The Express Rider's Lady. Stacy Henrie

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      “If you’re sure...”

      When he nodded, she took the rest of the biscuit from him. Again, she lifted her hand to rub at her neck as she ate. She had to be sweating bullets in the thick fabric of her high-collared dress, and her silly hat barely shaded her eyes.

      Myles reached for his canteen, an idea forming. “You got a handkerchief with you?”

      Delsie reached into one sleeve and removed a white piece of cloth. “Yes, why?”

      “Can I see it?”

      She studied him quizzically, then handed him the handkerchief. Leaning slightly to the side, Myles poured a little water from the canteen onto the cloth and squeezed out some of the excess.

      “Try putting this around your neck. It oughta help keep you cool.” He pressed the damp cloth into her gloved hand.

      Delsie obeyed, draping the wet handkerchief against the exposed skin at the base of her neck. An audible sigh of contentment reached his ears and her eyes fell shut. “That feels...wonderful.”

      Myles allowed himself a smile at her obvious relief, especially since she couldn’t see him. “You’re welcome.”

      She opened her eyes to look at him. “Thank you.” The words were quiet and genuine, reminding him of the woman herself. At least when she wasn’t talking a mile a minute. To her credit, though, she’d spoken very little the past few hours, only breaking the silence between them with an occasional question about the landscape or the next relay station.

      “How far have we come?” she asked, looking around them at the rolling prairie. The sunshine had held and the blue sky arched bright and cloudless overhead.

      “When we reach Seneca in a few more hours, we’ll have come eighty miles from Saint Joseph.”

      “So we’ll have forty-five more to go after that?”

      He tipped his head in agreement, impressed with her quick figuring.

      “Does that mean you aren’t going to leave me behind, then?” Her words were coated with as much teasing as they were challenge.

      Myles cut her a look before facing forward again with a grin. “We’ll see, Miss Radford. We’ll see.”

      * * *

      “That’s Guittard’s Station there.”

      Myles’s words took a moment to penetrate past the fog inside Delsie’s mind caused by the endless riding and movement and pain. She lifted her chin from where it drooped nearly to her chest. Ahead of them in the evening sun, past the woods and creek, she spied a two-story wooden structure with a front porch and plenty of windows flanking its sides. A large barn was also visible. While the place might appear rustic standing beside the ornate hotels back East or her own brick house back in Pennsylvania, Delsie couldn’t recall a more welcomed sight. Her first day on the trail was finally at an end.

      They rode to the stable, where Myles dismounted first before coming to assist her. She was too exhausted in mind and body to pay much heed to the open stares from the other Express workers who’d come to collect the horses. She’d grown accustomed to the surprised looks or words exchanged at each station along the route when the men discovered her riding beside Myles and on a Pony Express horse, no less.

      Myles lifted her to the ground, but when he released her waist, Delsie found her legs would no longer support her. Her knees crumbled beneath her riding habit, and she would have fallen onto the hard-packed dirt if Myles hadn’t gripped her arm.

      “Careful,” he murmured, his voice surprisingly gentle. “You’re likely a little stiff by now.”

      Stiff? She gave an unladylike snort. The single word didn’t even begin to explain what she felt at the moment. Somewhere back on the trail, the throbbing ache in her back and legs had finally numbed, bringing temporary relief. But as she hazarded a step, with Myles still holding on to her elbow, sharp prickles of pain lanced through her lower body. She almost preferred the numbness.

      Delsie bit her lip to keep from crying out as she hobbled next to Myles—she didn’t want the triumph of the day marred by complaint. But, oh, how she longed for her bed at home, with its laundered sheets and feather-soft mattress.

      “Myles!” An older man approached them from the direction of the house. A gray beard and a friendly smile graced his weather-beaten face. His blue-gray eyes widened when he noticed Delsie limping alongside the Express rider. “Who’s this young lady?”

      Myles stopped walking, forcing Delsie to follow suit. She didn’t think she could manage a single step on her own just yet. “Good to see you, Amos. This is Delsie Radford.” He motioned to the other man with his free hand. “Miss Radford, meet Hank Amos. Express worker, avid explorer and accomplished harmonica player.”

      Hank Amos chuckled and extended his hand. “Guilty as charged. Pleased to meet you, Miss Radford.”

      Delsie shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Amos.”

      His laughter deepened. “Not to contradict a lady, Miss Radford, but call me Amos. Everybody does.” He glanced at the sky. “Elijah off hunting?” he asked.

      Myles nodded. “He flew off before we rode in.”

      Amos considered Delsie, his gaze lingering on the spot where Myles still held her arm. “What brings you West...with Mr. Patton?”

      Myles released Delsie’s elbow at once and took a deliberate step to the side. She swayed a moment, but her feet held firm. “I promised to escort her to Guittard’s today.”

      Delsie threw him a questioning glance, but he wasn’t looking at her. He’d told her he would consider tonight whether to take her the rest of the way to California. She hoped he hadn’t already made up his mind. While she felt nigh unto death, she’d certainly kept up her end of the bargain by not slowing him down.

      “Are you catching the stage from here, Miss Radford?”

      “No. We’re actually going—”

      “To be late for dinner,” Myles interjected. “Let’s get you some real food, Miss Radford.” With that, he clutched her elbow again and led her at a trot toward the house.

      Delsie frowned up at him. Did he really care that much about her well-being? He had offered her his hardtack hours ago and helped her cool down with his wet-handkerchief trick. But something about his thoughtfulness right now struck her as false. Why hadn’t he let her tell his friend about her plans? She opened her mouth to ask him, but the words were forgotten the instant she inhaled the tantalizing smell of cooked ham and rolls floating from the house.

      Her stomach grumbled in response, resurrecting the gnawing sensation she’d felt for hours. She placed a hand over her middle to squelch it. “That smells absolutely scrumptious,” she muttered, though not softly enough.

      Amos gave another throaty chuckle. “Tastes even better.”

      “I think if shoe leather smelled that wonderful, I’d eat my fill and die perfectly happy.”

      There was a low rumbling that sounded in her СКАЧАТЬ