Karen Mercury

by Manifested Destiny [How the West Was Done 4]

  Foster snorted. “So you stand there watching me frig myself instead of making yourself known right away?”

  Worth gave a smile that further melted Foster’s heart. He was plainly just a harmless oaf—a giant boy, really. “Why not? It’s an enjoyable sight. One you just enjoyed yourself yesterday at French Creek.” Those dimples in his cheeks were really unbeatable. How old was this devilishly boyish fellow? It was impossible that he’d reached the age of thirty without a hundred belles sinking their tentacles into him.

  As much as he wanted to pause and suck on Worth’s long, thick horse’s cock, Foster knew they had to make good time to Fort Sanders. So he allowed himself a slight grin, too, and tossed his head. “No time for fun. Once we’re over this ridge there’s an open prairie, if I recall correctly.”

  “I’m sure you do. What’s in that telegram Custer wants you to send, anyway? I don’t think he’s fixed on a fort location yet, so he can’t be saying that.”

  Foster stepped regretfully into his drawers. He had to shove his cock down, as it had plumped up while thinking about Worth watching him masturbate. “Have no idea.”

  Worth stood uncomfortably close while Foster dressed in his buckskins. “I’d hate to think we were bringing some message that’s only going to bring a thousand gold diggers into the Black Hills. The last treaty set aside those hills for the Great Sioux Reservation, and nothing good can come out of gold digging there.”

  Foster shrugged and let the fringed shirt fall over his head. Yanking the hem down, he said, “I don’t particularly care. One of those engineers a couple days back determined a miner could take out two hundred dollars a day. I’ve registered my claim, and Horatio will look out for it until I can get back up there.” He leaned over to swipe up his tall moccasins. “I just want a couple days in Laramie to find my dog and hump a few prairie flowers.”

  “A dog?” Worth gaped.

  Foster glared at his new partner. “Sure, a dog. I left her two years ago in the care of a buddy, and I want her back now. Best dog you’ve ever seen. Gorgeous, gentle, smart as a whip. She can catch her own fish and then some.” He snorted as he laced his moccasins. “Sometimes I think a dog is the best companion for a fellow. They’re always there for you.”

  They rode easily over the ridge and into the open prairie. Once away from the thousands of shrubs and aspens that created a sort of net where no horse could pass, it was a relief to be in the open. A few hours later, Foster’s heart leapt to finally find the row of sunflowers that had been planted along the wagon ruts of a prior expedition. This was the marker he’d been looking for, and he wasn’t even irritated when Worth dismounted to piss.

  Foster wandered over to where a glint caught his eye. An old rusted frying pan lay beneath a stand of Juneberry bushes, and Foster kicked at it listlessly. He walked a bit more and found a pair of spectacles. It was no small wonder. He knew that miners had been combing these hills for decades before Custer’s expedition had claimed to discover gold.

  Then he caught sight of something about a foot round, hiding under dead grasses. With the toe of his moccasin he smeared the grass away, stunned to see writing carved into the stone. He picked it up and brought it into the direct sunlight.

  “What’s that?” asked Worth, buttoning his pants.

  “Some kind of inscription.” Foster read it aloud.

  Came to these hills in 1833

  Seven of us

  All died but me Ezra Kind

  Killed by Indians beyond the high hill

  Got our gold June 1834

  “Wow,” breathed Worth. “That’s an omen, buddy.”

  “It’s no omen. And stop calling me ‘buddy.’” Turning the stone over, Foster read:

  Got all of the gold we could carry

  Our ponys all got by Indians

  I have lost my gun and nothing to eat

  And Indians hunting me.

  “If this is an omen,” said Foster, “what sort is it? Good omen or bad omen?”

  Worth frowned, completely serious. “Bad omen. It’s telling you what happens to white men who try and remove gold from these hills.”

  Foster wiped the stone clean on the thigh of his leggings. “Well. I’m taking it as a good omen. Depends on how you take things, isn’t it? The power of the mind to view things different ways carries all the weight. That’s all that matters.”

  Starting for his horse, he said over his shoulder, “See these sunflowers? This is a good omen.” After placing the stone in a saddlebag, he unsheathed his bowie knife to cut a few of the tall flowers. “I’ll plant some more closer to Fort Sanders, to give others who follow us a good omen.”

  “It’s a hex, I tell you,” said Worth.

  Hex. In a pig’s ass. Foster thought Worth was completely ridiculous with his fear of omens and hexes. A mountain man couldn’t fear omens, or he’d be seeing one over every ridge top and in every pool of water.

  Chapter Four

  “Watch this, Ivy.”

  Tabitha was in the Union Pacific office chatting with her sister Ivy, the town’s telegraph operator. Now that Tabitha had received her lavender dress, she was riding her horse astride like other women of the Far West. She had ventured into the Cactus Club for lunch with her brother-in-law “Remington” Rudy after taking another lesson from him in the fine arts of trick shooting, riding, and roping.

  But what good was this knowledge going to do for her? She could hardly join a Wild West outfit. That wasn’t befitting the daughter of the biggest merchant in Laramie. Her life in New York with her husband Parker had been mapped out for her—then suddenly that life had utterly vanished. So she did what her three sisters before her had done, and come to stay with her father in Laramie.

  But all her sisters had forged careers. Liberty was the town’s schoolmistress. Alameda had become the first woman justice of the peace and was married to Senator Spiro, to boot. The only thing Tabitha had ever been good at, fighting and shooting, was a worthless career. She was thinking of approaching Henry Zuckerkorn at the Frontier Index this afternoon to enquire if she could write little fluffy articles, maybe about fandangos or the latest women’s croquet or lawn tennis competition. She would be allowed to participate in those, too, now that she wasn’t wearing widow’s weeds.

  “Rudy just taught me this. It’s a Japanese style of fighting. This is what you do if someone, you know, a rowdy or a bandit, approaches you from behind. First you jam your foot backward, to kick him in the kneecap. Then you raise your elbow and—”

  By Jove. Her elbow bashed something soft and warm, and Ivy’s mouth turned into an O.

  “Mr. Richmond?” Ivy cried.

  Tabitha twirled around. A tall, manly fellow cringed back with his hand to his nose, and blood trickled between his fingers.

  “Oh, my!” She couldn’t see his face under his leather slouch hat, so she tilted up the brim to assess the damage. And instantly she was thoroughly pierced by Cupid’s arrow.

  His gangly, well-made body was tensed, which was natural after being smashed in the nose. But his noble face overwhelmed Tabitha. His lips were beautifully bowed, his flashing eyes the green of the forest pines. His nose—if it wasn’t broken—was straight and pointed. His muscular chest in the V of his fringed leather shirt slammed her with robust warmth, and instantly tears welled in her eyes that she had hurt him.

  “I am so sorry! Please forgive me!”

  He looked at his bloodied hand, and no more blood dripped from his nose. “No harm.” But he flashed her a skeptical look. “What’re you doing bashing people like that in the telegraph office?”

  He could have been a hard case dressed entirely in leather, but Tabitha was completely entranced by his dignified bearing. She had not been this stunned by a man since meeting Parker—and thought she never would be again. She did not want to let this man slip away, so she swiftly quipped, “Oh, just demonstrating some Japanese combat moves my brother-in-law was teaching me.”

  The mountain man even smiled a bi
t, now that he’d wiped his nose and hand on his kerchief. “That’s a commendable thing for a woman to learn. Out here in the lawless frontier, a woman alone needs to know how to defend herself. These towns are chock-full of slimy toads who mean a woman harm.”

  How did he know she wasn’t wed? Then Tabitha recalled she still wore a black armband. “You’re here to send a telegram?” she asked stupidly. “My sister Ivy here is the operator. I’m Tabitha.” And she stuck out a mitt, simply in order to feel his hand, broad and strong, in hers.

  He touched the brim of his hat. “Foster Richmond, at your service. I’m acquainted with Mrs. Ivy Tempest.” His smile evaporated when he turned to Ivy and handed her a scroll sealed with wax. “This is going to General Terry in St. Paul, Minnesota.”

  Foster and Tabitha stared giddily at each other as Ivy broke the seal. “Oh, my,” Ivy said with despair, unrolling page after page of the handwritten message. “This has got to be the longest message I’ve ever done. You’re going to have to leave, go have a meal somewhere, while I tap this out.” Under her breath, Ivy read part of the message. “‘Gold has been found in several places.…Nothing short of the Indians’ annihilation will get it from them.…This is our Manifest Destiny.’” She sighed deeply. “Oh dear, Mr. Richmond. Lieutenant Colonel Custer certainly is long-winded.”

  Foster grinned amiably. “Yes, he’s full of gab. None of it terribly scintillating, I fear.”

  The smile fell from Tabitha’s face. Scintillating. How odd that this Foster Richmond fellow should use that very strange word that had arisen during her séance with Liberty the other day. As Jeremiah had proclaimed, what were the odds of using such a strange word?

  “All right,” said Ivy. “Come back in an hour, and I should be done.”

  “Ma’am.” Foster tipped his slouch hat, graced Tabitha with another dazzling grin, and made as if to leave.

  But Tabitha would have none of that. She wasn’t about to let this man get away. She practically stepped on the heels of his moccasins,

  following him out the door. The fringes of his leather shirt brushed against the upper swell of her breasts in her haste to follow him, and his cowhide aroma feathered her face.

  When he turned, probably to see who was shadowing him so closely, a distinctly virile look overcame him. This time he didn’t look down at her with annoyance or amusement. His look told her If you keep standing so close to me, I’m going to be forced to kiss you. His eyelids, with their dusting of ginger lashes, shivered with lust. She did not shy away from him but stood her ground boldly.

  “Mr. Richmond.” She stared levelly at him. “I can show you a good restaurant, if you don’t mind being seen lunching with a widow.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” he said quietly. “If you don’t mind being seen with a notorious army scout.”

  “It’s all right. And what is so notorious about you?”

  He stepped toward where his horse was hitched, to get something or other from a saddlebag, and Tabitha had no choice but to admire the high, firm globes of his ass, swaying as he loped. “You’ve obviously not lived in Laramie too long, or you’d of heard of me.”

  “Why do you say that? It’s true I’ve only been here less than a year. Why would I have—”

  Tabitha stopped cold. There, sticking out from under where his rifle rested across the horn of his saddle, were several dried-up sunflowers.

  She knew now for certain it hadn’t been happenstance she had whapped Foster Richmond in the nose with her Japanese defensive moves. They had some preordained connection. Some Manifest Destiny, as Ivy had read in the telegram.

  “Where did you get those sunflowers? I’ve never seen any around here.” Except on Liberty’s desk.

  Foster shrugged. “In the Black Hills, where I just came from. Soldiers planted them there to form a pathway for others to follow.” As if on a whim, he removed one from under the saddle and handed it to Tabitha. He was plainly not terribly accustomed to being romantic, for he shoved it at her without finesse. “Here. Mayhap you want to plant some of the seeds in your garden.”

  They walked across First Street toward the Cactus Club. Tabitha even had the grit to take the dashing scout’s arm, feeling entirely feminine to be seen walking with such a man. To be sure, some acquaintances gave her odd looks, but she hadn’t been in society enough to make any friends, and her family were all upstanding citizens, for the most part.

  “I’m sorry for the loss of your husband,” said Foster. Apparently, he wanted to know more about her, too.

  “That’s very kind of you. I’m finally coming out of my mourning and trying to figure out what to do with my life.”

  Foster said, “You’re such a fetching miss. I don’t see you having any problem figuring that out.”

  Tabitha hugged his forearm closer underneath her bosom. “I can’t imagine being a wife again with no career. After lunch I am going to the Frontier Index offices to offer my journalist services.”

  “Oh. Henry Zuckerkorn?”

  “You know him?”

  “I should say I do. An amusing fellow, although the prairie flowers charge him double. He’s a very good journalist, but I caught him wearing a dress in a sporting house once.”

  “Really? What were you doing there?”

  Foster smiled down mysteriously at her, and Tabitha was happy that they shared a secret. It was no terrible crime that a man went to a sporting house. Most men did. “So what did you do that was so notorious? You lived here in Laramie before?”

  Foster held open the swinging door of the Cactus Club and let her enter first. Tabitha paused purposefully, so that when Foster entered he’d have to stand so close to her she could breathe in his cowhide scent again. It probably wasn’t so wise to fall for an army scout, because he would be gone again soon. But a girl couldn’t help who she fell for.

  He didn’t shy away from standing so close to her, either. When he removed his hat he revealed a nice full head of spiky, gingery hair that stuck up every which way, and she longed to touch its softness with her palm. She bet it was just as soft as the rabbit feeling of her new dog’s head. “You’ve heard of the Mirror Murderer?”

  The entire bustling restaurant fell away beyond the fringes of Tabitha’s awareness. She stared like a stunned deer into Foster’s pine green eyes. Is he the Mirror Murderer? But wasn’t that fellow thrown a necktie party after he had terrorized Tabitha’s brother—or had they hung him? Was she standing right next to him?

  Perhaps discerning what she was thinking by her frozen round-eyed stare, Foster placed reassuring hands on Tabitha’s shoulder. “No, that’s not what I meant at all! I meant—”

  “Why, Foster Richmond!” cried Harland Park. He owned the Cactus Club but wasn’t usually here. As the town’s chief engineer, he had plenty of other places to be. He came forward jovially, arms out as though about to wrap them around Foster. “Haven’t seen you since you left town!”

  Harley steered them to a recently vacated table that hadn’t been cleaned yet. Both men sat, but Tabitha stood woodenly by, waiting for Harley to clear up the confusion.

  “Captain Park!” cried Foster, just as jovial. “Custer sent me into town to relay a telegram.”

  “Tabitha! How do you know this fine fellow?”

  Tabitha held herself rigid, looking down her nose at the scout, who looked even more handsome, if such a thing was possible, laughing freely like that. “I don’t know him very well, apparently. What does he have to do with the Mirror Murderer?”

  Harley clapped Foster on the shoulder. “Oh, only the finest attorney Laramie has ever seen! He’s helped me out on some railroad business, to my advantage, too, I might add. But of course old Richmond here wasn’t even fine enough to prevent them from stringing up that loco fellow.”

  “You defended the Mirror Murderer?” Tabitha asked, although she did relax enough to take a seat.

  “Yes,” said Foster, happy as a clam at high water. “Mostly for the entertainment of it all.”

>   Harley said, “We didn’t hold it against him. A man’s got to make a living. And it certainly got his name in the papers! We knew each other in Pittsburgh before we both wound up in Laramie.”

  Tabitha desperately wanted to know what would possess a man to cease being an attorney and become an army scout instead, but Harley was now demanding to know, “What are your dinner plans? I’m sure Ivy would love to have you as a guest.”

  “Yes, I just saw her in the telegraph office. What I’d like to do first is get my dog back from Sherman Bullard. Orianna left her in his care two years ago when she…departed.”

  There seemed to be some hidden meaning to “departed,” the way Foster said it.

  Harley was now telling Foster, “Really? Because I saw Orianna the day they left on the train for California, and I asked her if the dog would be going with her. She told me… Well, she said the dog had passed away. That was a wonderful dog—the breed that went with Lewis and Clark and their Corps of Discovery expedition, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Passed away? Tabitha couldn’t think of anything more sad or horrifying. She had only known Foster Richmond a fraction of an hour, but she did not think he deserved this pain, especially when it was obvious he cared enough about the dog to take it back into the wilds with him. You could tell a lot about a man by how he treated pets.

  But more than just sorrow washed over Foster’s face. His face hardened into an absolute statue—of rage, so it seemed to Tabitha. His pupils became little pinpoints as he stared at some faraway wall—a wall clear over in Cheyenne judging from the distant, cold look in his eyes. It sounded as though he muttered, “That bitch.”

  “Maybe I’m mistaken,” Harley said hopefully. “Or maybe Orianna was mistaken. Go check with Sherman Bullard. Isn’t he staying in your old house?”

  “Yes, I’ll do that as soon as I’m served a whiskey.” Foster seemed to be a different person altogether now. Tabitha could see him struggling to maintain civility when he appeared to actually want to shoot someone.