Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (16 page)

“I’m not a permanent resident of Trinity. I’ve told you that.”

“You will be for a while. Until then you can manage the office. There’s more—”

“I’m not surprised,” Katy said drily and eyed him with heavy suspicion.

Rowe continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I bank in Virginia City. Eventually I hope to have a bank here, but, in the meanwhile, I need a bookkeeper here in Trinity to pay the men and keep records.”

“No.”

A perplexed look crossed Rowe’s face. “I thought you could cipher.”

“I can cipher as good as any man or woman in the Territory.”

“What’s eight times nine?”

“I’ll not spar with you or be tested for the job.”

“You’re the only one here qualified for the job of running a stage office. If you don’t do it, I’ll have to give up on having the stage come to Trinity until I can find someone else.”

“Mr. Glossberg could do it.” Her voice was prickly.

“I asked him,” Rowe turned his eyes away, lest she see the lie in them. “He wants to run his store and perhaps get some women to sew clothes for him. He’s a very good business man.”

“How about the dandy running the hotel?”

“Longstreet? I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw a mule by the tail. I don’t look for him to last long out here. He’ll smart off to the wrong man and get a bullet in the head. Besides that, I’ve got no use for a man who is unkind to his family.”

“There’s Mrs. Hillard.”

“She’s been so sheltered that if anyone said ‘boo’ to her, she’d swoon. It’ll take a woman with guts to handle this job.”

Katy’s mind had already grasped what it would mean to her if the stage came to town on a regular basis. She and Mary would be free to pay their fare and leave whenever they wanted to. Mary would realize, once she got over the shock of Roy’s death, that there was no future here for her and Theresa.

It came into Katy’s mind with the force of a thunderbolt that she couldn’t afford
not
to go to Virginia City with Rowe and Anton.

Rowe watched the expressions flit across her face as she mulled over the situation. First came a puzzled scowl that gradually faded. After a long moment of silence, her eyes brightened, and she caught her upper lip firmly between her teeth as she tried to hide a smile of satisfaction.

She was the most exciting woman he’d ever known. He was still mystified by his attraction to her and his driving need to have her for his own. He was like a moth and she a flame. She was like a cool, clear stream and he a man dying of thirst. Since the day at the lake he had been peculiarly reluctant to rush things, and somehow, he had managed to stay away from her. His mouth went completely dry when he thought of her bending over him, kissing him. She had been indescribably lovely as she was now.

Katy had made up her mind what she was going to do, but her problem was how to tell him without letting him think he had talked her into it.

“Do they have a telegraph in Virginia City?”

“Of course. Virginia City is the Territorial Capital.”

“How often does the mail go out?”

“Twice a day. The Overland Mail carries it to Bozeman, another stage takes it south to Salt Lake.”

“Humm . . .” She looked off into the distance.

“Make up your mind,” Rowe said irritably.

“I’ll go with you. When are you leaving?”

“At dawn.”

“I’ll be ready.”

Rowe walked back down the muddy street with thoughts that were unsettling. It irked him that she was going with him merely to send a wire or a letter. The message was evidently too personal to give to him to send. Pangs of jealousy gnawed at him. He pushed them aside and began to plan. He had a week to bind her to him for a lifetime.

Dressed in a tight-waisted, dark gray riding skirt and a striped shirt, Katy paced the porch of the funerary as night wore away toward dawn. Mary had prepared a food packet and had filled a canteen with fresh water while Katy ate breakfast.

“Are you sure that is all you’ll need?” Mary asked, pointing to the small canvas valise that Katy had packed to tie behind her saddle.

“An extra shirt, dress, underwear, toilet articles and a nightdress. What else do I need? Thanks for packing the food.”

“I’m sure Rowe will have packed provisions.”

“I’d rather have my own.” Katy settled the flat-crowned, brimmed hat on her head and tied the strings beneath her chin. She pulled soft leather gloves from her belt and slid them onto not quite steady hands, evidence of the nervousness she was trying to hide from her sister.

“Make the most of the trip, Katy, and enjoy yourself. You’ve had to work so hard—”

“I don’t like going off and leaving you and Theresa here alone.”

“Heavens! We’re not
alone.
Theresa and I will spend some time with Laura Hillard and Julia. Did I tell you that Laura and I are thinking of making some shirts for Mr. Glossberg to sell in his store?”

“You told me. If anything happens and you need any help, go to Mrs. Chandler. She strikes me as a woman who can handle most any situation.”

“Don’t worry, nothing will happen. Hank will be here if it does.”

“Ah, yes. Hank. He shows up here pretty often. Is he courting you?”

“Katherine Louise Burns! What a thing to say!”

The conversation was cut short when Rowe, riding his big black Arabian horse and leading a slender blazed-face mare, came suddenly out of the mist-shrouded morning.

“I take it you ride astride,” he said when he reached the funerary and dismounted.

“I learned to ride astride when it was considered vulgar to do so,” Katy replied and handed him the valise when he reached for it. He tied it behind a small high-backed saddle, amazingly like the one she had used back home in Alabama.

“I got the saddle from Mr. Glossberg,” he said as if reading her thoughts. “He said he had taken it in trade.”

“I hope he’ll take it back when I’m through with it,” Katy said. She kissed Mary good-bye and whispered to her that she was teasing about Hank courting her. Then she hung her food packet and canteen over the saddlehorn. “Give Theresa a kiss for me when she wakes up.”

“I will. Take care and come back safely,” Mary said with a note of worry in her voice.

Katy swung into the saddle before Rowe could come around to assist her. While he adjusted the stirrups, she asked, “What’s the mare’s name?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to name her. The man that you . . . the man at the well was leading her when he rode into town with those other two brainless fools. I suspect she belonged to the man they killed out on the trail. There’s no brand on her so I guess she’s yours.” Rowe turned to Mary. “Don’t worry about Katy, Mary. I’ll take care of her.”

“I know you will. Take care of yourself, too.” Mary looked eastward to where the sun was lighting the horizon. “It’s going to be a hot, humid day.”

“It’ll be cooler in the mountains. We’ll be back in about a week. Meanwhile, Hank is in charge. Go to him if you need anything or if anyone bothers you.”

The big brown dog stood patiently beside the porch, his eyes on Rowe. Rowe squatted down and fondled the dog’s ears.

“This trip would be too hard on you, old man. A few years ago you could have made it easily, but not now. You’ll have to stay here with Mary and Theresa. Get up there on the porch and stay there until I come back.” Rowe got to his feet and the dog obediently climbed up onto the porch, settling himself beside the door. “Don’t feed Modo, Mary. He finds his own food. I told the cook not to feed him or he’d get lazy. Now I suspect he leaves food for him to find.”

“Theresa and I will be glad for Modo’s company. Bye, Rowe. Bye, Katy. You two be careful and have a good time.”

Mary’s words echoed in Katy’s mind as she reined the roan around and followed the big black horse up the muddy street.
Have a good time, my foot!
She’d have to be on her guard every minute or this international, smooth-talking Casanova would have her eating out of his hand.

Anton Hooker was waiting at the end of town. After a brief greeting, he fell in line behind Katy. For the next half hour, while the sun was struggling to shine through the gray mist, they left the rain-soaked valley and rode toward the mountains.

Taught by her brothers, Katy had learned to ride at an early age. They had ridden away, each on a thoroughbred horse, at the start of the war, sure that it would be over in a month or two. It had been up to Katy to care for the horses left in the stable that was known as one of the finest in Alabama. The big stallion, Rufus, had been the first to go; confiscated by a Confederate captain whose mount had been killed out from under him. The other stallions and the mares had been taken one by one until only a young filly, Katy’s favorite, was left. One night she was stolen by deserters. It was only the beginning of Katy’s grief. Next came the news that her brothers had died at Gettysburg. Then the plantation was ransacked by Union soldiers while the family hid in the cellar. A month later her father died.

The mare Katy was riding was young but well trained like the filly she used to ride. She was sure-footed and alert. Her ears peaked and twitched when she heard the crackling noise of a deer scrambling through the underbrush. The mare was also dainty, and after considering several names, Katy decided that Juliet would be a fitting name. Of all the Shakespeare plays she had read, her favorite was the tragedy,
Romeo and Juliet.

Katy had just begun to relax and enjoy herself when the trail dipped into a ravine and sloshed through a pool of stagnant water. A swarm of mosquitoes rose up to attack them. Katy swatted at the big hungry insects with her gloved hand as they settled on her arms and face.

“Let’s get out of here,” Rowe shouted. He put his heels to the big black and the horse took off up the slope on the run.

Katy gigged the mare. Juliet scrambled up out of the ravine and ran easily along the upward trail. Rowe stopped on a high flat plateau where a breeze was blowing. He quickly dismounted and ran his gloved hands over the shoulders, flanks, and beneath the belly of his mount to wipe away the mosquitoes who were stuck there by their blood-sucking beaks. He came back to do the same for Katy’s mare.

“Are you all right?” he asked as he wiped the face of the mare.

“I’m fine,” she said evenly, although she was itching in a dozen different places. She rubbed along her jawline with a square of cloth she pulled from her pocket and then wiped the nape of her neck beneath the thick braid of hair that hung down her back.

“Did they chew on you?” he asked as he ran his hands over her back and shoulders.

“Some.”

“I’ll get the water and you can wet your handkerchief.”

“I have some right here.” She patted the canteen that hung from her saddlehorn.

Anton stood by his horse. He took off his glasses and wiped his face with a bandanna. “Jesus! The bastards would eat a man alive.”

“Do you want to rest a while, Katy?” Rowe asked.

“Not unless you do.”

“All right, but sing out if you want to stop. You’re not used to long hours in the saddle and might stiffen up.”

“I’ll not slow you down, Mr. Rowe. Lead on.”

His slow smile altered the stern cast of his face. For a moment he stood gravely studying her, then finally nodded.

“All right.” He went to his horse and swung up into the saddle. “Let’s go,” he said aloud, but to himself he muttered, “The stubborn, ornery little cuss would die before she’d admit she was tired.”

Ten

Katy gave the mare her head as they climbed into the higher hills in leisurely stages. She was awed by the beauty of the mountains. From the towering peaks, a silent, brooding quality emanated, flowing down over the treetops, sloping meadows, and fast-running streams with an almost tangible force. She was acutely conscious of the overpowering solitude of her surroundings.

The silence absorbed her completely.

Juliet followed the stallion as Rowe led them through the timbered terrain, across canyons, and down long slopes that fell into hidden meadows and draws. They rode along upthrust ridges, criss-crossing fast-moving mountain streams, and into a forest of long-sighing pines.

When they emerged from the pines, they rode along a narrow shelf, and Katy looked out over a widely sprawling landscape. She gazed with open-mouthed admiration and wished that she were an artist so that she could paint every detail, and could view this lovely scene again and again. In this broken, high country the air was cooler, sharper, sweeter, as she drew it into her nostrils and down into her lungs.

She was smiling but was unaware of it.

As they passed beneath a tall topless pine, the victim of a mountain storm, an outburst of furious scolding came from a bluejay, followed by a concerted chorus of profanity from a dozen others. Several minutes later, a doe with a fawn close to her flank ran out of the forest and on down the trail ahead of them, disappearing into the shelter of a thicket. When all was quiet again, the song of a mountain thrush came from far away. After that there was only the
tunk, tunk
of hoofs on the deep-cushioned humus.

The sun shone bright in the overhead greenness when they came through a thick grove. Rowe stopped. The mare moved up beside him. A steady, muted roar assailed Katy’s ears before she caught the gleam of sunlight on water falling over sheer rock down into a wide pool. Rowe laughed aloud at the look of pure pleasure reflected on her face.

“It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed.

“Yes,” he agreed still looking at her. “I thought you’d like it. We’ll noon here.” He dismounted and came to help her dismount.

“I can do it.” She swung her leg over the rump of the mare. When her foot hit the ground, the leg folded. She held to the pommel for long moments until the feeling came back to her limbs. Sensing her chagrin, Rowe turned away to speak to Anton, then lifted the saddle from his horse, tossed it to the ground and spread the sweat-soaked saddle-blanket in the sun.

Katy legs stiffened, but were still unsteady from the long ride. She loosened the cinch and was lifting the saddle when Rowe took it from her hands.