Heroes of Heartbreak Creek 02

by Where the Horses Run

  “Not at all. I found the entire Western experience exhilarating. In truth, after spending time in your country, I feel torn between this island and America. But now—with your help—we’ve hit upon the perfect compromise.”

  “No regrets?”

  “Not a one.” Tipping her head to one side, she studied him, one auburn curl resting against her freckled cheek. Rafe guessed few English ladies ever exposed themselves to enough sun to bring on a case of freckles. But Maddie was an exception in many ways. To her, every day was an adventure. Every change, a challenge. Freckles seemed of little consequence in the grand scheme of her busy life.

  He wondered if Josie would be so open-minded.

  “I sense your concerns are not so much pertaining to yourself,” she said thoughtfully, “but to bring assurance to someone else.”

  Ash had once told him to beware of his wife—her artist’s eye saw everything and it was fruitless to lie to her. So he didn’t try. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Josephine Cathcart?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Another clap of her hands. Another beaming smile. “What wonderful news! I like Miss Cathcart so very much.”

  Rafe held up a hand. “Whoa now, ma’am. I haven’t asked her yet. I just thought that maybe if she talked to you about it, you could put in a good word about your impressions of America. Especially Heartbreak Creek. Let her know the Wild West isn’t as wild as she might think.”

  Smiling brightly, the countess sat back, one hand resting on her rounded stomach. An interesting pose. One that made Rafe feel vaguely uncomfortable, a little awed, and oddly protective, all at the same time.

  “First of all,” the Countess of Kirkwell said, “you must get her a gun and teach her to shoot. A scattergun, as well as a pistol. Once she’s mastered that, it’s simply a matter of fending off vicious animals, discouraging untoward advances from desperately lonely men, and becoming accustomed to the shocking variations in temperature. And Indians. Not all are as noble as Thomas. Some, in fact, can be quite hostile. As are the wolves and bears and mountain lions. She needs to be aware of the dangers. Oh, and how to prevent frostbite and avoid forest fires.”

  And on and on. Rafe was questioning the wisdom of involving her when she surprised him by reaching over and resting her hand on his arm.

  “You mustn’t worry, Rayford. Josephine is a courageous woman. She and Jamie will do well in your country. And as soon as I tell her about the glorious sunsets, the astonishing beauty of the mountains, and the wonderful people waiting to welcome her to Heartbreak Creek, she will be—as you Westerners say—hell-bent for leather to get there. Although I never quite understood that one. What is ‘hell-bent for leather,’ do you think? Is it even an actual term?”

  “I think it means determined, ma’am.”

  With a sigh, she sat back. “I suppose I should caution her about those, as well—all those colorful, and not always intelligible, sayings you Westerners use. Until then,” she added, sending him a repressive look, “I shall caution you about brawling. Avoid it. Women don’t approve.”

  Twenty-one

  After a quick wash in the trough after Pembroke’s last workout, Rafe went up to the loft, where he found Thomas frowning at the letter Maddie had given him earlier.

  He assumed it had come from Prudence Lincoln. But he couldn’t tell by the Cheyenne’s expression whether he was having difficulty deciphering it, or the news it contained was bad. Or maybe that was the bruises left from their tussle.

  “Need help?” he asked, wincing as he pulled off his dirty shirt.

  “I can read.” Thomas squinted up at him through his swollen eye. “But I will need help to answer it.”

  “Sure. Get the tablet.”

  While Rafe slipped on a clean shirt—surely Josie would return late this afternoon—it had already been two-and-a-half days—Thomas retrieved the pencil and tablet they’d been using to write his book, then sat on his cot, watching him.

  “You white people have too many clothes.”

  Ignoring that, Rafe sat across from him. “What do you want to spell?”

  “Eho’nehevehohtse.” Thomas handed him the tablet and motioned for Rafe to write that down.

  “What? No.” Rafe shoved the tablet back at him. “You have to write it, yourself.” He wasn’t getting involved in something that personal.

  “But I am not good at spelling.”

  “I’ll help. But it has to be in your own handwriting. She’ll know if it isn’t.”

  “How?”

  “If she’s the one who taught you, she’ll recognize your writing by the way you form the letters.”

  The Cheyenne thought for a moment. “Then you will mark down my words, and I will copy them onto another paper.”

  Still uncomfortable with the notion, Rafe positioned the pad on his knee and held the pencil ready. “It better not be too long. I’ve got horses waiting.”

  “Eho’nehevehohtse,” Thomas said again.

  “What’s that? Cheyenne?”

  “It means ‘one who walks in wolf tracks.’”

  Of course it does. “How do you spell it?”

  Thomas thought for a moment, then shrugged.

  Hell. Rafe licked the tip of the pencil. “Say it again. But slow.”

  Thomas did and Rafe wrote the word by how it sounded. When he finished, he studied it. Seemed long and overrun with e’s and h’s, but hopefully, Miss Lincoln would recognize the word. “Next.”

  “Look for me, Prudence Lincoln,” Thomas dictated. “When the wind blows cold and the Long Nights Moon rides in the sky, I will come to you. Listen for my voice in the shadows. Then rise from your dreams, Voaxaa’e, and together we will fly away.”

  Another word with too many vowels. Rafe did his best. “What else?”

  “Nemehotatse, Eho’nehevehohtse.”

  Jesus. Thomas had to repeat it three times before Rafe was able to get it all down. “What does that mean?”

  “It is not for you to know.” Thomas held out his hand. “I will copy your letters now.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

  “It is all that is important.”

  Glad to be done with it, Rafe handed the tablet to Thomas. “After you’re finished, fold it up and copy this address across the front of it.” He pointed to the Indiana return address on Prudence Lincoln’s letter. “Ask Miss Cathcart or the countess to post it for you.” Rising, he grabbed his hat off a peg. “Don’t take too long. Ash wants to look over the studs, and you know how impatient he is.”

  • • •

  Early the following day, Josephine stared pensively out the carriage window, grateful William had chosen to ride horseback rather than inside the coach. She wasn’t in the mood for conversation—Jamie’s constant chatter was distraction enough.

  She needed to think.

  The visit to Fell Ridge had been a disturbing experience. Not because it had been awkward, and uncomfortable, and terrible . . . but because it hadn’t.

  William had been charming. Neddy, although a bit spoiled—no doubt because of his condition—had been kind to Jamie. Fell Ridge, itself, while not as overblown as the monstrosity her father had built, was luxurious and comfortable and in good repair, probably because of the late baroness’s generous dowry. The staff seemed content, the stable well managed, the grounds manicured. A lovely place to live.

  If one didn’t mind a marriage based on expediency, rather than love.

  She could do it, she supposed. William wasn’t intolerable. But whatever amorous feelings she had harbored for him years ago had long since faded into benign disinterest. Marriage to him would strictly be a way to protect Jamie and avoid a life of penury. Good reasons, to be sure. But . . .

  “I don’t think I would like it,” Jamie said, breaking into her depressing thoughts.
>
  “Like what?”

  “Neddy said when he dies, I shall be the heir. But I don’t think I would like being a baron.”

  How awful for a child to be so aware of his own mortality. And how heartbreaking for him to visualize a future in which he had no part. “Why wouldn’t you want to be a baron?”

  “A baron must be very proper. Neddy isn’t even allowed in the garden without a footman following him about. And he has to dress in his fine clothes every day, even if he only sits in his room. And since there are no other noble children nearby to visit him, he has no friends. Not even among the servants. Not like me and Stevens, or Cook’s grandson. Did you know he has tutors all day long? Plus,” he added, clearly shocked by this more than all the rest, “he has to eat in the dining room every night. It all sounds rather horrid.” With an elaborate sigh, he slumped back against the padded seat. “I think I should like going to America ever so much better.”

  When put that way, who wouldn’t?

  But if one thought it through . . . a life of security and privilege, versus having to adapt to a strange country, harsher surroundings, and certainly less luxury.

  Jamie would undoubtedly be safer at Fell Ridge. But would he be happier?

  Would she?

  “What did you think of the baron?” she asked.

  Jamie bounced his heel against the front of the velvet-covered bench and thought it over. “He seemed nice enough, I suppose. But strict. If Neddy makes the slightest misstep, he’s called down for it. He says that barons have a great many rules they must follow.”

  William had always been a slave to his position. Was that what she wanted for her son?

  The trip from Fell Ridge was a short one, and they arrived home well before tea. As Rogers came forward to open their door and set the mounting step, Josephine was delighted to see the Kirkwell carriage parked down by the stable.

  “So our other guests have arrived?” she asked Father when she and Jamie came up the front steps.

  “They have. The earl is out riding with that wrangler of his. The countess is in the conservatory. Welcome back, Adderly,” he called, hurrying down to greet the baron as he swung off his horse. “You’ll stay the night, I hope.”

  “I would be happy to.”

  “May I go to the stable, Mother?” Jamie asked. “I shan’t get dirty, I promise. I only want to tell Blaze I’m back.”

  “After you change your shoes.”

  As Jamie ran off, she turned to the butler waiting by the door. “Please have the gold bedroom prepared for the baron, Shipley. And ask Cook to send a fresh pot of tea to the conservatory straightaway.” Slipping off her gloves, hat, and cloak, she handed them over with a nod of dismissal.

  As Father and William headed to his office for drinks, she hurried toward the back of the house, anxious to have a few moments alone with Lady Kirkwell.

  The countess looked radiant. And noticeably larger. “I’m so happy to see you, my lady,” Josephine said, taking a seat beside the countess on the settee. “You must be faring well. You look beautiful!”

  “Thank you. And it’s Maddie. I thought we dispensed with the title.”

  They chatted amiably for several minutes. The maid brought in a steaming pot of tea and a plate of scones. As soon as she left, Josephine said, “I so enjoyed our chat about the American West, my lady—Maddie. It sounds most exciting. I doubt I would be as brave as you in the face of so many dangers.”

  “Oh, I’m certain you would do admirably.”

  “Truly? I confess I’ve thought a great deal about it of late.”

  Lady Kirkwell smiled at her over the rim of her cup. “Since Rayford Jessup arrived perhaps?”

  Josephine felt heat rise into her cheeks but didn’t look away. “Just so. In fact . . .” She hesitated, wondering if she was revealing too much. But the joy of having another woman with whom to share confidences proved too enticing. “In fact, he has hinted that he would like Jamie and me to return to America with him.”

  The countess beamed. “I know. And I must say I’m thrilled! Simply thrilled.”

  Josephine blinked. “You know?”

  “Rayford told me. In fact, he asked me to put in a good word. He’s worried that you have concerns about living in the Wild West. He thought perhaps I could lessen your worries.”

  “My worries are not only about where we would live, but how we would live. Rafe has not been encouraging about his employment prospects.”

  “You poor dear.” Reaching over, the countess rested her hand over Josephine’s. “Tell me everything. Perhaps I can help.”

  And suddenly, it all came pouring out. Adderly’s proposal and what it would mean for Jamie. Rafe’s offer and what it would mean for her. Her father’s financial straits, the race, and Rafe’s determination to find a way to support them. It was as if a dam, weakened by years of loneliness, had burst within her, loosening a rush of secret hopes and barely formed dreams never before voiced. It was a flood she couldn’t seem to stop. And yet through it all, the countess simply smiled and held her hand and listened.

  It was a gift. Acceptance and friendship . . . two things Josephine had been lacking for so long. And now that she had someone to listen, she felt almost desperate to get out all the thoughts and worries and aspirations she had built up over the years.

  When she finally ran out of words, she slumped against the cushions, feeling drained and embarrassed. She must have talked without pause for a quarter hour or more. “I—I apologize for rambling on this way. You must think I’m—”

  “Amazing. The bravest woman I know.” Maddie gave Josephine’s hand a squeeze, then sat back. “Except perhaps for Lucinda,” she added thoughtfully. “After all, she did live for a while in a brothel. And then there’s Pru, and what that murderous Arapaho Indian did to her—although she never did say precisely what that was.” A dismissive wave brought a return of her bright smile. “But never mind all that. The point is that you’re an amazing, courageous woman, and it’s no wonder Rayford Jessup is so taken with you. I cannot wait to introduce you to the ladies of Heartbreak Creek. They’ll adore you. I’m certain of it.”

  Josephine pressed a hand to her temple, trying to slow the whirlwind of emotions spinning through her head. Hadn’t Maddie heard a word she’d said? “But I don’t know if we will ever make it to Heartbreak Creek. There are so many obstacles, and if the race doesn’t go well—”

  “Rubbish. It will all work out.” Smiling like a cat with cream on its whiskers, Maddie picked up her cup and sipped. “Talk to Rayford. You’ll see.”

  • • •

  As Pembroke cleared the rock wall by the front gate late that afternoon, Rafe saw the weasel’s carriage parked at the stable beside the Kirkwell coach.

  Josie was back.

  Laughing, he sent Pems into a full gallop, racing past Ash as if his horse were standing still.

  A few minutes later, anxious to see Josie and tell her about the position Ash had offered, he handed the reins to a groom outside the stable, telling him to loosen the girth and walk the stallion until he was cool before unsaddling him. “And no water for half an hour,” he added, just as Jamie came out of the bunk room, followed by Gordon on his crutches.

  “You’re back,” the boy called, running up. “We are, too.”

  “I can see that. Did you have a good time?”

  “Yes, sir. But I missed Blaze. And you,” he added shyly.

  “I missed you, too.”

  Ash came in, handed off his horse to a groom, and said his hellos to Jamie. Then turning to Gordon, whom he hadn’t seen when he’d arrived the previous day, he extended a hand and introduced himself. Mindful of Hammersmith instructing the grooms where to walk the horses, and Jamie nearby, he added in a lower voice, “Rafe says you wish to emigrate to America?”

  “Yes, my lord. Henny, too. We plan to marry as soo
n as we can find positions.”

  “Henny is Miss Cathcart’s maid,” Rafe clarified.

  Leaning closer, Gordon explained, “We’re not allowed to work here if we’re wed.”

  “I see.” Clasping his hands behind his back, the earl frowned at Gordon’s leg. “How much longer on the crutches?”

  “The doctor says only a few more days. A week maybe.”

  “Good. I’ll talk to Cathcart and see if he’s willing to release you.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  Ash looked around, a scowl forming between his green eyes. “I dinna see the heathen.”

  “Mr. Redstone?” Gordon shook his head. “He left shortly after you and Mr. Jessup rode out and hasn’t yet returned.”

  “Barney’s gone, too,” Jamie offered.

  “Bollocks.”

  “He’ll show up.” Rafe was impatient to get cleaned up in case Josie came down to the stable. “You know how he is.”

  “Aye. That’s why I’m worried. Best go look for him.”

  “Now?” Rafe had given up trying to keep the elusive Cheyenne in his sights. Short of locking the Indian in a stall, there was little chance of curtailing his tendency to roam. “Maybe he’s out looking for us.”

  Ash shook his head. “I’ve a bad feeling about this, lad. If he went looking for us, he would have found us. Naught escapes those sharp eyes. Best saddle another horse and go now, while there’s light yet.”

  “Can I go with you, Mr. Jessup?” Jamie asked, catching the end of the conversation.

  “Not this time, Jamie. I won’t be back until after dark.” Noting the boy’s disappointment, he tried to soften it with a bribe. “But I promise to go riding with you tomorrow. All right?”

  Happiness restored, Jamie grinned. “Yes sir.”

  “Maybe your mother will want to come, too,” Rafe added, then regretted doing so when he saw the studied glance Ash sent his way.

  • • •

  Josephine was so enjoying her chat with Maddie she didn’t realize how late it was until Shipley came to inform them that Lord Kirkwell, Baron Adderly, and Mr. Cathcart awaited them in the yellow salon for drinks before dinner.