Wyoming Bride (18 page)

“Speaking of which, I can’t believe how good you are at backtracking my trail. Or how many times I covered the same ground,” she said with chagrin.

“It’s easy to walk in circles in the dark.”

“Really? It’s awful to think that if I’d stopped when the sun set and waited for morning I might have found help sooner.”

“Hannah,” Flint began, “I don’t think anything you did or didn’t do would have made a difference. Not the way you’ve described Hetty’s injuries. She needed a surgeon.”

Hannah stared into the distance and saw a dust cloud that seemed to be moving closer. “Flint, what is that?”

“Riders.” As he spoke, he freed his Winchester from the boot on his saddle and cradled it in his arms. Hannah’s heart shot to her throat. “Shouldn’t we run?”

“Let’s see who it is first.”

“I’d rather run,” Hannah muttered under her breath. She would have been more frightened, except Flint seemed so calm.

“I don’t think it’s renegade Indians this far southeast of Fort Laramie,” he said. “We’ll be able to see who it is in plenty of time to escape, if that becomes necessary.”

He sounded sure of himself, and he was holding his rifle ready to fire, so Hannah willed her heartbeat to slow down. She wouldn’t make a very good frontier wife if she jumped like a rabbit at every shadow.

The hardest thing she’d ever done was to hold her horse steady while they waited for the riders to reveal themselves. Even so, her mount sensed her nervousness and sidestepped often enough that Flint finally said, “Take it easy, Hannah.”

“Who could it be, if it’s not Indians?” she asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

She pointed and said, “Are they wearing Stetsons?”

“Looks like it,” Flint agreed.

The cowboy hats meant the riders were unlikely to be Indians. Hannah let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She followed Flint as he urged his horse forward to meet the oncoming riders.

“It’s a friend of mine and his sons,” he said when they were close enough to see facial features.

“Should we be meeting them like this? I mean, the way I’m dressed? And without a chaperon?”

“Holloway will take his cue from our behavior,” Flint said. “If what you’re wearing is okay with me, it’ll be okay with him. Don’t worry that he’ll say anything. Out here, no man’s going to insult a woman, not unless he wants every man within a hundred miles to come after him with a rope.”

Nevertheless, Hannah tucked in her shirt and shoved several flyaway curls behind her ears. She was wearing a flat-brimmed hat Flint had loaned her, and she tugged it down low. Then she sat up straight and waited to meet Flint’s friends.

“Howdy, Flint,” a man with a windburned, deeply lined face and gray sideburns said as he pulled his mount to a halt in front of them. The hazel-eyed man was flanked by two young boys who looked similar in age to Hannah’s brother Nick, which would make them nine or ten. One had black hair and blue eyes, the other had blue eyes, sandy hair, and freckles.

“Howdy, John,” Flint said, putting a finger to the brim of his hat in greeting. “Josh. Jeremy.”

“Hello, Mr. Creed,” the boy with the dark hair replied.

A moment later the sandy-haired boy said, “Who’s that with you, Mr. Creed?”

“Beat me to it, son,” the older man said, turning his gaze on Hannah.

Hannah was staring at Flint
Creed
with wide eyes. It seemed unreal that she’d ended up in the home of a man with the
exact same last name
as the rancher whose advertisement for a mail-order bride her sister Miranda had answered. Could Jacob Creed from Texas and Flint Creed of the Wyoming Territory possibly be related? Before she could ask, Hannah was being introduced to the older man.

“Hannah, this is John Holloway and his two sons, Josh and Jeremy. John, this is Mrs. Hannah McMurtry. She’s a widow who lost her husband on the journey west.”

“Flint saved my life,” Hannah interjected.

“Ma’am,” Holloway said, tipping his hat to her. He turned to Flint and asked, “Where are you two headed?”

“Hannah’s wagon was attacked by renegades on the trail. I rescued her, and she’s been recovering at my ranch. She had to leave a wounded twin sister behind. We’re backtracking to see if we can find the wagon and any sign of Hannah’s sister Hetty.”

Holloway rubbed at his chin thoughtfully and said, “We were at the fort yesterday, and no one said anything about finding a girl on the trail. Sorry, ma’am.”

“That doesn’t mean she wasn’t found,” Hannah said, fighting off a feeling of panic. “Maybe whoever found her was passing through and kept moving. I had another sister, Josie, who was taken by the Indians who attacked our wagon. Have you heard anything about a white woman being captured by the Sioux?”

“Sorry to hear about your troubles, ma’am,” Holloway said. He turned to the two boys and said, “You boys hear anything about a white captive at the Red Cloud Agency Camp over the past few days?”

“Soaring Eagle and Wheat Woman didn’t mention anything,” Josh said.

Jeremy added, “Some of the braves might have left the camp to go hunting, because they were so short of food and—”

“And attacked my wagon?” Hannah said. “I thought the Indians in the agency camps were supposed to be peaceful.”

As Hannah watched, Holloway exchanged a pained look with Flint. Then the older man said, “The government confines the Sioux on a bare strip of land, then appoints a corrupt agent who steals the food and supplies they’re supposed to receive. It’s no wonder they run off and steal and kill.”

Hannah was curious enough to ask, “Why would your sons be going to an Indian camp?”

Holloway glanced at Flint, who said, “She won’t say anything.”

Holloway turned to Hannah and said, “My sons are one-quarter Brulé Sioux. Soaring Eagle and Wheat Woman are their grandparents.”

“Oh.” Hannah was shocked. She looked again at the two boys, hunting for features that would proclaim them Indians. Their blue eyes—and Jeremy’s freckles—seemed to deny the fact.

“It would cause a lot of problems for John if the truth about his kids and their mother, who’s half Sioux, became known.”

“I see.” She turned to Holloway and said, “Your secret is safe with me.”

“By the way,” Holloway said, “Ashley Patton has applied for membership in the Laramie County Stock Association.”

“I don’t see how we can keep him out,” Flint said. “He’s bought up a bunch of smaller spreads. I think by now he owns more cattle and more land than anybody but you.”

“I’ve discovered a bunch of squatters on my land who look suspiciously unlike sodbusters,” Holloway said. “Wouldn’t be surprised if Patton is at the bottom of it.”

“I’m missing a hundred head of cattle,” Flint said. Holloway hissed in a breath. “That’s a chunk of beef.”

“I’m not sure yet what happened to them. Maybe they just drifted.”

“With all the barbed wire you’ve put up?” Holloway said. “That seems unlikely.”

“Yeah,” Flint agreed. “Ransom is going to take a look and see what he can find out.”

“Tell him to be careful,” Holloway warned. “Patton is an unscrupulous son of a bitch.” He turned to Hannah and said, “ ’Scuse my language, ma’am.”

“But he
is
a son of a bitch,” Flint said.

Hannah covered her mouth to stop a laugh. “He sounds like a horrible man.”

“A man worth watching, for sure,” Holloway said.

“What are you three doing this far south?” Flint asked.

“We’re headed to Cheyenne,” Holloway said. “I need an anniversary gift for Kinyan. That’s my wife,” Holloway explained.

“How many years is it?” Flint asked.

“Ten.”

“You’re a lucky man, John.”

“Don’t I know it,” Holloway said with a smile. “Will you be at the Association meeting next week?”

“Depends on what Hannah and I find when we reach her abandoned wagon. If there’s enough of a trail, we may try to follow the Indians who took her sister captive.”

That was news to Hannah, but welcome news.

“Watch yourselves,” Holloway said. “There are plenty of young bucks riding around out there looking for trouble.”

“They won’t find me easy prey,” Flint assured him. “See you later, John. Take it easy, Josh. Jeremy.”

“So long, Mr. Creed,” the boys said almost in unison.

“Nice meeting you, Mrs. McMurtry,” the freckle-faced boy said, touching the brim of his hat.

“Nice meeting both of you, too,” Hannah said.

When the Holloways had ridden beyond the point where they could hear her, Hannah asked, “Did you mean what you said?”

“What?”

“About following the Indians who took Josie? Did you mean it?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t,” Flint said. “But don’t count on finding her, Hannah. The Sioux wouldn’t have left much of a trail, and whatever little sign there was has most likely been blotted out by wind and weather. Besides, it’s entirely possible those renegades came from one of the tribes in the Dakotas, where we can’t follow without risking both our lives.”

Hannah heard what she wanted to hear. After they found the wagon, and did whatever had to be done there, they would try to track down Josie. There was a chance she could still make good on her promise to rescue her sister.

She glanced sideways at Flint and wondered again whether her sister Miranda could possibly be married to some relative of his. “Is Creed a common name in Texas?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” he replied. “Why do you ask?”

“The man my sister traveled to San Antonio to marry was named Jacob Creed. Do you know him? Could he possibly be related to you?”

Flint stared at her in surprise. “I have a brother named Jacob.”

Hannah stared at him. “Really? Does he live near San Antonio?”

“Jake has a ranch a couple of hours away. But he’s married and has a two-year-old daughter, Anna Mae. Last I heard, he had another child on the way.”

“Do you suppose something happened to Jake’s wife?” Hannah asked.

Flint frowned. “I think he would have written us about it. But maybe not.”

Hannah was worried because the advertisement in the Chicago
Daily Herald
for a mail-order bride hadn’t said a word about the Texas rancher having been married before or having a two-year-old daughter. Maybe they weren’t one and the same person. But if they were, Jacob Creed was in for a surprise of his own, because Miranda hadn’t said anything about the fact she was bringing along two little boys.

Hannah wondered if the lies Miranda and Jake had told each other had kept them from getting married. If so, where was her sister now? The only way she knew to contact Miranda was through the man Miranda had gone to Texas to marry.

What if Miranda’s Jacob turned out to be Flint and Ransom’s brother? How wonderful that would be! If so, there was a chance the three brothers would one day want to get back together, and Hannah would see Miranda and Nick and Harry again.

She couldn’t imagine why the three brothers didn’t write to each other more often. “You don’t stay in touch with your brother?” she asked.

Flint shrugged. “Jake’s life is in Texas. Our lives are here. Not much point.”

“Have you heard whether the second child was born?”

Flint shook his head. “No, and it’s strange that I haven’t. Now you’ve got me worried.”

“So your brother might be the Jacob Creed who advertised for a mail-order bride,” Hannah said.

“In Chicago?” Flint snorted. “If Jake wanted another bride he could look a lot closer to home.” He was silent for a moment, then said, “Except, he might have had a problem if Blackthorne wanted him gone. That English bastard sure made me and Ransom feel unwelcome.”

“Who’s Blackthorne?”

“Alexander Blackthorne is my stepfather, and you’ll never meet a more arrogant, overbearing, merciless son of a bitch.”

“Could we send a letter to your brother asking if he advertised for a mail-order bride? And whether my sister showed up in San Antonio? And whether he married her?”

“Sure. Why not? I’ll post it when I go to Cheyenne for the Association meeting next week.”

“Thank you, Flint.” Hannah could hardly believe how easy it was going to be to reconnect with her older sister and younger brothers.
If
they’d arrived safely in Texas. And
if
it turned out that Flint’s brother Jake was the same Jacob Creed who’d advertised in the Chicago
Daily Herald
for a mail-order bride.

Hannah was appalled at how soon they reached the abandoned wagon after leaving the Holloways. Apparently, sometime before the attack, Mr. McMurtry had taken a wrong turn and headed north on a road that led to Fort Laramie, instead of staying on the Oregon Trail to Cheyenne.

Someone had stolen the canvas cover from the wagon, and the naked wooden hoops that had supported it, called bows, looked like the rib cage of some prehistoric animal. A tumbleweed blew across the wagon tongue and caught on something that was stuck in the ground nearby. Hannah realized it was a cross.

She was off her horse an instant later, running toward the mound of earth in the shape of a body. She fell to her knees beside the grave, freeing the tumbleweed so she could see the words carved into the crude wooden cross.