Golden Chances

by Rebecca Hagan Lee

  Reese shook his head and turned back to the door. “Dammit, Faith, I’m not going to fight with you about this. Get dressed. I’ll be waiting on the platform.” The door rattled in its frame for several seconds after Reese stalked out.

  Faith leaned against the edge of the tub. Tears stung her eyelids. She had started a fight. She’d ruined the lovely morning. Why? Just because he wanted her to pretend to be a happy bride for his family? No, she dabbed, at the tears. She wasn’t crying because he wanted her to pretend. She was crying because she didn’t have to pretend. She was his loving wife. But to Reese she was simply a means to an end. A mere legal technicality to protect his child from bastardy.

  She dried her eyes, washed her face, and began to dress. Mechanically, without thinking.

  Eighteen minutes later, she exited the private car and stepped onto the platform. From there she was able to get her first glimpse of the town. She was not impressed.

  Cheyenne was a collection of false-fronted wooden buildings, many of them partially built in Chicago and then shipped to Wyoming by rail. The streets were dirt. Wooden sidewalks fronted some businesses, while others opened onto the street. The new town boasted a business district, three churches, and a two-room schoolhouse, along with other less respectable establishments. It also boasted of a population of around six thousand.

  It was new, rowdy, raw, and bustling with energy. The saloons, brothels, and gaming houses operated twenty-four hours a day and the sound of gunfire could be heard at all hours. Richmond, even in the days before the occupation, had more law and order. But there was something about Cheyenne that drew Faith, and that something was Reese.

  This town was Reese’s home.

  “Faith!”

  Faith turned around. Joy was running toward her followed closely by Reese and two men dressed in faded denim pants and gingham shirts.

  “We were watching the horses, Faith.” Joy flung herself against Faith, hugging her around the waist. “Weese says I can have a pony. I get to pick him out. We’re going to take him to the wanch with us. Uncle Charlie said he’ll teach me to ride him.” Joy’s words were coming at a breathless rate. It was all Faith could do to make sense of them.

  “What’s this about a pony?” Faith stooped down until she was eye level with Joy.

  “Weese said I could have one. Please, Faith?”

  Faith looked to Reese for confirmation.

  He nodded. “Faith, it won’t hurt her to know how to ride.”

  “Why can’t she learn to ride on an old mare? Why buy her a pony?”

  “I’d rather her tumble off a Shetland pony, than a fully grown horse. Besides, she’ll learn responsibility by helping take care of a pony of her own,” Reese explained.

  Faith thought for a minute. “All right, but I think you’re spoiling her dreadfully.”

  Joy squealed with excitement, slipped out of Faith’s reach, and ran to Reese.

  The man standing beside Reese spoke to Faith. “Our family believes in indulging its children. It gives them a measure of confidence to know we want them to be happy.”

  Faith straightened and stood to greet Reese’s companions.

  “Faith, I’d like you to meet my uncle, Charlie Alexander. Charlie, this is Faith.” Reese performed the introduction, smiling fondly at his uncle.

  The young man cleared his throat.

  Reese chuckled. “And this is my cousin, Sam, David’s younger brother.” He clapped Sam on the back, pushing him forward a little.

  Faith studied Reese’s uncle and cousin. She looked at Reese, then back at his relatives. There was a strong family resemblance. But these men were Alexanders, not Jordans. Reese apparently favored his mother’s side of the family. Faith glanced back at Charlie and Sam, taking note of the similarities to Reese. The Alexanders were handsome men, but there were subtle differences. Reese was taller than Sam and Charlie. His eyes were a lighter shade of brown, his nose straighter, his shoulders a fraction wider, his skin a lighter bronze.

  Reese watched Faith, his full, sensual mouth flattened into a tight, disapproving line. His cocoa-colored eyes, narrowed angrily, warily. It wouldn’t take long now. He braced himself for her reaction.

  She smiled at Reese’s uncle, her gray eyes, clear and shining with friendship. She extended her gloved hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Alexander, and you”―she turned to Sam―“Mr. Alexander. I met your brother in Washington. I liked him very much.”

  Charlie stared at her gloved hand for a moment before he accepted it. “You’re southern.”

  “Yes, sir. Joy and I are from Richmond,” Faith said.

  “I was born and raised in the north Georgia mountains,” Charlie told her, patting her hand, before releasing it.

  “North Georgia? How in the world did you come to settle way out here?” She stopped, suddenly, remembering the war. Lots of southern men had migrated west. She frowned at her thoughtlessness. She’d lived with the war for eight long years and one short week on a train with Reese had made her forget all about it.

  “We came overland in ‘thirty-eight. It was a long, hard journey. We settled for a while in the Indian Territory, then followed Reese’s father here before the war,” Charlie volunteered.

  Faith turned to look at Reese. “You never mentioned your father. Is he still here?”

  “He died during the war,” Reese said flatly.

  “I’m sorry,” Faith whispered.

  Reese shrugged. “Come on, sprite.” He hoisted Joy onto his shoulders. “Let’s get the wagon loaded and get some breakfast. I’m starving.” He walked toward the railroad car. A wagon and a buggy were hitched nearby. Two men were busy loading the wagon with furniture from Reese’s private car.

  “What about my pony?” Joy asked.

  “After breakfast. How about joining us for breakfast, Uncle Charlie? Sam?” Reese said.

  Charlie smiled at Sam. When Reese complained of starving, it was a sure sign he’d spent a busy night.

  “We ate before the train pulled in,” Sam said.

  “You take the ladies to breakfast, Reese,” Charlie suggested. “We’ll load your belongings and pick up supplies. Then we can see about the little lady’s pony.”

  “Goody!” Joy shrieked.

  Reese turned to grab Faith’s elbow. “Come on, Faith, let’s eat. It’s an hour’s ride to the ranch.”

  * * *

  Three hours later, Reese helped Faith and Joy into the buggy. He hitched a fat, shaggy-coated Shetland pony named Brutus to the back of the buggy and climbed up beside them.

  The two ranch hands occupied the wagon seat, while Charlie and Sam trotted on horseback alongside the buggy. The little convoy pulled out onto the street headed west, toward the Trail T ranch. The sturdy, wooden vehicle was piled high with trunks, carpetbags, toys, supplies for the ranch, and furniture. Faith was stunned when she saw everything the wagon held.

  “Reese, they took the bed out of your railroad car and loaded it onto the wagon,” she pointed out.

  “I know,” Reese answered. “I told them to.”

  “Why? Don’t you need a bed on the train?” Faith was puzzled.

  “We’ll need it more at the ranch.” Reese chuckled.

  “Don’t you have a bed at the ranch?” The idea was appalling.

  And after seeing the town of Cheyenne, it made her wonder what sort of primitive conditions she might find at the ranch.

  “Not at the moment. It’s on the wagon.”

  “That’s your bed? The one you sleep in at home?”

  “Uh huh,” he grunted.

  “You had it dismantled and put in the railroad car to use on your trip?” She couldn’t comprehend the extravagance.

  “Uh huh.”

  “Couldn’t you have simply purchased a bed for the train?”

  “It has one. I had it taken off and my bed put on,” Reese told her.

  “Why, for heaven’s sake?”

  Charlie began to laugh. Reese’s eyes narrowed. He
shook his head in warning.

  His uncle paid the warning no heed. “That bed belonged to Reese’s father and mother,” Charlie explained to Faith. “It was their marriage bed. Reese was born in that bed. He wanted to be able to share it with you on your wedding night.”

  Faith blushed.

  Reese stared moodily at the reins laced between his gloved fingers.

  “Is that true?” Faith asked him.

  He refused to answer.

  She tried again. “How did you know I would agree to…marry you?” She stumbled over the words.

  “Ma’am,” Sam chuckled, “we all knew Reese was going to Washington to find a bride. Once he decided he wanted you, you didn’t stand a chance. Reese always gets what he wants. If he makes up his mind to get something, nothing is gonna stop him. Right, Reese?”

  “Shut up, Sam,” Reese ordered.

  “Then it’s true. You planned everything, from the beginning―Christmas, the railroad car, the bed, everything!” Faith’s words were low, sharp with pain and a deep sense of betrayal. “You planned everything.”

  “Blast it, of course, I planned! I don’t do anything without a plan of attack.”

  “Really?” Her tone was enough to give him frostbite. “Did you plan the attack on my purse? Did you hire that thief so I’d have no alternative but to accept your terms?”

  “Hell, no!” Reese was hurt by her accusation. “I did not hire a thief to steal your purse. I wasn’t that desperate.”

  “But you took advantage of the situation.” She focused her serious, gray gaze on him.

  “Yes.” Reese admitted. “I used every means at my disposal to get you to agree to”―he quickly glanced at his cousin Sam and his uncle Charlie, who were avidly eavesdropping―“marry me.”

  “You used bribes―dinners, Christmas gifts, money.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you succeeded,” Faith announced. “You should be very proud of yourself.”

  “You got what you wanted, too, sweetheart,” Reese reminded her. “Don’t forget that.”

  Joy tugged on Faith’s coat sleeve. “Faith, are you mad at Weese for buying me a pony?”

  Faith pulled her little sister into her lap. “No, angel,” she assured her. “I’m mad at myself for letting him buy me.” Her voice was too low for Charlie and Sam to overhear.

  “I didn’t buy you, sweetheart.” The endearment stung. “I rented what I thought was a fertile womb. And you succeeded in convincing me that you’d borne a child. You should be very proud of yourself, too.” He flung her words back at her.

  “Are you mad at yourself, too, Weese?” Joy was concerned.

  “No, sprite, just disappointed.” Reese turned his attention back to the horses.

  “Reese,” Faith began, shaken by anger, realizing she had embarrassed him in front of his family. “I’m sorry.”

  “Forget it.” He didn’t look at her.

  “But…”

  Reese jerked back on the reins. The buggy jolted to a halt. The wagon slowed down behind them. Reese maneuvered the buggy to the side of the road, then motioned for the others to pass them. Charlie waved goodbye, then he and Sam trotted off to keep pace with the wagon as it rumbled past the buggy.

  Reese turned to her. “Look, you’ve been spoiling for a fight since early this morning.”

  Faith opened her mouth to protest, but he shook his head to forestall her. “If you really want to fight, I’ll oblige you. But not now. Not in front of my family. Your complaint is with me, not them, and I won’t have you embarrassing them again. Is that clear?”

  Faith kept quiet.

  “Is it?”

  “Yes!”

  “Then keep quiet about your complaints until we get to the house. We can fight in the privacy of our bedroom.”

  “You don’t really think I’ll sleep with you after this, do you?” Faith sat up very straight in the buggy seat, every line of her body tense, waiting for his answer.

  “Why not?” Reese asked. “We enjoy each other.”

  “I don’t―”

  “Hush, Faith.” He hooked a hand around her neck and pulled her to him. She expected his kiss to be hard and angry. She was surprised to find his lips, soft, tempting, persuasive. The blood sang through her veins. This was what she’d been fighting for all morning. This was what she wanted.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The main house of the Trail T ranch was situated five miles northwest of Cheyenne, just off the road to Laramie, but the ranch itself was spread out over a much larger distance. It was bordered on the north by a section of Lodgepole Creek, and by the foothills of the Laramie Mountains on the south and west. Reese’s father had staked out land surrounding the main house and the outbuildings back in 1862. Under the Homestead Act, each head of household was allowed 160 acres of free land if a man agreed to live on and cultivate it. Benjamin Jordan had used that law to establish title to the section of land adjacent to the creek. A year later, he had purchased an additional nine hundred acres from the government at $1.25 an acre. Reese had filed claim for ownership of those original acres in 1867, just before the Union Pacific Railroad began buying up choice lots around Cheyenne. Reese Jordan now owned close to a thousand acres of prime grass land, grazing land for cattle, but if he hoped to increase his herd, he would have to more. He had spent the better part of the past year lobbying the government into issuing leases and grazing rights to federal land to local ranchers.

  Faith studied the ranch house as the buggy bounced over the ruts and potholes in the road leading up to it. After the disappointment of Cheyenne, the main house of the Trail T ranch was a pleasant surprise. The central portion of the two-story house was built of log and stone to withstand the harsh Wyoming winters. It was flanked by long, low one-story wings and fronted by a huge porch.

  The drive leading to the house circled in front of the porch steps, making it possible to drive right up to the front door. Had the house been made of white clapboard or red brick, it could have belonged on any Virginia plantation. The arrangement of the house and the other buildings surrounding it reminded Faith of her grandfather Hamilton’s plantation. She found the comparison comforting. From her place in the buggy, she could see two barns, a smithy, stables, a log cabin, the corral, a paddock, and the smokehouse. Yes, everything seemed very familiar.

  She squinted against the sun as she looked out over the open range, hoping to see the livestock. She turned to Reese. “Where are all the cows?”

  “The milk cows are in the barn. The cattle are out on the range,” he answered.

  “By themselves?”

  “Oh, they’re probably keeping company with the cattle from a couple of other ranches.”

  “How do you know which ones are yours?”

  “Mine all have the Trail T brand on them. The herd roams free during the winter. In the spring, we round up all the Trail T stock and brand the calves.” He maneuvered the buggy around the circle drive, pulling it to a halt behind the wagon. Charlie and Sam had dismounted and were busy helping unload the supplies. Reese climbed down from the buggy and held his arms out for Faith. “Let’s go in out of the cold. I’ll show you around the house.” He reached up for Joy and lowered her to the ground.

  “What about my pony? Can he come inside with us and sleep in my room?” Joy wanted to know.

  “Absolutely not, sprite. Ponies do not sleep in little girls’ bedrooms. They sleep in cozy stalls in the barn with the other horses. Especially Shetland ponies like Brutus.”

  “Can I go with you to put Brutus in the barn?” Joy asked.

  “It’s awfully cold out, sprite. Why don’t you go inside the house with Faith while I take Brutus to the barn?” Reese was cold, tired, hungry, and suffering from a lack of sleep. Not that he was complaining about the way he’d lost sleep. He simply wanted to relax. He was in no mood to contend with a little girl or a stubborn pony. His patience was not inexhaustible. At the moment, it was paper thin.

  “I want to go wit
h you!” Joy stamped her foot. “I want to help you tuck Brutus in bed.”

  Reese looked to Faith for help. “Explain to Joy why she can’t go with me to the barn.”

  “I can’t,” Faith told him. “I don’t understand myself. You insisted on buying her a pony against my better judgment, so the least, you can do is let her go with you.”

  Dammit, today it seemed everyone had decided to turn on him.

  “I seem to recall you saying something like, ‘She’ll take better care of a horse if she owns it.’” Faith reminded him, gray eyes sparkling with mischief.

  “You promised you would teach me how to take care of him,” Joy piped up. “I want to go with you!”

  “Oh, all right!” Reese took Joy’s hand, then walked around to the back of the buggy to untie the shaggy black pony.

  “Can I ride him to the barn? Please?” Joy danced from foot to foot.

  “Absolutely not!”

  Faith waved goodbye, then turned and started up the stone steps to the house.

  A high-pitched, childish squeal of delight halted her on the top step. She turned around.

  Reese was leading the Shetland pony. He carried the lead rope in one hand, while he pressed his other hand against Joy’s back. She sat astride the short-legged pony, clinging to his black mane, while her own short legs bounced against the pony’s round belly. As Faith watched, Brutus stuck his nose into Reese’s coat pocket.

  “I don’t have any sugar,” Reese informed him.

  But the greedy pony persisted. He burrowed deeper into Reese’s pocket. The fabric gave way with a loud, tearing sound.

  “Dammit!” Reese muttered, elbowing the pony’s muzzle in a futile effort to dislodge him.

  “Don’t you hurt my pony, Weese!” Joy ordered, just as Brutus grabbed hold of the torn pocket and pulled it completely off Reese’s coat.

  Reese stopped in his tracks and faced the pony.

  Brutus pricked up his ears in a show of equine innocence and, with a toss of his head, sent the pocket sailing. Joy squealed with delight at her pony’s trick.

  Reese shook his head and turned his back to the pony, unimpressed by the innocent display. He tugged on the lead. Brutus seized his opportunity. He twitched his tail, flattened his ears against his head, bared his strong teeth, and nipped Reese on the arm.

  Faith thought she heard Reese mutter, “Et tu, Brute?” between the colorful curses, but she couldn’t be sure.