The Outrider (Redbourne Series #5 - Will's Story) (12 page)

“But, from what I hear, there are not nearly
enough of them to go around.”

They both laughed, though a pang of longing
settled in Elizabeth’s belly as she fastened the last button on the front of
her dress and stepped out into the foyer.

“You’re not wrong,” Mrs. Weaver said, resting her
folded hands in front of her. “There are plenty of unmarried women in Stone
Creek, but not nearly enough men to go around.” She stepped behind the counter
and reached for a pencil. “I guess I understand why someone might be enticed to
travel west for a man.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said as she smoothed the
inevitable wrinkles from the front of her skirt. “I have a feeling this trip is
exactly what I need.” She turned to Mrs. Weaver and handed her a few coins from
her purse. “I truly appreciate your help.”

The shopkeep shook her head and closed
Elizabeth’s fingers over the money. “What on earth are you going to do with
that sopping thing?” she asked as she pointed to the dress dripping a puddle on
the middle of the floor.

Elizabeth gasped. “I am so sorry for the mess, Mrs.
Weaver.” She darted a glance around the room for something she could use to
clean up the mess. “Have you got a towel or a wash cloth?”

“Oh, leave it be. I’ll get to it in a minute. Why
don’t you go put it in the basket over there?” She pointed to a table near the
back of the shop. “Once this storm passes, I’ll hang it out on the line and it
will be as good as new.”

“I wish I could. It is my only change of clothes.
Whether I like it or not, I will have to take it with me.” She carefully folded
up the damp dress and opened her bag, ready to shove it inside, but one glance
at the leather-bound copy of her Lewis Carroll novel and she couldn’t bring
herself to chance ruining her books.

“Nonsense,” the shop owner said, pulling the
dress from her hands. She walked over to the far end of the shop and draped the
wet dress over the basket on the table near the back

Elizabeth glanced up and her reflection in the
mirror stopped her in her tracks. The rain had smothered her hair flat against
her head. She looked a sight.

One pin, then two, she removed several from the
back of her head and made quick work of unbraiding the bottom. She flipped her
head upside down in hopes of regaining some of its fullness, then separated
three sections to the side and re braided it. At this point, it seemed useless
to try to pull it back up into the coiffeur she’d had earlier in the day.

After careful inspection in the looking glass,
she tucked one loose tendril behind her ear, heaved her shoulders up, then
down, and exhaled. The braid would have to do.

“I was saving this for a special occasion, and I
think this qualifies.” Mrs. Weaver took down a simple brown skirt with a
coordinating pale pink blouse from a hook hanging on a line in the window. “I
think this will fit just perfectly.”

“Oh, it’s beautiful, Mrs. Weaver,” Elizabeth said
with awe. She reached out to touch the top with its lacy lapels and strings,
but her fingers stilled before they actually made the connection. “I’m afraid
it’s just not in my budget, but thank you,” she said sincerely.

A little bark sounded before a black and tan
coonhound puppy emerged from behind a curtain at the back. The shop owner
laughed as the animal pranced out into the store across the floor. She scooped
him up and allowed him to lick her face with a giggle.

“After my Harold passed, it got a might lonely
around here. This little rascal has been the best thing that has happened to me
in a long time.”

Elizabeth scratched the pup behind the ears. “He
is a cute one, isn’t he?”

“You don’t know what it meant to me, Eliza, to
have his companionship. When you and Grace brought him to my door, you were
truly an answer to my prayers. I want to return the favor in some small manner.
So, how about you trade me that soaking wet dress of yours and I’ll give you
this one.”

“That doesn’t seem like a fair trade for you. It’s
too much.” It wasn’t like the fancy dresses her father had always purchased for
her back home—it was better.

“On the contrary.” She placed the dress over
Elizabeth’s arm. “And let me show you a little secret,” Mrs. Weaver said,
motioning with one finger.

Elizabeth strained to look down to where she had
pointed.

The woman reached down and separated the material
of the dress to reveal a split skirt. “It’s perfect for riding and I’d imagine
you’ll be doing a lot of that in a place like Wyoming.”

“Colorado,” Elizabeth corrected with a smile.
“You…are a brilliant dress maker, Mrs. Weaver. I cannot believe your
generosity. Thank you!” She leaned down and hugged the unsuspecting woman and
squeezed her close. “Oh, thank you!”

A scratching sound caught Elizabeth’s attention.
She pulled away to find her own little red coonhound, head tilted as she peered
through the glass, pawing at the frame of the shop’s door.

“Caspar, there you are, girl!” she said as she
went to the shop’s entrance.

Mrs. Weaver took the ensemble from her and walked
behind the counter.

One look at the wet dog and Elizabeth realized
she could not let her into the shop. She glanced over at the sweet shopkeep who
came out from behind the counter with the skirt and blouse all packaged up in
brown wrapping, and a large towel.

“Go on,” she said as she handed the parcel to
Elizabeth. “And good luck to you on your journey, Mrs. Jessup. God speed.”

Guilt found its way back into her soul and her
heart sunk a little at the deception she had woven in this town. She managed a
grateful smile. “God speed, Mrs. Weaver.”

Elizabeth carefully placed the package inside her
satchel, then opened the door, knelt down next to Caspar, and set the towel on
top of the dog, rubbing vigorously. “Let’s stay out of the rain, girl, or they
are not going to let you come with us.”

“I certainly hope you are not thinking of
bringing that mutt along,” the woman who’d been with Opal said.

“I am sorry,” she said with the warmest smile she
could muster, “I do not believe I have had the pleasure of making your
acquaintance.”

“Gertrude Arnold. Charmed, I’m sure,” she said
with a rich southern accent and a hint of a curtsy.

Oh, my. How long is this trip again?

“You aren’t going to bring that…that thing, are
you?”

“Caspar,” she scrunched down, addressing the dog,
“this is Gertrude and Opal. We are going to be travelling companions for the
next little while. Can you say hello?”

Caspar barked and sat down on the wooden planks
of the boardwalk.

Gertrude groaned, her nose upturned and her face
squished like she smelled something bad.

Elizabeth sniffed discreetly. Despite her best intentions
at drying Caspar off, the distinct odor of wet dog lingered on her fur.

“It’s here!” Opal exclaimed, her hands folded
together as if to contain her obvious excitement. “It’s here. It’s here. It’s
here,” she recited under her breath.

Elizabeth stood up and looked down the road to
where the large reddish brown wagon appeared between the two tallest buildings
in town—the bank and the hotel. She was anxious to get on the road, but if this
driver was anything like the other stagecoach drivers she had encountered, he
would want to get something to eat and rest for a bit before leaving again. She
waited at the edge of the boardwalk, still protected from the rain by the
wooden overhang.

The run from Redbourne Ranch must have worn
Caspar out, because the dog lay in a heap at her feet, her eyes open and
watching everything around her, but not caring much to get up and run.

The door to the telegraph office opened and Will
stepped out alongside another man a good half-foot shorter than him with a
receding hairline and prominent nose. Elizabeth whipped back around and stared forward
at the approaching stage as if her life depended on it. The sooner she could
get away from him, the better.

“Doesn’t look like it is going to stop anytime
soon.” The sound of Will’s deep voice sent tingles up her spine. Elizabeth
cursed the havoc the man wreaked on her senses.

“Professor,” Will called loudly as he stepped
around her to greet the man she’d encountered on the street yesterday—the man
who’d recognized her.

She turned her back to the men, but could still
hear their conversation quite well at this distance.

“Will. I came to see you off. I am heading back
to Boston in the morning, but I wanted to let you know that the administration has
decided that they would like you to join us the first part of August instead of
September. Your letter of requisition should be arriving soon.”

A twinge of guilt poked at her gut, but she could
not force herself to stop from listening in on their exchange.

“Thank you, Professor. I am looking forward to
it.”

“As for the, hmhmm, other matter we discussed. I
hope you’re right about him. I would hate to have us miss out on this
opportunity. I understand why you feel you need to take this last job, but…be
careful.”

“I will. And I will see you before you know it.”

“The University of London is lucky to have you,
son. Just do me a favor. Don’t get yourself killed in the meantime.”

London? He’s going back?
Elizabeth could not
believe her ears. How could he return after everything that had happened? With
the danger he would be in?

“Yes, sir,” Will said with a laugh.

“Oh, and Will? They don’t have any objections if
you were to bring a wife. The faculty actually prefers its professors to be
married. Think on it.”

Heat flooded Elizabeth’s face again at the
thought.

Will cleared his throat. “That won’t be the case,
but thank you all the same, Professor.”

The stage finally pulled up to the telegraph
office. It appeared as though several people had been crammed inside. The door
flew open and a woman with thick, blond curls wearing a dark red dress spilled
out onto the walkway, followed by two portly gentlemen who bickered with
intensity as they also stumbled from the coach. Will jumped up onto the
boardwalk to offer his assistance to the young woman while the stagecoach
driver climbed up on top of the wagon and started tossing suitcases and other
boxes down to the muddy ground below.

Elizabeth was shocked at the man’s blatant disregard
for the passengers’ belongings. The shorter gentleman who had been in the
telegraph office with Will strode into the street and collected the bags from
the ground, then heaved them up onto the covered footpath in a few short
stacks.

“William Redbourne?” The woman in the red dress
squealed his name. “Well, I’ll be.” She pushed back the tendrils of hair that
had come loose during her fall and leaned in even closer to him. “Oooooo,” she
squealed again as she threw her arms around his neck. “I’ve missed you so
much.” She pulled away and tilted her head back as if expecting…a kiss.

Elizabeth’s heart fluttered wildly inside of her
chest and she stomped her foot on the wooden planks of the boardwalk in attempt
to stilt the motion. Surprised by her actions, she took a sideways glance over
at Will, who caught her staring, so she snapped her head around toward the last
passengers leaving the confines of the stagecoach cabin, refusing to give him
the satisfaction of knowing she’d been affected by the display.

Why, Elizabeth Archer, you are jealous!

She shook her head at the mere idea. She was
leaving. Today. Right now, if she could help it. So, there was no point in continuing
her once fanciful daydreams and wishful thinking. Who Will Redbourne courted
was certainly no concern of hers.

Three children, with an appearance of ages
ranging from six or seven to twelve or thirteen, stepped down off the stage.
Each of them had a paper pinned to their clothing, but they were too far away
for her to see what was written.

A man and a woman stepped out from beneath the
awning. The woman was shaking, her hands clutched in front of her chest as they
approached the children from the stage. They seemed nervous somehow and
Elizabeth wondered why.

Shameless sounds of a woman’s laughter filled her
ears, but she refused to glance back at Will and his ‘friend.’ The need to get
away now superseded her curiosity about the anxious couple and the children
with the tags.

“Excuse me,” she said, placing a hand on the
stagecoach drivers arm as he climbed down off the rack at the top of the wagon,
“would you mind if I just waited inside for our departure?” She motioned to the
curtain encased cabin.

The man looked at her as if she was a few pickles
short of a jar—something she’d heard Grace say.

“I’ve been on the road for hours, lady. I’m going
to get myself a nice meal at Millie’s, then grab a quick nap. We’ll start
loading up in an hour or so.”

“Before you go, I would like to discuss…” How
could she say this delicately? “…my dog.”

“I’m sure there’s plenty to discuss, but we’ll
talk about whatever you’d like in an hour. After my supper and my nap.” His
tone indicated it was not up for debate.