Vashti didn’t move out of the way. “What about the Silver City run? I’d love to do it.”
He huffed out a breath and shook his head. “You don’t understand, do you? I cannot—I will not hire a woman on my stage line. I’d be laughed out of Idaho Territory. Besides, I have a responsibility to the U.S. Mail.”
“But you’re in a bind. You said so yourself. It’s only for one day. One run. And I can do it. Just ask Trudy Chapman or Bitsy. They’ll tell you I’m a good shot.”
“I don’t doubt that. It’s just—”
“I know. It’s because I’m a girl.”
“Well, yes. I don’t know any other way to put it. Do you think a gang of outlaws would hang back and say, ‘Oh my, look at that! They’ve got a lady on the box today. I guess we’d better not rob that stagecoach’? Of course not! They’d be nudging each other and saying, ‘Look, Billy. Easy pickings today, and a pretty little skirt, too.’ “
Vashti’s face paled, and he immediately regretted the words. “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have said that.” His own face began to feel warm. “I’m just trying to make you understand why I can’t let you do it.”
She squared her shoulders and hiked up her chin. “And I’m telling you they would never get near that coach with me on the box.”
“Sure. With your fiery hair and shiny satin gown calling out to them.”
Vashti stamped her foot. “I’ll put my hair up under a hat. I’ll even wear your hat if you want. They wouldn’t think a lady would be wearing that.”
“What’s wrong with my hat?”
“Just everything.”
“Ha!”
“And I’d borrow a drab-colored dress from Isabel Fennel or Apphia Benton. They’ve got enough of them.”
Griffin chuckled. Feisty little thing, she was. “Tell you what, Miss Pushy, I’m going to go send my telegram. You mosey on over to the Fennel House and see if Mrs. Thistle could put my nephew up for a few nights. If she says yes and if I get a telegram back saying Justin’s on his way, I’ll take what you said under consideration.”
Her eyes glowed. “Really?”
“Said so, didn’t I?”
“Oh! Thank you!” She squeezed his wrist and tore off across the street.
“Wait!”
She stopped and turned in a swirl of skirts. “Yes, sir?”
“If this happens, and I’m not saying that it will, you’ll have to fill out some paperwork required by the Wells Fargo company for all employees.”
She grinned. “I’ll come back after I speak to Mrs. Thistle.” She tore for the Fennel House.
Griffin stared after her. Was he nuts? Well, at least he hadn’t promised her. Maybe he could back down later. Or maybe Justin was delayed, and he wouldn’t have to go to Mountain Home, or even Boise. But if he did …
He shook his shaggy head. He had to be crazy to consider this. He’d actually listened to her and halfway said she could ride the stage tomorrow with Bill Stout. How could he have done that?
Must be the green eyes.
CHAPTER 5
That evening after the supper rush of six diners, Vashti pondered long over the paper Griffin had given her. Goldie came in about six thirty, after her stint at the emporium, and found the plate Bitsy had put by for her in the kitchen. She carried it over to the rough table where Vashti was seated and plopped down across from her.
“Whatcha doing?”
Vashti sighed. “Mr. Bane has practically agreed to let me ride shotgun on the Silver City stage tomorrow, but I have to write down all kinds of information first.”
Goldie frowned. “What sort of information?”
“Well, name, age, address—I can do that. But the last question is ‘Next of kin.’ What do I put down?”
“Don’t you have any kin?”
“I’m thinking on it.”
Goldie bowed her head for a moment, asking the blessing on her food. As she raised her head, Bitsy breezed in from the dining room. “Mr. Dooley and Mrs. Adams just came in wanting pie and coffee. This is turning into a good night for us.”
Vashti pushed her chair back. “Want me to help?”
Bitsy waved her offer aside. “I can serve two pieces of pie and two cups of coffee with one hand tied to a bucking horse. Relax and eat.”
“Did you know Vashti’s riding shotgun tomorrow?” Goldie asked.
“She told me.”
“What do you think?”
Bitsy took half an apple pie from the pie safe. “Not my cup of tea, but if that’s what she wants to do …”
“I think she’s very brave.” Goldie dove into her roast chicken and baked potato.
Bitsy put two plates on a tray and reached into the crock of forks. “I said to her, ‘That could be a step toward the job you really want.’ I think it’s progress.”
Vashti smiled her thanks across the room. “Now, if I can just figure out who to put down as next of kin.”
“What’s that for?” Bitsy frowned with her knife hovering above the pie.
“In case I get killed on the job, I reckon.”
“Humph.”
Goldie nodded. “That’s what I think, too.”
Vashti looked down at the paper again. At the top, she’d written as neatly as she could, Georgia Edwards, age 24, Fergus, Idaho. But for “next of kin,” she had few options. The one relative she could think of was the last person she’d want notified on her behalf.
Bitsy poured the customers’ coffee and set the pot back on the stove. “You’ve lived with me for more than four years, and you’re like kin to me and Augie. Why can’t you just put me down on that paper?”
Vashti looked over at her. For a moment, she couldn’t speak. Her breath was knocked out of her, and tears filled her eyes. The weathered old Spur & Saddle building had indeed become her home, and Bitsy was closer to her than any legal family had been since she was a small child. “I like that.”
Bitsy smiled at her. “Go ahead. If Griffin makes a fuss, send him to me. I’ll take care of him.”
“Thanks!” Vashti quickly wrote, Mrs. Augustus Moore, Fergus, Idaho, and folded up the paper.
The next morning, Vashti ran along the dirt street, holding her skirt above her ankles. She turned in at the path to the pastor’s house, ran up the steps, and knocked, panting for breath.
Apphia Benton opened the door. “Well, good morning, Vashti. I didn’t expect you until later.”
“I can’t come this afternoon. I just wanted to let you know—I’ll be away.”
Apphia stepped back and gestured for her to step inside. “Away? Where are you going?”
“Sorry, but I can’t stop long. Mr. Bane’s nephew is coming, and he has to go and get him. He’s taking the Boise stage today. But he’d been planning to ride shotgun to Silver City, in the other direction, so I’m taking his place.”
“What? My dear, do come sit down and explain this to me. Surely you’re not—”
“Yes, ma’am. The shotgun messenger who usually has that run quit and headed for the Yukon.”
“Oh, I heard they’d found gold up there.”
“That’s right, so Mr. Bane is short a messenger, and he can’t send the coach without one today, on account of something I’m not supposed to tell you.”
Apphia arched her eyebrows but said nothing. Vashti gulped. She’d almost blabbed about the treasure box coming down from one of the mines tomorrow. One of the first and most important rules Griffin had taught her when he let her tend the Wells Fargo office was to never reveal to anyone when money and other valuables would be on a stagecoach. Not that the minister’s wife would tell anyone, but it was the principle. That, and if Griffin found out, he’d fire Vashti immediately.
“Anyway, he says I can do it this once, and I’m hoping that if everything goes well, he’ll let me try driving.”
Apphia nodded slowly. “You told me you hoped for a chance to be a driver. I still think it’s a rather rough way for a young lady to earn her living, but—”
> “But I love driving,” Vashti said. “I’ve prayed it over, like you told me I should, and I still want to do it. I don’t think God would put this in my heart if He didn’t want me to try it, do you?”
“Well … sometimes the Lord lets us do things that aren’t especially good for us. We need to be careful not to think our wants are the same as God’s will.”
“But I’ve always loved horses.” Vashti eyed her friend uncertainly. “All the time I worked in saloons, I thought that if I could just be out working with horses—animals are so much kinder than people, don’t you think?”
Apphia touched her shoulder gently. “Sometimes that’s true, I admit. But stagecoach driving—that’s a rough-and-tumble world.”
“Not so bad as selling whiskey and putting up with the men drinking it.”
Apphia did not answer, but her eyes held a troubled cast.
Vashti smiled at her. “If I could drive, I’d be perfectly happy. And if I show Mr. Bane I can do a good job as a messenger, that’s one step closer to driving.”
“Ah, Vashti. I’ll continue to pray for you. For your safety, and also that God will show you clearly if He wants you to pursue this. I know you haven’t always had it easy. Just please, come see me tomorrow after you come home, to let me know you’re all right.”
“I will.” Vashti gathered her skirts. “Now I must run. Mr. Bane says I have to sign another paper at the Wells Fargo office before I leave.”
“Say, did you find someone to build that driving rig you were talking about?”
“Not yet, but I will. You don’t mind, do you?” Apphia cocked her head to one side. “I’m not sure it’s the best thing, but we’ll let you use the barn. I’ll trust to God to stop this adventure if He doesn’t want you to do it.”
“Hey, Griff, I see you’re busy.” Hiram Dooley stepped into the dim livery barn and walked over to stand beside his friend.
“I’m always busy these days.” Once again Griffin had to help Marty hitch up the stagecoach team. “Got to get these horses ready, then get over to the office and sign some paperwork with Vashti Edwards, and I’m heading to Boise later today.”
“What for?”
“My sister’s boy’s arriving. He’s going to stay with me for a while.”
Hiram whistled softly. “Big change for you. What’s the business you’re doing with Miss Edwards? Not that it’s my never-mind.”
“She thinks she can ride shotgun on the Silver City stage. I’m making her sign a paper that says I’m not responsible if she breaks her neck or gets shot by road agents.”
“You’re really letting her do it? I knew she’d been pestering you to let her drive.”
“I’m not letting her do that. But I’m in a bind, and it’s common knowledge she’s a good shot.” Griffin finished buckling a strap and snapped his fingers. “I meant to ask Libby Adams if she had some pants that would fit Vashti. I don’t want her riding in one of those flashy dresses of hers, advertising to the criminal world that my shotgun messenger is a female.”
“I can go over and ask Libby if you’d like.”
“That’d be a big help, since time’s getting short.” Griffin grinned at him. “Not like you’d mind a reason to pop in and see Libby, eh?”
Hiram smiled and stuck his thumbs under his suspenders. “Don’t mind a bit. Actually, she’s the reason I’m here. Wondered if you’d keep an eye out for a nice, calm saddle horse for Libby.”
“Your wedding present to her?”
“Something like that.”
Griffin headed toward the barn wall for the next set of harnesses. “Sure, I’ll look for something. You set a date yet?”
“Nope, but she’s got a likely prospect to buy the store.”
“That couple that’s staying at the boardinghouse?”
“They’re the ones. Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton.” Hiram stepped back. “So what else do you need for Vashti? A pair of pants and …?”
“Anything that will make her look like a man.”
“You want me to what?” Vashti glared at Griffin, but he refused to back down and glared back.
She put her hands on her hips. “I figured out who to name as my next of kin, and I agreed to sign that ridiculous paper swearing you wouldn’t get in trouble if I get killed. Bitsy loaned me this old, drab brown dress—don’t ask me where she got it from. I even told you I’d wear this bowler hat of Augie’s. But apparently that’s not enough.”
“It’s just a pair of trousers,” Griffin said.
She clenched her fists and mimicked his tone saucily, “Just a pair of trousers.”
Griffin scowled down at her from his height. His conscience reproached him slightly, but he ignored it. So he was demanding something of her that she didn’t want to do. He did that to the drivers all the time. They lived by the stage line’s rules—or else. Could he help it if Vashti saw him as a shaggy Goliath who held her future in his hands? He rather liked the idea that he was the only man in town who could boss her around.
“Look, it’s very simple. If you don’t want to do it, all I’ve got to do is tell Hi Dooley I’ll pay him twice the normal rate, and he’ll take this run for me. The stagecoach leaves in fifteen minutes, with or without you. What do you say?” He glared steadily back into those icy green eyes. Of course, he hadn’t asked Hiram if he’d do the run, but he probably would, now that he thought of it. In fact, Griff wished he had asked his friend this morning. It would have been worth paying a double wage to avoid this conflict, and Hi could probably use some pocket change. He’d have to remember that for next time. There was always a next time.
He kept up the stony glare, and Vashti’s face squirmed into a mask of distaste.
“I ought to refuse, but that’s what you want, isn’t it?” She snatched the neatly folded pants and flannel shirt off Griffin’s desk. “Where do I change?”
“Mrs. Adams says you can go over there and use her back room.” Vashti turned on her high-heeled shoes and strode out the door. Griffin didn’t know whether to smile or swear.
Five minutes later, Vashti opened the door of Libby’s back room and cautiously peered out into the emporium. Libby waited behind the counter.
“All ready? Let’s take a look.”
Only when she’d flung the door wide and taken two steps did Vashti realize Mr. Dooley was leaning on the far side of the counter. She felt a flush speed up from the collar of the huge buffalo plaid shirt.
Hiram let out a sort of gasp and turned around.
Vashti’s chest hurt. She looked anxiously to Libby. “What? Is it that bad?”
“He’s just surprised. Hmm.” The elegant lady looked her up and down. “You need men’s boots, that’s for sure. Maybe a boys’ size. And how about a leather vest over that shirt? It will disguise your … er … gender better.” Libby swung around and hurried between the racks of merchandise toward the far corner where boots lined one set of shelves.
Hiram glanced at Vashti then away. “I, uh, need some twelve-penny nails.” He all but ran toward the hardware section.
Vashti steamed as she pulled her shoes off. Did she look so shocking in trousers? Libby had found a pair in a smaller size than the voluminous ones she’d tried first, and a belt to bring in the waist. The big shirt hung down over it. Maybe she ought to tuck that in if she was going to wear a vest, too.
Libby dashed back, holding out a pair of stiff leather boots. “Try these. I’ll find a vest.”
As she turned away, Griffin Bane strode in. “Hey, gal, the stage is here, and we need to load the box. We’re waiting on you to stand guard while we do it.”
“Uh …” Vashti darted a glance toward Libby.
“She’s ready, Griffin,” Libby called. “I’m just getting her a vest to complete her ensemble.”
Quickly Vashti pulled on the boots. Libby hurried over, holding a black leather vest made for a middle-sized boy. Vashti slipped her arms into it.
“There,” Libby said. “Put your hat on.”
V
ashti grabbed the hat off the counter. Libby had replaced Augie’s overlarge bowler with a smaller cowboy hat in creamy felt with a braided leather band. Vashti loved it at first sight but wondered if her first wages as a messenger would pay for all these clothes. Boots now, too, and the soft leather vest.
Griffin stood motionless, staring at her. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Libby chuckled. “Makes a fine-looking boy, doesn’t she, Mr. Bane?”
Griff cleared his throat. “I reckon from a couple hundred yards away she’d pass. And remember, you’re not letting any outlaws get that close.”
“No, sir, I’m not. Thanks, Libby. I’ll settle up with you when I get home tomorrow.” Vashti put on a little swagger as she left the store. Griffin came along behind her—she could feel the boardwalk shake under his heavy tread.
Two passengers were already in the coach when she reached it. Bill Stout, the white-haired veteran driver, sat on the box with his whip in its stand and the lines of the team of six horses in his hands. To Vashti’s surprise, the sheriff leaned against the side of the stage line office.
Ethan Chapman straightened and stepped away from the wall. “Morning.”
“Hello, Sheriff.”
Vashti felt a firm hand on her shoulder. She stopped and turned to look up at Griffin.
“I told Bill to call you Sam, so people wouldn’t know you’re a girl,” he said in as soft a voice as she imagined that barrel chest could emit.
“Sam?” she hissed. She looked around quickly. The passengers and Bill didn’t seem to have heard. “What, you don’t like that name?”
She considered for a moment. “I have another name, you know, if Vashti’s too feminine for this outfit.”
“You mean Edwards?”
“No. I mean …” She leaned closer and stood on tiptoe so she could get within a foot of his ear. “My Christian name was Georgia. So whyn’t you all just call me George?”
The Bride's Prerogative Page 69
