The Bride's Prerogative

by Davis, Susan Page

  They wound down out of the hills, with the horses trotting steadily.

  “How’s Justin doing with the bookkeeping?” Vashti asked. “Good. He made out my monthly report for Wells Fargo at the end of May. Did a fine job.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. His attitude has changed since he came.”

  “I think the colt helps.”

  “You told me Justin seemed interested in him last fall.” She flicked the reins to keep the horses from lagging on a slight upgrade.

  “Yes, he up and named it first thing. Champ.” Griffin smiled. “He took to that colt right away. I let him take care of it, and he does a fine job. Of course, I told him that if he got into trouble or tried to jump ahead of the training program, I’d take the colt away.”

  “And how’s Champ doing?”

  Griffin smiled. “He’s terrific. We’ve started saddle training, and Justin loves it. He’s still green, but he’s learning as fast as the colt is.”

  She grinned at him. “I’d like to see Justin work with him sometime.”

  “All right. I’ll tell him.”

  When they stopped at the Democrat Station, the passengers got out to use the necessary while the tenders switched teams. Griffin stayed out near the coach while the tenders unhitched the team and brought out the new horses—four well-muscled bays that matched except for their leg markings. In just twenty minutes the coach was ready, with one new passenger added.

  “Hello, Rice,” Griffin greeted the man as he boarded the stage. “Going to town?”

  “Yeah, just a quick jaunt in and back.”

  Griffin shut the people in. There were six inside now, not crowded, though they did have the mail sack to contend with. He mounted the box, and Vashti took them out with a stylish flurry of whip cracking.

  After they’d gone a short ways and settled into the rhythm of the road, Griffin eyed her frankly. “You’re doing well, Georgie.”

  “Thank you.”

  When she smiled, her face took on decidedly feminine lines. He realized no one who looked closely would believe she was a man. Maybe she could wear a false mustache. The thought made him smile. No, a beard would be needed to disguise her dainty chin and the smooth curve of her neck.

  “What?” she asked.

  He snapped his gaze forward, realizing they would soon be at the rocky stretch of road where the outlaws sometimes lurked. “Nothing. Just admiring your skill.” He could feel her sneaking glances at him as he scanned the terrain ahead and to the sides.

  The next time he looked at the driver, her mouth was set in a determined scowl. She was watching, too. Watching and probably remembering the other holdup.

  “They don’t stop you going downhill,” he said.

  “That fellow tried once when I was with Johnny. And if he’s got friends now …”

  She said no more, but Griffin renewed his vigilance. No chatter could be heard from within the coach. The others must also know this was one of the most dangerous spots on the road.

  When they emerged on the downhill side of the tumbled boulders, Vashti sighed. Her shoulders fell slightly, and she cast Griffin a glance.

  “I appreciate the good stock you keep for the teams.”

  “It pays in the long run.”

  “Well, I’ll always be sorry for the horses Ned and I lost you.”

  “Can’t be helped.” He took a broad view, swinging his head all around to inspect the vista spread below them. The desolate country lay empty for the most part. A few ranches lay farther on, but the rocky foothills remained largely unsettled. He turned the other way, and Vashti’s gaze met his. Her leaf-green eyes smiled at him. He couldn’t think of any other way to describe it, and his heart jolted.

  She looked forward again. “This stretch of road will be pretty when the flowers come out.”

  Griffin inhaled deeply. Was he out of his mind, putting a beautiful woman like her in danger day after day? His hands tightened on the stock of his gun. Was this danger any worse than what she’d lived through to get this far?

  “You started telling me a bit about your past once.” He looked over at her, trying to judge her reaction. “I don’t want to pry, but I admit I’m curious, and I’d like to know more about you. How you came here, and why. If you don’t mind telling it.”

  Her smile was not a happy one, and he regretted broaching the topic.

  “Why did you come here?” she countered without looking at him. “Work. A chance to be my own boss.”

  She nodded. “Well, I’ve never had that. I tried being on my own when I ran away from Aunt Mary and Uncle Joshua, but I wasn’t ready to take care of myself. I tried asking for work, and a man in St. Joe actually let me sweep the front stoop of his store for him and gave me some food. But his wife found out and wouldn’t let me stay on. I kicked around town, first asking for work, then begging … then stealing.”

  Griffin eyed her narrowly, thinking of the desperate twelve-year-old girl, but said nothing.

  “Then I stole from the wrong person.”

  “You got caught?”

  She nodded. “I’d been swiping food, but it was getting on for fall and the cold was setting in. I needed money, so I practiced lifting things out of sacks and pockets. I did all right the first couple of times. I got a coin purse out of a lady’s handbag, and I picked up the change off a store counter. But when I tried to lift a man’s wallet, he grabbed my wrist and wouldn’t let go. I’d surely picked the wrong mark.”

  “A lawman?”

  “Nope. He owned a saloon.”

  “Oh.” Griffin frowned and looked away. He’d known it had to be in there somewhere, that plunge from petty crime into hopeless, inky darkness.

  “I was there near two years,” she said. “He had me sweep and scrub and wash glasses. I wasn’t allowed to go out in the barroom when there were men out there drinking.”

  “So he had some sense of morality.”

  Vashti shrugged. “Not much.” The pace had lagged a little, and she clucked to the horses. They quickened their trot. “After a while I caught on to what the bar girls were up to when they took a fellow upstairs. I heard one of them arguing with the owner about me one day. She kept saying I was too young. I wasn’t fourteen yet. He said youth was worth big money. Well, I didn’t need to hear more. I lit out first chance I had. And this time I didn’t take his wallet. I knew where to get some cash from a box he kept in the kitchen.” She raised her chin and looked Griffin in the eye. “I could have taken fifty dollars, but I didn’t. I took three dollars and fifty cents—enough to get me out of St. Joe.”

  “You should have taken more.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I figured when I got to Independence. I’d been really stupid, and now I was in worse straits than I was before. Because now men were looking at me like I was more than just an orphaned little kid.”

  She faced forward. The breeze past his ears, the creak of leather, and the rattle of the wheels on the hard-packed road were the only sounds he heard. Griffin’s heart had gone all mushy and mournful. He shifted on the seat and watched her as she adjusted the reins. “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged it off. “I didn’t pay much account to God back then, but in a way, I guess He looked after me. At least, He sent along a fella who kept me with him for a long time. He took pretty good care of me. Mostly.” She flicked a glance at Griffin.

  He didn’t buy it. A man who took advantage of a girl that young was not taking care of her.

  “Well, he asked for favors in return,” she admitted, though he hadn’t asked. “But that was better than working for somebody like my next employer.” She made a face, as though she’d tasted foul medicine.

  Griffin drew in a deep, painful breath. “You didn’t stay with him—the fellow you said took care of you.”

  She shook her head. “He owed someone money, and he … he gave me to the man he was in debt to. The wrong kind of man.” She blinked rapidly and turned her face a little to the side, but he saw a tear escape and trickle
down her cheek. Did she regret revealing how far she’d sunk before she came to Fergus? Surely she wasn’t actually missing the fellow who’d debauched her and sold her into slavery.

  “Look, I don’t want to talk about this anymore, all right?”

  “Sorry. I respect that. But a man who’ll give over the woman he’s been protecting to settle a debt—that ain’t right.”

  “Yeah.” The horses started down a gradual slope toward a creek bottom, where they would cross a wooden bridge. Vashti took in a little rein and focused on the leaders. He was surprised when she spoke again.

  “I’ll just say that Bitsy Shepard was my angel. I met up with her at the dry goods store in Cheyenne, and she asked me what I was doing there. I told her I was working at the Pony, and she got this look on her face. Asked me how old I was. I told her twenty, because I was, by then. I told her I’d been with Ike—he’s the one who owned the Pony—for nigh on three years. Felt like a century. You know what she did?”

  Griffin shook his head. Vashti lifted a shoulder and scrubbed away the errant tear with the shoulder of her vest.

  “She got me out of there. She gave me five dollars and said, ‘I’ve got a place in Idaho Territory. I’m headed back there tomorrow. If you can get out of that filthy place in the morning without anyone seeing you, come to the depot, and I’ll take you with me.’ I told her I thought I could, but I might not be able to get out with my things, or Ike would catch me. Or one of the other girls would see me, and they’d tell him. She said not to worry about my clothes. She’d outfit me—and I wouldn’t have to … to … to entertain men.” She flushed scarlet. “Anyway, that’s all I needed to hear.”

  “Good old Bitsy.” Griffin smiled, pleased that the brusque saloon keeper had come through for the desperate girl.

  “She’s the best. I’ve been here with her four years now, and she’s kept her word. Augie, too. They’ve protected me and let me earn an honest living.”

  “The Spur & Saddle has always been a high-class place, even when it was a saloon.”

  Vashti nodded. “It’s home now. And Bitsy and me, we both found God here. I’ll always believe He put me in her path that day at the dry goods. Ever since I learned to pray, I’ve been thanking Him.” She smiled at him, though tears still glittered in her eyes.

  Griffin returned her smile. Somehow they’d crossed a line—dismantled a barrier between them. He glanced ahead, down the slope to the bridge. Trees overhung the road before the short span, and he looked into the shadow beneath the branches of the pines. They were nearly halfway from Democrat’s to Nampa. Laughter issued from the coach behind them—Bitsy’s loud guffaw. He glanced at Vashti, and she grinned with him.

  Beyond Vashti’s hat brim, Griffin caught a glimpse of movement in the trees. Automatically he swung his gun barrel toward it. Vashti’s eyes flared and she turned, snapping the reins and clucking to the team.

  The leaders were only five yards from the bridge when two men jumped from beneath the pines, one on either side of the road.

  “Ye-ha!” Vashti slapped the reins on the wheelers’ sides as the outlaws took aim. The horses lurched forward then stalled for a second as the leaders saw the men and the bridge.

  “Up!” Vashti yelled, and the lead team plunged toward the span. If they would just charge onward, maybe they could cross the bridge and leave the outlaws behind.

  Griffin fired toward the robber on his side of the road, and she knew it might be the only shot he got off. Another gun went off somewhere behind her. Wood splintered between her and Griffin. A horse screamed. On the far side of the bridge, another man stood squarely in their path.

  One of the two men she’d seen first ran toward her side of the coach. Vashti unfurled her whip, jerking the tip off to the side. Beside her, Griffin half stood, bracing his feet, as she cracked her whip at the outlaw on the ground. The masked man leaped back from the stinging lash. His gun fired, but the bullet went wide.

  The horses thundered toward the bridge. The outlaw on the far side of the span drew a bead and fired. The off lead horse veered left and crashed into his harness mate, throwing the near leader off balance only a few feet short of the bridge. The two horses went down in a tangle, pawing and whinnying shrilly, while the two wheelers plowed into them. The stage swayed. Griffin and Vashti flew forward.

  Vashti grabbed wildly as she landed on the off wheeler’s rump. Somehow she managed to keep hold of the reins and clutch the backstrap of the harness. A moment later she felt Griffin’s huge hand as he clenched a fistful of her vest and yanked her up beside him. She sprawled between the seat and the footrest.

  “You hurt?” he asked.

  She stared up at him, gasping. “I don’t think so.” She still held the reins in her hands.

  “Stay down.” He shoved her head lower. “They shot one of the horses.”

  “I know.”

  The horses plunged and clattered, trying to get their footing—all but the wounded one, who neighed piteously and thrashed about on the ground. Two more men had appeared out of the brush and leveled pistols at Griffin. Someone was keeping up fire from within the coach.

  “Throw down your weapons,” the man at the far end of the bridge yelled over the noise.

  “Griffin!”

  He looked down at her, and she reached a hand toward him. “Don’t give them the mail.”

  “We’ve got no choice, Georgie. There’s five of them at least.” Griffin laid his gun down in the driver’s boot. They’d take it, just like they had his other gun. Scowling ahead at the outlaw across the bridge, Griffin slowly raised his hands.

  “Put ‘em up!”

  Vashti realized he meant her, and she straightened enough so that she could obey. Raising her hands over her head was the hardest thing she’d ever done. A lull in the shooting brought a stillness broken only by the horses’ breathing and struggling.

  “All right, you two. Throw down the box.”

  Vashti caught her breath and stared toward the man on the bridge. He seemed to be the leader. She rose on her knees and wrapped the reins around the brake handle, staring all the while toward the outlaw. She squinted, eyeing his tall, lanky form closely. It couldn’t be—

  “Hurry up!” His boots thudded on the bridge as he walked toward them. “Get that box down here.” He stepped carefully around the fallen horse and off the bridge.

  When she heard his voice, Vashti was sure. After eight years, she was looking into the eyes of Luke Hatley, the man she’d at one time hoped to marry. The man who’d sold her to settle his two-hundred-dollar poker debt.

  CHAPTER 32

  Pain stabbed through Griffin’s knee as he tried to straighten it. When he’d catapulted forward, he’d slammed into the metal rail on the footrest. Good thing, or he’d have sprawled on top of the wheel team, the way Vashti had, but he’d smashed his knee in the process.

  A quick glance around told him that two outlaws stood on the near side of the stage—his side—and one on Vashti’s side. One of their men must have gone down, but whether it was the one he’d shot at first, he had no idea. Maybe one of the passengers had hit a robber.

  He focused on the leader, who walked deliberately toward them with his gun pointed squarely at Griffin’s chest.

  “We can’t throw the box down,” he called.

  The leader stopped and stared at him through the eyeholes in his rude sack of a mask. “Why not?”

  “The box is bolted to the frame of the stagecoach.” Griffin waited, his hands still at shoulder level, half expecting the man to shoot him point-blank. He glanced uneasily at Vashti. She still crouched between the driver’s seat and the footrest, staring at the man. “You all right?” he asked, low enough that he hoped no one else heard.

  Her lips twitched, but she didn’t answer.

  “All right, get down,” the outlaw said, gesturing with his rifle. “Nice and easy. Get over the side and stand a couple yards away from the coach. And don’t try anything.”

  “Come on, Geo
rgie.” Griffin lowered his hands slowly and gripped her shoulder. “With one horse down, we’re not going anywhere, so we may as well do this peacefully.”

  “But we can’t let them take the mail!”

  “Yes, we can,” he said between clenched teeth. “Come on. I’m not letting you get shot because of your stubbornness.” Her eyes snapped. That was good. She was mad at him now, and that anger would get her moving. “Climb down on my side. I don’t want the coach between us so I can’t see you.”

  He turned to get his footing. One of the outlaws, wearing a mask, stood just below him. He jerked his rifle, indicating that Griffin must get down. He looked back at Vashti. “Come this way. Stay close to me.”

  She nodded but kept her gaze fastened on the leader, who now stood near the wheelers.

  Griffin hopped down. Another outlaw had opened the coach door and was herding the passengers out.

  “Leave all weapons and belongings in the coach, folks,” he said, as if this were a sightseeing trip.

  Griffin looked up. Vashti was at the edge of the messenger’s seat, about to lower one foot over the side.

  “Get over there,” the outlaw near Griffin said, nodding toward where Hiram, Libby, Bitsy, and the other three passengers huddled.

  Griffin ignored him and stayed close until Vashti hopped down from the steps to the ground. “Come on, Georgie.” He placed himself between her and the outlaw and walked beside her toward the others.

  “That one’s Benny,” she hissed.

  “The one behind us?”

  She nodded. So she recognized one of the robbers from the earlier holdup, even though they wore masks this time. If they ever got the chance, she might be able to identify him in court.

  “I’m sorry, Griff,” Bitsy said when they reached the knot of passengers.

  “Nothing to be sorry for,” he said.