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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. “If’n 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.
Disoriented, she sat up. Her predicament came back to her, and fear trembled in her aching limbs. She was alone and unprotected in the untamed badlands of the Dakotas. Her very existence was at the mercy of Indians, wild animals and uncouth frontier men. What in the blazing Sam Hill had she been thinking of?
Hallie reached up for her hat and realized she’d left it at DeWitt’s. She opened her valise. Once her eyes adjusted to the night, the moon provided enough light to see the contents and the nearby area. No wild animals lurked within eyesight. She withdrew her brush, unpinned her hair and brushed it out, securing the new braid with one of the ties from her reticule.
Gingerly, she picked her way down the bank and knelt near the water, scooping several handfuls and drinking deeply. A cool breeze blew across the water and she shivered. Her warmer jacket was in her trunk — in DeWitt’s barn.
Nearer the water, mosquitoes feasted on her tender skin. Tall weeds nearby provided a place to relieve herself, though she worried more about having her backside chewed alive than someone seeing her. Quickly she finished and hurried up the bank to her spot beneath the trees, where she sat scratching her neck and wrist.
What should she do? Wait the night out here? Walk up near the buildings where it might be safer from animals? Perhaps she could find a spot in DeWitt’s barn to hide for the rest of the night. Or did that Jack fellow sleep there?
Wings flapped overhead, and Hallie stifled a startled cry. She glanced around, searching the unfamiliar darkness. Just an owl. Or a bat.
An eerie hoot came from somewhere nearby.
Or Indians? Gooseflesh broke out on her arms. She’d devoured too many dime novels not to know that Indians signaled one another with animal sounds, and that an unsuspecting white wouldn’t know the difference. They moved with stealth and silence and often took white women as slaves.
Maybe she would be safer nearer DeWitt’s place. She stood again, picked up her case and hurried up the slope to the road. Men’s voices came from the tent structure she’d seen earlier. Light glowed from inside. A revival tent?
Hallie hurried closer and listened to the voices through the canvas wall.
“Stood there pretty as you please with her skirts hiked up and her prissy white drawers bared to all nature—whoo-ee!” A gleeful cackle followed. “And when that fella reached for her, she all-fired brung that skinny knee up and busted his nose! He couldn’t absquatulate fast enough!”
Men’s chuckles followed.
Hallie burned with embarrassment and aggravation. Why, that dirty, low-down coot! Mr. Tubbs had treated her with the utmost respect and dignity, only to turn around and make jest of her nearly disastrous episode with the bandits! She ought to go in there and give him a piece of her mind.
Glass sounded against glass and a belch erupted.
“Don’t get too corned, Ferlie. You gotta head that stage out in the mornin’.”
“Never was a mornin’ I couldn’t sit atop a horse or a stage, no matter how many jugs or women I polished off the night afore.”
Laughter erupted once again.
The saloon. She backed away. She’d been around enough men in her life to know not to draw attention to herself when they were drinking.
Hallie stole away from the tent and found her way in the moonlight. The livery was dark. Imagining the huge black-haired man watching her from a crack in the wall, she switched her valise from one hand to the other and continued on. A beckoning yellow glow burned from the window of DeWitt’s home, and she followed it easily.
She had no idea what time it was, her timepiece having been stolen, and wondered if he was asleep—she paused several feet away—or back at the saloon.
The barn wasn’t lighted, but she found it easily enough. A sliding barrier now covered the wide opening he’d pulled the wagon through. A regular door stood to the side. She rested her fingers on the latch.
Did they tie their horses up in here or would she be trampled? Was Jack in here somewhere? This no longer seemed like such a good idea.
“We hang horse thieves out here.”
Hallie gasped and dropped her valise, whirling to face the man who’d spoken at her ear. Beneath the palm she flattened against her breast, her heart beat wildly. A broad-shouldered, unmistakably masculine form was silhouetted against the moon. “Mr. DeWitt!” She dropped her hand and caught her breath. “You nearly frightened me to death!”
“Better than hanging.”
“I wasn’t going to steal a horse!”
“No? What are you doing sneaking into my barn, then?”
Hallie’s confidence had taken a beating. She struggled for poise. “I—” she didn’t want to admit this “— I was just going to spend the night.”
“And abandon your cozy spot by the river?”
She gaped at him in the darkness. “You were spying on me?”
“Spying?” he asked, and his head tilted uncertainly.
“Snooping? Watching without permission?”
“I was spying,” he agreed.
“Well!” She adjusted her jacket and stood straighter. Good heavens, had he even known when she’d hung her backside in the weeds? Hallie’s posture went slack. She scratched absently at the place she’d just thought of.
“Come.” He picked up the valise and reached for her arm.
Hallie pulled away. “What are you doing?”
He wrapped his fingers around her arm and hauled her forward. “You can’t stay outside all night, and you can’t stay in the barn.”
Through her jacket his touch was just firm and unyielding enough to not hurt. “Is Jack in there?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“To my house. You’ll stay there, and then I’ll get some sleep.”
“I can’t stay with you! You’ve already said it’s highly improper.”
He stopped before his door and released his hold. “Proper doesn’t hold much water out here.”
She realized that. But she wasn’t from here. She was from the East, where propriety meant everything. She glanced back out at the unending expanse of darkness. But then, Bostonians didn’t have to deal with wild animals and Indians, did they? “Are there any bears near?”
He reached for the latch and opened the door. Welcoming light spilled across the threshold and revealed his muscled body in the buckskin clothing. “Grizzly.”
More afraid of bears than of him, Hallie hastily stepped past him into the room. “You’re right. Proper doesn’t even seem wise at this point.”
He carried her valise to the room where she’d washed earlier and returned with an enormous roll of furs.
“Go ahead,” he said, gesturing to the room. “I’ll sleep here.” He pointed to the floor by the fireplace.
Hallie glanced from the room to the furs. She hadn’t meant to put the man out of his bed.
“I’ll sleep in the barn if you want,” he said, as though he misunderstood her hesitation.
“No.” She scratched at her jaw. “I don’t want to impose on you. I could sleep here.”
“You’ll have the room to yourself. I’ve slept on the ground most of my life.”
She looked at him curiously. What kind of family and upbringing had he come from? “You have?”
He frowned and stepped closer.
Hallie felt herself shrink from his immense form.
Gently, he took her hand and inspected the bites, dropping it to tip her chin up and study her neck and jaw with a warm blue gaze. He released her, and her skin tingled where he’d touched her. He brought water from the stove. For such a large man, he moved gracefully, without a sound. She glanced down at his knee-high moccasins. “This is still warm,” he said. “Go wash. I have something for the itch.”
Hallie accepted the pan and closed the door behind her. She stared in surprise. Her trunk stood against the wall. Why had he brought it in? Grateful he had, she removed the broken lock and opened the lid, sorting through the jumbled contents. Her clothing was dusty and wrinkled, but cleaner than what she was wearing. She slipped out of her traveling suit, washed and dressed in a nightgown and modest robe.
She opened the door and peered out.
DeWitt waited near the table. “Sit.”
Approaching him made her feel small and at his mercy, a feeling she didn’t like. Hallie studied his well-carved, sun-burnished face. Tonight she was at his mercy. She sat. Her heart fluttered nervously in her chest.
