The Bride's Prerogative (103 page)

He didn’t feel he’d done the best job of explaining his reasons, but she seemed satisfied. If he told the complete truth, he’d be saying wild things about the way her eyes shone when she took the reins, and how warm it made him feel inside just knowing he’d made her happy.

“I want to keep driving,” she said at last.

He nodded. “All right. We’ll work something out.”

“What about tomorrow?”

He sighed. “You drive to Nampa. I’ll put Cecil Watson on with you until Ned’s healed up. Cecil’s got sharp eyes, though I’m not sure he’s as good a shot as you or some of the other ladies.”

“I’ll put the word out that we’ll take extra riders, if it’s all the same to you.”

“So long as there are empty seats. I won’t turn away any paying customers to make room for shooters.”

“Done.” She wiped her hands on a towel. “I think we’re caught up on dishes for the moment. Thank you for helping. Oh, and I like the new look.” She nodded toward his whiskerless chin and smiled.

“Vashti …”

She arched her eyebrows and gazed up at him, but he couldn’t think of anything else he wanted to say out loud.

CHAPTER 30

A
week later, Vashti arrived at the livery early as usual, to grease her axles and check over the harness and the horses’ hooves.

“You’ve done a great job of grooming the team,” she told Justin and the Nash boys.

“Thank you,” Justin said, and the Nash brothers smiled at her. Ben was about Justin’s age, and Silas was thirteen. They both seemed eager to please Griffin and earn a little pocket money. Since school was out for the summer, Griffin had decided to let Ben and Silas keep working for him at the livery with Justin until the fall term began. In the meantime, he’d scout around for a man to take over then. Vashti had never told him about the gambling incident, and so far as she knew, Justin and Ben had stayed out of trouble.

Griffin came out of one of the stalls and glanced her way. “Vashti, how’s it going with Cecil?” He came over to stand directly behind her.

“Not bad.” This would be her third run with Watson. Their first time out, he’d made one remark that was a bit on the crude side, and Vashti had let him know at once that she wouldn’t tolerate it. It hadn’t hurt that four women of the Ladies’ Shooting Club were riding the stage that day. Since then, he hadn’t gotten out of line, but she had the impression he resented being paired with her. On nights they were in Nampa, he disappeared shortly after supper. He always showed up on time in the morning, so she didn’t ask questions.

“You’ve got a water run today.”

She nodded. A stagecoach run with no treasure in the Wells Fargo box suited her just fine. Of course, the passengers usually had valuables on them, and the coach would carry mail, which might also contain some money or bank drafts. But she always felt easier when they weren’t carrying a payroll or precious metals.

“You didn’t see anyone in those rocks last week,” Griffin said.

“Nary a soul.” Griffin had continued to shave, and she found it hard not to stare at him. He’d turned out rather handsomer than she’d imagined, and she was still getting used to the change.

She fixed her gaze on the front of his shirt. It struck her that she’d never seen him wear that one before—a black and white plaid that looked crisp and maybe even new. Why had Griffin taken up shaving and buying new clothes? Was it because of the mine executives who’d been coming through his office lately? Or maybe he expected an inspector for the postal service. He was now one of the handsomest men in Fergus, no doubt about it.

“I heard from the territorial governor.”

That startled her into meeting his gaze. “Really?”

He nodded. “Telegram. He says we’ll have a military escort in two weeks. They’re giving me eight troopers.”

“Eight? Fantastic.”

Griffin shrugged. “That’s for all my line.”

“Oh.”

“I figure the runs to Silver City and Boise are the most vulnerable, but I want to put two men on your run and two on the Catherine run.” He frowned, and his eyebrows pushed together. That made Vashti smile. He may be well groomed, but his bushy brows still formed a hedge over his dark eyes. “I wish they’d give me more.”

“It may be enough to keep the robbers away.”

When she drove up to the Wells Fargo office, four women decked out for travel waited eagerly on the boardwalk. Cecil stood guard while Griffin loaded the mail. He admitted three paying passengers to the stage, then allowed the four ladies to fill the coach. Vashti hummed as he gave his signal to start. Probably Ellie and Florence Nash, Jessie Tinen, and Isabel Fennel would all go on to Boise for the night, but that was all right. Just knowing they’d be on her coach today and again tomorrow gladdened Vashti’s heart.

When they approached the rocky section of the road she thought of as “the gauntlet,” Cecil sat tall and watched both sides of the road like an owl, swiveling his head and staring—always staring at the boulders. Vashti kept the horses moving down the slope at a quick, controlled trot.

When they were safely through it, Cecil sat back and relaxed. “They never stop you going downhill, but it doesn’t hurt to be aware.”

“The last holdup happened at a bridge,” Vashti said.

He nodded. “Anywhere you have to slow down and there’s no houses in sight.”

“Well, we should be all right at least as far as the ferry now.”

They rode in silence for a ways.

“Any of those women staying over with you at Nampa?” he asked. Vashti eyed him askance. Cecil hadn’t engaged in much conversation with her since she’d put him in his place that one time.

“I don’t think so. Why?”

He shrugged. “They’ve got a minstrel show at the school building. Thought you might want to go over and see it.”

“Maybe. If any of them stay in Nampa.” It might be fun, especially if Florence and her mother opted to stay.

“I meant with me.”

She locked her neck muscles to keep from turning and gawking at him. The man was older than Griffin—way older. And he certainly wasn’t the type she’d want to step out with.

“Oh. You mean—you and me?”

“Is that so far-fetched?”

She stared at the leaders’ twitching ears, trying to form a reply that would be clear but not rude. “Thank you, but I don’t think so.”

“You could wear them clothes, and no one would know you was my lady friend.”

The idea of being Cecil Watson’s lady friend made her head swim.

“We could get a drink after,” he said.

“No, thank you.” She should have known there was to be an “after” to this proposed outing.

“I heard your old employer stopped serving. Too bad. The Spur & Saddle was a top-notch watering hole.”

“Well, now it’s a top-notch restaurant. And I don’t drink, no matter where it’s served.”

“You’re joshing me.”

“Do I look like I’m teasing?” She gave him her best glare.

“Huh.”

It rankled her that he assumed because she used to work in a saloon that she would go out drinking with a man she barely knew—namely himself.

“Don’t you like to have a little fun now and then?” he asked, scanning the countryside.

“I’m not sure what you consider fun.”

“You know. Just—” He whipped his shotgun to his shoulder. Vashti’s heart raced and she stared in the direction he was aiming, but the ground sloped down on Cecil’s side of the road.

“What is it?”

He relaxed and lowered the gun. “A couple of pronghorns grazing on the hillside yonder. When I first saw movement, I wasn’t sure what it was. Reflex.”

“It’s a good one to have in this job.”

The horses had slowed to a jog. She unfurled her whip and cracked it in the air. “Move along, you.” She looked over at Cecil as she stowed the whip again. “I get all the excitement I can use driving this route.”

“So that’s a no?”

“That’s a no.”

The four female passengers went on to Boise, as Vashti had anticipated. She ate her supper early, with Cecil sitting across the table from her. He wolfed down his pork roast, potatoes, and gravy, ignoring the mess of fresh greens Mrs. Gayle served with them. After that, he put back two pieces of pie and half a pot of coffee.

When he was done, he shoved his chair back. “You sure you don’t want to see the show with me, George?”

“I’m sure. You go ahead, Cecil.”

He slapped his hat on and shuffled out the door.

Vashti finished her pie and carried her dirty dishes and Cecil’s to the kitchen.

“Bless you, child,” said Mrs. Gayle. “I’ll have seven sitting down in a few minutes.”

“So many?”

“Three men who came this afternoon and are staying over to take your stage in the morning, along with Mr. Gayle and the tenders. And myself, of course.”

“Allow me to set the table for you,” Vashti said.

“I won’t refuse.” As Mrs. Gayle counted out the forks for her, she kept talking. “I wrote my sister’s girl and asked her to come help me out here, but she said she expects she’ll get married before fall. I really do need some help.”

“If I hear of any likely ladies needing work, I’ll tell them.”

“Thank you. Decent girls only.” Mrs. Gayle put the silverware in her hand, and Vashti went to the dining room and laid places for seven. Was Mrs. Gayle saying that a woman with Vashti’s background wouldn’t be suitable for the job? She doubted that. The hostess was kindhearted and always treated her with respect. More likely she was only saying she didn’t want to take on an employee who would cause problems with the men about the place.

When she’d finished, Vashti went to her little chamber with the bunk beds. She wished one of the women had stayed. She wouldn’t have thought it, but she longed for female companionship. Back in Fergus, she had Bitsy and Goldie to talk to, and sometimes Mrs. Benton. She wondered what the minstrel show was like. It might be fun to see it. If she went by herself, no one would bother her—they’d think she was a young man.

At once she knew that was a bad idea. Cecil might spot her. Besides, enough people in Nampa knew her secret by now that she couldn’t count on going out alone in the evening without fear of being bothered. When the dining room quieted below and she knew the crew and guests had been fed, she went down and helped Mrs. Gayle wash the supper dishes.

“You’re such a lovely young lady,” the hostess said. “Why haven’t you married, child?”

Vashti hesitated. Surely this woman knew her background. “I don’t expect the Lord has that in mind for me,” she said at last.

“No reason why not.”

Vashti turned the topic, and when they finished, she borrowed an old magazine from Mrs. Gayle and retired to her room. Why hadn’t she married? The question came back to her as she sat staring at an advertisement for shoes. If only that option was open to her. If she had the chance, there was only one man she’d consider now—one she had come to trust—and she doubted he’d ever look at her with marriage in mind. Though he had looked at her a few times with a sober, wistful air.

She turned the page of the magazine and began to read an article on cooking, something she loathed. Anything to keep from thinking of Griffin.

The next morning, she rose and dressed, knowing she had a couple of hours until the Boise stage arrived for her to take over. She went to the kitchen and found Mrs. Gayle brewing the morning coffee.

“That shotgun rider of yours never came in last night,” Mrs. Gayle said.

Vashti stopped in her tracks. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. My husband’s gone out to look for him.”

Vashti’s throat went dry. “What’ll happen if he doesn’t find him?”

“He’ll telegraph Mr. Bane. I suppose he could send one of our tenders along as a guard.”

Vashti took an apron from a peg near the back door. “My friends who went to Boise yesterday should be back this morning. They can serve as my shotgun messengers.”

“Those women?”

“Yes. They all belong to the Ladies’ Shooting Club of Fergus.”

“I heard about that club.” Mrs. Gayle shook her head. “Well, chances are my husband will find Watson, but whether he’ll be sober or nay, who can tell?”