Love Finds You in Last Chance, California (4 page)

Justin reached over the top of the buckboard seat and patted the squirming child lying on the pile of blankets. Toby settled back into a restless sleep, one chubby hand clutching a ragged blanket. The two of them, along with his stallion Durango, had traveled by train from Truckee to Colfax, where three days ago he’d purchased a wagon and team for the rest of the trip. From the look of the surrounding country and the report he’d gotten in Colfax, he must be less than a day from the small town of Last Chance.

The sturdy team of horses was an asset. His Arabian stallion would’ve struggled to pull the load up the steep canyon trails. They’d made it through the area around Robinson Flat without incident, but the sharp, winding grade the past few hours challenged even him. Earlier he’d spent more than an hour cutting and limbing a pine tree and rigging it to the back of his wagon. The extra weight had created enough drag to slow their forward progress down the hill, and it kept the wagon from running over his team. Word at Foresthill said the shorter route through Michigan Bluff was even more treacherous and impossible for a wagon. In places, the trail cut into the side of a sheer cliff. One spook or misstep of a horse could send the beast and rider plunging to their deaths. Although still hazardous in places and a couple of days longer, the route he’d chosen was worth the extra time—he’d not take a chance with his son or his gear.

Justin heaved a sigh and flicked his reins. The drooping horses picked up their heads and leaned into the harness. Toby slept on, unaware of the excitement just behind him. Justin almost envied the boy. No worries at this young age except a full belly and a toy to play with. Still, he knew the child missed his mother. It had been hard for both of them to adjust to being together full-time. What had made Justin think he could raise Toby alone, with Molly gone?

Justin had long abandoned the ritual of prayer, but the pressure of his situation urged him to reconsider.

“Lord, I haven’t been much on speaking terms with You the past few years, but I need Your help with this boy. I can’t stand the thought of giving him up, and I can’t see raising him on my own. Any help You give would be appreciated.”

A few miles later a rough signpost boasting L
AST
C
HANCE
, P
OPULATION
101—F
OUR
M
ILES
peeked out through the dense brush alongside the dusty road. Justin had formed no concrete plan beyond meeting Ben, but a town this size might have a boardinghouse with a woman willing to help care for his son.

Justin sighed wearily. Too bad he’d left Auburn a year ago and headed to Nevada. Coming from there would’ve been only a couple days’ journey. It had been a long pull from Nevada and up into the Sierra Nevada mountains to this little mining town with the strange name.

At his stop in Foresthill, a talkative old miner had shared the story of the naming of Last Chance. Legend had it that a group of miners had searched the ridge for days and, discouraged by their lack of success, decided to return to the valley where they’d started. One miner dolefully remarked this was their last chance to find gold on the west side of the mountains. Before breaking camp, one of the hunters scouted a flock of quail a short distance away. He took aim and shot, knocking one from a tree. In its dying struggles, the bird scratched away the leaves, exposing the bare ground. The miner stooped to pick up the bird and noted a rock. Upon closer inspection, he concluded that he’d found gold. The group set up permanent camp and, remembering the earlier dejected remark, they named the place Last Chance.

The road wound along beside a meandering stream, and the shafts of sunlight glinted off the water like prisms dangling in a window. Whispering pines lined the edges of the stream, interspersed with flowering brush and mesquite. The past few days must have been dry, as dust puffed up from the horses’ hooves as they plodded along, pulling the wagon astraddle the ruts cut by carts and wagons before him. Glimpses of small meadows were visible through the branches of the trees, inviting Justin to pull over and stretch out in the nearby shade. But the gurgling stream splashing and singing over the rocks in its bed urged him on, drawing him toward the future that lay ahead.

Justin slapped the reins against the dusty back of his team. “Giddap there! Time enough to rest when we reach the town.”

Alex clucked to the mare pulling her small buggy and glanced at the sun slanting westward. It was nearing suppertime, and yet chores remained. The faint road wended its way along a flat, heavily treed area. The horse slowed her pace as she began the climb to the higher elevation of the mountain plateau where the Circle T ranch was nestled.

Towering fir trees lined each side of the narrow road, mixed with cedar and pine. The sound of tinkling water alerted Alex that the ford across Grouse Creek lay ahead. Due to late snows and spring runoff, the water level was high, but it was nothing the hardy mare couldn’t handle. They topped a rise and descended into the shallow gully, where Alex halted the buggy. She hitched up her skirt and then stepped onto the wheel and down onto the road.

Grasping the mare’s bridle, Alex led her to the shade of a spreading oak a few yards from the stream. The mare greedily ripped at the long tufts of grass, and Alex sank down onto the cool green patch nearby.

Everything had happened so fast at the bank that she hadn’t taken in the implications of her father’s actions. She needed time to absorb the information before facing Martha and Uncle Joe at the ranch house. They’d both be curious to know why she’d stayed so long, although Alex would bet that Joe knew about the bank loan.

Papa and Joe had been close friends since their early days of driving cattle to market. Joe had signed on at Papa’s struggling new horse ranch right after Papa had filed the homestead papers. Papa hadn’t met Mama yet, and Joe was a first-rate cook and horse wrangler. Over the years, the two men had grown closer than brothers.

Had Joe encouraged Papa to take the loan or argued against it? Uncle Joe loved Alex, but he loved the ranch, too, and he wanted to see it grow and prosper as much as her papa had. But if he’d known and not told her? She shook her head, guilt swamping her for allowing even a spark of distrust to enter her mind. Uncle Joe would never betray her or her father. He and Martha would like nothing better than to see her settled, married, and happy. They were the only people she knew without a doubt that she could trust.

Frowning, she tore at a clump of grass and twisted the blades, shredding them and watching them fall. There might be a man somewhere worth caring for—but if there was, she hadn’t met him. Decent men lived in these mountains, but none that set her heart pounding. Her parents had enjoyed a vibrant, special bond, but not all marriages were established on this sort of mutual love. Hers would be, if she ever married. She’d never settle for friendship and simple respect.

There were one or two men whom she could tolerate, but let him take charge of her ranch and tell her what to do? While she tended the house, cooked meals, and sewed? Not likely.

Alex pushed to her knees. She needed to get home. Now. No more foolishness.

A light rain began to fall, spattering the dust on the trail. A gust of wind kicked up last year’s leaves pooled under the tree and sent them scattering from her side. She glanced at the sky, worried at the sudden shift in the weather. At this altitude, a fast-moving storm could transform the brightness of day into gloom in the space of a few minutes. A rumble of thunder sent a tingle of fear through her. Somewhere high up in the mountains, a serious storm brewed. Time to get home before she got soaked.

The dapple-gray mare had inched away to the far edge of the grassy patch and looked to be heading for the stream. Alex hurried down the slope to the buggy as the rain turned from a soft drizzle to a steady downpour. She climbed up onto the seat and slapped the reins.

“Let’s go, Glory. Time to get home.”

Glory blew a soft, whiffling breath and moved forward, seemingly just as eager as her driver was to get home. Alex directed the mare to the water and looked upstream. It had surged to a higher level since she’d stepped out of the buggy. There was no time to lose—a flash flood could hit this gully and sweep everything in its path. She didn’t care to get caught in the oncoming water or to be stuck on the town side of the stream. No telling how long it would take to abate once it overflowed its banks.

Alex clucked to the snorting mare and urged her forward, but Glory didn’t like the look of the fast-moving water.

“Let’s go, girl. You’ve crossed hundreds of times.”

Glory backed up a couple of steps. Alex tapped the reluctant mare with the tip of her whip, and she settled down and surged ahead. Alex felt a flood of alarm when she saw that the water had reached the mare’s belly, more than a foot higher at the center of the stream than when they’d crossed earlier.

Just then a rumbling sound from around the bend caught Alex’s ears. Her breath caught in her throat and she lifted her whip, cracking it over the mare’s back.

“Let’s go! Giddap!” Glory shook her head and emitted a loud whinny but kept the buggy moving toward the opposite shore. “You can do it, girl. Come on.” Alex spoke in a calm voice to the agitated mare and glanced upstream again.

A hundred yards away, a wall of water rose, flinging small trees and debris in its wake. It bore down toward the buggy. The wheels felt mired in quicksand, so slow was their forward progress.

“Hurry, Glory! Come on, girl, hurry!” Alex stood and plied the whip, a feeling of raw terror coursing through her veins.

The mare bolted forward, her feet scrambling on the rocks of the streambed. Finding secure footing, she lunged up the slight incline on the other side. A few seconds later the buggy emerged safely on the water-soaked bank. Alex pushed the mare on, gaining higher ground before turning to look back. The wall of water swept just below, sending the roiling trees ahead of it like the blades of a windmill driven by a heavy wind.

Alex sat for a moment, not caring about the rain blowing against her face. A few seconds longer and Martha and Uncle Joe would have been planning another funeral. Her body shook as she clutched the reins and stared at the churning water. Gratitude swept over her. God was indeed good.

Again she slapped the reins on Glory’s back. This time, the mare didn’t hesitate but moved forward with a toss of her head. Minutes later the ranch came into sight, and Alex heaved a sigh of relief.

Home. A sense of peace and safety filled her heart. She loved this place and could never turn it over to anyone else. The ranch would remain hers, whatever she had to do to keep it.

Alex pulled the mare to a halt in front of the barn.

“Frank? You in there?” She stepped down from the buggy and walked to Glory’s head, patting her sweaty neck.

A burly man strode from the dark mouth of the barn and stopped a few feet away. He wiped a hand down his overalls and tipped his head. “Howdy, Miss Alex. Glad you made it back before supper. Miss Martha was startin’ to worry.”

“It took longer in town than I expected, and I hit a patch of swift water at Grouse Creek.” Frank was a new hand, and she didn’t care to give him any details about the ranch’s business. “Unhitch Glory from the buggy, would you? She brought me through some high water and she’ll need a good rubdown.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll take care of her.” He took the side rein and urged the mare into the cavernous barn.

Alex would have normally dealt with the mare herself. She hated asking her men to do things she was capable of doing; they had enough work of their own. But she had one thing on her mind: finding Martha and Uncle Joe.

She headed across the open space in front of the barn and onto the packed dirt surrounding the house. The structure wasn’t overly big, but it boasted a large wraparound porch on three sides. Martha’s green thumb was evident here, with the rows of flowers lining the ground in front of the porch and extending several feet into the smooth dirt area. A spreading oak that must have been three hundred years old cast its shade over the two-storied house, giving a welcome respite from the hot summer sun.