THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy

by Susan Page Davis

  He grabbed her elbow and spun her around. “What’s happened to you? You’re different than you used to be. Did you get soft, Mil?”

  “I wouldn’t call it that. But I have been thinking about right and wrong.”

  Sam lifted his battered felt hat, scratched his head, and settled the hat again. “We didn’t used to think about that much. Just about what we’d eat next.”

  “Well, those days are over. For me, anyway. Now I know there are things we shouldn’t do—things I won’t do ever again. And stealing is one of them.”

  “You can just cook if you want to. We wouldn’t make you steal. It’s too bad though—you were good at it.”

  “That’s enough.” She glanced quickly about to be sure no one else was near enough to hear. At the feed store’s back door, she left him and entered the shadowy building. Not for the first time, she felt somewhat relieved at leaving her half-brother behind. She cared about him, yet Sam didn’t seem to want to change. He didn’t like to work, and he seemed to prefer living on the shady side of the law. Well, she’d walked away from that once, and she liked the glimpses she’d had of a better life.

  Sacks of feed and fertilizer were stacked to the ceiling in the dimly lit feed store. She wound her way toward the front, where light shone in through two dusty windows.

  The store owner nodded at her. “Miz Evans.”

  Millie paused. “My brother and I will be giving up the rooms out back. I believe our rent is paid through the end of the month.”

  “What? Oh. Well, I’m sorry to see you go.”

  She said no more but hurried out and turned toward the stagecoach station. There should have been a stage leaving town that afternoon. She didn’t really care what direction it was pointed, though she didn’t want to go back to Elkton. The traffic to the gold mines had slowed to a trickle along that route. Trade was so slim her boss at the old restaurant had closed up shop and retired. There wouldn’t be a job for her there.

  When she reached the stage office, the coach was nowhere to be seen. She went inside and walked to the ticket counter.

  “Where to, ma’am?” the clerk asked.

  “Where can I go for less than eighty dollars?”

  The clerk laughed and quickly sobered. “Well, let’s see now.” He consulted a book on the counter before him. “Boise, Salt Lake…you might connect from there for someplace farther east, but there’s no direct line, ma’am. If you want to go west, you could get to Portland, Vancouver, Oregon City, Eugene—”

  “There’s a stage going out soon, isn’t there?”

  “Yes ma’am. They’re around back, switching the team. They’ll leave in”—he pulled out his pocket watch as he spoke and opened it—“ten minutes.”

  “East or west?”

  “Eastbound.”

  The door opened, and Sam came in, panting. “Come on, Millie.” He walked over to the counter and tugged at the handle of her satchel.

  “I am not going with you.” She glared at her brother. At least he hadn’t brought Lucky inside, but the outlaw was probably lounging outside by the hitching rail.

  “So, are you going to buy a ticket?” the man behind the counter asked.

  Millie glanced at him. “Please excuse me a moment.” She grabbed her brother’s sleeve and pulled him aside. “I’m serious about this, Sam.”

  “But you said you’d stay with me.”

  “That was when you said it would be just the two of us—like in the old days, when we were at Mr. Stone’s farm in Eugene.”

  A man wearing a woolen suit came in and walked to the counter. Millie edged Sam farther away from them.

  “Mr. Stone is gone now, Millie,” Sam said. “And I tried to get a job. You know that.”

  She tossed her head. “You didn’t try very hard.” Lowering her voice, she added, “And running with a gang of road agents is not a job.”

  His face fell. “Aw, come on. You didn’t used to mind lifting things here and there. You had a real knack for it. You didn’t do so bad convincing fellas to give you money either.”

  She pulled back and glared at him. “What are you implying?”

  “Nothin’. I’m just saying, you worked for that Andrew fella, and you got chummy with Mr. Stone—”

  “David Stone never gave me a cent.” She clenched her teeth and pushed back the memory of picking up ten dollars off the gentleman’s dresser. “Andrew Willis, on the other hand, was my employer. I cooked in his restaurant, and he paid me a fair wage.”

  “A pretty good wage, if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t ask you. But good cooks are at a premium out here.” Although that hadn’t helped much in this town. She baked bread for a restaurant and a boardinghouse and sold a few pies to the officers at Fort Dalles, but she knew she could do better in a bigger town.

  “Well, if you come cook for us, we’ll pay you. Lucky says so.”

  “With what? Your loot?” She glanced toward the ticket window. The man now purchasing a ticket was watching them with apparent interest. She set down her valise, seized Sam’s sleeve, and hauled him outside and down into the dusty street. Lucky stood several yards away, near their horses. She turned her back to him. “Sam Hastings, you listen to me. I don’t want to live on the wrong side of the law.” She didn’t say again, but she didn’t have to.

  “Might be in your best interest to come along with us, Miz Evans,” Lucky drawled.

  Millie whirled and found him not two feet behind her. He moved quietly for a rugged man. He stood with his thumbs tucked into his gun belt, watching her with a self-satisfied smirk, as though he knew her type and how phony she was. Well, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of having her cook so much as a cup of coffee for him.

  “I’m not interested.”

  “Sam and I have an extra horse for you to ride. He’s tied up yonder with our nags.” Lucky pointed down the street with his bearded chin.

  Millie looked and saw the horses tied up in front of a saloon. So he’d come expecting to take her along. He and Sam must have planned it all out this afternoon while they shared a bottle of whiskey.

  “Just come on along with us nice like, and take a look at our place. You can maybe fix supper tonight.”

  “And if you don’t want to stay, I’ll bring you back to town in the morning,” Sam said.

  “After breakfast,” Lucky added.

  “Yeah. After breakfast.” Sam grinned at her.

  “No thank you.” Millie gathered handfuls of her skirt and prepared to mount the steps to the stagecoach station and buy her ticket. The agent had said she could afford one to Salt Lake and go east from there. That’s what she’d do. Her cousin Polly lived at Fort Laramie. She had married a preacher. Maybe Polly and her respectable husband could help her find honest employment. And she’d put as much ground as she could between herself and Sam’s outlaw cronies.

  Strong fingers clamped around her upper arm. “I said it’s in your best interest to go with us.” Lucky’s cold tone sent a jolt of fear through Millie.

  She turned around swiftly, swinging her other arm as she whirled. She struck him hard on his fuzzy cheek and lunged away from him, stumbling over the bottom step.

  “You little—”

  “Hey!” A stern-faced man strode up the street from the direction opposite the saloon. “What’s going on here?”

  Millie righted herself, wincing at the pang in her ankle where it had connected with the step. “It’s all right. I was just going in to buy my ticket, and I fell.”

  Lucky’s eyes narrowed. Sam stood a couple of steps behind him, staring, his lower lip trembling.

  “Are you sure you’re all right, ma’am?” the newcomer asked.

  “Yes, thank you.” She gave him a delicate smile. He wore work clothes, and he was youthful and big enough to give Lucky pause. A farmer, most likely. “I bumped my ankle when I stumbled. Would you mind, sir, if I took your arm while I get up these steps?”

  “My pleasure, ma’am.” The young man crooke
d his elbow, and she placed her hand in the bend, leaning on him just a little as they maneuvered the steps. She didn’t look back.

  As soon as they were inside and the door closed, she turned to him and whispered, “I cannot thank you enough. You must be careful when you leave here, lest those thugs lurk about to harm you.”

  His eyebrows shot up, and he pulled off his hat. “Indeed. Then they were ill-treating you. I thought so at first, but you were so cool, I’d changed my mind.”

  “That big fellow is one to watch,” she said.

  The customer who had come in to buy a ticket earlier turned away from the counter, tucking his wallet away. He touched his hat brim as he passed them and went out.

  “Well, now,” the clerk said. “Made up your mind, have you?”

  “Yes.” Millie stepped up to his station. “I’d like a ticket to Salt Lake, please, unless you can get me through to Fort Laramie.”

  “Can’t do that, ma’am, but I hear the Mormons are setting up for a mail route from Independence to Salt Lake. Most likely they’ll take you through in one of their wagons.” He named the price to Salt Lake City. Millie winced but took out her purse.

  “They lowered the prices this week,” the clerk said, as if hoping to console her. “Trying to break the competition.”

  She gulped, thinking of the few dollars left in her purse after she’d paid out the price of the ticket. If not for the reduction in fares, she couldn’t have bought passage to Salt Lake, and she wasn’t sure she could afford to get to Cousin Polly’s home. She hated the thought of getting stranded along the way.

  “Ma’am,” said the young man who had rescued her, “it would be my pleasure to buy you dinner at the boardinghouse down the street. And to bring you back here to make sure you board safely.”

  Millie smiled at him. “Thank you so much, but there’s not time, I’m afraid.”

  “That’s right,” the clerk said. “Stage is comin’ around now.” He nodded toward the window. Millie turned and saw the coach, with the driver and shotgun messenger perched high on the box, pulling up outside.

  “Then I must board right away.” She hoped the young man would stay close. With him, the driver, and the shotgun rider handy, she ought to be able to get into the stagecoach without interference from Sam and Lucky.

  The young man flushed and looked down with a sad smile playing at his lips. “Then it’s my loss. I do wish you a good trip.”

  “Thank you.” Millie judged him to be six or eight years her junior—perhaps four and twenty. Just the age when young men tend to think older women are intriguing. Especially attractive older women, and Millie would never be so self-deprecating as to think she didn’t fit the bill.

  The clerk cleared his throat. “Your ticket, ma’am.”

  “Oh yes. Thank you so much.” Millie put the bit of pasteboard into her purse. “May I leave my valise here?”

  “You may. I’ll see that it’s loaded.”

  She retrieved it from the corner, where she’d left it to converse with Sam fifteen minutes earlier, and passed it to the clerk.

  “Best get aboard,” he said. “The driver won’t wait.”

  The young man smiled down at her and again offered his arm. “Let me see you off, ma’am.” He didn’t ask her name, and Millie didn’t give it. She’d be just as glad not to have her name associated with the two rather scruffy men watching from a few yards away. The clerk followed her out and passed her valise up to the shotgun rider on top of the coach. Her gallant young escort stepped up and opened the door for her. She threw a sidelong glance toward her brother. Sam and Lucky stood near their horses, watching them, but didn’t approach.

  David Stone leaned back against the leather seat and closed his eyes. Not for the first time, he wished he’d ridden horseback instead of taking the stagecoach. But he couldn’t take a horse with him on the ship to England, so it was no doubt better to have left it behind. The fact that he owned a small stagecoach line in western Oregon didn’t make this journey any less tedious.

  The Stone line that he’d run for the last year had two coaches more comfortable than this one. David rode them himself at least once a month, when he went to see his niece, Anne, and her husband, Dan. Daniel Adams was his partner in the business, and he’d proven himself an apt driver and a good businessman. If only David could ride his own line all the way East.

  The one bad thing about the Stone line was its length, or lack of it. The route only ran from Eugene to Corvallis, though he and Dan had discussed pushing it through to Oregon City and Portland in the near future. But it hadn’t happened yet, so he had to sample other stage lines on his journey. He anticipated several weeks of this tiring travel. Why hadn’t he just boarded a ship in Newport? While the thought of rounding the Horn didn’t scare him, his niece, Anne, had pleaded with him not to risk it.

  “They need you in one piece in England,” were her exact words. Well, the way they’d rattled over the road toward The Dalles, he might not get out of Oregon intact.

  The stage had dropped into a rut as they approached the town, throwing him against the side wall. The wound he’d received eighteen months ago still ached sometimes when he was tired or racketed around the way he was now, and the jolting sent a deep pain through him. As they waited for the new team to be hitched properly, he rubbed his right shoulder. He quit when the man opposite took notice.

  The stop near Fort Dalles would be brief. At least they’d gotten a passable dinner earlier, at the home station. The tenders at the swing station changed the teams swiftly, and the driver soon guided the coach around to the front of the building. David sighed as the door opened to admit another passenger.

  “Watch your step, ma’am,” said a young man outside.

  David turned his head to peer at the new arrival. Sure enough, a woman placed a dainty foot on the coach step. The rancher sitting beside David scooted across to the seat on the opposite side, where a tool salesman was sitting. Great. Now David would have to share a seat with the woman, and he’d have to put up with a big hat, skirts, and no doubt a parasol and a bundle or two.

  She paused in the doorway, took stock of the situation, and eased onto the seat next to him. David nodded without making eye contact. Oh well—the other men would have to watch their language and refrain from smoking, but that wouldn’t bother him any.

  “Good day,” she said pleasantly.

  He stared at her. The broad brim of her hat shaded her face, but the voice…

  The two men opposite murmured a greeting. She settled back in her seat and turned to look at him. The smile on her lips froze.

  She blinked at him and narrowed her gaze. “Why—Mr. Stone?”

  David gulped and stared into the beguiling green eyes of Charlotte Evans—the woman who had tried a mere eighteen months past to cheat him out of his fortune.

  CHAPTER 2

  Millie sat rigid on the seat for the first hour, trying not to let any part of her person or her clothing touch the elegant Englishman beside her. With two other passengers in the small enclosure of the stagecoach, they could hardly discuss their last meeting or their mutual acquaintances. David Stone seemed just as indisposed to converse as she was. He’d developed a deep interest, it seemed, in the scenery they flew past as the stagecoach rolled eastward along the Columbia River.

  She couldn’t maintain that posture forever, especially in a vehicle that lurched and swayed in a manner that made her stomach roil. Her gloved hands, clenched in her lap, at last relaxed, and she allowed her aching back to curve a bit against the seat back. She longed to remove her large hat, but there was no place to lay it, and her valise had disappeared into the boot at the back of the coach. She cursed her own vanity. Why hadn’t she worn her plain calico bonnet and not this fancy hat? She’d bought it last year, with money ill-gotten when she betrayed the man beside her. Just thinking about it made her ill.

  They must be halfway to the next stop. As soon as they arrived, she would speak to Mr. Stone in private. She
must make him understand that she had changed.

  The two men across from her watched her, the one dressed as a farmer surreptitiously, and the businesslike one with open admiration. Millie concentrated on keeping her expression neutral. A lady mustn’t betray her inner thoughts any more than she should reveal her inner layers of clothing. She avoided looking at either of them, and in consequence her gaze collided once with David Stone’s.

  That flicker of a moment—coupled with the brief appraisal she’d made on entering the coach—told her that he was as handsome as ever. The tall, blond man was about forty, very fit and good-looking. She knew from experience how charming he could be. But now his blue eyes held a clear dislike bordering on contempt. She looked away and shivered.

  If only she’d changed her ways before they met—what might have happened then? But at that time, she’d been godless and without scruples. The way things had gone, she doubted she could ever regain his respect and admiration. But she might be able to partially right the wrong she had done him.

  By the time they’d crossed the John Day River at McDonald’s Ferry and reached the station on the other side, she feared her spine was jostled beyond repair and she might not be able to climb down from the coach.

  “Twenty-minute stop to change the teams,” the station agent announced as he opened the door. “The necessary is out back.”

  The men hung back, waiting for her to disembark, so Millie pushed herself forward off the seat. Her lower back muscles screamed as she emerged through the doorway and groped for the step. The agent offered his hand to assist her, and Millie clutched it.

  “Thank you,” she gasped as she reached terra firma and inhaled as deeply as her corset would allow.

  She made the requisite trip “out back” and returned to the yard, grateful that the men had waited there until she was finished. The driver was applying grease to the wheel bearings while the tenders swapped the team for four fresh horses. The shotgun rider stood by, chatting with the station agent.

  Millie approached them with a smile, and they immediately broke off their conversation. The shotgun rider whipped off his hat, and both men returned her smile. Once again, Millie had proven to herself that if a woman acted self-assured and at ease, other people would respond in like manner. At least, decent men did.