The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier

by Peggy Darty, Darlene Franklin, Sally Laity, Nancy Lavo

  “Did you find a wallet on him or some identification?”

  Suzanne shook her head. “Nope. There was a Colt revolver tucked in his bedroll and some personal items in his saddlebags, but nothing to tell us who he is.”

  “Wonder what happened?” Hank said, tapping the ashes from his pipe.

  “I’m sure he’ll tell us when he’s able.”

  Hank frowned. “You say he had no money on him?”

  Suzanne shook her head.

  “He was robbed, then. Figured that when I saw he’d been shot in the back.”

  Suzanne lifted her eyes north to the sprawling mountain range of Pikes Peak. It was a wild and beautiful country, with its towering, snowcapped peaks and lush valleys of aspen and cottonwood. The problem was, everyone wanted to settle in Colorado, and men were killing each other over homestead claims and water rights.

  “Suzanne,” Hank said, drawing out her name the way he often did before making a point, “I’m saddling Rocky in the morning and getting back to work.”

  “Pa, you’ve got to give those cracked ribs time to heal. And your ankle is still too swollen for a day’s punishment in the stirrups. I just hope you didn’t do any damage to yourself when you helped me drag that man into the bedroom.”

  Hank turned and frowned at her. “Daughter, I’m getting tired of being bossed.”

  Suzanne jumped up from the step and began to pace the board porch. “Pa, I don’t mean to be bossy, but you just won’t take care of yourself. You should have known better than to try to break that mustang.”

  “Girl, I’ve broken more mustangs than you’ve counted years,” he snapped. His gray eyes, faded by sun and wind, blazed with defiance. “When a musing lopes into my valley, with us desperate for horses… I ain’t letting him get away if I can stop him.”

  But you couldn’t stop him, Suzanne thought, biting her lip. Not anymore, Pa.

  While she had wisely refrained from speaking the words, Hank Waters, nevertheless, seemed to read her mind. He heaved a sigh and dropped his head to stare at his bandaged ankle.

  “Well, Wilbur’s got to live with his conscience and that can’t be easy,” he said at last. “But sometimes it’s hard work keeping the anger out of my soul.”

  Suzanne reached over and placed a gentle kiss on her father’s bearded cheek. “Uncle Wilbur will pay for what he did, Pa. Anger would just harm us, not him.”

  Hank’s thin face softened with tenderness as he slowly turned to face his daughter. “You’re so much like your ma. Just don’t ever be as gullible.”

  Suzanne drew a deep breath. “Ma’s love for her only brother blinded her to his faults.”

  Hank snorted. “And, like a fool, I took his word, sight unseen, that he had enough horses here to start a breeding ranch; and as for this cabin…” His voice trailed as he sank into silence.

  “We’ll make it work, Pa,” Suzanne spoke with conviction, drawing upon her optimistic nature. They would make it work, somehow. “We’ve survived the winter and Ma…” She swallowed hard and plunged on, “The worst is over.”

  Hank shook his head, but he looked unconvinced.

  “Come on, Pa, cheer up. I’m making dumplings tonight. Life can’t be all bad.”

  For the first time in days, a tiny smile touched Hank Waters’s thin lips. “Dumplings? You trying to impress that young buck in there?”

  The defiance on Hank’s face minutes before was now mirrored in the expression of his only child. Hank saw it and smiled to himself, secretly pleased by his daughter’s spirit.

  “I don’t try to impress any man,” she stated, before turning on her heel and hurrying inside the cabin.

  She headed across the L-shaped room that served as living room and kitchen and fought the frustration she felt. In truth, her father had struck a nerve. How she’d like to impress this handsome stranger, but it would be a waste of time to let her mind wander in such a direction. Her eyes drifted toward the closed door of the bedroom as she recalled the items in his saddlebags: a compass, a few toiletries, and a gold wedding band.

  Upon seeing the ring, a keen disappointment had filled her. While it was ridiculous to have any romantic notions about a stranger—one who had been shot—she had been unable to stop herself from speculating. And then she’d found the ring. Oh well, a woman somewhere would thank them for saving his life. Some lucky woman!

  CHAPTER 4

  Suzanne rolled over on the cot in her small bedroom and squinted at the daylight sifting through the muslin curtains above her bed. She reached up to part a curtain, curious about the weather. Gray clouds settled over Morning Mountain. She rubbed her eyes and tried to clear her mind, still fogged by sleep. Slowly, yesterday’s strange events settled into her brain, and she bolted upright in bed, staring at the closed door of her bedroom. The stranger!

  She swung her legs around and fumbled for her house shoes. The smell of coffee filled the cabin, a reminder of Hank’s habit of rising early to drink a cup and watch the sunrise.

  Suzanne reached into the wardrobe and removed a pair of clean pants and a cotton shirt. Her mother would roll over in her grave if she could see her dressed in the boys’ clothes Suzanne had bought at the trading post. Still, there was no way she was going to muck out the stalls and ride over the range in a dress and petticoats. She shook her long blond hair back from her face, working the thickness into one fat braid at the nape. Her gray eyes ran over the clutter on her nightstand, wondering where the last grosgrain ribbon had landed. Abandoning the search, she grabbed a strip of leather and wound it around her braid.

  She didn’t care about clothes or being a lady right now; she had her father to think about. It was all she could do to keep him at home until he healed.

  A muffled cough interrupted her thoughts. The stranger! The front door closed, and she could hear Pa’s crutch stamping over the board floors to the bedroom.

  Suzanne crossed the living room and stood looking through the open door of the bedroom. Hank was seated in a chair by the bed, talking to the stranger who was propped up on the pillow, sipping coffee. His dark hair was swept back from his face, and his blue eyes looked alert, rested.

  “You were lucky the bullet passed through your shoulder without striking a bone,” Hank was saying.

  As Suzanne paused in the door, the stranger’s eyes lifted to her and he nodded politely.

  “Mr. Thomason…” Hank began.

  “Just Luke…”

  “This is my daughter, Suzanne.”

  Suzanne smiled. “Hello.”

  He nodded. “Hello. Your father was telling me how you saved my life. I’m grateful.”

  “He’s from Kansas,” Hank said, twisting in his chair to survey his daughter. “On his way to Colorado Springs. Any low-down critter who’d shoot a man in the back…” Hank muttered, shaking his head.

  Suzanne’s eyes darted to the stranger, seeking his reaction. He had closed his eyes momentarily, as though trying to shut out some horrible memory. Then slowly he spoke.

  “I should never have stopped in Bordertown.”

  “Bordertown?” Hank rasped. “No, son, you shouldn’t have. That’s an outlaws’ hangout. You figure someone trailed you from there?”

  Luke Thomason shook his head slowly as he stared across the room, obviously thinking back to two nights before. “The truth is, I got in a poker game. And I won. I rode out of town late at night. The guy I cleaned out must have followed me and waited till I made camp. I’d been in the saddle for two days; once I crawled in the bedroll, a herd of cattle could have stampeded behind me, and I wouldn’t have heard.”

  “He shot you in your bedroll? But how did you…?” Suzanne couldn’t imagine someone would do such a thing. Maybe he didn’t need to be talking about this. It had to have been a horrible experience.

  “I hurt my back rodeoing this spring and—”

  “Rodeoing?” Hank echoed, his gray eyes lighting up.

  Suzanne studied her father’s face, knowing he could barely cont
ain his excitement. At last, he had someone under his roof who could talk rodeoing with him. These two could have a good time.

  “Sleeping on the ground aggravated my back,” the stranger continued, “so I put a pillow in my bedroll to support my shoulder.”

  “So the scoundrel sneaked up to shoot you in the back, not knowing about the pillow, and it slowed up the bullet,” Hank finished, plowing a work-roughened hand through his gray hair.

  “You think the man who shot you was the man from the poker table?” Suzanne asked.

  Her mother would have said a lady did not pry, but she couldn’t help it. After all, she’d invested quite a bit of time and effort in saving this man’s life. She was curious to know just how he’d gotten himself into such a fix.

  “I can’t be sure,” he answered. “I got shot, then I heard branches breaking and a horse taking off in the night. The man who lost his money to me looked like the kind who’d sneak up and shoot somebody in the back. And my wallet was the only thing missing.” His eyes blazed with anger for a moment, then slowly the anger seemed to fade, replaced by an expression of… what? Suzanne wondered. Indifference? Yes, he looked indifferent to the conversation. It made her wonder how a person could slip from one emotion to another so quickly. Maybe he was the kind of man who tried to keep his thoughts private.

  “He got your money?” Hank guessed.

  “All of it.” He stared into space for a moment then looked at Hank. “Exactly where am I?” he asked.

  “Geographically speaking, you’re at the foot of Morning Mountain,” Hank said, absently rubbing his healing ribs. “We’re about half a day from Bordertown. Another day to Colorado Springs, but there’s a trading post down the road that serves as stage stop, café, and general store. We can get a deputy out here. You’ll be wanting to get a search on for the man who—”

  “He’s long gone by now,” Luke sighed, staring into space.

  Suzanne cleared her throat, trying to tactfully broach the subject. “Is there someone we should notify?”

  He hesitated for a moment, studying his coffee cup. “No,” he finally replied.

  Suzanne was thinking of the gold wedding band. He had obviously decided not to alarm his wife now. “Then I’ll get some breakfast,” she said, heading for the door.

  “Not for me,” he called to her. “I’ll be leaving as soon as—”

  “Best not be thinking of getting on a horse just yet,” Hank admonished. “You wouldn’t make it far.”

  “Doc Browning stops by the post once a week, in case anyone in the area needs him,” Suzanne said. “I’ll leave word for him to come over.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Luke replied. “You and your father have done a good job of patching me up. I’ll be all right.”

  Suzanne studied his pale face and doubted he felt as healthy as he tried to appear. Her eyes moved to her father, who had fallen silent. Hank sat with his lips pursed, his eyes narrowed, looking at Luke Thomason.

  “Pa, I’ll get your breakfast,” she said, turning from the room and walking back to the kitchen. Maybe the stranger wasn’t hungry, but Hank would be wanting his biscuits and gravy, a ritual begun years ago by her mother and one he insisted on keeping.

  CHAPTER 5

  Luke stared at the closed door, hating the abruptness in his voice, but he didn’t know how to behave around these people. Nobody had ever done anything for him without expecting something in return. That’s why he had told them, straight out, about the poker game and then getting shot and having his wallet stolen. He didn’t like other people knowing his business, but he liked even less people expecting something from him when he couldn’t oblige.

  He sank deeper into the pillow, staring at the ceiling. They were decent people, or at least they seemed to be. Once they knew he couldn’t repay them, maybe they’d quit being so nice. It was making him nervous.

  He closed his eyes, remembering how soft her fingers had felt on his skin, remembering the smell of the sachet she wore. She smelled as sweet as honeysuckle, and he knew he’d better get out of here fast. He was still running from the Godfrey woman; he wasn’t about to let someone else get ideas in their head about settling him down.

  Of course this woman was different….

  He twisted nervously, and the pain in his left shoulder ripped through him. He sank his teeth into his lower lip, cursing his luck. He’d lost all his money, plus the winnings from the poker game, and now he’d gotten shot and was trapped in this bed for another day or two.

  He opened his eyes and looked around the room. Something on the dresser caught his eyes. He scowled, growing angrier.

  Balancing the tray of food, Suzanne paused before the bedroom door as she lifted her hand and knocked lightly.

  “Come in.”

  She entered, looking shyly at Luke Thomason. He was propped up on the pillow, staring at the dresser.

  “Do you believe that verse?” he asked in a low, toneless voice.

  Suzanne saw that he was looking at the Bible verse her mother had done in calligraphy and framed.

  “All things work together for good for those who love the Lord,” she repeated, placing the tray on the nightstand. “I admit I’ve had occasions to wonder, but then I always come back to trusting God. It’s all I can do.”

  “It’s a noble thought,” he drawled. There was no mistaking the sarcasm that dripped from his words.

  Suzanne glanced covertly at his handsome face, and noticed that the muscles in his jaw were clenched as he avoided her face. This time he was staring at the ceiling.

  “You don’t agree?” she asked gently.

  “I won’t say that I disagree.” He closed his eyes. “My mother was religious.”

  “Yes, mine was as well. She died this winter.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said quietly, still staring at the ceiling.

  “Thank you.” She opened her mouth to ask about his mother, then pressed her lips together. He obviously didn’t want to talk to her, so there was no point in trying to be friendly.

  “Call me when you’re finished,” she said.

  He ignored the food as he continued to stare at the ceiling. She turned to go.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly as she reached the door.

  She glanced back over her shoulder. He had turned his head on the pillow, and was trying to force a smile as he looked at her. But all that followed was a mere twitch of his lips. Suzanne let a slow, wide smile spread over her lips. There, let him see how it’s done, she thought.

  “You’re welcome,” she said brightly.

  He merely stared at her, saying nothing more. She walked out of the room, leaving him to ponder whatever had him so deep in thought.

  “Everything all right?” Hank called from the porch as Suzanne hurried up the path from the stable the next afternoon.

  “Everything’s fine,” she said, forcing a smile. In truth, the horses were almost out of feed, and their money was nearly gone.

  Luke Thomason sat with her father on the porch. Luke looked rested and fresh in a change of clothes. She had left his belongings on the chair beside his bed, giving little thought to how he would manage to dress himself with only one hand. Apparently, he had accomplished the task with no problem. The bandage on his left side made a bulk through his blue denim shirt, but leaving the buttons undone allowed space. All in all, however, he looked just fine. Even his hair, she noted, was damp from grooming; his face was clean, his eyes blue—deep blue. She didn’t really care for mustaches, but on him it looked okay.

  She looked away, yanking her torn gloves from her fingers, hoping her father wouldn’t notice their ragged condition. Her boots moved faster up the path, as she eagerly sought the shade and comfort of the cabin.

  While this was her first spring in southern Colorado, she hadn’t imagined it would be this warm. Summer was early, she decided, rolling up her shirtsleeves. A leisurely bath at the creek, that’s what she needed. Or at least a quick swim.

&nbs
p; “Mr. Waters, I’ve had some experience with horses,” Luke was saying. “Maybe I could help out before I leave.”

  Hank snorted. “‘Pears to me you’re in worse shape than I am.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my hands. I can—”

  “We’re fine,” Suzanne spoke up, shoving her gloves in her back pocket. “We don’t need any help.”

  “How’d the back forty look?” Hank asked quickly.

  Suzanne glanced at her father and saw the look of warning on his face. While Hank himself could be abrupt, he didn’t like that trait in his daughter.

  Sorry, she said with her eyes. Her optimism had been drained beneath a blazing sun while her mind had toiled over what tomorrow would bring.

  “Looked fine,” she repeated the words she had spoken earlier. Pa had to be constantly reassured that the horses, the fences, even the prairie dogs could survive without his close supervision.

  She pushed the trailing strands of hair back from her face, trying to ignore Luke Thomason, who had taken an interest in her, now that she looked like a field hand. Who could figure men? Her brief experience with Walter Haddock in Denver had thoroughly bored her. Nevertheless, when she spotted one that interested her, he was either a renegade or… married, she thought, remembering the wedding band in the stranger’s saddlebag.

  “On Monday, I’m riding over to the trading post to replenish some supplies,” she said to Hank.

  “I’m coming with you,” he said, pressing a hand to his rib cage as he moved to stand up.

  “Pa, I don’t need you to come with me!”

  Suzanne regretted the impatience in her tone, but she was getting sick and tired of trying to avoid arguments with Hank.

  “I’m not questioning whether you need me or not. I’m questioning my sanity if I don’t get on Rocky and ride. This is the last day I’m gonna hole up here in this cabin like a prisoner!” Hank called after her as she hurried inside.

  Suzanne knew he was venting his frustration, and she took no offense.