Glory

by Lori Copeland

  Jackson glanced over, smiling when he saw her nodding off. In the past few months, she’d gone from a dirty, orphaned waif to a lovely, desirable woman. She had no idea how lovely or how desirable. There were times lately he’d had to remind himself that she was his charge, not his soul mate. She matched his zest for life where no other woman had ever come close. Was he in love with Ruth? The thought amused him. Ruth, like the other girls, claimed a part of his affection, but the girl whom—he was startled by his thoughts and surprised by their intensity. What was he about to think? That walking away from Glory wasn’t going to be easy? He shook the thought away. The cold was numbing his brain.

  Dumping the remains of his coffee, he turned and removed the cup from her small hand. She stirred slightly, snuggling closer to the warmth of his body. He carefully eased her back into a sitting position. Then he stood up, bent down, and lifted her tiny frame into his arms.

  Pausing at the back of the wagon, he tapped on the closed canvas. A moment later, Patience poked her sleepy head out. When she saw Glory in his arms, she spread the opening wider, and he laid the drowsy girl on her pallet. Settling the blanket over her sleeping form, he gently tucked her between the soft covers. What did he feel for this woman-child?

  Lord, help me—what do I feel?

  “Good night,” he whispered.

  “Good night,” Patience whispered back. She quickly secured the back canvas against the whistling wind as he turned to leave.

  Turning his collar up, he adjusted the brim of his hat. By morning, the ground would be a solid sheet of ice. That meant no traveling tomorrow.

  It also meant one more day in the company of a woman who was about to cost him a night’s sleep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Storm clouds built overhead as Jackson led the prairie schooner along Cherry Creek to the main street of Denver City on the first day of November. Six expectant faces peered out of the wagon.

  Marshall Dylan McCall, riding behind the wagon all day, nudged his horse into a trot to catch up with Jackson at the front of the wagon. They rode beside each other in silence until Dylan pointed toward the sheriff’s office. “Here’s my stop, friend. I leave you now to meet my new traveling partner, and I’m sure he won’t match the pleasant company I’ve recently enjoyed.”

  The two men reined to a halt and shook hands, and the wagon stopped behind them. Jackson met the marshall’s even gaze. “I appreciate your help this past week, Dylan. Don’t know how we could have gotten through the high divide without you.”

  “Would prefer present company to my next companion, I assure you.” Dylan circled his horse to face the wagon. His gaze met Ruth’s as she sat straight and stiff on the wagon seat, watching him. “Farewell, ladies.”

  When Jackson moved on, Ruth paused a moment. “Farewell,” she finally replied. She lifted her chin and shook the reins. Grinning, Dylan tipped his hat as the wagon passed him for the last time. The girls leaned out from under the canvas to wave and call good-bye, a soft sadness filling their eyes.

  Excitement broke out as the party traveled the remaining distance to a house several miles outside Denver City. Chatter faded as their eyes scanned the crudely built structure.

  “Is this it?” Lily asked.

  “Seems rather … bare,” Patience murmured.

  Ruth smiled, and the girls reached for each other’s hands. “It will be fine. Perhaps our soon-to-be husbands are already waiting for us.”

  “Mercy, let’s hope so.” Harper’s eyes took in the shabby farmhouse.

  Jackson dismounted, and the girls slowly climbed out of the wagon, each clutching her valise. Stepping on the porch, he rapped on the door and waited until a harsh voice responded, “Come in. It ain’t locked.”

  The door creaked on rusty hinges as Jackson swung it open and stepped inside to hold it for the six girls who slowly filed past him. Their eyes cast about, taking in the broken chairs and filthy bedrolls scattered on the floor. Three unkempt men sat around a table piled with poker chips.

  A blond man with long, matted hair folded his handful of cards and laid them facedown on the table as he stood up. “You must be Jackson Lincoln,” he rumbled.

  Jackson nodded. “I am.” An awkward silence followed as the wagon master waited for the man to identify himself.

  “Name’s Wyatt.” The man’s pale eyes narrowed. “Been expecting you for two weeks now.”

  “Had some delays on the trail, early snow in the high passes.”

  Wyatt grinned at his two unshaven companions. “Yeah, that’s what we figured the first week, didn’t we, boys? Along about the second week, we figured you’d decided to keep the girls and go into business for yourself.”

  The two seated companions roared at this. “Good one, Pa!”

  “Excuse me,” Jackson interrupted coldly, “but there are ladies present.”

  This prompted a few more hoots until the men took in the granite expression on Jackson’s face. The laughter subsided, and Wyatt’s mouth thinned. “Oh yeah, well, I’ll get your money, and you can be on your way.”

  “I know it’s getting late,” Jackson began, “but I was hoping to meet a couple of the prospective husbands you’ve arranged for these five ladies.”

  Wyatt lifted his head to survey the women. “I count six.” He grinned at his companions. “You throwing in a bonus?”

  “Not exactly.” Jackson frowned, and Glory moved up behind him to peer at the men. “I was hoping you could arrange work and proper quarters for a young lady we met along the way.”

  “Which one is that?”

  Jackson shifted Glory around to his front, keeping a hand on her shoulder. “Her name is Glory.”

  Wyatt’s eyes skimmed the comely girl. “Won’t have no trouble finding her work; she can join the others. Got us a nice little silver mine—always need a few more to sort rocks. Can you cook, honey?”

  Glory mutely wagged her head.

  A slow grin spread across the man’s malevolent features. “Don’t matter if you can. You can load rock, can’t you?”

  She shook her head.

  Jackson’s shoulders stiffened. “A mine? These women are mail-order brides.” Behind him, the girls drew together in a tight knot, their arms wrapping around each other for support.

  “Really?” Wyatt’s tone took on a confrontational tone. “No mention of that in your contract.”

  “Your letter said—”

  “Things change.” Wyatt shrugged as his right hand dropped to rest on the butt of the pistol strapped to his hip. “All your contract says is that you will bring me five orphans from Westport for the amount agreed upon. I’ll even throw in a bonus, seeing as you’ve brought me one more. Whatever my letter to Potter said—” Wyatt shrugged again—“well, now, a letter ain’t a binding contract, is it? Now these ladies signed a contract, and a contract is nice and legal.”

  “Why you—”

  “Jeb, get me the strongbox.” Wyatt’s eyes hardened. “Let’s pay this man, so he can get back to town before dark. He looks a bit road weary. Long trips can make a fella disagreeable. Round here a man can get hisself killed if he don’t take a proper tone with the locals.”

  Grinning, the man called Jeb slammed a heavy box down on the table. Wyatt lifted the lid, took out a large pouch, and set it on the table. Glancing at Glory, he selected a smaller pouch and placed it beside the large one. “Put the box away, Son.” He turned to the other man. “Luther, make yourself useful and show the wagon master out.”

  Wyatt threw the money bags at Jackson with enough force that he had to catch them or be bowled over by them. When Jackson looked up, Wyatt and Luther had their pistols drawn. Jeb had joined them, carrying a sawed-off shotgun.

  “Now let’s not quibble over details,” Wyatt said, his pale eyes icy. “Mail-order brides or mine workers, either way these unwanted, too-old-to-adopt orphans are going to have to work off their expensive passage west. When they’ve done that, why, you can ask my boys here, I’m a reasonable ma
n. The girls will be free to go wherever their little hearts desire.”

  Jackson met the cold gaze with a clenched jaw. “You bought these women to work in your mine?”

  “Well, now, that’s a little harsh. As I said, once they pay off their passage, they’re free to go.”

  “But that would be hundreds of dollars,” Ruth argued.

  Wyatt smiled. “Ain’t it ridiculous what prices are these days?”

  “It will take years for us to work off the debt,” Lily exclaimed.

  Wyatt chuckled, a humorless sound. He gestured toward the door with the barrel of his pistol. “Better be on your way, wagon master. After dark it’s hard to see in these hills. Easy to mistake a man for a thief or an intruder. A fella could get shot.” Wyatt’s gaze dropped to the pouches in Jackson’s hands, and his brows lifted with interest.

  Jackson’s eyes moved from pistol to pistol to shotgun.

  Glory’s gaze flew to Jackson. “Shoot him, Jackson. He’s plain no good.”

  Shrugging, Jackson backed toward the door, holding his hands up in surrender. “Ladies, I’ve done my job. You’ll have to talk to Mr. Wyatt if you have a complaint.”

  “Jackson?” Glory exclaimed in shocked disbelief, reaching for his arm as he opened the door. “Are you nuts! You can’t leave us here with this—this polecat!”

  “You can’t,” Ruth begged, as Lily and Patience clung to her sobbing.

  “Please, Mr. Lincoln,” Mary wheezed, despair flooding her face.

  “That’s it, run like a yellow-bellied coward.” Harper stepped in front of Jackson and blocked his path. Her eyes locked with his. “Just like a man. All those nice things you did for us—just an act. Once you got your money, you run out on us. So high and mighty in front of us, then some flea-bitten curs point a gun at you, and you’re gone.”

  “Hey, who you calling flea-bitten curs?” Jeb shouted.

  “Well,” Wyatt said coldly, “she’s right about one thing. Money changes a man. Say good-bye to your knight in shining armor, ladies.”

  Jackson opened the door, tipped his hat to Harper, and left.

  Glory listened to the jingle of harnesses. After three and a half months, she knew it was the sound of the prairie schooner pulling out. As the sound faded, cold dread filled her heart. She couldn’t believe what had just happened. Jackson hadn’t lifted a hand to save them. She looked at Ruth, who turned away, handkerchief pressed to her mouth.

  “Hey, Daddy, you want me to show these women their new temporary quarters?” Luther asked with a salacious grin.

  “Why, that’s right good of you, Son, right hospitable.” Tom Wyatt grinned, revealing broken, tobacco-stained teeth. “You do that, boy. And, ladies? Better get to bed right after supper. Got a lot of rocks waitin’ for you in the morning—say around four thirty?”

  Jackson Lincoln was furious. Blood pounded in his temple, and his chest hurt with tightness. His face was dark with rage.

  Halfway down the mountain, he secured the wagon and teams in a protected grove. Saddling the mare, he bounded aboard and rode into Denver City with a crisp wind at his back. Pewter-colored clouds promised a heavy snow by nightfall.

  Springing out of the saddle in town, he strode to the sheriff’s office and entered with the rage of the impending blizzard.

  “Whoa.” Dylan McCall whirled to identify the commotion behind him. “Montgomery?”

  “Marshall, am I glad you’re still here.” Jackson grabbed hold of Dylan’s arm and took a deep breath.

  “Looks like I’ll be around for a while. Seems my prisoner hanged himself in his cell rather than share my company on the trip back for trial. I just sent a telegram to my superiors, requesting my next assignment.”

  Jackson turned to the sheriff. “I need your help.” He quickly told the two men about his encounter with Wyatt and his sons and what Wyatt intended to do. “We have to get back there before he puts those girls to work in the mine.”

  Dylan frowned. “Where’s Ruth?”

  “She’s with the others. Wyatt won’t move them until morning, not with bad weather closing in.”

  The whipcord-thin sheriff shook his head. “Not so fast. We know about Wyatt and his boys. Already contacted state authorities, and they’re sending investigators to check Wyatt out for fraud. We’ve heard similar stories about other kids he’s brought into town. No doubt Wyatt is a snake, but what he’s doing may not be technically illegal. The experts from the state will figure that out.”

  “We can’t wait for experts!” Jackson exploded. “Those girls are up there scared to death. They think I walked out on them.”

  The sheriff shrugged. “You can’t interfere with a state investigation. Tell him, Marshall.”

  Dylan laid a hand on Jackson’s arm. “Easy, friend. Let’s hear him out.”

  The sheriff continued. “Seems we have a pattern so far. From what we’ve heard, Wyatt contacts a slick solicitor in a territory, who then makes the arrangements at a local orphanage, offering to take the older children off their hands while greasing a few palms. Then he tells the girls that he represents a fine man who has assembled some eligible bachelors willing to pay their passage west to meet them. He tells the young boys that he has high-paying jobs waiting for them. Then he whips out contracts so full of legal wording that the kids have no idea what they’re signing. After that, he makes arrangements with a wagon master to bring them west.”

  Color drained from Jackson’s face. “That’s how I was brought in on the deal. I was doing Frank Potter a favor.”

  The sheriff shook his head. “I hate to add to your troubles, but you may have a more immediate problem.”

  Jackson frowned. “What could be worse?”

  “There’s a man here in town,” the sheriff began, “by the name of Amos, staying at the hotel. Seems he’s searching for a wagon full of mail-order brides due to arrive any day. Says he’s looking for his niece, a girl named Glory. Heard she was traveling with a small group of women when he stopped at a trading post. Folks there remembered a pretty girl by that name, who bought a mirror, it seems. He’s convinced she’s the niece who knocked him cold and stole his gold. A mean fella, if you ask me. Little gal is in a heap of trouble if he catches up with her.”

  Jackson took off his hat and ran an agitated hand through his hair. “That’s all we need.”

  The sheriff moved to the stove to pour himself a cup of coffee. “I insisted he let the law handle it, but he only wanted to know her whereabouts. No law against that.”

  “Does he know about Wyatt’s little scheme?” Dylan asked.

  “I didn’t mention it.” The sheriff tasted his coffee and grimaced. “That doesn’t mean he won’t get wind of it.”

  Jackson met Dylan’s eyes. “All the more reason we need to ride out to Wyatt’s right now.”

  “There’s nothing we can do about it tonight,” the sheriff announced with a tired sigh. “I trust everything will be straightened out in a few short weeks.”

  “We haven’t got weeks!” Jackson snapped.

  Dylan turned him around and pushed him back through the door. “I’ll have a chat with him, Sheriff.”

  Outside, Jackson shook off Dylan’s restraining hold.

  “Look, McCall, if you’re going to tell me to wait for the state boys to mosey down here, save your breath! Glory’s in trouble, and I’m going after her. If I hadn’t been outnumbered earlier, she’d be with me now.”

  “Glory? Ruth’s up there too.”

  The two men faced off. Jackson’s eyes steeled. “Look. There are six women up there who need our help. I don’t intend to stand here and split hairs.”

  Shoving past the marshall, Jackson strode toward his horse.

  “Wait a minute, hothead. You did the right thing—it would have been nuts to take on Wyatt and his two boys alone.” Dylan blocked Jackson’s path, motioning with a sideways nod to start walking. When they stepped into a deserted alley, he turned to face Jackson. “What you have here is a lawman willing
to help you take those ladies into protective custody until the state investigators have this thing sorted out.”

  Jackson released the breath that he’d been holding. “I’d be much obliged.”

  Dylan clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, if Wyatt and his boys are as nasty as you say and Amos is on the prowl, we have a little short-range planning to do.”

  “Didn’t I tell you so?” Harper sat down on the hard bunk and crossed her arms, her dark eyes openly accusing. “Men are worthless, lying, sneaking … no-good … stinking, useless, vile—”

  “Men,” Lily finished.

  Harper nodded succinctly.

  The old bunkhouse was drafty, wind whistling through the cracks. A woodstove in the middle of the room gave off little heat in the icy mountain air. Wyatt didn’t have to lock the door; the mountains and impending storm held the women prisoners.

  Glory sighed. “Jackson isn’t like that.”

  Harper snorted. “He’s a man, ain’t he?”

  “He’s not that kind of a man.”

  Harper sprang to her feet. “How can you defend him? Look what he’s done to us.” She snapped her finger. “Poof. He sold us out, Glory. Took the money and walked out the door. You saw him, same as us.”

  “I know it looks that way.” Glory felt awful. It did look as if Jackson didn’t care a whit about them, so he’d left her no choice but to suspect the worst. She turned her eyes on Ruth. “Do you think Jackson could really betray us?”

  Ruth shook her head. “I would have never thought he would, but you saw what he did.”

  “I won’t believe it,” Mary whispered. The young woman lay on her cot, dark circles under her eyes, the high altitude making her breathing even more difficult. “I saw what he did, but I refuse to believe Jackson would desert us.”

  “Any man worth his salt wouldn’t walk off and leave a woman in our position.” Harper jerked her blanket over her shoulders. “We’ve been bought for hard labor, ladies. And I fell for Jackson’s act—pretending to be oh-so-nice, pretending that he cared about us and that he’d protect us no matter what.” She yanked the blanket closer to her neck. “He’s just like any other man. Thinks of himself and doesn’t give a hoot about others.”