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

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

  His shoulders rose and fell, ever so slightly. He was breathing evenly; he was all right. She heaved a sigh, weak with relief. She remembered their argument, the worry over money. He’d probably not slept well.

  She closed the door gently, not wanting to disturb him.

  “Thank You, God,” she said aloud, padding back across the living room. As long as Hank was alive, nothing seemed quite so bad. Passing the coffee table, she caught a flash of gold in the sunlight. She stopped, staring for several seconds before she realized what she was seeing. Slowly, she walked to the table and stared down at the wedding band, placed on a sheet of paper.

  She sank onto the couch, not touching the ring or the paper, and sat there for a while. Then, drawing a deep breath, she reached forward, gently placing the wedding band on the table, and lifting the letter to read the masculine scrawl.

  I can’t thank you enough for saving my life and sharing your home and food with me. I’m leaving the only thing of value that I own. Maybe you can sell it and get some money to tide you over. Thanks for your help.

  Luke Thomason

  Suzanne lifted the gold wedding band and studied it thoughtfully. It was not shiny and new, but softly burnished and worn—lovingly worn, no doubt. She turned the ring over, inspecting the inner side as a miniature design caught her eye. Two dainty hearts were joined together, with each heart holding a tiny initial. G in one heart, L in the other.

  Luke.

  She stared into space, feeling numbness give way to disappointment. She glanced at the closed door of the bedroom, wondering how Hank would take the news that Luke had deserted them, just when they needed him most. As for the ring, where did he expect her to hock a wedding band?

  She leaped from the sofa, pacing the floor. The man would rather part with this ring, a loving link to his wife, than put in a few days’ work here, where he could see he was desperately needed!

  Coward! She paced a wider circle, her steps moving quickly over the boards. She bit her lip, frustrated to tears, and another emotion battled her senses, frustrating her even more. She had been attracted to this man, and now she hated herself for it.

  From the moment she’d found him, injured and bleeding to death, she had been struck by the fact that he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. And later, as she had cleaned the wound, bound his shoulder, and prepared and served him food, she had felt drawn to him, despite his reserve, which often bordered on rudeness.

  Then she had decided he was a widower coming to Colorado Springs to forget the sorrow of losing his wife. She had wanted him to stay here with them, to bring the smile back to Hank’s face, to help her through this difficult time.

  Her pacing ended at the table as she stared dumbly at the ring, then the letter. She leaned down, folded the letter over the wedding band, and wandered into her bedroom to place both in a drawer.

  No way would she sell a wedding band with two hearts joined together just to buy a sack of oats for the horses! The man knew very little about Wiley’s Trading Post. Mattie needed cash, not a wedding band; Mattie already had one of those, and she would starve to death before she’d part with it. She couldn’t barter a wedding band for a ranch hand, which was what they needed most.

  She yanked down her work clothes from a shelf, unable to stem the frustration boiling through her. Of course she could sell gold in Colorado Springs, but she didn’t have the money to get there!

  “Suzanne…”

  “Coming,” she called at the sound of her father’s voice. She tugged on her clothes and hurried barefoot across the living room floor, poking her head into the bedroom.

  “My chest is giving me some trouble this morning,” Hank said, pushing himself up on the pillow. “Since you’ve got Luke to help you, maybe I’ll just stay in bed awhile longer.”

  “Good idea, Pa.”

  Never could she recall her pa staying in bed. The old fear rose in her anew as she walked to his bed and looked down into his face. She didn’t like the bluish tint to his skin. She pressed her palm against his forehead. No fever. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  “My ribs are not as sore,” he said, attempting a grin. “That’s a blessing.”

  “A big one.” She smiled, patting his shoulder. “You lie still while I go whip up the biscuits.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t have any appetite this morning. But I need my coffee.”

  “You’ll have it in a jiffy.”

  She hurried back to the kitchen, more grateful than ever that she’d bought coffee. There was no point in telling him that Luke had hightailed it. For now, she’d let him think Luke was checking out the back forty.

  She grabbed the battered tin pot and reached for the water bucket. She was angrier than ever at Luke—they had saved his life, and yet he had deserted them just when he was needed most.

  CHAPTER 9

  It was early morning and Luke sat up with his back propped against an aspen tree. He closed his eyes, trying to tell himself he’d done the only thing he could do.

  Just before daybreak, he had crept through the darkness to the stable, his bedroll and saddlebags clutched under his right arm. A pale gray light had begun to form on the horizon, and his steps had quickened. Hank would be getting up soon, making coffee. Luke would miss their conversations on the front porch.

  He came upon Smoky in the small corral, and his spirits lifted. The big stallion was his best friend; they’d been through hell and high water together. He still counted it a blessing that the no-good thief and back shooter hadn’t stolen Smoky. A blessing—he was beginning to sound like Suzanne.

  He stepped inside the shed to retrieve Smoky’s saddle and bridle. The big horse threw his head up and nickered. When Luke lifted the saddle onto Smoky’s back, its weight brought a slight twinge of pain to Luke’s sore shoulder. The Waterses had done a first-class job of patching him up; the wound was quickly healing.

  He started to cinch up the girths, and almost before he realized it, he was thinking of Suzanne again. She was good with horses; she sat one like she’d been born there.

  What would she think when she awoke and found him gone? Would she care? He tried to tell himself that she and her pa would be disappointed that they’d lost a free hand, but those thoughts brought him shame now. His conscience jabbed at him, and the God he had run from had laid a message on his soul: the Waters were true Christians, setting an example of the way people should live. If all people had treated him as they had, he wouldn’t have forsaken his faith. Maybe he hadn’t forsaken it, after all.

  He left the gate open as he entered the corral. Smoky was already pawing the ground. Luke planted a boot in the stirrup and pulled himself into the saddle, surprised not to feel more pain.

  He kept a tight rein, walking the stallion slowly out of the corral. Once they reached the back meadow, he gave the big horse his head, and they tore across the valley toward the lowest knoll on Morning Mountain. Once there, he drew rein and shifted in the saddle. Far behind him, he could see the weathered little cabin outlined in gray light, nestled peacefully in the valley. There had been a few times, at that cabin, when he had experienced the kind of peace and contentment he had been seeking for a very long time.

  He had known that kind of life once, but it seemed so long ago and far away that he scarcely remembered how he’d felt. He did recognize a longing for that kind of life; perhaps it was the reason he felt so restless and unhappy now. Perhaps it was what drove him, harder and harder, to find something worthwhile again.

  Last night, hearing the words Suzanne had spoken in the kitchen, knowing for the first time how destitute they were, he couldn’t take another bite of food from their table. It would be like taking food out of their mouths!

  Lowering his hat over his forehead and shifting his weight in the saddle, he turned his eyes toward the road ahead. A soft ache settled around his heart, but he’d get over it…

  The sound of a prairie dog scampering around the next tree awoke him. He stretched, being car
eful with his left shoulder, and came slowly to his feet.

  He squinted at the road leading to the next ranch. Time to go; time to get on with his life.

  CHAPTER 10

  I’m feeling better,” Hank called from the kitchen table.

  Suzanne was in her bedroom, putting on her riding boots.

  “I know.” She had been relieved to see that the bluish tint had faded from his skin, but he still looked pale. “I’m just going to make a quick trip over to Trails End to see if Doc Browning has some medicine he wants to send.”

  Hank was opening his mouth to protest as she hurried off, but she threw up her hand. “Don’t waste your breath arguing about it. I’m going,” she said and was off.

  “Don’t have any breath to waste,” Hank muttered as the front door closed.

  The Little River Cattlemen’s Association had been meeting at Trails End once a month to discuss cattle prices and markets. The purpose of today’s meeting was to cover last-minute details of the cattle drive south to Pueblo.

  Arthur Parkinson stood on his porch, looking from Arthur Junior, lounged against a post, to the ranchers gathered. There was Ben Graves, Harry Stockard, John Grayson, and now a tall, dark-haired stranger who had just ridden up, seeking work.

  “What did you say your name was?” he asked.

  “Luke Thomason.” He looked Parkinson straight in the eye and spoke calmly. “I’ve been on cattle drives in Kansas. I know what has to be done.”

  Parkinson turned and looked at the other men, who nodded their approval.

  “All right,” he said, “you’re hired. We’ll be leaving tomorrow. In the meantime, you can put your gear in the bunkhouse and head to the cattle pens to help the hands.”

  “Thank you, sir.” At that, Luke turned and left.

  Arthur stared after him momentarily, noting the way he held his left arm close to his side. Still, he looked strong enough. He’d probably do as well as the others, maybe better.

  “Here comes Doc Browning,” one of the ranchers spoke up. “He’s the last one to vote on the price we’re accepting for the cattle. Now maybe we can finally get this thing settled and be on our way.”

  A white horse cantered up the driveway, and the men began to wave.

  Nathaniel Browning was a native of St. Louis, attending medical school there, yet choosing the wide open spaces of Colorado to practice medicine. He was a short, rotund man with a giant heart and a penchant for raising cattle.

  He had just arrived at the gathering and greeted the other ranchers when once again attention was diverted to another rider loping up the drive.

  “It’s Miss Waters,” Art said, coming to life for the first time all day.

  He bounded down the steps and waited at the hitching rail as Suzanne reined Nellie in. She accepted Art’s hand as she tumbled from the horse, smiled briefly at him, then made a dash for the front porch.

  “Miss Waters, what brings you over?” Art called to her.

  “My father.” She headed straight for Doc Browning. “Please, come over and take a look at him.”

  Doc Browning patted her shoulder. “Relax, young lady. Mattie told me about his fall, but he’s too stubborn not to mend.” He turned to the other men. “Have you men got all the details in order?”

  “Just need your vote on the price.”

  “You have it.” he waved a hand dismissively. “Anything else?”

  “We’re short a cook. Ned’s come down sick. Of course Rosa is still going,” Arthur stated with a frown.

  One of the ranchers groaned. “Without Ned there to keep the chili peppers out of everything, we’ll be holding our stomachs.”

  “Why doesn’t someone persuade Mattie to go along?” Doc suggested. “Mattie’s a fine cook.”

  “Who’d keep the post open?” Parkinson frowned.

  Suzanne had only half-listened to the conversation until now, but suddenly her attention was riveted to the subject at hand.

  “I can cook,” she offered, looking from one man to the other. “How much are you paying?” She knew she could work out the details if she could have an opportunity to earn some money for the ranch.

  Art was at her side instantly. “Oh no, Miss Waters, you wouldn’t want to consider anything like that.”

  The men turned startled faces to the pert young woman dressed like a cowhand, but looking quite feminine with flowing blond hair and fair skin.

  “It’d be too hard on you, Suzanne,” the older Parkinson cut the idea short. “We’ll find someone. Doc, Mrs. Parkinson is overseeing a big lunch. Why don’t you check on Hank and then come back and eat fried chicken?”

  “Good idea,” he nodded, rubbing his paunch. The subject of food was always of interest to him. “Let’s go, young lady.”

  Doc Browning took his time placing his stethoscope back in his black bag, zipping the bag, then turning to Hank, lounged on the couch. Suzanne hurried in from the kitchen, bearing a tray. Doc rubbed his stomach, remembering he’d missed breakfast. He reached for the mug of coffee and began to munch the fluffy hot biscuit.

  “Young lady, this may be the best biscuit I ever put in my mouth,” he said, around a generous bite. “But don’t tell Mrs. Browning.” He winked.

  Hank looked disinterestedly at the biscuits, then fixed a keen eye on the doctor. “Did I crack another rib?”

  Hank was dressed in fresh clothes with his gray hair whisked back from his face, his beard neat. Suzanne had been relieved not to have to tangle with him about his appearance; in fact, he had been quietly cooperative when she’d informed him the doctor was coming. And this, too, worried Suzanne, knowing it was highly out of character for Hank. She wondered if he was depressed over Luke leaving. He’d had very little to say since she had broken that news.

  “Your ribs will heal,” Doc answered, “and your ankle’s doing okay. That’s not what has me worried.”

  Fear clutched Suzanne’s heart. “What’s wrong with him?”

  Doc finished the biscuit and reached for his coffee. He seemed to be stalling for time as he gathered his thoughts. “I’d like Hank to see a doctor in Colorado Springs,” he finally replied. “I’m afraid there might be a problem with his heart.”

  “His heart?” Suzanne repeated, dropping into the nearest chair.

  “Aw, Doc, there’s nothing wrong with my heart. My chest is just sore from the fall I took.”

  The doctor appraised him gravely. “Hank, your heart’s beating too fast.”

  “It’s ’cause I got all worked up yesterday,” Hank said in a rush, glancing at Suzanne.

  “Too fast?” Suzanne echoed. She had resorted to repeating everything the doctor said, but she couldn’t seem to form her own words around the fear that was growing in her heart.

  “Maybe it’ll correct itself in a day or two,” the doctor offered hopefully. “Maybe not.” He sipped his coffee, staring at the floor for a few seconds. “I read in my medical journal about a new medicine that slows the heartbeat. And I know a special doctor in Colorado Springs who treats patients with heart conditions.”

  Suzanne took a deep breath, trying to rally her voice since Hank had suddenly gone speechless.

  “Well, of course we’ll go to Colorado Springs,” she said, hardly hearing her words above the fierce pounding of her heart. “We can—”

  “I’m not going anywhere!” Hank protested. “If the old ticker’s going out, there’s nothing they can do. I lost a friend in Denver that way. It’d just be a waste of time and money…” His voice trailed, as he avoided Suzanne’s face.

  She stared at her father. Money, that was what was keeping him from seeing a doctor. Her father was a reasonable man, despite his gruffness. When Doc Browning thought his condition was serious enough to go to Colorado Springs, her father would be willing. It was that nearly empty cookie tin that brought this protest.

  “Hank, your heartbeat is strong,” Doc continued smoothly, “and you’re in pretty good physical condition, considering how rough you treat yourself. T
hat medicine may be all you need to get straightened out.”

  “What medicine?” Suzanne asked, seizing the hope Doc offered.

  “The name wouldn’t mean anything to you, but I hear it helps folks. Tell you what,” he said, coming to his feet. “I have a colleague who’ll be coming in from St. Louis in a day or two. I’ll bring him out for a look at Hank. If he agrees with me, I’m going to insist you two go to Colorado Springs.”

  Silence settled over the room, broken only by the creak of a floorboard as Doc headed for the door.

  “We’ll think about this,” Suzanne said, reaching for the bundle of biscuits and placing them in Doc’s hands. He looked from the muslin-wrapped gift back to Suzanne and smiled, understanding this was his payment for seeing Hank.

  “You take care,” he called to Hank, as Suzanne walked him out the door. She followed him to the hitching rail, where his white horse pawed restlessly.

  “Doc, I need your help,” she blurted. Her outburst startled him. He was about to place a boot in the stirrup, but now he hesitated, looking at the young woman whose gray eyes were fixed worriedly on his face. “What can I do?” Doc asked earnestly.

  “There’s no money left for this medicine or a trip to Colorado Springs. If I can persuade Pa to go over and stay in one of Mattie’s cabins, I want to go on that cattle drive and help Rosa cook.”

  He began to shake his head. “It would be too rough—”

  “Doc,” she cried, “who do you think runs this ranch now? And nothing could be rougher on me than watching Pa lie in there sick and helpless, knowing we can’t afford the medicine he needs.”

  Doc lifted a hand to stroke his chin. “It’s a good idea about him staying at Mattie’s place. If he got worse, she could get word to me a lot quicker than if you two were over here by yourselves.”

  Suzanne nodded, already making plans. “I can pay Mattie back for her trouble.”

  “Mattie’s got a heart of gold,” Doc said, turning his eyes from Suzanne back to the cabin. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. Still, there had to be an easier way. “Young lady, don’t you two have family up in Denver? Surely, there’s somebody to help you.”