a lot more miles behind us before we stop.” Gabe had been a short-tempered nag all morning. And beyond snapping at her, he’d barely spoken a word.
She badly missed the kind man who’d saved her life. She even missed the snarly man who’d ridden double with her yesterday morning. Especially now that she knew he’d been grumpy because he liked her arms around him.
She suspected his problem now was that she’d angered him by not mentioning Bucky until after she’d kissed him several times. He no doubt had her pegged as a woman of low character.
“I’d much appreciate a break from this ride.” The parson had shown a real bent for whining, which struck Shannon as strange. The man owned the rudest, runtiest mustang Shannon had ever seen. She couldn’t decide if the testy little horse was really as badly behaved as the parson said or if the parson was the cause of the horse’s misbehavior.
Why did a man serve the Lord in the American West when he didn’t like to ride? Yes, it definitely struck Shannon as strange, but she had enough to contend with. She didn’t bother worrying about the parson’s or his horse’s persnickety nature, whichever the case might be.
Doba, who brought up the rear, said, “Let’s rest and eat some of that food my wife sent.”
“At last.” The parson almost fell off his horse. His foot stuck in the stirrup, and he only saved himself because he kept an iron grip on the saddle horn. Almost as if he was used to nearly falling and prepared for the worst.
Shannon dismounted and stalked off toward a stand of scrub pines.
Gabe yelled after her, “Where are you going?”
Turning back to him, she hesitated. “Uh… I just need a moment of privacy.”
Gabe flinched as if she’d jabbed him with a hat pin.
Satisfied she’d shut him up, she stalked behind the trees and fetched her map, careful to study it, decide her next direction, then conceal it in her skirt pocket—not the hidden one. She wanted to be able to get to it later. This is how she’d conducted herself on the earlier leg of her journey, and of course that had led to disaster. But then, she still had her map, didn’t she?
Studying it, she saw that Hozho was leading them in the direction she wanted to go. No need to take over leading this expedition quite yet. Somehow she thought being in charge of this group wasn’t going to be easy.
When she returned to the group, a few more of them had scattered.
Doba was tending to his horse.
Gabe had his back to where Shannon had left, but he stood there, almost like a sentry, guarding her. He was not happy with her, but still he protected her.
In a moment of what she decided to think of as wisdom, she stepped up to Gabe and confided in him. Only him. “I got my map.”
“Wait a minute.” Gabe’s eyes narrowed, but he whispered, too. “I thought you said those outlaws took your map.”
“How’d you think I was going to lead us to the city of gold?”
Gabe shrugged. “Gotta admit I wondered about that. But you definitely told me your maps were stolen.”
Should she show it to Gabe? Her eyes slid to the others. Not trusting anyone was deeply ingrained. “They took some of them.”
She glanced again at Hosteen and Hohzo Tsosi, talking quietly a few yards away as they unpacked a saddlebag stuffed with food. They’d changed very quickly from wanting Shannon cast out as a sinner to coming along. She hadn’t told them about the gold, but had they somehow found out what she searched for? She was going to their ancestral home. That might explain their interest, a simple desire to go home for a visit, maybe even a wish to protect their home from a scheming woman.
She decided not to tell exactly how she’d tricked her attackers. And she’d resume hiding her maps, careful to never let anyone see her hidden pocket.
“But there were more?” Considering he had been pretty much ignoring her ever since she’d mentioned that idiot she’d promised to marry, poor Bucky, Gabe leaned very close now, being secretive right along with her. She wondered if he too distrusted their traveling companions.
“Yes, I’m sure the folks who stole it think it’s the one. They searched me thoroughly and left me to die. It’s not likely they planned to come back and search me again. But if one group of people was willing to kill for gold, another group could be, too. I’d prefer to keep the map to myself.”
Opening his mouth, Gabe hesitated then finally said, “I’m used to trusting people, and I judge these folks as pretty trustworthy.”
“Still, I’m afraid they’ll chang their tune if they hear about the lost city of gold. Hohzo especially seems eager to hate me.”
“She’s harmless, just an old woman with firm ideas of right and wrong. That’s not such a bad thing.”
Shannon arched an eyebrow. “I got real tired of it when she was trying to throw me out of her village. I noticed no one said you had to go.”
“Things are a little different for men.”
Shannon snorted. It was the only response she thought necessary.
“It’s not right. It’s just the way things are.”
“Well, I’m very certain the good Lord doesn’t have a different set of rules for men and women.”
“I’m sure you’re right. While we’re talking about men…” Gabe leaned close enough that she could feel his warm breath on her face. Based on the flash of anger in his midnight eyes, he might be breathing fire—her very own personal dragon. “Why don’t you tell me more about Bucky.”
Shannon didn’t step back, but most likely only through sheer stupidity. “Not much more to tell.”
“You’re going to marry him, and you can’t think of one single, little, teeny, tiny thing to say about the man?”
Truth be told, there wasn’t much to say about Bucky. Their parents wanted them to marry. Promises had been made. Mostly unspoken but clearly understood. And she’d never minded—much. Bucky was a pleasant enough sort, a lifelong friend. No mouth that breathed fire or eyes that threatened to burn her to the ground; no oversized moustache that tempted her to smooth it. No kisses. At all. Ever. But a nice enough man.
Into the silence, Gabe asked, “Is he named after a horse?”
Drawing in a slow breath to keep from laughing, she said, “I’m not going to dignify that question with an answer.”
There, that sounded good. The truth—that Bucky was named after the Buckstones, his mot
her’s mother’s family, because they owned a nice chunk of a railroad, and naming him after the family helped him to be remembered generously in an inheritance—didn’t make the man sound all that tough. And out here, people respected tough.
“And what about you, Gabriel? Did your mother name you after an angel?” She prepared to run as she spoke in an overly cute voice. “My angelic little baby, Gabriel.”
She wasn’t prepared for Gabe to smile. Honestly, it was hard to torment the man back, when he was so often very nice.
“My ma gave us all Bible names. Considering my poor brothers—especially Canaan, Darius, Ephraim—I got off lucky with Gabe.
“C, D, E… G? What happened to F?”
There are seven of us. Abraham, Bartholomew, Canaan, Darius, Ephraim, Felix, and Gabriel.”
“Seven?” Shannon smiled at the thought of seven rambunctious little boys all with black eyes and dark hair. “That’s wonderful to have a big family.”
Gabe shrugged, “Spent a lot of time wrangling with each other, but it was fun I reckon.”
“Is there really a Felix in the Bible?” Shannon considered herself well read, and she’d certainly been a faithful churchgoer, but she’d never heard of a Felix.
A quick smile bent Gabe’s moustache up at the corners. “There is indeed. Not a nice character according to my brother, who made a point of tracking that down. I think my ma was regretting she’d started the whole alphabetical Bible name thing by the time she had her fourth son. The names got a little hostile. I mean, come on, she could have named Darius David. What would be wrong with Elijah? Lots of Elijahs running around in the hills. But no. She’s gotta pick Ephraim. She said once when she was nagging at us for—”
Gabe’s eyes lost focus, and Shannon knew he was remembering something that he enjoyed. He looked into the distance and stroked his moustache for a moment. “I think it was the time Bart kicked a hole in the back wall of our cabin during a wrestling match. Then he didn’t want to admit what he’d done, so he covered the hole up by moving a quilt rack in front of it. Ma didn’t notice for a few days, the weather being mild and the hole being small. But then a skunk moved in and had a litter of kits under Ma’s bed. I think that’s when she told us all that she had some real nice girl names picked out and it wouldn’t have broken her heart to use a few of ‘em.”
His smile was one of fondness. “Ma was one of a kind. She was tough as could be but the finest Christian woman I’ve ever known. She could bake up a ham that was so tasty a grown man might be tempted to cry while he was chewing. And she claimed she could cut out a pair of overalls in any size just by looking at us and whacking away with her scissors on the fabric. No pattern, no measuring. Made the best oatmeal cookies I’ve ever tasted. Played the piano like a dream. We didn’t have much in that old cabin, but somehow Ma had a piano, and she could make music I think brought a smile to Jesus’ face.”
“That sounds nice.” Shannon tried to picture her mother cutting out a pair of overalls, with or without a pattern. The image was impossible to conjure. Her mother had a cook, so baking cookies was out. They had a lovely and very expensive pianoforte in their music room, and Mother had occasionally played a bit of Mozart, but not well, and Mother liked doing everything well or not at all.
“Time for a meal,” Doba called out. “Then we need to be off.”
Gabe shook his head. “I let him tend all the horses. I should’ve helped.” Looking back at Shannon, he said, “You never did tell me much about Bucky.” The moustache was definitely turned down on the corners now. “You shouldn’t oughta be kissing a man if you’re promised to someone else. It’s not right to the man you’re promised to. And it’s not right to me.”
Shannon couldn’t meet his eyes. Honest eyes. Black and deep and wise and honorable. “I know, Gabe. I was so upset and so grateful.”
“So you throw yourself at every man who does you a good turn? My ma had a name for women who did such things and warned all her sons against ‘em.”
The pinch of Gabe’s contempt—well, it hurt. And she had it coming. “Saving my life is more than doing me a good turn, Gabe. I was so—”
“Upset, yep, you said.”
It took all her courage, but she lifted her chin. Gabe had a right to his anger, and she had a responsibility to let him tell her how wrong she’d been. She needed to apologize for her actions and opened her mouth to do so, though with no idea how to explain that the very existence of Bucky had fled her mind before and after their kissing. And certainly during.
“I think I feel sorry for your intended if this kind of thing is what he can expect from you.” Gabe reached up and tugged on the brim of his hat, pulling it low over his eyes. He turned and walked over to the others, leaving Shannon nearly gasping with shame.
Worst of it was he was right. Bucky deserved better.
Poor sweet Bucky. She wondered if he’d gotten her telegraph, the one Gabe had asked that mule skinner to send. He’d be worried sick.
Eleven
Bucky rose from the velvet cushions of the couch in the Chatillon Car.
His mother had named the train car. She never missed a chance to gloat about their relation to the important and wealthy St. Louis Chatillons. Though his father’s Shaw relatives were possibly even wealthier and more influential.
He looked out at a collection of ramshackle, one-story buildings and a board sidewalk. Dust everywhere. A wagon or two. Horses tied at hitching posts, standing with their heads down.
He wondered at the stories he’d heard of Louis Chatillon’s longing for the West. That Chatillon blood flowed in Bucky’s veins, but as he watched a tumbleweed roll down the middle of a mostly empty street, he suspected that fur-trapping blood was really diluted.
As he stepped down on the streets of whatever town this was, a man raced up to him with an out-thrust piece of paper. “You’re Mr. Buckstone Shaw?” The man had on a white shirt and black vest. Black bands around his upper sleeves and a distinctive hat made it clear the man worked in the telegraph office.
“Yes.” Bucky saw others from the train, nearly all men, straggling into a bedraggled diner and felt only relief that he’d brought along an icebox full of food and his own cook.
“Telegraph for you, Mr. Shaw, sir.” The man spoke through a moustache so bushy his mouth didn’t appear to move. “It came through an hour ago with instructions that it be delivered as soon as the train pulled in.”
Looking around the dusty town, Bucky was surprised they had a telegraph. It was a very different world out in the West. Quite rugged. He felt that bit of Chatillon blood pulse somewhat, though not enough to risk eating in that wretched restaurant.
Several men scurried around unloading mail and filling the water car from an overhead tank. Steam chuffed out of the engine as it growled and chugged without moving.
Bucky took the paper, and his first impression was that it was very long for a telegraph. His second was that his already completely upside-down life had just gotten far more complicated. He pictured Shannon’s dark eyes, beautiful, thick dark hair, and perfectly cleft chin. Her straight little nose always buried in some fusty old papers of her father’s. He tried to make himself believe she was worth it. It didn’t matter anyway. Simple human decency demanded he go save her. His third was more primal. Someone had tried to kill Shannon. She needed him, and he’d go save her. Then he’d drag her home by her hair and marry her and make sure she never wandered off again.
“What’s she doing in Flagstaff—and where is Arizona Territory? Are we in it yet?”
“Excuse me, sir?” The telegrapher jumped and wrung his hands.
Bucky wondered what exactly his mother had done to engender this level of nerves in the telegraph operator. Money had no doubt changed hands. “I need to get my train car detached and put on the tracks heading to”—Bucky referred to the wire—”the Arizona Territory. I need to get to Flagstaff.”
Bucky looked at the telegraph operator, who looked back, a baffled expression on
his face. “There ain’t no tracks to Flagstaff, sir. I’ve got to get back to the telegraph office. I’m not supposed to leave my station.” The man as good as ran away.
With no clue how to proceed, Bucky went into the decrepit train station restaurant.
Approaching the engineer, who was eating what might be a steak, Bucky controlled a shudder and, though he found it humiliating to ask directions, said, “How do I get to the tracks heading to Arizona? I need to get my car attached to a train heading for Flagstaff.”
The engineer, in his black suit, soaked with sweat, chewed as he looked at Bucky. “There ain’t no other tracks in town, mister.”
Mulling the problem, Bucky realized he might have to wait to change directions in a somewhat bigger town. “When is the next town where I can reroute my car?”
“These are the only train tracks until the end of the line.” The engineer turned to the man beside him.
The coal man no doubt, judging by the man’s face being blackened with soot, added, “Best you can do is take a stagecoach south. You can hook up with the train in Albuquerque. That’ll take you into Flagstaff.”
“Stage just went through yesterday,” a woman called from an open door that appeared to lead to a kitchen. She came out with a pot of coffee and began pouring. “Won’t be another one through for a week.”
“Then how do I get there from here?”
The room fell silent. Finally, one man said, “Ride a horse, how else? Gotta go about three days south.”
“He can make it in two if he pushes hard, and he’d better. No good water along the way.” The woman continued pouring coffee. “Two to the train, then another two or three to Flag.”
Raising his letter, Bucky said, “My fiancée is in terrible trouble. We last heard from her in Durango, but now we’ve gotten a wire from Flagstaff, and she’s in danger somewhere in the wilderness north of there. I need to get to her as quickly as possible. And I’ve got four men traveling with me to act as guides and to help me track Shannon.”
“What’s a fiancée?” the coal man asked around a mouthful of meat.
Deep Trouble Page 11
