A Promise to Believe in (17 page)

“I wish it had never happened, Beth. I also wish you wouldn’t judge me so severely. I might not be doing everything you think is right, but I care about you. I’d be a good husband to you.”

Her head snapped up to meet his gaze. “Husband?”

He smiled. “Well, that is what courtship is all about. I wouldn’t consider it with a woman if I wasn’t also thinkin’ towards marriage. I’d like to make you my wife, Beth.”

She drew a deep breath. “I can’t . . . even think . . . about marriage to you.” She got to her feet, knowing that his nearness was distracting her thoughts.

“Because I drink beer and, in your book, I’m not a Christian.”

“You are helping to support Rafe and his business. Those poor women are suffering as prostitutes because you are helping Rafe to prosper.”

“I’ve never visited any of those women. I wouldn’t do that,” he said, jumping to his feet. “And for you to suggest I would—”

“I didn’t say that you did. It’s just that by going there to drink, you are helping Rafe make a profit so that he can buy more girls.”

“And you don’t help him at all?”

Beth looked at him in disbelief. “Of course I don’t help Rafe!”

“Who was here first? Rafe or the Gallatin stage stop?”

“We were. Why?”

“Rafe built his saloon because of the stage stop. He saw the prospects and knew that with a main road and freighters and stages going through and stopping here for meals and for the night, there would be plenty of business for him, as well.”

“It’s not my fault that the men leave Gallatin House and go there for . . . entertainment,” Beth protested.

“But if you weren’t here—if Gallatin House weren’t here—then the stage wouldn’t stop. If you didn’t hold the contract agreement, there would be no passengers—no customers. Think about that before you go trying to pluck the speck out of my eye, Miss Gallatin.”

He vaulted over the rail of the porch and stalked off across the yard to the road. Beth watched him go but did nothing to stop him. He was wrong—wrong to suggest that Gallatin House was the cause of anything associated or related to Rafe’s business. But in the back of her mind, a nagging doubt needled at her conscience. Maybe she
was
the one who was wrong. Maybe if there were no Gallatin House, there would be no Rafe’s Saloon.

“It’s hard to get used to the sun being up for so long,” Hank told Gwen.

They rode side by side, while Lacy was well up ahead, scouting out a safe place to make camp for the night.

“When we first came here, it was hard for me, as well. Winters are even worse, however, with there being so little light. The days are often bright enough, but for a much shorter time. The darkness is much harder to deal with.”

“So where did you live before coming here?”

Gwen laughed. “It’s probably easier to say where we
didn’t
live. We moved around a lot. Pa was always trying his hand at one thing or another and never was much good at anything until we got the roadhouse.”

“And what about your mother?” Hank had wanted to ask her about this since talking with the Lassiters.

“She died in childbirth when I was nine.” Gwen stared straight ahead. “We lived in Texas then, and my father worked as a cowhand. We lived a fair distance from town, and when my mother went into labor, we girls were alone with her.

“She didn’t think anything of it, of course. She’d given birth three times before, and she was pretty sure that, with my help, she could deliver safely again.”

“But she didn’t?”

Gwen shook her head and looked at Hank. “No. The baby was too big. She was in bad pain for a long time, and then she began to hemorrhage. Beth did all she could to help me, but we knew we needed Pa and a doctor. Lacy was just five, but she was the only one I could send. She could already outride Beth and me, so I helped her saddle a horse and sent her to find our father.”

“Sounds like a terrible responsibility for little girls to manage.”

Gwen squared her shoulders. He thought she looked as if she was trying to put distance between herself and the memory. “It was the life chosen for us. We had to be strong and do what was required of us.”

“Did Lacy find your father in time to go for a doctor?” Hank asked softly, surprised by the compassion he felt for this woman. Here she was, the one keeping him from Boston and all that he knew, and yet he felt sorry for her. Something about the way she looked made him want to hold and comfort her. Those were feelings that hadn’t stirred in him for some time.

Gwen didn’t answer right away and by the time she did, Hank could see that Lacy was stopped up ahead. They would soon be reunited, and then he knew such confessions would end.

“She didn’t find him at all. When Lacy came back, our mother was already dead. Beth was hysterical.”

He studied her profile for a moment, imagining her as a child. “But not you.”

She shook her head. “No. I realized there was nothing to be gained in crying about the situation. It certainly wouldn’t bring her back.”

“What did your father do when he came home?”

“He was devastated. He blamed himself. Lacy blamed herself, as well. She was never the same after that. None of us could convince her that it wasn’t her fault, that Mama would have died even if Pa had made it back. We even had the doctor talk to her, but she wouldn’t believe it. After we buried Mama, Pa moved us to Nebraska, where his widowed sister lived.”

“How long did you stay there?”

“A year.”

“Why only a year? Where did you go after that?”

“My aunt died, so we moved to Illinois, where my father’s parents lived. They died the next year, and we moved again.” She waved at her sister and seemed to shrug off the darkness of her tale at the same instant. “Looks like Lacy has found us a place to camp.”

Hank wanted to ask more questions but knew it would have to wait. There was a resolve in Gwen’s tone that suggested she was done with the memories and storytelling. He watched her kick her horse and hurry ahead to speak with Lacy. His black tried to pick up speed as well, but Hank held him back. He needed a moment to gather his thoughts. He needed time to extinguish the feelings that Gwen had flamed to life.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“You girls certainly know your way around a camp,” Hank said, finishing the last of his coffee. “You cook as well here as you do at home.” He moved stiffly toward the fire to retrieve another cup.

“Thank you. We’ve a fair amount of experience,” Gwen replied.

“I’ll say,” Lacy added. “I honestly think we’ve spent more time cooking over campfires than kitchen stoves.”

Laughing, Gwen nodded. “Possibly.”

“I’m beginning to think there isn’t much you ladies can’t manage.” He winced as he sat back down on the ground.

“You aren’t used to riding all that much, are you?”

Hank looked up with a grin. “I hoped it didn’t show.”

“Your moving around like an eighty-year-old man gave it away,” Lacy said rather snidely.

“It’ll pass in time,” Gwen added. “But you’ll feel pretty bad, come morning.”

“I’ll manage,” he said, nursing the coffee.

Gwen tried not to notice the start of a beard forming on Hank’s jawline. She tried, too, not to notice how nice he looked sitting there at the camp, wearing his despised red shirt. He’d forsaken the coat earlier, but now that the sun had set, the mountain air was quite chilly, and Gwen wondered if he’d soon reclaim it.

Lacy added more wood to the fire and stoked it up. “Gwen, I need a bit of privacy. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She took up a Sharp’s .50-caliber rifle and headed down toward the thicker stand of trees near the river.

“Will she be safe?” Hank asked.

“She’ll be fine.” Gwen patted the shotgun beside her. “We know how to shoot and defend ourselves. We’ve learned to be prepared for just about anything over the years. After our grandparents died, we girls only had each other while Pa was off working. Once, we were living in a soddy on the Kansas prairie when a snowstorm hit while Pa was off helping some neighbors. The blizzard lasted four days, and the girls and I did just fine. Pa came as soon as he could, but he said he never worried about us even once.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine. Back in Boston, children are watched over quite closely. At least in the circles from which I hail.”

“Things are different west of the Mississippi, my pa used to say.” Gwen stretched her hands out to the fire. She’d decided at the last minute to bring her father’s leather coat and was now quite glad she had. The warmth of the wool-lined piece was welcomed as the temperatures continued to drop. “You have to grow up fast out here.”

They fell silent, and for several minutes Gwen stared at the flames and thought of what they were doing. She hadn’t been back to Virginia City since leaving nearly five years ago. She wondered if seeing the place again would stir up uncomfortable memories. Times had been so hard there at first. Eventually, her father and Harvey had made a modest living. Norris had proven to be even better, but there had been pain along the way, as well.

She looked up and found Hank watching her intently. It was as if she were a puzzle, and he needed to figure her out. When he realized she was watching him, Hank’s gaze seemed only more intimate. His expression made Gwen tremble, and she quickly looked away, rather unnerved. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought his look one of longing—even desire. His next words only served to confuse her more.

“Will you ever marry again?”

“Excuse me?” She looked back at him, and the passion in his gaze was gone.

“I just wondered if you would ever marry again. Are you over losing my brother? You seem awfully young to put aside the idea of a husband and family.”

Gwen hadn’t expected such a line of questioning. “I . . . well . . . no. At one time I wanted a husband and family.”

“What changed your mind?”

Gwen thought about the curse upon her life. She’d seen too much loss, and she feared should she marry and have children, it would only be that much worse. Still, what could she say to Mr. Bishop? He’d never understand her situation. He was much too calculating and logical. He would call her silly and dismiss the entire matter. Gwen thought perhaps she could distract him with a different line of questioning.

“What about you? Have you ever been married?”

He shook his head. “I’ve been too busy trying to establish my business and, of late, look for Harvey.” He paused. “I’ve noticed that folks refer to you as Miss Gallatin. Why don’t you call yourself by the Bishop name?”

“Harvey and I were . . . well . . . we never had a chance to . . .” She let the words trail off. “It’s why I took back my maiden name. Pa and I discussed it,” she hurried on, embarrassed that she’d allowed the conversation to turn so intimate. Why was she rattling on in this manner?

“Pa said it might be less confusing if I went back to just being Miss Gallatin.” She laughed rather nervously. “So my plan is to remain a spinster, Mr. Bishop.”

“No wonder you looked so stunned when I called you Mrs. Bishop.” Hank looked at her for a moment, and then it was as if a light of understanding went on in his head. “I think I comprehend the situation. Harvey got sick on your wedding day.”

“Yes,” she said, glad to have that matter settled. She could see Lacy’s shadowy form in the dim light. Gwen got to her feet, needing to distance herself from Hank and his insight into her situation.

“And you being a good Christian girl, and Harvey having taken on the same beliefs, you never . . .” He looked up, and Gwen felt her face grow hot.

“No. We never.”

She took the rifle and hurried to Lacy. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She was desperate to just let the matter lie. She didn’t know why it bothered her so much. A part of her had wanted Hank to understand that she’d never consummated her marriage. For reasons that were beyond her, it seemed important that he know. Maybe he would better understand her convictions—her heart.

But for the life of her she didn’t know why that was so important to her.

Hank watched Lacy approach the camp. She looked at him oddly for a moment. “Did you upset her?”

“Why would you ask that? Do you always just suppose I’m going to say or do the wrong thing? Do you really think so poorly of me?”