Open Road

by M. M. Holaday

  “Aw, he don’t know everything. He could take a half day off that route if he came through here. Just like that gal and—”

  Jeb jerked his head up. “What gal?”

  CHAPTER NINE: MEG

  Northern Colorado Territory

  When Meg arrived at Valley Station with the civilians from Camp Rankin, the telegraph operator announced the lines had been cut. Anyone needing telegraph service had to go to Fort Morgan. Taken farther and farther away from everyone she knew and loved, Meg felt very alone.

  Perhaps loneliness was the reason she fell into the dubious partnership with Carl Pitts. The well-dressed gentleman approached her as she brushed down Biscuit in the small town next to Fort Morgan. “I saw you ride in,” he said, his voice like caramel. “You look beautifully at home in a saddle.”

  Meg shrugged. He looked like the kind of man who lived in her uncle’s world, men used to getting their way. His clothes were made of fine fabric. She glanced at his hands—no calluses from hard work. She continued to brush Biscuit, hoping he’d go away.

  The man leaned casually against a tree. “Have you ever raced?”

  Meg shook her head. She had no reason to share her experience racing Win as a Post rider.

  “Want to show me how fast your horse runs? Say, for . . . ten dollars?”

  Ten dollars, properly managed, could go far, and she was low on cash. She squinted at him, lifting her chin. “All I have to do is ride my horse, and you’re going to give me ten dollars.”

  He nodded, grinning.

  “Fine.” Meg jumped up onto Biscuit and followed the man to the edge of town. He showed her where to run. Meg took off. He was looking at his watch as she completed the loop and reined Biscuit to a halt.

  “Excellent! That was excellent! How would you like to earn some money?”

  “I just did. You owe me an eagle.”

  He produced the gold coin. “You could make a lot more of those.”

  “What do I have to do?”

  “Just ride your horse. Simple as that.”

  “I’m going to Denver. People are expecting me,” she lied. She didn’t want him to think she was alone and without a plan. Denver was the first town to pop into her head.

  “I’ll escort you. We’ll race in each town all the way there. You’ll arrive rich.”

  Both Gus and Grace had cautioned her about men like Pitts, no-goods who took advantage of women in desperate situations—gamblers and flimflam men. Meg told herself that she was no fool; she could handle him. Biscuit was fast, and she could use the money. What harm could come from earning some cash along the way?

  It didn’t take long for Meg to realize that she’d made a mistake, and regretted her decision. The first town they came to, Carl struck up a conversation with the locals, twisting and turning folks’ words until a race was set and bets placed. Carl did the same in the next town, talking people into betting and losing their hard-earned money.

  Carl failed to work his charm on Meg, however. She insisted on her own hotel room, an issue he’d argue about every time they arrived in a new town. “Think of the money we could save,” he would say. “You can trust me,” he always added. But she didn’t.

  They had only been traveling a few days together when someone knocked on her hotel-room door and told her she had to get her father, or whoever he was, from the saloon, as he was too drunk to move on his own accord. Meg went down and, amid the stares of all the men, draped Carl’s arm over her shoulder and lugged him back to his room. When she dropped him on the bed, he pulled her down with him. A swift jab with her knee, like Gus taught her, stopped further advances. Carl sobered up quickly, writhing in pain with his legs drawn up to his chest. She wedged a chair under the doorknob in her own room when she returned to it.

  The next morning at breakfast, Carl stumbled downstairs and joined her in the hotel restaurant without ceremony. He grimaced at the plate of eggs, bacon, and biscuits in front of her and motioned to the waitress that he needed coffee.

  “Here are the rules, Carl,” Meg said, speaking sharply to the man nearly twice her age.

  Carl winced at the sound of her voice. “Shhh, Meg. Come on. Can’t you see I’m suffering?”

  “From your own doing! Now listen carefully.” She pointed the butter knife at him. “If you ever have your way with me, don’t ever plan on sleeping again, ’cause once you’re asleep, first I’ll cut off your manhood, and then I’ll slit your throat. Are we clear?”

  “Jesus, Meg,” Carl said as he rubbed his temples. “I just wanted to have a little fun, for crying out loud.”

  “Well, have your fun elsewhere.” She slapped butter on a biscuit like a schoolteacher disciplining a child with a ruler. “Men think they can just have their way, like we don’t count for anything. Well, we do, goddamn it, and you’d better show me some respect.” Meg had picked up swearing from Gus and found that using bad language helped drive home a point, particularly when speaking to men like Carl.

  He waved his hand as though to make her stop talking.

  Carl wasn’t mean, he just couldn’t be trusted. He provided protection for Meg on the road. As long as she could protect herself from Carl, she’d be fine. She knew what she was doing.

  But they weren’t getting any closer to Denver. Carl’s treatment of people made her feel uneasy. Gus used an expression when something wasn’t illegal, but wasn’t right, just the same—wide of the mark, he’d say, and that’s what he’d call this racing business. In the beginning, she didn’t mind zigzagging across the territory, as she figured she might run into Win and Jeb. But she hadn’t. And when they passed through Paradise, a tiny place pretending to be a town, Meg saw herself through new eyes. A kind woman, Georgia, had rubbed her back tenderly, called her “honeybee,” and asked if she was all right. Her gentleness was like catching a fever. Unaware she’d even been infected at first, Meg started feeling odd soon after they left town. Common sense spread steadily through her until she could no longer ignore it. Meg didn’t know what she was doing after all. She and Gus had always dreamed of coming west. She was here, and the perfect land for their ranch was just outside of Paradise. The money to buy the land was tied up in a trust, but no matter. They could get by until she turned twenty-one. Four years wasn’t forever. What was she doing, wasting precious time traveling around with Carl Pitts? She’d lost her way. For Biscuit’s sake as well as her own, Meg decided to end it. It was time to get back on the mark.

  “Carl, you keep saying we’re headed for Denver, but you and I both know this isn’t the way,” she said. “I’m tired of this.” They’d left a town in a hurry and were riding east.

  “There’s a town a few miles from here. We’ll rest there, my dear.”

  “I’m not your dear, and I don’t want to rest. I don’t want to do this anymore. It feels wrong.”

  “Well, you can’t very well travel alone. You need me.”

  Meg figured the opposite was more accurate. Carl couldn’t play his game without Meg to race for him. She felt used. “I don’t need you, Carl.” She didn’t know if she said it aloud, or just to herself.

  They arrived at the edge of LaPorte, a thriving business and supply center for wagon trains. Protected by Fort Collins close by, which also protected the Overland Stage route to Virginia Dale, LaPorte boasted four saloons, two livery stables, a brewery, a butcher shop, two blacksmith shops, a feed and seed warehouse, a lumberyard, a dry-goods store, and a large hotel and restaurant. All had as much business as they could handle.

  The Annual LaPorte Founder’s Day Celebration was in two days, and part of the festivities included a horse race. Lots of people would be in town—a chance to make some good money, Carl said, and left to enter Biscuit without even asking her. After securing two rooms at a hotel, Meg rode to the livery to start her plan to sever ties with Carl. She felt her fever break, and whatever had been festering inside faded with her resolution. The day already seemed brighter.

  At the end of the main street, a young b
oy emerged from a livery with a wheelbarrow of manure. She rode over to him. He put down the wheelbarrow and waited.

  “Hello, there. Are you the liveryman?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am.” The boy laughed. “Mr. Townsend is. I work for him.”

  “Is he good to you?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am,” the boy said, standing straighter. “He gives me four dollars a week; that’s as much as Tommy Fallon makes over at the newspaper! He sets the type for the LaPorte Herald.”

  “Hmmm . . . Do you keep a clean stable?”

  “You betcha. That’s one of my jobs. I muck out the stalls twice a day.”

  “You ever have cockfights?”

  “No, ma’am.” The boy scratched his head. “Boss don’t like cockfightin’. Says it riles the stock.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Henry. Henry Deener. You gonna keep your horse with us? She’s real pretty.” He stroked Biscuit’s neck.

  Meg smiled. “Yes, I’ll board her here, Henry. Her name is Biscuit.”

  “Sure thing! Let me just dump this load and I’ll be right back!” Henry grabbed the wheelbarrow handles and disappeared. An older man walked out of the livery.

  “You must be Mr. Townsend,” Meg said.

  The old man nodded. “I’s wondering what got Henry so excited. Now I see.” He stroked Biscuit’s nose. “I got a nice box stall in the corner. How long you stayin’?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’ll need someone to keep a close eye on Biscuit . . . um, to make sure she leaves with no one but me.”

  “A dollar a day will buy you a clean stall, food, and all the attention she can handle from Henry.” Mr. Townsend jerked his head in the direction Henry had gone. “He’ll see to it.”

  “Sounds perfect.” Meg felt her luck had turned.

  Leaving Biscuit with Mr. Townsend, Meg headed for the dry-goods store. She found a readymade dress similar to the one Grace had loaned her—a pretty calico print with a feminine neckline. She held it up to her in front of a mirror. For the first time in weeks, she liked the person she saw looking back at her.

  Meg left the store with a parcel under her arm and ran back to the hotel, where she bathed, washed her hair, and put on her new dress. She was brushing her hair dry when Carl strode into her room. She was annoyed at herself for not remembering to lock it. He tossed his hat on the bed, leaned against the bedpost, and looked her over, smiling. “Well, now, what have we here? My, my, my . . .”

  “I didn’t do this for you. I did this for me. I’ve had enough.”

  “You’re beautiful.”

  “I’m leaving; did you hear me? I’ll find my own way from here.”

  “Come here, baby . . .” Carl opened his arms and moved closer.

  Fear rose inside her and gripped her unexpectedly. “No.” Her voice sounded like she was underwater; the pounding of her heart filled her ears. Instinctively, she backed away.

  “Don’t put me off, Meg. We spend every day together, and every night alone. I’m a man, for Christ’s sake! What do you expect? I want you. I’ll marry you if you want, I promise.”

  “I don’t want to marry you. I don’t love you.”

  “Just let me touch you. I’ve touched you in my mind so many times, I—”

  “Stop it!” She clenched her fists. “That was never part of our deal!”

  “Then I’m changing the deal!”

  Meg ran for the door, but he grabbed her waist and pulled her toward him. She panicked as he pressed her body against his. She raised her knee to kick him, but ready for her this time, he grabbed her thigh before she could inflict any damage. He shoved her knee away and threw her down on the bed. She scrambled backward, but he caught hold of her legs and yanked her back. He climbed on top of her. She squirmed, repulsed.

  “C’mon, baby, just this once. I’ll make you want to stay.” He reached inside the open neckline of her dress. Nausea swept over her as his hand found her bare breast.

  Too heavy to push off, Carl’s weight pinned Meg to the bed. She cringed and cried out as his hand traveled down her dress to the inside of her thigh. Her skirt, twisted tightly around her legs, prevented further exploration, so he rolled to his side just enough to free the tangle. As his hand disappeared beneath her skirt, Meg saw a small bulge in his vest pocket—his derringer.

  With speed and agility born from desperation, she lifted the gun from Carl’s pocket and pressed the barrel to his neck. “Get off me, you bastard.”

  Carl froze. “Easy, now, baby . . .”

  “You’ll bleed out fast.”

  He grimaced when she moved to point the gun at his face. The derringer wasn’t a very powerful weapon, but Carl was self-absorbed enough to not want his pretty face spoiled. Slowly and carefully, Carl raised himself so Meg could scuttle out from under him. He rolled over, sat on the edge of the bed, and ran his hands through his hair.

  “Well, you’ve certainly learned a few things.” Moving cautiously, Carl got up, splashed some water on his face, and dried it with a towel. He straightened his clothing and brushed his hair with her brush. “You’re right; we’re done. Saturday is our last race. You’d better be there, or you’ll regret it; I’ve paid the entrance fee.” He picked up his hat. “By the way, who said anything about love?”

  After he slammed the door behind him, Meg wished for the hundredth time that she hadn’t run away without Gus, or left Jeb and Win. Carl’s threat echoed in her head. She wasn’t sure what he meant by it, but didn’t want to find out. If she raced one more time she wouldn’t owe him anything, not even the entrance fee. She wasn’t sure how much it was or what amount of money he’d already wagered, but it could be sizeable. She might be better off racing than risking what might happen if she didn’t. Saturday was their last race; Carl had even said it. Her split from Carl near-at-hand, Meg broke into Carl’s room and counted their money. She took exactly half.

  On race day, Meg was eating breakfast when Carl arrived in the dining room wearing his traveling suit. Her anger had cooled; indifference replaced it. Just a few more hours and she’d never have to look at him again.

  “How can you eat so much and be so skinny?” he asked as he joined her—without her permission.

  At one time, his rudeness would have been annoying. Now she didn’t care. His question wasn’t relevant, nor was it the apology she deserved. But Meg sensed his irritability was the closest she’d get to any expression of remorse. An apology from Carl would be meaningless, anyway.

  She glanced up at him as she cut her steak. “I burn it off being nervous around you, you dirty bastard.”

  He smiled wryly. “I see you’ve already taken care of our accounting, you thief.”

  “I’m only a thief if I take more than my share, and I didn’t.”

  He leaned forward suddenly, with an urgency that seemed both desperate and pathetic. “Change your mind and come with me. I’ll never do that again, I promise. You can wear pretty dresses; I’ll take good care of you. Come with me on the noon stage.”

  She stared at him, incredulous.

  CHAPTER TEN: WIN

  LaPorte, Colorado Territory

  Once Georgia mentioned how a sweet girl passed through just a few days earlier, traveling in the company of a man not suited for her, Win and Jeb excused themselves from the Carters’ table and left Paradise as quickly as proper manners would allow. No longer in stagnant doldrums, the prospect of finding Meg took the helm. It unfurled their sails and set their course for LaPorte, leaving a dusty wake behind them.

  Banners strung across the main street announced the Founder’s Day Celebration. Families gathered to picnic; women passed jars of jellies and preserves back and forth. Older men sat together, enjoying a leisurely smoke. Until the picnic food appeared, boys ran from one contest to another, while the youngest children and girls stayed close to their mothers.

  A stable boy led Biscuit through the crowd. Win pointed. “There! Come on,” he said and worked his way over to the lad. The boy’s
full attention was focused on a coin in his hand.

  “Excuse me,” Win said, pulling the freckled-faced youngster out of his reverie. The boy looked up sharply. “We know this horse. Her name is Biscuit. Where’s her owner, Miss Jameson?”

  “Didja see the race?” The boy’s eyes grew wide. “Biscuit was greased lightning! She won by two lengths! And Miss Jameson gave me this double eagle for looking after her.” He held up the twenty-dollar gold piece proudly.

  Win whistled in admiration and glanced around quickly. “What’s your name, kid?”

  “Henry. Henry Deener.”

  “Well, Henry Deener, have you got a good pocket? One with no holes?”

  “Yessir.”

  Win winked at the boy. “I suggest you keep Miss Jameson’s generous tip out of sight and in your pocket. Where is she, by the way?”

  “Over at the fair, settlin’ up with dumb ol’ Mr. Pitts, I ’spect,” Henry said, wrinkling his nose as he looked behind him. He stuffed the gold piece deep into his pants. “She asked me to brush down Biscuit, seeing’s how I done such a good job takin’ care of her already.” He stood a little taller.

  “You taking her to the livery?” Win asked. Henry nodded as he led Biscuit away.

  Jeb was already scanning the crowd. “There . . .” He pointed to where Meg and a man stood opposite one another. She wore boy’s clothing and was covered in dust. The man counted out paper bills and handed them to her. Meg stuffed the bills into her pocket without recounting and then stepped back, distancing herself from him.

  “I can’t wait to hear what she’s got to say about him,” Win said, forcing a cool demeanor, as he’d have thought a little bird had slipped under his shirt the way his heart began to flutter. They made their way through the crowd, but when they arrived at the spot where they had seen her, she was gone.

  Win held out his arms. “She’s a goddamn apparition!”

  “Well, she won’t go anywhere without Biscuit. Let’s wait for her at the livery,” Jeb said.

  They waited for what seemed like hours, Jeb finally wandering outside. Win leaned against the stall and took inventory of the clutter in his brain. For someone who preferred free-range travel, Win didn’t know how he felt about their recent single-mindedness. He felt as though he’d boarded a train without checking its destination, and was now barreling down the tracks at high speed. It felt dangerous—different from other danger he’d experienced. He could jump off the train, but he wanted to see where it headed, and he didn’t want to be left behind.