Summer's Fury (2 page)

With that, he quickly left her side. Summer’s heart pounded hard in her chest. He looked so intimidating! So severe. What had she gotten herself into? Several moments later she heard the clinking of trace chains and wagon wheels and turned to watch as Mister—as Beauregard brought his wagon, led by a team of bays, around the corner. She said nothing as he ground-hobbled the team, stepped onto the covered boardwalk, bent down, and with one hand lifted her heavy trunk up onto his shoulder. Her eyes widened in surprise. It had taken two men to lift her trunk into the luggage compartment. She hadn’t been able to even budge it an inch after she packed it.

In a matter of moments he had loaded the trunk into the back of his wagon. He stepped back up onto the boardwalk and approached her.

“I have two rooms booked for us at the hotel,” he said, gesturing down the street. “Is there anything you need?”

She shook her head, afraid her growing sense of panic was beginning to show. “No,” she said. “I have everything I need.” She stood and allowed him to guide her to the side of the wagon.

“Up you go,” he said.

Without a word of warning, he grasped her about the waist and lifted her upward as if she weighed no more than a feather. She arranged herself on the wagon seat and silently prayed for courage as he climbed into the wagon and sat down on the seat beside her. A moment later he glanced once down at her, eyed her a moment, and then clucked the horses into movement.

Too late to turn back now.

That evening, Summer engaged in an awkward and stilted conversation over dinner at the small restaurant located on one side of the hotel lobby. Over a simple supper of rather bland chicken, a not-quite-baked potato, and undercooked string beans, she had answered a few brief questions that Beauregard had asked regarding her train journey. He commented that his ranch in Laramie would be a two to three day journey depending on the weather and their speed. He glanced up from a rather rare cooked steak as he said that, and she could only surmise that he was implying that the journey would be quicker if she didn’t slow them down.

After supper, she had retreated to her room, followed by a restless night in a sagging bed, her thoughts unwilling to settle. She’d woken before dawn, tired and anxious about the wedding ceremony.

Before appearing before the justice of the peace at six-thirty sharp this morning, she had opened her trunk and retrieved her lightweight, two-piece, dark blue cotton dress, minus the bustle, which she had left behind in Pennsylvania. No need for a bustle out west. The skirt was close-fitting, but not constrictive. A darker blue overskirt draped around the front much like an apron, with a full and flounced pale blue underskirt, as well as her petticoats to fill out the bottom. The dress was short-waisted with a fitted bodice. She had no mirror in the room, so did her best to smooth out the wrinkles as best she could.

She had twisted her long, brunette hair into a French braid, wrapping the end in a bun at the base of her neck, and then topped off her ensemble with a prettily embellished hat decorated with two blue-black and shiny Loon feathers. She would worry about changing into more suitable traveling clothes after the ceremony, when she planned on donning a plain print one-piece dress and traditional prairie bonnet.

Her heart had skipped a beat and her hands shook when she heard the knock on her door, knowing that it was Mister Kearny coming for her. She had eaten no breakfast, although she didn’t suppose she would be able to choke anything down anyway, so it didn’t really matter. Smoothing her hands over her skirt one more time, she quickly stepped to the door and opened it. Her eyes widened with surprise as she stared at her fiancé, looking sharp in a pair of heavy woolen pants, a starched linen shirt with a custom collar, and a woolen, single-breasted vest. He held his cowboy hat in his hands, his hair freshly slicked back.

“Ready?” he asked. He looked as if he wanted to say something more, but didn’t.

Summer took a deep breath and then nodded, holding her chin high. “Ready,” she said, offering a brief smile. He didn’t return it, and once again she felt her heart trip-hammer in panic.

“The Justice of the Peace is waiting downstairs. After the ceremony, I’ll come back and fetch your trunk. Then we’ll get loaded and head out.”

His statement didn’t require a response, so she merely nodded and allowed him to escort her down the stairs. She supposed she could wear the clothes she had on for today’s journey. She could change into something more practical tomorrow. He was the perfect gentleman, but she knew that she would have to do something about this stilted silence between them. After all, in a matter of minutes they would be married! She didn’t allow herself to think about tomorrow. Dealing with today was enough!

The ceremony passed in a blur, and try as she might, Summer could barely remember what the Justice of the Peace had said. She did remember being prompted to say “I do”, but her ringing ears, wobbly knees, and that overwhelming sensation of panic that took over the minute she and Beauregard clasped hands in front of the somber looking and balding man had blocked everything else from her memory.

After the brief ceremony and they had both said their “I’ do’s”, Beauregard had bade her to wait in the lobby while he went upstairs to collect her trunk. She needed a breath of fresh air though, so she quickly left the lobby and made her way toward his wagon a short distance from the hotel lobby doors, already hitched up with his bays for their journey to Laramie. She’d scrambled up into the seat, situated herself on the spring-loaded wagon bench, and lifted her thumb to her lips, biting on her nail. It was a nervous habit she had had since childhood, and one she had sought unsuccessfully to overcome ever since.

She had a feeling that Beauregard was just as uncertain how to proceed as she, but it was up to him to lead the way, wasn’t it? It was not normally her way of tackling challenges, but she was completely out of her element here, and the uncertainty was difficult for her to manage. Her new husband was just as much of the stranger this morning as he had been yesterday upon his arrival at the train station. He was very large, foreboding almost, although she had noticed a few laugh lines at the corner of his eyes. Then again, those crow’s feet could have been the result of squinting into the sun as much from a sense of humor, of which she had yet to experience.

To the north and west, the very direction they would be traveling, she noted a heavy, dark bank of clouds building.

“Storm’s coming.”

She startled, glancing down to watch Beauregard step to the back of the wagon, her trunk once again balanced on his massive shoulders. He placed it into the back of the wagon with a loud
thunk,
then covered it with a tarp and fastened it into place with a leather strap attached to two large metal rings inside the wagon. He wasted no time climbing up onto the seat beside her and unwrapping the reins from the brake handle.

“Looks like we’re going to get wet,” he commented. With that, he whistled low, slapped the reins, and the wagon lurched forward.

They weren’t more than a few hours outside of Cheyenne when Beauregard made a comment that startled Summer. As they had jostled over the deeply rutted road heading west to Laramie, she had not even tried conversation, focusing more on holding tightly to the bench as they bounced their way along. She had already bitten her tongue and nearly bounced off the bench twice. She realized that the stiffer she sat the harder the jolts, so she had been focusing on keeping her body as loose as possible while holding on tightly to keep from toppling off the wagon. Several times she had bumped into Beauregard’s side, large, firm, and seemingly not bothered at all by the jostling of the wagon.

“Looks like more than a storm brewing,” he said idly, eyes on the westward sky.

A gust of wind prompted her to automatically reach for her bonnet. She squinted into the wind coming from the west, concerned about the deep, purple-black of the clouds sitting low on the western horizon. “What do you mean?”

He glanced down at her, then back to the clouds. “Tornado weather.”

Tornado weather? She stared up at him in surprise. They were out on the open prairie, with nothing but rolling hills surrounding them. To get caught out here in a storm was bad enough, but a tornado? A thousand questions raced through her mind. “What are we going to do?”

“I’m watching it,” he said. “If it looks like it’s going to develop into a tornado, we’ll find some shelter.”

He seemed unconcerned, which didn’t make her feel better at all. She gazed around them at the endless open space. Shelter? Where? She gathered that he had anticipated her question as he gestured around them.

“You don’t see them, but the land out here is filled with ditches and gullies, and ravines. If we have to, we’ll take shelter in one of them.”

She couldn’t believe how calm he sounded. Even the possibility of getting caught out here in a storm overwhelmed her. She had never been exposed to such elements. “Can we turn around? Go back to Cheyenne until the weather clears?”

To her overwhelming disappointment, he shook his head. “I ain’t got the money for another night at a hotel, and besides, there’s no telling which direction the storm will go. I’ll watch it for another hour or two, and if it looks like we’ll be in its path, we’ll seek shelter under the wagon.”

She stared up at him, her eyes wide. Though she tried not to show hesitance or fear, she had no doubt that he could probably sense it. To her surprise, he reached out a big, meaty hand and briefly placed it over hers — the one that clung tightly to the bench between them.

“Don’t worry, everything will be okay. I’ve lived out here my entire life and, if I do say so myself, can read the weather pretty good.”

Again she stared up at him in dismay. That had been the most words she had heard out of his mouth at one time. She supposed she should trust him. After all, he knew the area and she didn’t. Still, the thought of being trapped out here—

“The weather out here changes from one minute to the next,” he further explained. “In fact, there’s a common saying around here that if you just wait five minutes, the weather will change.” He glanced down, offering a grin. “You may not believe it, but it’s true.”

Summer was surprised by the change that brief and simple grin gave his features. He no longer looked quite so intimidating and ferocious. Perhaps some of those crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes did display a sense of humor. She smiled warmly, wanting to trust him.

“I’ve never seen a tornado,” Summer stated simply. “In fact, other than an occasional storm back home, I’ve never been exposed to the elements. I’ve always been a city dweller, so this is all new to me.”

He glanced down at her and lifted an eyebrow. “You afraid of lightning and thunder?”

She shook her head as she glanced up at him, trying not to stare at the scar plainly visible on the side of his face. “I used to be when I was little. My mother said that thunder was the sound of God’s potato wagon bouncing across the sky.”

“You lost your parents when you were young?”

“My mother, yes. My father died last winter.” She didn’t like the direction the conversation was heading. She wasn’t quite ready to expose so much of her past to this near total stranger. “What about you?”

He shrugged. “Both my parents died of cholera when I was a teenager back in Georgia. I was pretty much left on my own until the war. After the first shot at Fort Sumter, I joined up. The army was the only family I knew for years, and after the war I came out this way.”

“You’ve been a marshal ever since the war?” she asked, glad they were finally conversing.

“Nah,” he shook his head, clucking at the horses and occasionally glancing at the sky to the west. “I was a bounty hunter for a while, found out I was pretty good at it actually. Then about five years back, I passed through Laramie while chasing down a bank robber. One thing led to another, and before I knew it I was a United States Marshal.”

He offered a short laugh, though Summer couldn’t tell if it was bitter or amused. He grew silent after that, and she didn’t ask any more questions, growing increasingly worried about the gusts of wind that seem to be picking up in speed, as well as strength.

The sky grew increasingly overcast and gloomy, and the occasional breeze had now changed to a near constant, yet relatively steady wind coming from the west. The dark cloud bank rose higher and higher in the sky.

“Looks like we better seek shelter,” he suddenly muttered about an hour later.

Summer looked up at the darkening sky just as a gust of wind tried to pull her hat from her head. She placed a hand on it and glanced up at Beauregard with increasing alarm. “Are you sure we can’t go back to Cheyenne?”

“Told you, ain’t got the money for that. Besides, the storm is approaching fast and we’ll get caught in it no matter which direction we go.”

“But you said—”

A huge flash of lightning that seemed to erupt from the ground itself, followed by an immediate and ear-shattering clap of thunder, caused Summer to jump. A startled cry escaped her lips. The horses skittered to the side. She glanced up at Beauregard, busy gazing along the landscape, apparently seeking a place to turn the wagon into shelter. She didn’t see anything. They would be caught out here on the plains in either a very fierce storm or a tornado, neither of which was anything she wanted to deal with.

Another flash of lightning, followed by yet another loud crack of thunder, startled the horses into a run. In a matter of seconds, Beauregard had gotten them under control, but he glanced down at her, frowning. “Hang on! We’re gonna make a run for that gully over there. Land around here is pretty flat so we don’t have to worry about a flash flood!”

He gestured with his chin as he tightened his grasp on the reins and slapped them against the horse’s backs. They were quick to respond. The wagon jolted forward as Summer tightened her grips on the seat. Seconds later, the dark clouds opened up and they were deluged with a hard, cold, pelting rain.