“I hope you and your lot clear out soon. Folks like you always think you can come into town and steal away my customers,” the proprietor grumbled. “Puts honest, hard-working folks to shame.” He shook his head. “I can’t fathom why folks believe any of that nonsense you’re trying to sell.”
Clara stood in front of him, her back sore from tensing her muscles. Even if she could argue with the man and defend Uncle Eli, she wouldn’t do it. The merchant was right. There was nothing she could say in her uncle’s defense.
“It’ll take me a minute to gather what’s on this list,” the proprietor said when he realized she wasn’t going to comment on his little tirade.
“I’ll wait,” she murmured.
“I don’t give credit to folks passing through,” he added quickly. “And I don’t take any of that foolish snake oil in trade for my goods, either.”
Clara reached into the pocket of her dress and produced some bills. “I have cash money to pay.”
The proprietor glanced at the greenbacks in her hand, then nodded. He turned away from her and reached for some tin cans on the shelves behind him, then walked around the counter to gather the rest of the things on her list.
Clara stood and waited, glancing at nothing in particular. As she turned her head, her eyes fell on the bolts of fabric on one of the large tables in the center of the store. A pretty gingham caught her eye. She took a step toward the fabric and fingered the soft material. Her hand swiped over her old dress. It had been a long time since Uncle Eli had allowed her to buy some material for a new one, but she didn’t have enough money with her for an impulse purchase.
Behind her, a couple of voices whispered and giggled. Clara instantly stiffened. She rushed back to the counter when the proprietor returned with her items that he’d placed in a wooden crate.
“Thank you,” she said, and forced a weak smile. The women still whispered.
The doorbell chimed behind her. Clara gave the proprietor his payment for the supplies, then gathered the box in her arms.
“Lieutenant Ferguson, what a pleasant surprise to see you,” one of the women crooned.
When Clara turned to leave, she collided with the solid body of a man. The box fell from her arms and the contents spilled on the ground. Flour splattered everywhere, coating the floor in white as if it had snowed. Tin cans clanked and rolled under the fabric table. Wide-eyed, she glanced up, only to come face-to-face with the man whose life she had saved.
Chapter 6
Ben’s free hand reached out to grab the girl’s arm. She looked as though she might topple over after their collision. Flour dust thickened the air around them, creating an almost magical swirl.
“Whoa, are you all right?” He smiled to ease her obvious embarrassment. No. Embarrassment seemed to be too mild a term. She looked horrified, as if she’d committed a crime. Truth be told, it was his fault she’d collided with him. He shouldn’t have walked up so close behind her.
She didn’t answer his question but continued to stare at him. It was the same scared look she’d worn earlier, when she’d been in that provocative dress, wearing a dark wig. He’d chalked it up to stage fright. Perhaps she was new to the whole performance arena.
Now, she was dressed in a plain garb that hung limply from her body and wouldn’t garner her any attention at all. The costume she’d worn earlier showed off all her feminine curves, more than was decent.
There was no question, however, that this was the same girl. Her startling blue eyes gave her away. Eyes that he’d seen a couple of days ago, staring out of the back of the peddler’s wagon along the road to Elk Lodge. They’d drawn him in earlier when he’d seen her during that peddler’s show. If she lost the scared look and smiled, she’d be stunning. Ben swallowed.
Oddly, it was eyes just like hers that had haunted him for months, since the day he’d been left for dead among a trio of elk carcasses and steaming hot springs in the Yellowstone. Ben had never dreamed of a woman before, but whatever the reason, over the course of the torturous days before Michael had found him, when he’d been nearly delirious with pain and fever and had wished for death, visions of a blue-eyed woman with fair hair had been his constant companion, keeping him alive.
He’d convinced himself she was responsible for his survival, and that she was his guardian angel. Now it was as if she’d materialized right in front of him, and what had been a figment of his imagination had come to life.
Ben had lingered around the peddler’s wagon, waiting for the crowd to die down, simply to catch another glimpse of her. He’d even bought a bottle of the concoction as an excuse to stay near the wagon. His original errand to come to the store had been all but forgotten. When he’d finally seen her emerge from the peddler wagon and head for the mercantile, he’d followed.
The loud voice of Mr. Wilkes, the owner of the mercantile, prompted Ben to tear his eyes away from the girl. He glanced up to see the red-faced, balding man glaring at the mess on his store floor. Ben suppressed a laugh at the comical look on the proprietor’s sputtering face. Glancing around at the mess, he chuckled at the scene before him.
“If you got any lard handy, Wilkes, we could bake some biscuits.”
Somewhere behind them, someone gasped loudly, then a shrill voice made him stiffen.
“Lieutenant Ferguson. What a pleasure to see you in town. But my, look at your clothes, all covered in flour. What a clumsy thing to have happen.”
Ben tossed an irritated look at the woman who approached. Frances Halverston. She smiled at him, then glared at the peddler girl and wrinkled her nose as if she was last week’s milk.
The girl tugged her arm away. Ben blinked and let go. He’d still been holding her up to support her in case she fell. Her expression turned to utter horror as her eyes darted from Mr. Wilkes to Frances.
The look in her eyes was reminiscent of a trapped deer that knew it was about to take its final breath. Ben reached out to her again, in case she fainted. Her blue eyes drew him in like a man dying of thirst was drawn to water. He smiled to offer some reassurance.
Ignoring Frances, Ben stepped in front of her to shield her from Mr. Wilkes’ scowl. “This was my fault. Darn leg of mine made me move so fast, I came up behind her too quickly.” He glanced at the girl and winked. “She couldn’t have known I was right there. I’ll pay for the clean-up, and for the replacement of the lady’s supplies.”
Mr. Wilkes turned his stare on him, and his gaze softened somewhat. Next to him, Frances snorted and mumbled, “She’s hardly a lady.”
Ben glanced at the young woman in question. The overwhelming urge to hide her away from everyone so she could regain her composure took hold in him. He leaned on his cane and reached for her arm again.
“May I escort you out of this cloud of dust and back to your wagon, Miss? I’ll come back and take care of everything later.”
The girl’s chest heaved in quick successions. She looked even more mortified. If experience taught him correctly, she needed to get somewhere quiet and private immediately. Cursing for having to walk with a cane, Ben tucked his arm behind her and ushered her out the door.
She tensed beneath his touch and glanced up at him but didn’t offer any resistance. Ben smiled. Frances made an unintelligible sound behind him. He didn’t bother looking back at the woman.
The furry mutt that had been sitting outside the mercantile when he’d entered was still there. As soon as it saw the girl, it jumped up and wagged its tail. She leaned forward to put her hand on the dog’s head.
“I want to apologize for what happened in there.” Ben stopped on the sidewalk and turned to face her. It would be best to get her back to her wagon, but if his hunch was correct, she’d simply disappear inside, and he wouldn’t have another chance to talk to her. Besides, by striking up a conversation, perhaps he could get her mind off the turmoil that no doubt raged inside her, and that might be of greater help than simply walking her to her family.
She glanced up as if his words of ap
ology were foreign to her. He held out his free hand and offered a smile.
“Ben Ferguson. I don’t normally sneak up on pretty ladies, and for that I am truly sorry.”
The girl blinked, then her forehead scrunched. She continued to breathe much quicker than she should, but whether it was his words or her stroking the dog, she looked visibly calmer.
“Is this your friend?” Ben reached out his hand to let the dog sniff it. Her continued silence was a bit unnerving, but understandable after the unfriendliness she’d encountered inside the store. Maybe she couldn’t talk at all. “I used to have a dog, but it was a long time ago.”
A faint smile passed over her lips, and her already-lovely features transformed even more. “Yes, his name is Scamp.”
Ben patted the dog’s head.
“He’s not usually this friendly with strangers.”
Ben looked at her, still smiling. “An animal always seems to know when someone is friend or foe. I’ve learned never to underestimate a dog’s intuition about people. I’m glad he thinks I’m the former.”
Her mesmerizing eyes held his gaze for a mere second before she broke contact and looked at the ground, but not before he caught the apprehension in their depths. It was probably best to get her back to her wagon. Maybe she’d feel more comfortable there, rather than out on the sidewalk where folks cast curious looks at them.
“I didn’t catch your name,” he coaxed when she didn’t offer. His hand went to the lower part of her back again to indicate she should walk beside him.
“Clara,” she said almost in a whisper. “Clara Youngblood.” She didn’t make eye contact, but her gaze went to his cane and left leg.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Youngblood, even though I apologize again that we met under such chaotic circumstances.”
“It was my fault,” she stammered. She glanced over her shoulder back to the mercantile.
Ben laughed. “It was hardly your fault, unless you have eyes in the back of your head. But I must say, I’m not at all disappointed that it gave me the chance to make your acquaintance. I’ll go back to Mr. Wilkes to get your supplies after I drop you off at your wagon.”
She shook her head. “I can get back to the wagon on my own.” There was a definite crack in her voice. Ben stopped again.
“You don’t look like the type of woman who would faint away and require smelling salts, but I think I understand what you’re going through right now. I also think it’s best to get you somewhere where you feel safe. I admire your bravery. It takes a lot of courage to keep composed during such times of inner turmoil.”
Her head snapped up to his and her eyes widened as if she couldn’t comprehend his words.
“It’s all right,” Ben added. “I’ve seen it before. In fact, I’ve actually been in your shoes, so to speak. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. The bravest men often succumb to episodes of extreme fear for no reason at all.”
He’d seen it plenty of times among some of the soldiers, especially the ones who’d fought in the Indian Wars and had seen their comrades die. It had always been more prevalent in the winter months, when they’d suffered extreme isolation along with the constant threat of freezing and possibly starving.
At the time, there hadn’t been much he could have done for the men, other than offer reassurance that nothing was wrong, and their fears were misplaced. For the most part, his well-meaning words hadn’t helped during the times a man suffered an episode.
Only after Ben had experienced such extreme fear himself - fear and terror so strong and debilitating that he wanted to run away from himself - had he been able to fully understand. It had started happening shortly after his ordeal in the geyser basin, and even for weeks afterward. Even when all danger to his wounds had passed, the thought of his imminent death had blown up into the full-fledged attacks of sheer panic, especially when he’d thought back on that horrible day when he’d encountered the poachers.
The feeling of uncontrollable terror had been almost worse than his weeks of pain and agony. As time had passed, however, the panic had lessened as he’d refocused his efforts on healing and starting a new life. He’d had the support of his troops, young Michael Osborne, and his friends to tell him all would be well soon. Strangely, thinking about the blue-eyed angel from his dreams had also helped overcome his bouts with fear of the unknown.
Ben offered a reassuring smile to the girl. What had happened to Clara Youngblood that would inflict that kind of dread in her? He led her across the street to where her family’s wagon was parked. Several people still lingered, purchasing bottles of Eli’s Elixir, while a few women glanced at some of the peddler’s other items for sale.
As soon as they approached, Clara Youngblood’s body tensed even more. One of the men with whom she traveled came around the wagon. Was she married? If not, this might possibly be her brother or some other relation. Judging by the annoyed look on his face, he certainly didn’t look like a supportive husband.
“Where’ve you been? Pa’s been looking for his supplies, so we can get going.”
Next to Clara, her dog let out several barks. The man glared at the canine. His hand even went to the holster at his hip. Ben’s eyes narrowed. Like the perceptive pet, Ben didn’t like this man at all.
“How do you do? Ben Ferguson.” Ben stepped forward. He held out his free hand to the other man. “I’m afraid the delay is my fault. I brought Miss Youngblood back to let you know I’ll be delivering her purchases shortly.”
The man’s glare went from the dog to Ben. He didn’t shake hands. His eyes dropped to the cane and Ben’s legs, then he sneered.
“Whatcha been tellin’ this man, Clara?”
She shook her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Max.”
Ben’s eyes narrowed even more. He was about to ask what Max meant, when the older man appeared. He wore a forced smile as his eyes darted from Ben to Max, then to Clara. He held out his hand.
“Eli Youngblood. A pleasure to meet you, Sir. I thank you for bringing back my niece.”
“Ben Ferguson.” Ben studied both men. So, Eli was Clara’s uncle, and Max was her cousin. A sense of relief flowed through him that she wasn’t married to that unlikable fella.
“Clara, get in the wagon. We’re getting ready to leave.” Eli Youngblood shot her a stern look, oblivious to his niece’s current state of panic. She hid it well, but all the signs were there. She glanced at Ben, then rushed off.
“Miss Youngblood,” he called, taking a step away from the two peddlers to address her. “Take slow, deep breaths. It helps.”
She didn’t respond but rushed off to climb into the wagon. Her entire body shook visibly, and she stumbled a few times as she scrambled inside the rig. Ben moved to help her, but Max stepped in his way.
“You’d best mind your own business, mister,” he snarled. “And stay away from Clara.”
Ben looked the man in the eye, then addressed the older one. “I hope you realize that your niece could use a word or two of comfort right now, to get her through her episode.”
Eli rubbed his chin. “Clara’s not right in the head, mister. My elixir helps her some, just as it helps all types of ailments. She must have forgotten to take a dose today. She’ll be just fine as soon as she gets a spoonful. But she’s got demons in her mind, same as her mother had. My dear sister, rest her soul, killed herself as the final means to find relief. Sometimes these things are just too strong once they’ve taken over a person’s brain.”
Ben scoffed. “I’ve seen the condition several times myself, and I wouldn’t call it demons, Mr. Youngblood. I doubt your elixir is of much help to your niece. Don’t you want what’s best for her?”
“I say you mind your own business.” Max stepped forward. “If you have our supplies, bring them here, and then be gone with you.”
Ben shook his head. No wonder Clara looked so downtrodden and sad. She received no moral support from her family members. Something inexplicable squeezed his
heart. This lovely young woman deserved so much better.
“Did you hear me?” Max said, leaning forward.
“I’ll bring your supplies.” Ben stared at the man for several seconds before he finally turned and limped off across the street to get the supplies that had been spilled in Wilkes’ store.
He nearly laughed out loud. Two days ago, he’d told Trace and Sam that he had no interest in women and courting, but that had been before he’d seen Miss Clara Youngblood wearing a scandalous outfit and ridiculous wig, being paraded around in it in front of strangers just so that her uncle could sell his useless bottles of cure-all. The folks who fell for that kind of quackery deserved to be relieved of their money.
Wilkes glanced up from sweeping the last of the flour off the floor when Ben entered the store. He pursed his lips and shook his head.
“I’ll be putting an extra dollar on your account, Ferguson, for the trouble of the clean-up. It’s going to take me hours to get the flour off everything.”
“Fine.” Ben glanced around. It didn’t matter how much Wilkes charged him, as long as he’d been able to shield Clara Youngblood from further humiliation.
“That was such a noble thing to do.” Frances Halverston sauntered up to him, a wide smile on her pouty lips. “Helping that poor little street urchin.” She glanced at her friend, who giggled.
“How embarrassing for her to be walking around town in those dirty old rags she had on, but at least that’s better than the disgraceful outfit she wore earlier. And that wig. Can you only imagine?” Her hand went to her mouth in a dramatic fashion. “Why, she looks like one of the harlots working at the saloon.” Her eyes widened, and she looked at her friend with a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. “Do you think that’s how they earn part of their money, Maureen?”
In His Thoughts Page 5
