Badlands Bride Page 3

  "No." The man with the bleeding nose raised an arm, his gloved palm halting the action. Across the distance sep­arating them, their eyes met, and his penetrating black stare sharpened her already soul-piercing fear.

  He grunted a command. Hallie couldn't tear her gaze away. If he'd told one of them to shoot her, she'd never see the bullet coming. Surprisingly however, the men gathered their stolen goods and mounted the horses.

  With a final lingering perusal of Hallie, the leader leapt atop his horse and signaled. The gun trembled and her arms ached, but determinedly she kept it pointed at him. The ban­dits turned their horses and rode off, leaving a trail of dust on the horizon.

  They were all still alive. Hallie shook so badly she finally dropped her arms, and the heavy gun barrel hit her knee.

  A cackle rose on the air. "Whoo—ee!" Mr. Tubbs chor­tled, and spat a brown stream on the ground. "The fella what sent for you's got a job cut out for him!"

  She swung her attention back to Olivia. "You all right?"

  The slender woman stood and brushed her clothing off without taking her eyes from Hallie. "Th-thanks t-to you," she stammered, and promptly burst into tears.

  Hallie groped behind her for the coach and sat on the step. "I figured we'd all be next."

  "I would rather have had them kill me," Evelyn said softly.

  A moan rose from the ground. Zinnia unfurled from her faint and sat. She blinked about like an owl, rolled to her hands and knees and stood, wobbling. "What happened? Where are they?"

  "Miss Wainwright scared them away," Olivia said, a look of amazement adding to her already bizarre appear­ance. Tears streaked her dust-caked cheeks and her bright hair stood out around her head like frazzled yarn.

  "That she did!" Mr. Tubbs cackled and dusted himself off. "Whoo—ee! That she did!"

  Zinnia's ragged hiccuping breath jostled her ample breasts.

  What had she done? Hallie regarded the baggage strewn across the ground and their clothing flapping in the wind. What could possibly happen to top this?

  Her mouth curved into a relieved but jubilant grin. Boston Girl Foils Attack On Women. What a story!

  Cooper glanced up at the sun. He'd just decided to un­hitch the black and ride out to meet the stage when he spot­ted a cloud of dust on the horizon.

  Anticipation rolled head over heels in his chest. He didn't have to like her. It didn't matter what she looked like. He didn't care how old she was or if she was a widow ten times over. All that mattered was that she could read and write, and she'd promised him that in her letter.

  It would probably be easier if he didn't like her, since she was, after all, a white woman, and she would not like him. She didn't have to like him. City women were vain and shallow. Her reasons for coming out here probably bore as much desperation as his for needing her.

  The small dot appeared on the horizon, and his gaze fol­lowed it. What would prompt a city woman to come to the Dakotas? Love for a man? Not in this case. Lack of funds? Probably. No other prospects for marriage? Miserable thought.

  "They're comin'!" Stu shouted.

  Slowly, Cooper strode to where the others stood watching the approaching Concord. He could make out the driver, Ferlie Tubbs, now, and sighed with relief.

  Hooves pounded the earth, the jingle of harnesses and rings loud in the expanse of clear air. The stage drew near, distressed wood and leather creaking to a stop.

  Ferlie squinted down at Cooper.

  "Trouble?" Cooper asked.

  The toothless ribbon sawer spit a thick stream of tobacco on the dusty ground and nodded. "Sonsabitches ran us down back at Big Stone Lake."

  "Everyone all right?"

  "Alive," Ferlie said.

  "Hurt?" Cooper asked in alarm.

  "Nah. Skeered the bejesus out o' the fat one, and the orange-haired crybaby bawled the whole damned way."

  Cooper wondered whether he was marrying the fat one or the orange-haired crybaby.

  "The hellcat's just madder'n a bear with a sore ass," Ferlie continued.

  The door was flung open and, without waiting for assis­tance, a young woman in a dusty green dress with a match­ing hat askew on her head raised her skirts nearly to her knees and jumped to the ground. She wasn't fat and her hair, beneath the ridiculous hat and dust, was nearly as black as a Sioux's. The hellcat.

  Her eyes, dark from this distance, surveyed the windswept vista and weathered log building and finally regarded the four men. Cooper met her stare. She was young, strikingly beautiful, with winged brows and a full mouth—definitely not a woman without better prospects in the city.

  A sniffling sound came from inside the coach. She cast a significant glance over her shoulder and quickly stepped away saying, "One more mile in there and I'd have for­gotten I was a lady."

  The whining came from a short young woman whose drab dress resembled a sausage casing. She appeared in the door­way, another girl with wild hair the color of a stewed carrot holding her elbow. Tearstains streaked the dust on both their faces.

  Ferlie jumped down.

  "What happened?" Vernon asked, Stu and Angus at his side.

  "Six of 'em," Ferlie said. "Rode us down at Big Stone. Robbed the womenfolk. Skeered 'em good. Woulda done worse."

  Vernon clenched his fists.

  "This brave young woman took a gun away from one of those border ruffians and saved us," the redhead explained, pointing to the hellcat. Beside her the fat lady sputtered into a fresh bout of tears.

  The men cast one another skeptical looks.

  Finally Vernon took the initiative and spoke. "Which of you is Miss Blake?"

  The fat one sniffed. "I am."

  Vernon reached for her gloved hand. "Pleased to meet you. Would it be all right if I called you Zinnia?"

  A smile bloomed on her round face. She ogled Vernon as though he were rain for her parched soul. "Mr. Forbes?"

  The hellcat stepped closer to Cooper—or maybe just far­ther away from the woman with the red and swollen eyes.

  Vernon tucked his package beneath his arm and awk­wardly assisted Zinnia from the coach. "You're safe now," he said. "You need a good hot meal and a night's rest."

  "Miss Mason?" Stu asked, approaching the redhead.

  She nodded. "Olivia."

  The hellcat stepped back to the doorway of the coach and peered in. "Coming, Evelyn?"

  Cooper stepped beside her and took the blushing young woman's gloved hand while she held her skirts and managed the step to the ground. She was painfully plain-faced and shy.

  "Evelyn? Evelyn Reed?" Angus took her hand from Cooper's. He wore a nervous grin on his awestruck face. "I'm Angus Hallstrom. You musta been scared sh—" He stopped a second. "Real scared." The two stepped aside and the woman kept her head down as he spoke.

  Amused at the station manager's enamored reaction to the plain-faced Evelyn, Cooper remembered the woman beside him—the only bride left. He turned and contemplated her.

  "Someone must be notified," she said, looking up. "We were robbed."

  Up close her sparkling eyes were three distinct colors. Gray ringed the outside, blending into green with rich golden brown at the centers. Her lashes were thick and black, and her brows arched delicately, heightening her re­fined beauty. "You're safe," he said, not knowing how to reply.

  "She bloodied the big 'un's nose, grabbed his gun and shot the one jumpin' Miss Mason," Ferlie said. "You shoulda seen it, Coop. Hot damn!" He laughed again.

  Cooper stared at her. This dainty creature had done all that?

  "I may be safe," she went on, as if Ferlie hadn't inter­rupted, "but I'm poorer than Job's turkey! Those rowdies stole every bit of my money. They even took my jewelry. Someone will have to get it back!"

  "I'm sorry." Again his words were woefully inadequate.

  She positioned her full lips in an exasperated line.

  Tess Cordell. And she was already unhappy.

  "Mr. DeWitt?"

  He nodded. "Miss Cordell?"

&nbs
p; Her ivory complexion pinkened more deeply than the original flush of irritation. "Mr. DeWitt." She straightened her posture and lifted her chin. "I'm afraid Tess didn't come."

  "What do you mean, Tess didn't come?"

  "Apparently her fiancé had broken off with her sometime before she answered your ad. He returned just as she was preparing to come." She glanced over his shoulder and back. "She went to Philadelphia with him."

  He regarded her. Four women had been expected, and four women had arrived. Confusion gave way to a sensation of rejection he didn't care for. "If you're not Tess Cordell, who are you?"

  "I'm Hallie Wainwright."

  He couldn't control the brow that rose in doubt. "And?"

  "And…" Her glance skirted from his face to the driver who now made his way into the station. Angus left Evelyn Reed standing in the shade near the others, unhitched two of the six lathered horses and led them to the corral. "I'm a reporter."

  He waited, taking stock of what he might read in her expression and movements.

  "I'd been working on a story about the brides for The Daily. I wanted to follow up after the women got out here, and I'd hoped that Tess would be my contact. When she changed her mind, I didn't know what I was going to do. So, I took the ticket and the money and came in her place."

  The Oglala didn't have a word for lie. Whites were the only ones Cooper had known to practice deception, and his lack of experience evoked an unfamiliar vulnerability. What purpose would a lie serve here?

  Cooper didn't know which would be more disappointing: if she really wasn't his intended wife, or if she was and had come up with this plausible story to get out of an impulsive agreement she now regretted. In either case, he had no bride.

  "You came in her place?" he asked.

  "Well, I—" Her face grew a deeper shade of rose and she stammered. "I, uh, did use the ticket, yes. And I in­tended to pay you back for that as well as return the money that you sent Tess." Her gold-flecked eyes widened. "No! I did not come in her stead!"

  Her horror at the thought of being his substitute bride didn't lend him any confidence. He took note that the other couples were already speaking with the justice. Stu glanced toward them expectantly. Cooper turned back to her. "All right. Where is it?"

  "What?"

  "My money."

  Her mouth fell open. "They stole it! Those men who robbed us took everything of value they could carry on their horses."

  "So you can't pay me back?"

  She blinked. "No."

  "Fair try, Miss Cordell."

  Speechless for once, Hallie stared at the man. Beneath a fawn-colored hat, his blue eyes matched the endless sky overhead. He had a straight, stern nose and a shapely mouth with a tiny line at each corner. The deep dimple in his chin and the matching indentation beneath his nose lent authority to his serious expression.

  "What are you saying, DeWitt?"

  He scrutinized her face, and finally his expression changed. Drawing a breath, he said, "I understand why you don't want to stay."

  "All right, why don't I want to stay?"

  "You're a city woman. You've had a good hard look at this country…at the men…at me. And you're ready to go back to your comfortable home."

  "It's not that at all. You can't presume to read my mind. I never intended to stay here. I never intended to marry you."

  His gaze didn't flicker.

  "Nothing personal, mind you. I am not Tess Cordell. I have a position at the paper back in Boston, and I'm not inclined to marry someone I don't know—or anyone, for that matter."

  He shrugged a broad shoulder indifferently, the soft fringe around his shoulders and his sleeve swaying with his move­ment, then turned and walked away.

  His action surprised her, as did the thick, dark blond tail that hung down his back to his waist. She'd never seen a man with hair longer than her own.

  The closer he got to the crude building, the more reali­zation sank in. If she didn't intend to marry him, he didn't plan to waste time listening to her explanations. He hadn't exactly seemed the chatty, sympathetic sort.

  Hallie sized up the situation. Here she stood in the middle of nowhere. The station and this handful of people were the only sign of civilization for who knew how far. She had a trunk full of dirty wrinkled clothes, a heavy satchel full of books and writing supplies, and exactly no money. He had every reason to think what he did.

  "Wait!"

  He paused and turned. "Yes?"

  Hallie caught up with him. "I—uh, I have nowhere to stay and no way to get back."

  "Looks that way."

  "Perhaps you could loan me money for a room and a ticket home." His unyielding expression didn't give her much hope.

  "There aren't any rooms, Miss…"

  "Wainwright."

  "Wainwright. And I have better things to do with my money than give it to strangers without being sure of getting paid back."

  "My word is good," she replied indignantly.

  "That's not the case with most whites."

  Hallie gave him a curious frown.

  Once again he scrutinized her face and hair, ran his blue eyes over her clothing. "How do I know you're not really Tess Cordell?"

  Impetuously, she placed a hand on his arm. She thought he'd pull away, but her gentle touch held him even though the hard muscle beneath her fingers assured her no physical attempt on her part could stop this man if his mind was made up. He stared down at her fingers, and Hallie snatched her hand back.

  She'd never met such a callous man. Her brothers may have been unsympathetic to her career plans, but they'd al­ways been concerned with her safety and well-being. "So you're just going to leave me out here in God-knows-where, without a penny, to fend for myself?"

  "I'm sure a capable reporter like you will come up with something. You got this far, didn't you?"

  Yes, she had. Mustering her pride, Hallie stared at the dismal little station building and caught at her hat as another gale threatened to send it back to Boston without her. "Is there a storm coming?"

  He glanced at the clear sky overhead and frowned. "There's not a cloud in sight."

  "I just thought…" she mumbled. "The wind."

  His attention wavered to her clothing flattened against her body, outlining her breasts and legs. She turned aside.

  "The wind is always like this," he said.

  "Oh." Hallie had never seen so much horizon. Land stretched in every direction. She'd never seen so much sky or dust or known so many insects existed. She'd never met an unyielding man like this one. Who knew? Maybe Tess Cordell would have made it this far only to change her mind.

  She glanced at the others, still waiting near the building. "I'm sorry Tess didn't come."

  He made no reply.

  "Why don't you just take me to town? I'm sure I can make arrangements there." Perhaps she could sell some­thing she had left, or make a trade for a ticket.

  "There is no town."

  "What?"

  "Stone Creek isn't a town—yet. Besides my freight com­pany, there's a livery, a trading post and a saloon."

  She brought her attention back to his sun-burnished face. "And a post office?"

  "Mail leaves from here." He nodded toward the station.

  Hallie avoided his piercing eyes for several seconds. She ran through her dilemma in her head. No telegraph. No rooms. A fine fix. "How long until the stage goes out?"

  "This one goes north tomorrow. It'll be two weeks before another heads back east."

  "Is that mail, too?"

  He nodded.

  She stared at the tips of her dirty shoes. She could get a story in two weeks. But where would she stay? How would she eat? She was already starving. "Could you hire me? I'll help you with your business until I earn enough to get home, or until I hear from my father."

  "You won't work off two hundred dollars plus the ticket in two weeks."

  "I know that." She shook her head in frustration. "I'm not holding you responsible, even thou
gh my things were in the care of DeWitt Stage Company, am I? Why don't you give me the same courtesy?"

  Hallie didn't know what other choice she had left. Unless she begged one of the newlyweds to take her home, and besides the embarrassing imposition, she wouldn't feel safe being too far from the stage station. It was her only link to home.

  He studied her. "I don't claim to know much about city ways or what's proper and what's not, but you can't stay with me, even sleeping separately, without getting married."

  He was right. No one would probably ever know, but even with the remote possibility that they would, Hallie couldn't risk the shame that would be placed upon her fam­ily, on her society-entrenched mother. "That is a problem. I don't suppose you have two residences?" she asked.

  He shook his head and glanced away.

  She couldn't help noticing his broad-shouldered frame in the soft leather clothing. Over six feet tall, the man was solid muscle. She couldn't allow his size or his gender to intim­idate her. She was used to dealing with stubborn men.

  He returned his attention and caught her observation.

  "Marriage is out of the question. I don't want a hus­band."

  Something flickered behind his blue eyes.

  "You're insulted that I won't marry you," she guessed. She'd had enough experience with the male ego to know what she was dealing with.

  "I need help. I don't expect a woman to fall at my feet." He took in her appearance again, from her hat flapping like a lid in the wind, to her clothing, and down to her feet.

  Why should she feel inadequate beneath his stare? Hallie had never given in to the detriment of being a woman be­fore, and she wasn't about to start. "I'm sure you'll find someone to help you, Mr. DeWitt. Just like I will find a way to get my story and go home."

  She hurried back to the coach for her satchel, pulled out a tablet and pencil, and marched toward the small gathering in front of the building.

  DeWitt followed.

  "George Gaston, miss." The justice introduced himself nodded politely. "The ladies said Coop's bride changed her mind."

  "I'm afraid that's so," she said.

  "Well, let's go in, and the couples gettin' hitched should line up," he ordered.

  Hallie joined the gathering inside the station. The rough log walls looked like the inside of every other stopover she'd been in since crossing the Missouri, but at least she was out of the wind and sun for a few blissful moments. The three couples took their places and the justice quickly performed the ceremony. Hallie's pencil scratched across the paper as she tried to take note of every last detail.