Wed To The Montana Cowboy. Carol Arens

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ capped with snow, that brought her to her knees.

      Literally.

      Getting off the boat a few moments ago, she had been so engrossed by their grandeur that she had tripped over a small piece of baggage that someone had carelessly left near the gangplank. She had hit her knees and stayed that way, staring at what she had been told were the Beartooth Mountains. If at that moment she had been swallowed by a bear or shredded by a cougar, Aunt Eunice would be proven right, but Rebecca would die satisfied.

      Although, she realized, still on her knees and gazing at the town, the real danger might come from that direction rather than God’s stunning mountain range.

      Was she mistaken that even at this hour of the day the scent of alcohol wafted on the air...and tobacco? Surely her nose was oversensitive, she didn’t really smell sweat and stale cologne?

      Even if her nose was conjuring smells, her ears heard things quite accurately. The jarring sound of an out-of-tune piano drifted out of a saloon nearby, along with a woman’s laugher, a man’s cussing...and a gunshot.

      By George, she had not imagined the gunshot or the one that answered it.

      “Miss Lane?”

      Rebecca looked up from where she knelt in the dirt to see Tom, a young, fresh-faced deckhand, looking down at her. He had her trunk slung across his shoulders.

      She stood up, dusted off her skirt and tweaked her hat.

      “Where would you like for me to deliver your trunk?” he asked.

      Sunshine illuminated a smattering of freckles across his nose. He stared with a frown at Screech, who sat on the perch in his travel cage. The bird eyed Tom with a pivot of his yellow-and-blue head.

      “Yummy,” Screech said. “Here.”

      The bird had not made many friends on the trip, very likely due to his tendency to nip...and screech, which he did with regularity at sunrise.

      The safekeeping of her trunk was a problem. She could not have it delivered anyplace in town since she had no intention of getting closer to it than the dock.

      “Where are Mrs. Henson and her daughters staying?” Perhaps she could accompany them until she figured things out. She had met the women briefly on the boat when they had come to the lower deck to check on their goods.

      Tom blushed. “Those weren’t her daughters, Miss Lane. They were more like...well...I reckon you’d call them recruits. They’ve probably taken up business at the Sullied Gully by now.”

      Oh, dear... They had looked like normal women. Aunt Eunice would be stricken if she discovered that the niece she had taken such pains to raise to be a lady had spoken with prostitutes. No doubt her aunt would compare them to Rebecca’s mother.

      Tom was beginning to show the strain of holding her trunk.

      “Just leave it here beside the dock.”

      “But where do you aim to go?” It made her uncomfortable to see his eyes widen in alarm.

      “My grandfather’s ranch near Big Timber.”

      “That’s near eighty miles, you’ll need someone to get you there.”

      “I’ve been told that men who are out of work often act as guides.”

      “You sit tight here. Coulson’s not the place for a lady like you. I’ll pass the word around.”

      “Thank you, Tom.” She handed him a quarter. “I appreciate your help.”

      “Don’t wander off, now,” he said with a doff of his cap. “I’ll send someone down shortly.”

      She watched him saunter away. The afternoon sunshine gave him a long, fluid shadow. Tom entered the first saloon he came to.

      “I hope he sends someone out soon,” she said to Screech. His pupils flashed, a certain sign of his intelligence. “Because I’m not leaving our goods unattended.”

      To be honest, she didn’t have the kind of goods that a thief might be interested in. Still, they were hers and she needed them. And there was the one item of great value, the one she didn’t even dare display so close to town.

      Her grandmother’s violin, wrapped carefully in her spare petticoats and centered in the trunk, was more than polished wood. It was a link to the grandmother she had never known.

      No matter how long it took, she would sit on top of the trunk like a bird on her nest, keeping her precious cargo safe.

      She only hoped that Tom really was arranging an escort to Moreland Ranch. A young man in a bar with alcohol, and ladies after his quarter... Well, his attention might have wandered from her plight.

      “Yummy,” Screech said. “Ummm, yummy.”

      “Yes, me, too,” she answered, then settled her derriere onto the lid of the trunk.

      * * *

      Having finished his business at the bank, Lantree walked the isolated path that wound through the trees behind the main street of town.

      The boardwalk in front of the establishments would have been a quicker way to get back to his wagon, but this way was more peaceful, more private.

      Unfortunately, this path tended to be a dumping ground for drunks who had been tossed from the saloons. He spotted one now, face down in a mud puddle.

      With the inebriated as plentiful as fleas on a hound, no one much cared if one of them never came out of his stupor. Boot Hill was home to a fair share of unfortunate alcoholics.

      Lantree crouched down beside the man. His skin was an unhealthy color. He touched the man’s throat, feeling for a pulse.

      It was there, sluggish under his fingertips. Turning the fellow over, he sighed. The drunk was more a boy than a man. If he kept up this behavior he wouldn’t live long enough to grow a full beard.

      “Let’s get you out of here,” he said. Slinging the limp body over his shoulder, he stood up.

      The closest thing to a doctor that Coulson could boast was the bartender at the Gilded Cage Saloon. “Doc” Brody had assisted an army doctor for three years so he did what he was able.

      Brody would have enough skill to see the kid back to sobriety.

      Lantree walked past the River Queen on his way to the Gilded Cage. Only one passenger remained in sight.

      This one straggler made him pivot at the hip, stop and stare. She sat upon a trunk beside the dock, apparently conversing with a large green bird in a dome-shaped cage.

      Decent women in Coulson were rare. Perhaps she was a lady of the night, but if that were the case, she would just be starting her career.

      Her skin looked fresh...lovely even. Her expression was bright and untroubled.

      Evidently, the bird must have done something funny because the woman laughed out loud. She didn’t try to hide her amusement СКАЧАТЬ