Lauri Robinson – A Western Christmas Homecoming: Christmas Day Wedding Bells / Snowbound in Big Springs / Christmas with the Outlaw (страница 8)
Another hour brought them to a little trickle of a stream, just enough to water the horses and refill the canteens. There was barely enough to splash over her sweaty face and neck.
“Still got a couple hours of daylight left, Alice. Are you okay with going on?”
She laughed. “You mean I could hurry up the sunset if I wanted to stop for the night? Librarians are smart, but they’re not
He turned his head to grin at her and she noticed something. One side of his face was darker than the other. He must have been riding north before he arrived in Smoke River and his sunburn had turned his skin tan.
“Rand, where were you coming from when you reached Smoke River?”
“How do you know I didn’t come in on the train?”
“I just know. Librarians are—”
“Observant,” he finished with a chuckle. “I was coming from Colorado Territory. Denver City.”
“Colorado! That’s hundreds of miles from Oregon.”
“Sure is. Why do you think I was so hungry at supper that first night?”
“Why didn’t you take the train from Denver City instead of riding all that way?”
He didn’t answer for a long while. “Because I needed the time,” he said finally.
“Time for what?”
“Time to work out a plan. And,” he added, “I didn’t want to load Sinbad on a freight car.” He bent to pat his horse’s neck.
For the next hour Alice thought about his answer. So he needed to think up a plan. And he cared about his horse. Interesting.
By the time they made camp next to a pretty, shaded river in the foothills, she had run out of questions. She watched him loosen the cinch and rub his bay down with a handful of dry grass, then do the same for her chestnut mare. Finally he dropped both saddles at her feet and strode off to the river. When he returned, his hair was dripping wet.
“I’ll put some supper together while you take a bath if you want. There’s a little pool behind that scrubby willow, and I didn’t leave any soapsuds floating in the water.”
Soapsuds! She didn’t have any soap that would make suds. She had forgotten to purchase soap at the mercantile, so she had only a sliver of Sarah’s yellow laundry soap.
“Think you’re gonna be scared tonight?” he asked.
“What an odd question. I expect I will be scared every night until...until this is over. Why do you ask?”
“Just wanted to know how close to lay our bedrolls.”
She eyed the two saddles he’d dropped at her feet. “Close,” she said. “You are the experienced one with a gun.”
As it turned out, Rand regretted sleeping close to her. All day he had been reviewing his plan for catching her sister’s killer, deciding who to interview and what premises to inspect. He was also worrying about how to keep Alice safe in an untamed mining camp.
He was continually surprised by the woman riding with him. She wasn’t frightened by the things that
But she had no idea how rough the frontier outside a small peaceful town like Smoke River could be. And she had a lot to learn about open country. He knew he could keep her safe in countryside like this, where there was clearly identifiable danger. But what about in a rough mining town?
He’d noted that Alice could be a bit headstrong, somewhat impulsive in making decisions and stubborn when it came to defending them. He figured Rooney hadn’t had a prayer in hell of dissuading her from accompanying him. But Alice knew nothing outside of her genteel, civilized life as a librarian. He was apprehensive about her getting hurt.
They spent an uneventful night rolled up in their blankets beside the campfire, and while Alice said she wasn’t frightened, Rand still worried.
The next morning his worst fear played out. After a breakfast of coffee and biscuits he had mixed up and baked on a hot rock, he packed up the saddlebags and they started into the hills. They followed a barely discernible trail that wound up through dry scrub and stands of sugar pine and alder trees, and they had just come around a bend when they ran smack into a surprise.
A seedy-looking character in frayed Levi’s and a rumpled shirt was perched on a flat rock with a rifle trained on them.
Rand drew rein.
The man’s bloodshot eyes studied his horse for a long minute. “Where ya goin’, mister? And missus,” he added.
Rand prayed to God Alice would keep her mouth shut. Casually he crossed his hands over the saddle horn and bent toward the man. “Goin’ to Boise City, friend. I own the saloon next to the hotel.”
Behind him he heard Alice give a little squeak.
“Ya do, huh? How come I never seen you there?”
“Guess that’s because I’ve been traveling for the last month.”
“Oh, yeah? Where to?”
“Eastern Idaho. Little town called Broken Toe.”
“Broken Toe, huh? Never heard of it.”
“I’m not surprised,” Rand said easily. “Hardly more’n a wide spot in the trail.”
The man eased his bulk off the rock and clumped down close enough to poke his rifle barrel into Sinbad’s neck. “Whatcha doin’ in Broken Toe?”
“Gettin’ married,” Rand said quickly.
Alice gave another squeak.
“Yeah?” The bloodshot eyes lifted to Alice. “She yer wife, is she?”
“Yep. Name’s Oliver,” Rand volunteered. “George Winston Oliver. My wife’s called Bess.”
“Well, now, Bess. Whaddya got to say fer herself?”
“I say that I am eager to see the new house George has purchased in Boise City,” Alice said smoothly.
The man gave her a lingering look. “Say, you’re a right pretty gal!”
Rand held his breath.
Alice cleared her throat. “I was voted the belle of Broken Toe when I was a girl,” she said.
“Were ya, now?” The man took two unsteady steps forward. “Ya still don’t look more’n a girl, honey.”
Rand spotted a saddled horse almost hidden among the trees. Unobtrusively he moved his hand toward his holstered Colt.
“George,” Alice called. She moved her horse forward and reined to a stop on Rand’s right, shielding his gun hand from view. “You said your father is expecting us, and he never likes anyone to be late. And you told me how impatient he is, being the sheriff.”
“Huh?” Scruffy sent her a sharp look. “What’s in them saddlebags, Miz Oliver?”
“Pots,” Alice said instantly. “And my mama’s best iron skillet. She gave it to us for a wedding present.”
“Got any money?” He took a step closer and Rand thumbed off the safety on his revolver.
Alice’s laughter rang out. “Money! You can’t be serious. Ever since we left Broken Toe, George has been complaining about how much our wedding cost him. And now...” She reached over and playfully slapped his arm. “We have nothing left to set up housekeeping with except my mama’s iron frying pan and some old pots.”
“Got any liquor?”
Alice drew herself up so stiff Rand thought she might pop the buttons off her red plaid shirt. “Sir! I am a good Christian, raised in St. Joseph’s United Methodist Church in Broken Toe. I will have you know I never, ever touch spirits! And,” she added with a sidelong look at Rand, “now that we’re married, George doesn’t touch spirits, either.”
Rand unclenched his jaw and choked back a snort of laughter. Alice was as inventive as she was pretty.
The man groaned and began to back away. “Oh, hell, I’m wastin’ my time on you two.” He staggered off into the trees for his horse, and clumsily pulled his bulk into the saddle.
“Is—is he gone?” Alice whispered. He noticed the hand holding her reins was shaking.
“Yeah. Pretty quick thinking,
She gave a nervous laugh. “Really? I was petrified!”
He chuckled. “You been reading books on acting in your library?”