Badlands Bride Page 4

  "You're the witnesses," the justice said, indicating Hallie and DeWitt. She signed three papers and handed the quill to DeWitt. He accepted it, carefully avoiding contact with her fingers, and turned his broad back to her.

  Hallie stared at it only briefly before turning to George Gaston. "Would you be so kind as to give me a ride into town?"

  He gave her a puzzled glance. "There ain't no town."

  "To the trading post, then," she clarified.

  "I only have the one horse, miss. Don't seem it would be proper." He glanced behind her. "Coop's the one with the rig."

  Her body ached from the ride, and she was so tired she could have curled up right here and gone to sleep. She sighed in frustration.

  "I'll give you a ride," DeWitt offered from beside her.

  She slanted a glance up in surprise.

  "Come."

  "I need to post a letter to my father first." She scribbled on a piece of paper. "Do you have an envelope?" she asked the station manager.

  "Nope."

  Hallie looked at her letter in consternation.

  "Just fold it and write the name and address on the back," he told her.

  She followed his direction and handed the letter over.

  "That's three bits, miss," Mr. Hallstrom informed her.

  Distressed, she glanced over her shoulder.

  DeWitt drew the change from a leather pouch and laid it on the wooden counter.

  "I'll pay you back," she promised.

  Hallie congratulated the women, promising to see them soon, and followed DeWitt outdoors.

  "I'll pull the team over," he suggested. "You show me which bag is yours."

  Though newly married, Angus jumped to the boot and performed his job, unbuckling the trunks and cases. DeWitt raised a brow at the sight of her trunk, but lifted it to the back of the wagon effortlessly, situating her valise beside it. She accepted his assistance and climbed up onto the seat.

  Back aching, eyelids drooping, she rode beside him, des­perately wanting to be able to eat and fall asleep. The man next to her made her feel even more helpless than her broth­ers did. If he believed her to be Tess, then he thought her a liar. If he took her word for who she was, he thought her a fool. Both assumptions got under her skin. "I'm a good reporter," she said at last.

  From beneath the brim of his hat he cast her a sideways glance. She read neither skepticism nor belief.

  "There have been plenty of women writers, you know," she said. "Mary Wollstonecraft wrote before the turn of the century. And there was Fanny Wright."

  His expression didn't change.

  "Anne Royall, too, but then she's not a very good ex­ample, with all that Washington gossip. And of course there's Lydia Maria Child's antislavery book. So you see it's not all that unheard of."

  Hallie reached into her satchel and pulled out her clip­pings about the brides. "Here's one of my articles."

  She unfolded a column and held it up for him to look at.

  His attention flicked over the scrap of newspaper dismis­sively.

  The wind caught it and tugged it from her fingers. Her only copy disappeared into the vast countryside. Quickly, Hallie tucked the others safely back into her bag. "Those articles prove who I am, don't they?"

  "Anyone could have cut them from a paper."

  "You should have asked one of the other women who came. They could have backed up my story." She frowned thoughtfully. "I could have shown you my silver bracelet with my initials engraved on it, but by now some thief has probably given it to his…Do thieves have wives?"

  He only glanced at her in silence.

  "Well, he's melted it down for bullets, then," she said.

  He turned his face away and watched the horses' rumps and the rutted dirt road.

  Finally a few buildings came into sight, and the animals picked up their pace, heading for a long log structure with grass blowing atop the slanted roof. Hallie had never seen anything so strange.

  "Is that your house?" she asked.

  "The freight building. You can't see the house yet."

  "You've planted grass on top!"

  He cast her a curious look. "It's a sod roof."

  An enormous barn sat beside it. Sectioned corrals holding horses and mules bordered the east side and the back.

  He led the team through an opening wide enough to ac­commodate the horses and wagon, and stopped. Inside were rows of wagons, a wall of tools and the permeating smell of dung and hay. DeWitt unhitched his horses and whacked each on the rump. Placidly, they made their way through a doorway, where a short man wearing suspenders over his shirt met them.

  "Hey, Coop! That the bride?"

  Cooper hung tack on the wall. "No, Jack. She didn't come. This is Miss Wainwright. A reporter from Boston."

  "Oh? Looks like this 'un would do." He tottered off behind the horses.

  Hallie lowered her eyes and stretched her legs. Cooper had called her by her name and identified her as a reporter. Did he believe her now? Her stomach growled, loud in the open room. "Why didn't you introduce me properly?"

  His brows lowered. "Don't expect parlor manners out here, lady." He beckoned with an arm that sent fringe sway­ing.

  Hallie followed. He led her across an open space near the big log building to a smaller one a short distance away. The logs were freshly stripped of bark. Behind it, two window-less sod houses stood, smoke curling from the chimney of one.

  He opened a new door and ushered her inside, hanging his hat on a mounted set of antlers. The scents of wood and wax met her nostrils. The room they stood in had a glass window at each end. One side was for cooking, with a stove and table and chairs, the other a sitting area, which included a wide fireplace and a stone hearth. Overhead, a loft could be reached by a sturdy ladder made of saplings.

  The stripped logs couldn't be seen from the inside. The walls had been plastered and whitewashed. Everywhere was evidence of recent construction and meticulous care. With new eyes Hallie took stock of the simple room and regarded the man who poked sticks into the stove and started a fire.

  He'd built a home for Tess Cordell.

  Did he feel cheated that she hadn't come? Resentful? An ache like that he must know sapped even more of her en­ergy. Sight unseen, he'd provided the best his stark country had to offer. His preparations revealed there was more to the man than met the eye. He wanted a wife to share this home with. Hallie couldn't identify the lonely and disturbing feeling the thought wove into her empty stomach.

  He'd only needed help, he'd said. He hadn't expected a woman to fall at his feet.

  But he'd done all this in anticipation.

  Somehow, perhaps unfairly, Hallie thought it was only right that Tess hadn't come. She hadn't cared if Cooper DeWitt was old or young, hadn't thought of anything but herself and the fact that he obviously had a little money. She wouldn't have been happy here.

  Would she?

  He clanged a heavy black skillet on the stove and cut chunks of ham into it, his movements deft and sure. He looked different without the hat, less intimidating, more…approachable. His blond hair hung down the center of his back in a thick tail. He had a narrow waist and muscular buttocks and thighs.

  Perhaps Tess had made a big mistake.

  He glanced up and caught her looking.

  Hallie met his eyes and willed herself not to think him handsome.

  He dropped a heavy lid on the skillet. "I'll get you some water and you can wash before we eat. There's a privy out back."

  "A what?"

  He stood motionless, staring at the table. "A place to relieve yourself."

  Embarrassment buzzed up Hallie's neck to her ears. "Oh—uh, a necessary," she said.

  He brought water from outdoors and heated it on the stove. Carrying the metal pan through the doorway, he showed her into one of the two separate rooms. After plac­ing the pan on a low stand, he left her alone.

  Hallie surveyed the room. It held a wide rope bed covered with a rough blanket, a c
hest of drawers and an armoire, all new. There was no covering at the window, but wood pegs had been placed in an even row along the wall. All were empty. Waiting for a woman's clothing.

  She loosened her hair, ran her fingers through it and re-pinned it as best she could, leaving her hat on the end of the mattress.

  The water was a blessing. Even though it was warm, she scooped a palmful and drank it before she removed her jacket and unbuttoned her blouse, washing her face, neck, arms and hands. The rough toweling he'd provided exhila­rated her skin, and, once finished, she felt refreshed, al­though she would've given anything for a bath.

  Hallie replaced her clothing and carried the pan out, toss­ing the water on the ground.

  "Next time water the vegetables with it," he said. Her nose nearly bumped his chest.

  Next time? He took the pan and pointed to the table. Hallie sat obediently. Beside the plate lay a smooth white spoon and two-pronged fork. "These are lovely. What are they made of?"

  "Bone."

  She stared at the object in her fingers. "What kind of bone?"

  "Buffalo."

  "Oh."

  He sat across from her and ate. She followed his example. The ham was a trifle salty, but the bread and eggs were filling. Hallie cleaned her plate, and didn't object when he gave her more from the skillet on the stove.

  "I didn't see a chicken coop," she commented.

  "Turkeys."

  "Turkeys?"

  "Wild turkeys. They lay eggs in the brush. I have some chickens coming this afternoon."

  She swallowed her last bite. "Well, thank you for your hospitality. I'd best be on my way."

  She stood.

  He picked up the plates.

  A thought occurred to her. "About my trunk…"

  He looked up.

  "May I leave it with you until I know where I'll be stay­ing?"

  He nodded and moved away from the table.

  "Very well, then. Thank you again."

  He turned back. "You know where to find me."

  She nodded, picked up her valise and let herself out his door. Immediately the wind snatched at her skirts and blew dust in her face. Hallie drew her gloves from her reticule and pulled them on. The bag's weight brought an ache to her shoulder, but she made her way through the foot-deep dried ruts that formed a street of sorts, praying for success in finding somewhere to stay. Even an adventuress needed a rest now and then.

  Chapter Three

  The nearest building was a healthy walk, and exhaustion set in to Hallie's body and mind. She crossed the distance, thinking of her letter to her father sitting at the station for another two weeks until a stage came through to take it east. She could probably walk faster.

  Well, not unless she got a night's rest. And if she found her way. And if she could carry food and water to last weeks. And if she didn't run into those godawful robbers or others like them.

  A shudder ran through her frame. She really was vulner­able. She'd never experienced the reality of it before. All of her father's and brothers' monotonous warnings came to mind. They'd known. But she'd led such a pampered, pro­tected life, she hadn't thought any harm could actually befall her.

  What an eye-opening day this had been.

  The trading post was like nothing Hallie had ever seen. The building itself had been constructed of blocks of sod, and the cracks were chinked with mud. The thatched ceiling was suspended by a rough frame, weeds and cobwebs dan­gling over furs and tools and foodstuffs, everything covered with thick layers of dust. Besides dirt, the overpowering stench of tobacco and gunpowder and unwashed bodies hung in the cramped space.

  Three men glanced up from their seats around a black stove in the center of the room. "Look, Reavis, it's one o' them brides. A purdy one, too!"

  An unshaven man got up with stiff-jointed unease and took his post behind a laden counter. Obviously baffled with her presence, he scratched his head with bony fingers. Hallie stepped closer, so her words wouldn't be heard by the oth­ers. "Are you the proprietor?" she asked.

  He chewed something that made a lump in his cheek and his whiskered upper lip puckered. His gray beard held a brown stain at the corner of his lip. He scratched his angled shoulder. "I'm Reavis. This here's my place."

  Hallie glanced at the two men by the stove. They ap­peared eager to listen to the conversation without a qualm about rudeness. She leaned a little closer to Reavis and spoke softly. "Mr. Reavis, I seem to have run into unfor­tunate circumstances. Until funds are delivered to me or I'm able to secure wages on my own, I'm in need of lodging."

  He worked over whatever was inside his cheek. "Huh?"

  Hallie glanced from Reavis to the listening men and back again. "I need work and a place to stay."

  "Why didn't ya say so? Somebody oughta told ya they ain't no place to stay and they ain't no work for women­folk."

  "No one has a room?"

  "Everbody got a room," he said, and scratched between the buttons of his faded shirt. "Jest not one without a body in it already."

  Hallie glanced around, thinking quickly. "Where does the justice stay when he's here?"

  He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Throws down a roll in my back room."

  "Could I do that?" she asked, hoping the justice wasn't staying long.

  "Sure can." He exchanged a knowing look with the oth­ers and one of them snickered. "Ifn ya don't mind my snorin'."

  Warmth crept up Hallie's collar and heated her cheeks. "Oh." She mustered her dignity and peered around hope­fully. "Why don't I clean the shop for you?"

  He sized up the room defensively. "What fer? It'd jest get dirty agin."

  Hallie's back ached and she'd never been so tired. She confronted the men eavesdropping. "And you, gentlemen? Would either of you have a job for me? I need to earn money to get home to Boston."

  "Ain't no whores at the saloon," one of the others re­plied. His unpleasant smile revealed a missing front tooth. "You be fixin' to take that spot?"

  She didn't care for the leering way he ran his eyes over her body. Refusing to show her mortification, Hallie turned away without giving his crude suggestion a reply.

  They snickered again.

  "Coffee there," Reavis said. "Or somethin' stronger if you hanker. You could sit a spell."

  "Thank you," she replied, anxious to get away. "But I've just eaten." She ignored the men in the chairs and made a beeline out the door.

  Just as well, she thought. From the appearance of the sales area and the vigor with which the man had scratched, she could only imagine what the back room and beds must be like. Hallie shuddered again.

  Between the trading post and the next building, the wind covered her with as much dirt as she'd washed away at DeWitt's. Curiously she studied a large square tent with a sagging canvas roof as she passed. It appeared to have been there for some time, because weeds grew up around the bottom and a dirt path had been worn beneath the flap-covered opening.

  In the open doorway of the next wooden structure the bare-chested liveryman stood, watching her approach. Em­barrassed, Hallie kept her eyes carefully focused on his soot-besmeared face. He stared at her as if she was an apparition the wind had blown in.

  "How do you do?" she said.

  A heavy-looking hammer fit like a child's toy in his mas­sive hand. He bobbed his head in a nervous ac­knowledgment.

  "I need a job and a place to stay," she said simply.

  "Ain't no jobs, ma'am," he said. "Unless you build your own place, there ain't no work. Same for a house."

  "I hadn't thought of building my own house," she said. "I'll keep that in mind." With little hope left, she asked, "Are you married?"

  His eyes widened and the whites stood out in stark con­trast to his dirty face. His attention dropped to the contours of her green traveling suit and the bag in her hand. "You askin'?"

  Uneasily, she realized her mistake. "No. I—I'd hoped perhaps there'd be a woman…. Sorry to have bothered you."

  She kept her
shoulders straight and her head up, and hur­ried away. With his eyes boring into her back, Hallie was torn between turning around to look and running full steam.

  Farther along the road and to the right, the land sloped downward and several trees grew along the bank of a river. Hesitantly she glanced back. The liveryman was still watch­ing her from in front of his building. Hallie turned away quickly. The shade appealed to her, so she walked down the slope, dropped her valise and sat beneath one of the trees.

  "Hellfire!" she said aloud. What had she gotten herself into? She could just hear Charles and Turner now, berating her for being ten kinds of a fool. Providing she made it back home so that they could yell at her. If wild animals or hostile Indians killed her out here, they'd lament forever about what a foolish, headstrong girl she'd been.

  She'd sent a telegram from Buffalo, telling them her plan, and another from a place on the shores of Lake Michigan. It was purely conceivable that the letter she'd written today would never reach them. She could die out here and they'd never know if she'd arrived or what had happened to her.

  Hallie snorted in self-derision. It would be the first time she'd made headlines. Foolhardy Daughter Of Newspaper Owner Perishes In Wilderness! Evan would probably write the damned piece.

  The wind tore through the branches overhead, but down here near the bank, the air was calmer. Hallie laid her head on her leather valise and watched the leaves whip against the bright blue sky. When ticking off the pathetically few businesses, DeWitt had listed the freight company, the trad­ing post, the livery and the saloon.

  She hadn't seen the saloon, thank goodness. After that crude man's comment, she knew there were no respectable jobs or places to sleep alone.

  She turned on her side and closed her eyes. This dilemma was too much to deal with right now. Perhaps she'd have a clearer head after a few minutes' rest.

  Hallie opened her eyes to pitch-blackness. Her back hurt intolerably. Behind her, the gentle sound of lapping water blended with the exultant chirr of crickets and other, more unfamiliar night sounds. Occasionally, a loud croaking sound echoed across the river's surface. Something stung her chin and she slapped it.