Meg liked Clint. They brushed the horses in comfortable silence. Meg ran her hand down the back leg of Hippocrates, checking for bruises or tender spots.
Clint watched her as she lifted his foot and examined it for cuts. “Can you switch a team?”
“Yessir. I help Gus all the time at the stables.” Meg boosted herself up onto the wall separating the stalls and balanced herself in the corner. “We’re going to have a horse ranch out here, just as soon as we can find the right piece of land. Gus says I’ll be a good trainer someday.”
Clint leaned against the stall and folded his arms across his chest. “Miss Jameson, Amanda will probably kill me for offering a man’s job to a nice gal like you, but you can work for me here at the stables, if you’re willing. It’s hard work—”
“Oh, I don’t mind! I’m used to it. I know what to do!” She jumped down to shake his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Sanders! You won’t be sorry!”
Meg picked up a rake and began mucking out the stalls.
“Hold on, hold on. You gotta meet my Mandy first, so I don’t get into trouble. She’ll like you. C’mon. We’ll find you some work clothes, too.”
CHAPTER TWENTY: WIN
Clint Sanders’s freight company stables, a week later
Win was so distracted by thoughts of joining an expedition that seeing Meg at work in Clint’s livery barely registered. Then she confused him even more when she waved as they drove past on their way to deliver the equipment and Rothenberg to the doctor. Joy fluttered like a little bird inside his stomach as she ran out to greet them.
“Mr. Rothenberg!” Meg called.
Win pulled the team to a stop, hoping his bruised ego didn’t show.
“This is a surprise,” Meg said, her attention aimed solely at Rothenberg. “You may not remember me, but we’ve met before. You came to my house in Council Bluffs years ago—a decade, maybe. My father was Charles Jameson.” She extended her hand to him.
Rothenberg climbed down and took her hand in both of his. “Miss Jameson, what a pleasure! I apologize for not recognizing you, but you were just a little girl the last time we met. Your father and mother . . . I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” Meg said. “I recognized you because, well, my father spoke highly of you. He was very interested in science.”
“The birthmark is hard to forget, as well.” Mr. Rothenberg smiled and pointed to the noticeable stain on his head, causing Meg to blush. But minutes into an animated conversation, Rothenberg had invited her and any guests she wished to include to dinner. Meg accepted for Jeb and Win, Clint, and Amanda. “Excellent! Perhaps when we locate Nathan Miller, he’ll be free as well. We’ll have a party and get reacquainted! Shall we say seven o’clock? Nathan will find a place for us.”
“That sounds lovely. We look forward to it,” Meg said, as though she were standing in a garden in a pretty dress rather than outside a barn in overalls.
They deposited Rothenberg and the doctor’s equipment at Miller’s office and finalized the dinner plans. Two hours later, Win was seated in one of Denver’s finest restaurants, clean and in fresh clothes, a bit bewildered as to how he got there.
Rothenberg sat at the head of the table. He requested that Meg sit to his left and Dr. Miller take the place on his right. Amanda sat to the right of the doctor and to the left of Clint. Win jockeyed into a position to the right of Jeb, thus securing the seat next to Meg.
Gone was any evidence that she had been working at a livery. Amanda might have had a hand in that; Meg smelled faintly like Amanda’s perfume and her dress was new. She’d brushed her hair, too, and without the breeze to disrupt it, it stayed in place, with the help of a comb Win recognized as Jeb’s mother’s. She looked comfortable in the elegant surroundings, but ignored the glittery details, as though she were familiar with wealth and luxury, but unimpressed by it. Clint, on the other hand, craned his neck staring at the chandeliers and squinted at the tiny markings on the back of the silverware.
Mr. Rothenberg was in a jolly mood and keen to share stories about Meg. “The first time I saw Miss Jameson, she was climbing through the window of her father’s library! Charles Jameson had invited me to their home for dinner. We walked into his library for a drink and caught this charming young lady trying to hoist herself up and swing her leg over the sill.” He chuckled as he recalled the scene.
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Win whispered to Jeb.
“Our young Miss Jameson was teetering half in, half out of the window. Charles ran over to catch her and pulled her in. Then we were properly introduced. Charles recommended that we forego a handshake, however. You had a handful of muddy arrowheads in your grasp,” Rothenberg said, chuckling again. “You were in bare feet, your shirt was muddy, and your hair was in a bit of a mess.”
“That’s no surprise, either,” Win again whispered to Jeb, grinning.
“Why were you meeting with my father?” Meg asked.
“Ah, yes; I was telling Mr. Avery and Mr. Dawson on the way here that my friend John Stanley went west to paint landscapes and portraits of Indians and tribal life. I helped him secure sponsors, and found an ally in your father.” Mr. Rothenberg turned to the others at the table. “Charles was very supportive of Stanley, and funded much of his work. Interestingly enough, photography is beginning to replace painting as a means of documentation. It was used to document the War.”
“So its horrors can be shared with all.” Dr. Miller shook his head sadly.
“Maybe by sharing the horror, battles won’t be so glorified,” Jeb said.
Mr. Rothenberg nodded. “Indeed, but I can think of better things to photograph. So can Ferdinand Hayden. At present, his plans take him to the upper Missouri River valley, an area rich with fossils, but he’ll get caught up in the geological surveys of the West, of that I’m certain. And he’ll bring photographers. It will be interesting to see if photographs can capture the grandeur of these mountains the same way they capture the horrors of war.” He leaned forward, turning his attention to Dr. Miller. “You know that I’m here to entice you to join the expedition, don’t you, Nathan?”
Dr. Miller smiled, but shook his head. “I have a lot of respect for Dr. Hayden, you know that. He served admirably in the War. But he thinks I came west for excitement. I did not. I came seeking peace. I wrote to him three months ago, declining his offer, and to announce that I’ll be moving my practice to Cold Springs soon. I’m sorry your trip was in vain, Albert.”
Rothenberg dismissed his disappointment cordially and leaned back in his chair. “Nothing is ever in vain. Even that dreadful Dewer was worth seeing. I learned it is not the place from which to launch an expedition. The scientists will be picked clean of their survey equipment upon arrival!”
Everyone laughed politely, familiar with Dewer’s reputation.
“Why are you moving to Cold Springs, Doc?” Clint asked.
“It’s a community of farmers and ranchers. Tough as nails, rural folk. I want patients who heal quickly and completely, like Mr. Dawson. I want to deliver babies rather than saw off limbs—if you’ll excuse my lack of table manners—and delight in watching my patients grow from infancy to adulthood.”
“That’s lovely,” Meg said. “Gus says there’s valor in the everyday, and should be cherished.”
Win watched the doctor gaze at Meg and wondered if Nathan should be added to the list of suitors.
Clint cleared his throat. “I asked because I’ve been thinking about running a private stage service between here and Cheyenne, taking a shorter route through Cold Springs and Paradise, rather than going Holladay’s way through Lyonsville.”
“Well, from the talk I hear around Denver, I think the area between here and Cheyenne will grow considerably in the future,” Dr. Miller said. “It’s another reason I’m moving my practice there.”
“I’d be your first customer, Mr. Sanders,” Rothenberg said. “A private coach service is just what I need in my line of work. Train and stage schedules never seem
to align with mine. A carriage and a team would give me freedom from both timetables and the burden of driving myself. For example, I still need to locate a decent launch site for the geographical survey crews—the point where civilization ends and uncharted territory begins. That’s not on any train or stage route I’ve seen.”
Amanda turned to Clint. “What about Paradise?”
“Oh! Paradise would be perfect!” Meg’s face glowed in the candlelight.
“There’s already a smithy and a trading post,” Amanda said, leaning forward and smiling mischievously at Meg, the way women do when they conspire with one another.
“A way station at Paradise would be a natural spot to change the team between here and Cheyenne.” Meg returned her smile, her eyebrows raised expectantly as the idea gathered promise. “In fact, why don’t Gus and I run it?”
The sensation of the runaway locomotive returned. Win couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Hold on, hold on—”
“Win, when we traveled through that country, I said it was perfect for Gus and me,” Meg said before he got going. “I need to earn some kind of living until my inheritance is released from the trust.”
“Sad business, that,” Rothenberg said, shaking his head. “You’d think the law would allow for some common sense. Well, I guess it does, in a way, but the process is so—”
Win didn’t want the conversation to shift to trusts, not with Meg’s plan freshly revealed. “You’d run the way station?” he interrupted Rothenberg to ask Meg.
“Gus will run the livery, and I’ll look after the passengers.”
“How?” Win asked. “Folks arriving by stage will want something to eat.”
“I know how to cook . . .” Meg straightened her back indignantly.
“A couple of weeks tending Grace Moberg’s stew does not make you a cook.”
“Mr. Avery, mind your manners.” Amanda gave him a wink to soften her reproach. “A person can learn.”
“I have plenty of books you might like, Miss Jameson,” the doctor said, either oblivious to the danger, or his judgment clouded by his eagerness to impress. “They are of little use to me now that I’ve hired a housekeeper. I have some books on cooking and running a household.”
“Why, thank you, Dr. Miller. That’s very kind . . . and supportive.” Meg stuck her chin out as she glanced at Win.
“I can’t believe you’re letting Meg talk you into this, Clint.” Win turned to his boss, hoping to gain an ally.
“There’s really no rush,” Jeb said, siding with Win.
“Aw, hell, she’ll be fine,” Clint said. “This private coach service is a good idea. Folks want to be able to come and go as they please, and don’t always own a team that can take them the distance they gotta travel. Someone like Mr. Rothenberg, who hires my coach and driver, can go wherever he wants and at whatever pace he wants, within reason. A station at Paradise is a natural spot to change the team.”
“That area is still remote and unstable,” Jeb said. “It could get dangerous real fast.”
“Well, that Gus feller’ll be up there with her.” Clint glanced at Meg and gave her a reassuring nod.
“A one-handed old-timer none of us has ever even met!” Win spread his arms to show the obvious flaw in Clint’s plan.
Amanda smiled calmly. “My goodness, she’s certainly turned you two up on end.”
“Yeah, well, she’s good at that,” Jeb muttered so quietly only Win heard it.
“Men think women can’t do anything.” Amanda lazily waved her hand as if to dispel the notion. “May I remind you that there’s already one woman living up there? Besides, from what Meg told me, she’s going back whether Clint gives her a job or not. If you ask me, you couldn’t ask for a better arrangement. Clint will give you boys the freight route to Paradise. You’ll see her regularly.” She tilted her head at them and added pointedly, “Maybe you won’t lose her again this way.”
Win raised his hands in surrender. The conversation turned back to the books the doctor was going to give to Meg. Win leaned over to Jeb and said quietly, “We’d better inform Gray Wolf. With Meg in Paradise, and surveyors arriving, he’ll want to know. I hope he’ll be on our side.”
Clint overheard. He leaned into their conversation and said to them privately, “Hell, he’ll love the idea. See? It’s all working out.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: JEB
Denver, later that evening
Jeb saw Win in a different light at Rothenberg’s dinner. Usually Jeb had to pull Win back from the precipice, keep him from jumping into some foolhardy scheme. He saw now that everyone was on a sliding scale of common sense, and this time he and Win were much more aligned on the side of caution. Their pact was more than an agreement not to fight over a girl. It also cemented their mutual concern for Meg’s welfare.
The dinner ended and Win and Jeb watched Meg enthusiastically shake hands with Clint and receive a warm, congratulatory embrace from Amanda. Even Rothenberg kissed her on her forehead—Charles’s little girl. Both Rothenberg and Dr. Miller offered to walk Meg to the boarding house, where she’d rented a room. A bubble of envy formed inside Jeb’s gut, but dissolved when Meg accepted Rothenberg’s offer, saying she wanted to ask him more about her father. No flirtation, just honesty. Jeb liked that about her.
Watching them leave, Win folded his arms across his chest. “I guess we know where we stand. I feel rather abandoned, don’t you?”
“Don’t read too much into it. I think I’d enjoy a conversation with someone who knew my parents, too. That was quite a coincidence, Rothenberg knowing Meg.”
“Well, when you’re rich like that, the social circles are small.”
They started back to their own rooming house. They strolled along slowly; Win seemed in no particular hurry to get back. “Jeb, I gotta talk about something with you, and I want you to be straight.”
“Look, if this is about Ma’s hair comb—”
“No, no, it isn’t.” Win laughed quietly. “I actually have something else on my mind. If we work out a deal with Gray Wolf, what we trade needs to be as vital to him as Meg’s safety is to us.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Rifles and ammunition.”
“That’s illegal.”
“Yup. That’s why we’re talking about it, partner.”
“You’d supply guns, illegally, to Arapaho Indians—people the government said have to move to reservations? Sounds like something that could end badly.”
Win spread out his arms, palms up. “Except Gray Wolf isn’t looking for trouble. He’s a peaceful man—you saw him. But he needs to protect his family and his independence. He doesn’t want to live on the Wind River Reservation. He’s already had to move from the plains and adapt to living in the mountains. He says if he brings his family to the reservation, they’ll die. Did you know the reservation is in Shoshone country, their enemies? He thinks the Shoshone will swallow them up and they will disappear. With Gray Wolf on our side, we could have a hidden, yet powerful, ally. And we’d watch out for him, too.”
Jeb gave the idea some thought. “We’d be risking a lot. I could argue that it makes no sense to keep peace by supplying guns to people marked as the enemy. You know what would happen if we get caught, don’t you?”
“Well, sometimes doing the wrong thing is right because of the reasons behind it,” Win said. “Besides, we’ve got a better chance of getting on one of those expeditions if they launch from Paradise, where they can be guaranteed a level of safety and peace.”
“Ha! I figured that’s been spinning in your head since we met Rothenberg.”
“We can’t very well leave Clint in a bind. He’s already got orders piling up. But at some point, Jeb, I see us exploring the uncharted territory between here and California!”
Jeb had to admit it sounded like the kind of adventure Win longed for. He wasn’t sure it was his own personal goal, but he didn’t need to argue about that right now. He changed the subject back to something
they could agree on. “Meg looked really happy when the idea of running a way station in Paradise came up. She’s pretty determined.”
“I call it pig-headed stubborn.”
Once Meg and Clint shook hands on their new business partnership, there was no stopping her. Meg campaigned for Jeb and Win to bring the supplies up for the station house, and to build it, too. She said Gus was great with horses, but with only one hand, couldn’t hold a hammer and nail at the same time. Clint instructed Jeb and Win to have the new Paradise way station operational in two weeks.
Less than twenty-four hours later, Win climbed up onto the seat of a freight wagon loaded to maximum weight and slapped the rumps of eight mules. The team lurched forward.
Hippocrates had to be tied to the back, while Jeb rode Galen with Meg on Biscuit, because, somehow, they’d been talked into keeping their horses in Paradise. She insisted they would get better care up at “her station,” which she already called it. “They might get stolen easier, too,” Win muttered to Jeb privately. Jeb figured Win was just sour because Jeb won the coin toss that determined who got to teach Meg how to shoot a revolver.
Torn between delight in seeing Meg excited and concern for her welfare, Jeb had bought an 1860 Colt revolver for her, the same handgun they both owned. Sutter might be dead, but he wasn’t the only varmint—human or animal—that might wander into Paradise, he told her. And if Meg was so anxious, or pigheaded stubborn, as Win called it, to leave Denver before Gus arrived, she’d better know how to handle a gun that carried more persuasion than Carl’s little derringer.
Midday, Win stopped to rest the team at a good place for a shooting lesson. He said if they made enough noise, perhaps Gray Wolf would find them. Then they could tell him about Clint’s plans for a stage route and give him a gift from Clint: five repeating rifles and ammunition, hidden in the building materials.
Win set up a pile of rocks about twenty paces away and then stood in front of the mules in case they got spooked by the loud noise. In a last-ditch effort, Win pointed out to Jeb that he, Win, was the better shot, and should be giving the lesson. Jeb reminded him it was a lesson, not a contest, and he could show off later.
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