The Bride's Prerogative

by Davis, Susan Page

  Everyone in the neighboring pews waited to hear what she would say, making no pretense of disinterest.

  “Fine,” she said. “Augie might have an apron that will fit you.” Several people chuckled, and Griffin cracked a smile.

  “All right. We’ll talk then.”

  Griffin paid for his dinner and Justin’s and turned to his nephew. “You go on home and change now. Go over and check the livery—make sure everything’s quiet there. I’ll be along after I wash a few dishes and settle Miss Vashti’s hash.”

  “Can’t I do dishes, too?”

  Justin’s brown eyes were only a couple of inches lower than his own now, Griffin realized with a start. The boy was filling out and would likely end up as big as Griffin. He grinned. “I doubt they’ve got two aprons in the jumbo size.”

  “Can I work with Champ?”

  “Sure, but don’t get on him until I’m there.” They’d begun saddle training a couple of weeks ago, and both colt and boy seemed to enjoy it.

  “All right,” Justin said. “See you later.”

  Anyone who saw him from the back would think he was a grown man. Griffin shook his head and turned toward the kitchen door.

  Bitsy came out carrying two slices of pie on small plates. Her bright red lips curved in a grin. “I hear you’re helping out with the dishes today.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Your boss is yonder.” She jerked her head toward the kitchen and passed him.

  “Very funny,” Griffin muttered. He reached the doorway in three steps and stood there looking in. Augie bustled about between the stove and a worktable with platters and dishes spread over it. In one corner, Vashti scraped used plates, putting the leavings in a bucket. She wore her blue satin under a big white apron, and her hair was up in a bun. When it wasn’t covered by her cowboy hat, her hair looked shimmery and feminine.

  “Howdy, Griff.” Augie lifted a chicken leg out of a big frying pan and laid it on a platter with other crisp pieces of meat.

  Griffin nodded to him and strode over to Vashti.

  “Well, hello. Where’s Justin?”

  “I sent him home. Where’s my apron?”

  She smiled then, just a little smile. “You don’t have to do dishes.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “All right then.” She took a couple of steps and opened a drawer full of folded linens. “Let’s see …” She pulled one out and shook it to unfold it. “This one’s pretty big.”

  It was the kind of apron that hung around the neck with a bib to cover the wearer’s shirt.

  “Maybe you should take your jacket off first. Hang it over there.” She indicated a row of hooks near the back door.

  Griffin sauntered over and shed his coat, then went back to her and reached for the apron. She held it up, holding the neck strap away from the apron. He hesitated a second then stooped a little. She popped it over his head and smoothed the strap behind his collar.

  “Turn around.”

  He felt silly with her tying the apron strings behind his back. Silly and a little on edge. Her light touch against the back of his shirt made his skin tingle. He pulled in a quick breath.

  “There you go. What did you want to talk about?”

  She seemed softer than she had this morning, more ready to listen. He turned around. She had already lifted a stack of plates and plunged them into a pan of soapy water.

  “About your work for the stage line.”

  “What about it?”

  A clean towel lay on the counter beside the dry sink, and he picked it up.

  “Rinse first,” she said. “You have to get the soap off. There’s a kettle of hot water over there.”

  He went to the stove and lifted the steaming teakettle.

  “She putting you right to work?” Augie asked with a wink.

  “Regular slave driver,” Griffin said.

  Vashti put the clean dishes into another pan, and he poured the boiling water over them. She was watching out of the corner of her eye, but she didn’t say anything, so he guessed he’d done it right. He grabbed the towel and began drying the first plate.

  He cleared his throat. “Listen, you’ve been doing a good job driving.”

  She was quiet for a moment, then squeaked out, “Thank you,” as she placed another plate in his rinsing pan.

  “I mean that. You’re good with the horses, and you’re getting better all the time with the reins. And the passengers love you. More than one has told me you gave them a mighty smooth ride.”

  Her hands stilled, and she sniffed. “Do you recall what Pastor Benton spoke on this morning?”

  Griffin had to think for a minute. “You mean about how we shouldn’t do rash things?”

  “Rash—oh yes, he did mention that.” She chuckled. “Paul had a whole list of things we aren’t supposed to do over in Timothy, didn’t he? Funny how we each picked out different ones.”

  “Well, yeah, I suppose so. I’d been feeling kind of guilty—like I’d acted hastily and got mad over things I shouldn’t be mad about.” He eyed her cautiously. “So what one did you mean? Not loving money too much?”

  “No, not that, either. It was ‘boastful and proud’ that hit me. Right smack in the face.”

  He frowned. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

  “Doesn’t it, though?” She put the last plate in his pan and reached for a pile of dirty forks. “I’ve been strutting around like I was the finest stagecoach driver who ever cracked a whip, when we both know I’m not.” She looked up at him with earnest green eyes. “Griffin, if I were to drive every day for the rest of my life, I’d never be as good a driver as Bill Stout. Never.”

  “Bill was born to it.” Her words made him uneasy. “That doesn’t mean you can’t be a fine driver one day.”

  “That’s right. One day. Not now. I’m as green as the grass along the riverbank. I’d like to think I’m an old hand at driving, but I’m not.”

  “You learned a lot from Bill in a short time.”

  “Yes, I expect I did. But I still have a long way to go. And so …” She pressed her lips together for a moment, then looked up at him again. “So I’m telling you I’m sorry. I don’t have a right to drive for you, like I was making out I had last night. It’s a privilege, and you have the final say because you’re in charge. That’s fittin’.”

  Griffin turned around and leaned against the counter and studied the planks of the floor while he considered that. She had actually come to the place where she could stand back and let him decide what was best for the stage line. And for his drivers.

  Bitsy strode in from the dining room with a tray of dirty dishes and set them down beside him.

  “How’s the dish crew doing?”

  “Fine, ma’am.”

  She went over to the stove to speak to Augie.

  Griffin looked over at Vashti. “I came to apologize for acting rashly and telling you that you couldn’t drive anymore.”

  She washed another fork and plinked it into his pan. “You mean you would let me?”

  “Do you still want to?”

  “Yes. Very much.”

  He nodded, noting how pretty she looked with the steam feathering the little wisps of hair that had come loose from her bun. He could see that tiny brown mole on the back of her neck, too. He inhaled sharply and picked up the teakettle. “Let me make a suggestion. The robbers have never hit the run between here and Reynolds Creek. What if you drive that far and back every day?”

  “And not go on to Nampa? What’s the sense in that? You’ll need another driver if I just do a short run.”

  He poured hot water over the soapy forks and put the kettle down. “I don’t want to lose you, Vashti. I don’t want to lose Georgie the driver, either, but it’s not just because you’re a driver. Mostly …” He cleared his throat. “I don’t think I could live with myself if you got hit like Bill did.”

  She was staring at him, her pink lips parted. “Thank you. But I don’t think givi
ng me a shorter route will solve your problems.”

  “It won’t. But it might keep me from adding to the list of ones that need solving. I could switch you with Johnny—”

  “Johnny’s run was hit once last month.”

  Griffin nodded reluctantly. “But there’s not so much treasure on that route as there is over here. And with all the traffic up to Silver and the Poorman opening up again—”

  “It’s definite, then? They’re reopening the mine?”

  “That’s what they tell me. And if it happens, there’ll be more money going back and forth.”

  Vashti turned back to her dishpan and washed a few more forks. “If you put me on another route, I won’t be at home between my runs, and the shooting club members won’t be able to give us extra protection.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that, and I wonder if it’s wise to let those women—”

  “Now don’t start that. You know they want to help, and they’re better shots than any men you could hire. The price is right, too.”

  Griffin dried a fistful of forks while he thought about it. “Part of me doesn’t want you driving at all, though I don’t know who else I’d get to do it. And part of me wants you to go on doing it because I know it means so much to you. You’re a good driver. It’s true you don’t have a lot of experience, but you’ve got a good touch.”

  He didn’t feel he’d done the best job of explaining his reasons, but she seemed satisfied. If he told the complete truth, he’d be saying wild things about the way her eyes shone when she took the reins, and how warm it made him feel inside just knowing he’d made her happy.

  “I want to keep driving,” she said at last.

  He nodded. “All right. We’ll work something out.”

  “What about tomorrow?”

  He sighed. “You drive to Nampa. I’ll put Cecil Watson on with you until Ned’s healed up. Cecil’s got sharp eyes, though I’m not sure he’s as good a shot as you or some of the other ladies.”

  “I’ll put the word out that we’ll take extra riders, if it’s all the same to you.”

  “So long as there are empty seats. I won’t turn away any paying customers to make room for shooters.”

  “Done.” She wiped her hands on a towel. “I think we’re caught up on dishes for the moment. Thank you for helping. Oh, and I like the new look.” She nodded toward his whiskerless chin and smiled.

  “Vashti …”

  She arched her eyebrows and gazed up at him, but he couldn’t think of anything else he wanted to say out loud.

  CHAPTER 30

  A week later, Vashti arrived at the livery early as usual, to grease her axles and check over the harness and the horses’ hooves.

  “You’ve done a great job of grooming the team,” she told Justin and the Nash boys.

  “Thank you,” Justin said, and the Nash brothers smiled at her. Ben was about Justin’s age, and Silas was thirteen. They both seemed eager to please Griffin and earn a little pocket money. Since school was out for the summer, Griffin had decided to let Ben and Silas keep working for him at the livery with Justin until the fall term began. In the meantime, he’d scout around for a man to take over then. Vashti had never told him about the gambling incident, and so far as she knew, Justin and Ben had stayed out of trouble.

  Griffin came out of one of the stalls and glanced her way. “Vashti, how’s it going with Cecil?” He came over to stand directly behind her.

  “Not bad.” This would be her third run with Watson. Their first time out, he’d made one remark that was a bit on the crude side, and Vashti had let him know at once that she wouldn’t tolerate it. It hadn’t hurt that four women of the Ladies’ Shooting Club were riding the stage that day. Since then, he hadn’t gotten out of line, but she had the impression he resented being paired with her. On nights they were in Nampa, he disappeared shortly after supper. He always showed up on time in the morning, so she didn’t ask questions.

  “You’ve got a water run today.”

  She nodded. A stagecoach run with no treasure in the Wells Fargo box suited her just fine. Of course, the passengers usually had valuables on them, and the coach would carry mail, which might also contain some money or bank drafts. But she always felt easier when they weren’t carrying a payroll or precious metals.

  “You didn’t see anyone in those rocks last week,” Griffin said.

  “Nary a soul.” Griffin had continued to shave, and she found it hard not to stare at him. He’d turned out rather handsomer than she’d imagined, and she was still getting used to the change.

  She fixed her gaze on the front of his shirt. It struck her that she’d never seen him wear that one before—a black and white plaid that looked crisp and maybe even new. Why had Griffin taken up shaving and buying new clothes? Was it because of the mine executives who’d been coming through his office lately? Or maybe he expected an inspector for the postal service. He was now one of the handsomest men in Fergus, no doubt about it.

  “I heard from the territorial governor.”

  That startled her into meeting his gaze. “Really?”

  He nodded. “Telegram. He says we’ll have a military escort in two weeks. They’re giving me eight troopers.”

  “Eight? Fantastic.”

  Griffin shrugged. “That’s for all my line.”

  “Oh.”

  “I figure the runs to Silver City and Boise are the most vulnerable, but I want to put two men on your run and two on the Catherine run.” He frowned, and his eyebrows pushed together. That made Vashti smile. He may be well groomed, but his bushy brows still formed a hedge over his dark eyes. “I wish they’d give me more.”

  “It may be enough to keep the robbers away.”

  When she drove up to the Wells Fargo office, four women decked out for travel waited eagerly on the boardwalk. Cecil stood guard while Griffin loaded the mail. He admitted three paying passengers to the stage, then allowed the four ladies to fill the coach. Vashti hummed as he gave his signal to start. Probably Ellie and Florence Nash, Jessie Tinen, and Isabel Fennel would all go on to Boise for the night, but that was all right. Just knowing they’d be on her coach today and again tomorrow gladdened Vashti’s heart.

  When they approached the rocky section of the road she thought of as “the gauntlet,” Cecil sat tall and watched both sides of the road like an owl, swiveling his head and staring—always staring at the boulders. Vashti kept the horses moving down the slope at a quick, controlled trot.

  When they were safely through it, Cecil sat back and relaxed. “They never stop you going downhill, but it doesn’t hurt to be aware.”

  “The last holdup happened at a bridge,” Vashti said.

  He nodded. “Anywhere you have to slow down and there’s no houses in sight.”

  “Well, we should be all right at least as far as the ferry now.”

  They rode in silence for a ways.

  “Any of those women staying over with you at Nampa?” he asked. Vashti eyed him askance. Cecil hadn’t engaged in much conversation with her since she’d put him in his place that one time.

  “I don’t think so. Why?”

  He shrugged. “They’ve got a minstrel show at the school building. Thought you might want to go over and see it.”

  “Maybe. If any of them stay in Nampa.” It might be fun, especially if Florence and her mother opted to stay.

  “I meant with me.”

  She locked her neck muscles to keep from turning and gawking at him. The man was older than Griffin—way older. And he certainly wasn’t the type she’d want to step out with.

  “Oh. You mean—you and me?”

  “Is that so far-fetched?”

  She stared at the leaders’ twitching ears, trying to form a reply that would be clear but not rude. “Thank you, but I don’t think so.”

  “You could wear them clothes, and no one would know you was my lady friend.”

  The idea of being Cecil Watson’s lady friend made her head swim.

&nbs
p; “We could get a drink after,” he said.

  “No, thank you.” She should have known there was to be an “after” to this proposed outing.

  “I heard your old employer stopped serving. Too bad. The Spur & Saddle was a top-notch watering hole.”

  “Well, now it’s a top-notch restaurant. And I don’t drink, no matter where it’s served.”

  “You’re joshing me.”

  “Do I look like I’m teasing?” She gave him her best glare.

  “Huh.”

  It rankled her that he assumed because she used to work in a saloon that she would go out drinking with a man she barely knew—namely himself.

  “Don’t you like to have a little fun now and then?” he asked, scanning the countryside.

  “I’m not sure what you consider fun.”

  “You know. Just—” He whipped his shotgun to his shoulder. Vashti’s heart raced and she stared in the direction he was aiming, but the ground sloped down on Cecil’s side of the road.

  “What is it?”

  He relaxed and lowered the gun. “A couple of pronghorns grazing on the hillside yonder. When I first saw movement, I wasn’t sure what it was. Reflex.”

  “It’s a good one to have in this job.”

  The horses had slowed to a jog. She unfurled her whip and cracked it in the air. “Move along, you.” She looked over at Cecil as she stowed the whip again. “I get all the excitement I can use driving this route.”

  “So that’s a no?”

  “That’s a no.”

  The four female passengers went on to Boise, as Vashti had anticipated. She ate her supper early, with Cecil sitting across the table from her. He wolfed down his pork roast, potatoes, and gravy, ignoring the mess of fresh greens Mrs. Gayle served with them. After that, he put back two pieces of pie and half a pot of coffee.

  When he was done, he shoved his chair back. “You sure you don’t want to see the show with me, George?”

  “I’m sure. You go ahead, Cecil.”

  He slapped his hat on and shuffled out the door.

  Vashti finished her pie and carried her dirty dishes and Cecil’s to the kitchen.