Love on the Range. Jessica Nelson

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СКАЧАТЬ Gracie shifted. Just because no one had taught these two how to act in front of a lady didn’t mean she would forsake her polite upbringing.

       The temptation to pout passed. A few moments later she felt brave enough to pop her head out from beneath the heavy blanket. “My apologies, James, for stealing your reins. As I was asking earlier, are you my uncle’s neighbor, Mr. Cruz?”

       “I manage things for him. My own home is half a mile from the main house.”

       “You said nothing of your relationship at the station.” Silence greeted her comment. Frowning, she studied Mr. Cruz’s profile. He evidently didn’t wish to speak of his personal life.

       Well, people were entitled to their secrets. She’d have to take care not to pry. Ignoring the curiosity that made her tongue itch, she forced a jovial tone. “My parents have called Uncle Lou a rascal.”

       “Oh, he had his day, missy. He had his day,” James put in.

       “I’m surprised he hasn’t provided a female escort. I feel perfectly safe with you but if this happened in Boston, my reputation would suffer.”

       “This from the morning wanderer.”

       “I didn’t say my reputation was perfect, Mr. Cruz.” Gracie smiled at the thought. Her torch-carrying for Striker had set tongues wagging. Her former beau Hugh disapproved immensely.

       “Some say Striker lives out West, despite what you told me, Mr. Cruz. Others hypothesize the villain Mendez roams the Western deserts, too.” She gazed up at the star-studded sky. “Do you suppose I might meet Striker while I’m here?”

       “Doubt it,” James said.

       Gracie set her chin. Perseverance would be the key. So would the coordinates Connie planned to send.

       “You’ll like your uncle, Gracelyn. He doesn’t follow all the rules of society but he’s a good man.” Mr. Cruz turned and looked down at her, his profile outlined by moonlight.

       Heart thumping a strange, uneven rhythm, she met his shadowed gaze. For a moment their connection held before he broke it by facing forward. A relief. She could breathe again. He incited such oddness in her.

       Thank goodness she’d ended her relationship with Hugh. She’d had none of this attraction for him. In truth, their relationship was based on nothing more than the mutual machinations of their parents. They’d hardly courted before she spotted a betrothal announcement in the local newspaper. Aghast, she’d confronted her parents but they’d waved away her protests in favor of their own agenda.

       Just thinking about how Hugh and her parents tried to swindle her into an engagement heated her blood. William and Edith Riley thought Hugh the perfect social match for their sole child, and Hugh’s parents were probably eager for all the money they imagined would come into the family.

       Gracie sighed. She hadn’t benefitted by having an on-paper fiancé. Not even a real kiss. He pecked her cheek once before she’d seen the announcement. A most boring experience. She wanted a kiss like Connie had experienced. Connie said kissing was terribly exciting, but risky, and Gracie should wait until she was married to try it out.

       But she didn’t want to wait. She wanted to grab life by the steering wheel and drive until she ran out of road. Connie was most likely right, however.

       Gracie also wanted to please God. Pleasing Him was of the utmost importance.

       “Are you still alive down there?”

       “Yes, James. But just barely with all this bouncing around.”

       “You almost made five minutes again.”

       “The fact that I did not is your fault, you know,” she teased. “I’d really like to hear more about Uncle Lou.”

       “Look, missy, ya gotta meet him to know him.” James cackled. “His stories rival a good Tom Swift tale.”

       “How intriguing.” She smiled. “I enjoy Twain myself. He’s swell.”

       “Silly women,” James muttered.

       She waited for Mr. Cruz to speak, curious. But he didn’t say a word. “Mr. Cruz?”

       “Gracie, I’ve been traveling all day. You’re a nice girl, but I’m tired and I don’t feel like talking.”

       “Oh.” She swallowed. “My apologies.” She arranged the blanket to make a pillow out of it and laid her head down. A nice girl indeed.

       She was more than a girl—she was a woman. A capable, independent woman who didn’t need to rely on her parents or some unwanted fiancé for survival. And she’d prove it. Her fingers found the hidden pocket in her skirt and she squeezed, relief coursing through her when she heard the rustle of papers. She would find Striker and write an amazing article so the Woman’s Liberator would hire her as an investigative reporter. Then she’d tell Striker what she thought of him.

       A man should know when a woman fell madly in love with him.

      * * *

       Gracie coughed. A cloud of tobacco-stained breath wrenched her from sleep, had her rubbing her eyes. She pulled herself to a sitting position and sneezed.

       “We’re here, missy,” James said, straightening away from her. The wagon bounced as he jumped out and rounded to its side.

       She rose, letting him help her from the wagon to the ground. Both Mr. Cruz and James had picked her up easily. Perhaps she wasn’t as heavy as she felt.

       “What you got in that get-up, missy? Felt like I was unloading a sack of potatoes.” James guffawed.

       Gracie shot him a glare and snatched her Dotty bag from his grubby fingers. She glanced around. Mr. Cruz was nowhere to be seen. It was rather rude to not help with the trunk. Then again, he did load it.

       Annoyance passing, she looked around with interest. Her breath caught in her throat.

       Flat land stretched before her, frosted beneath the lunar glow. Dotting the landscape were trees surrounded by a sea of flowing grasses and scrubs made turquoise by the moon. Long-fingered shadows reached toward rugged mountains on the horizon. A soft breeze fluttered through her hair.

       This place felt different than Boston, more arid and vast, yet the pressure in her chest mimicked what she experienced on mornings she dared venture to the harbor. She was overcome with a desire to raise her hands to the heavens and laugh.

       “You gonna stand there all night, missy? Bed’s a-calling.”

       Gracie turned and followed James to the house, noting with a quiet thrill of relief that it appeared large and modern. She’d been secretly afraid her uncle lived in a shack with an outhouse. She didn’t know if they had outhouses in Oregon, but the West was a more primitive place than Boston. One could never know about these things.

       A chill rushed through her and she shivered. “Is it usually this cold in September?”

       “We’re heading into winter soon, maybe an early one.”

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