Colorado Bride (2 page)

Carrie’s wardrobe was exceptional by Western standards. Even though her family had suffered financially in the recent war, and in spite of the privations of the trip, which had been far greater than she expected, she had continued to dress with all the care and richness she had at home. Her dress, which rustled pleasantly when she moved, was made of a stiff green plaid taffeta with a billowed-out skirt supported by the crinoline she wore underneath. Her naturally slim waist was encased in a corset which lifted her bosom and thrust it forward in a most provocative manner. Her rich, chestnut brown hair was parted in the middle, gathered into a chignon, and held in place by several ivory combs. Her bonnet was decorated with flowers and bows inside the brim and tied under her chin with a wide green ribbon. Because of the dimensions of her skirts, she had been allowed the entire side of the stagecoach for most of her journey while the male passengers squeezed into the seat opposite her, their discomfort allayed by the pleasure of looking at her.

She was the kind of woman that usually caused men to scramble to their feet, to open doors for her, to help her down from carriages, to give her most anything she wanted, but this Lucas person didn’t act like she was anything out of the ordinary, and that piqued her vanity. She didn’t want Baca to admire her, and she was relieved when his spat with Bap caused him to turn his leering gaze away from her, but even though she ordinarily condemned staring as unpardonably rude, she was irritated that this Lucas person hadn’t even looked at her. He probably couldn’t tell her from any other female in the world.

Carrie struggled to get her mind back on Baca Riggins. She was going to have to stop letting her thoughts wander or she’d never fire this man. And she had to do it now! Every minute she waited just made it harder. It also showed her up for a coward, and Carrie had never been able to abide cowardice in anyone, particularly herself. Things that had to be faced should be faced promptly and squarely. It was easier and quicker that way.

“Mr. Riggins,” Carrie began, desperate to get the words out before her courage failed, “I’m Carrie Simpson, Mrs. Robert Simpson, and I have a letter from the Overland Stage Company authorizing me to assume the running of this station in my husband’s name.”

The three men stopped in their tracks, all three gazes riveted on Carrie. Suddenly, here in the dust and the squalor and the heat, she felt that none of her finery mattered, that she looked ridiculous, a figure of fun. She had no way of knowing that at least two of the men disagreed with her. Her rich clothes and creamy white skin might have seemed out of place on this rough stage road through the wilds of Colorado, but her golden-brown eyes and vibrant beauty would have been welcome anywhere.

Looking into the angry, red eyes of Baca Riggins, Carrie knew her appearance would have no softening effect on him; he wasn’t going to quietly accept his dismissal and go away.

“I must not have heard you right,” Baca growled, his voice alive with menace.

“I said I have come to take over the station in my husband’s name,” Carrie repeated. “We should have arrived earlier, but Mr. Simpson was laid up with a serious illness and then had to wait for some equipment, so I decided to come ahead. I have a letter from the company headquarters in Denver. Actually you were dismissed as of three days ago.” Even though Baca’s face was black as thunder, Carrie felt much better now that the news was out.

“Let me see that letter,” demanded Bap. He didn’t even take the time to hand the reins to Lucas, just dropped them in the dust. He scanned the letter quickly and then let out a whoop. “It’s about time. I said you’d get fired, you mangy cuss. Now maybe we can get something decent to eat around here.”

“Nobody’s going to fire me,” Baca roared. “Not Duncan or anybody else.”

“But you’ve already been fired, Mr. Riggins, and you’ve been replaced by my husband.”

“I don’t see no husband,” Baca said, his expression more threatening than ever.

“Nevertheless, I have one, and he will be here within a day or two. Please be so kind as to gather up all your personal belongings immediately. If you have nowhere to stay tonight, you may sleep over at the station, but I would prefer that you be gone by tomorrow.”

“I ain’t leaving tomorrow or any other day.”

“But you must. I have a letter—”

“No letter can throw me off this place, and a little bitty thing like you can’t do it neither.”

“You might as well go now, Baca,” Bap advised, making no attempt to conceal his happiness over the news. “You heard her say her husband would be here in a day or two. You’ll have to go then for sure. Wait till the rest of the boys hear this. They’ve been begging Duncan to get rid of you ever since you took over as a temporary?

“I ain’t temporary, and I ain’t leaving. Not for no Mr. Simpson, and not for his woman.” Carrie could almost feel a tangible threat in Baca’s gaze.

“You got no choice,” Bap said. “That letter gives her husband your job.”

“I don’t believe it.” Baca tore the letter from Carrie’s grasp. It took him a little while to puzzle his way through all the words, but by the time he had finished, he no longer doubted he was out of a job, and blind rage shook his huge frame. With a roar that was more animal than human, he tore the letter into fragments and trampled them into the dust of the yard. The passengers, having eaten what food Baca had provided, were attracted by the commotion and began leaving the station.

“Now you ain’t got no letter saying nothing, lady,” Baca said, the threat of violence in his voice, “so you get on that stage and go back to where you came from. And you can tell your husband to save himself the trouble to coming out here. I ain’t leaving for you, and I ain’t leaving for him neither.”

For a moment Carrie was tempted to take his advice. Nothing about this trip had turned out the way she had planned. She didn’t have to look around to see the grime, the lonely isolation of the station, or to guess the foreign nature of the life she would lead here. Sitting in her comfortable home in Virginia, the trip west hadn’t seemed like much of a risk. She had assumed that things would be very different, but she had expected to have Robert at her side to depend on. Now here she was, alone and facing a man who was determined to defy her. Why didn’t she use her common sense and go home?

Carried didn’t know why, but she found herself looking to the man called Lucas, and she encountered a questioning, measuring look in his eyes that caused her to turn away angrily. She at least had the satisfaction of knowing he was now really looking at her out of his silver-gray eyes, but his quizzical, almost mocking, glance proved an unwelcome shock to her pride, and her wavering resolve immediately stiffened.

All her life she had made her own decisions, all her life she had been out of step with her family, and all her life she had promised herself that someday she would find a place where she would not be judged by the standards set by previous generations of a virtually closed community. Well, now she was in Colorado, about as far away from Virginia as she could get. And as far as she could tell, it was totally different from any kind of society she knew. This was her chance to begin anew, and if she let this contemptible excuse for a man drive her away now, she would never have any place she could call her own. Nor did she intend to allow this man called Lucas to continue to laugh at her.

“That was only a copy of the letter,” Carrie informed Baca, pleased to have outguessed him. “I have kept the original locked safely in my trunks. No, Mr. Riggins,” she said, sounding as confident as she could with her blood running cold with fear, “it is you who will have to leave, and I have decided it would be best if you did so immediately. I’m sorry I can’t permit you to stay the night, but I don’t think it would be wise.”

“Can’t permit me to stay!” Baca roared in a gobbling rage. “Look, lady, nobody tells Baca Riggins to get out.”

“The letter says you’ve got to go,” Bap insisted.

“Who’s going to make me? You with your guns?”

“It will not be necessary for Mr. Turner to employ his guns,” Carrie said, starting past the curious passengers who had gathered around to listen. “If necessary, I shall throw your things into the yard myself.” Baca blocked her path.

“You’d better get back on that stage and forget you ever came to Green Run Station. You come back with your husband, and you’re going to leave a widow woman. Now I don’t like to have to tell people something more than once, so you just turn around right now.”

“Move out of my way, Mr. Riggins,” Carrie said, mad enough now to have no trouble keeping her voice steady. “Mr. Turner is not the only one who can use a pistol.” She reached inside her purse and pulled out a small derringer. “I would hate to be required to use this, but I will not hesitate.”

Baca looked at the small pistol and broke into a shout of laughter. “I ain’t afraid of no pistol, especially in the hands of a woman.”

“A bullet makes the same kind of hole whether the gun is fired by a man or a woman,” Carrie warned him.

“It would if you had the guts to fire it or if you could hit what you aimed at. Now git on that stage before I put you on it.”

“As I’ve already told you, Mr. Riggins, you have been fired, and I want you off this place within the hour. You’ve allowed this situation to degenerate into a hog wallow. I’m surprised the passengers have the courage to taste your food after getting a look, and a whiff I might add, of your person.”

Baca moved toward Carrie with a virulent curse, but just as she squeezed the trigger, Bap rushed to throw himself in Baca’s path. In so doing, he brushed Carrie, throwing off her aim, and the bullet went through the fleshy part of Baca’s hamlike shoulder rather than his heart where Carrie had aimed. Baca paused a split second, unfazed by the bullet wound but amazed that Carrie would actually have the courage to fire at him, then he rushed in with a roar. He plowed into Bap before he could draw his gun; then Baca threw that unfortunate man at least twenty feet before he hit the ground so hard the breath was knocked completely out of him. He slapped the pistol from Carrie’s hand and shook her like a rag doll.

“I told you to git on that stage,” he shouted, “and when I say something, I mean it.” Carrie struggled to break free, but she knew it was hopeless. Instinctively she looked for the man called Lucas, but Baca had her in an iron grip, and she couldn’t turn her head more than a few inches either way. There was no one else to help her. Bap was out cold, and the passengers stood staring at Baca, too frightened of the huge man to move.

Anger such as Carrie had never known flooded over her, and she forgot to be afraid. She kicked at Baca’s groin with all her strength, and the sound of an agonized moan just before he released her let her know she had found her target. Then before he could straighten up, she slapped him cross the face as hard as she could, leaving a bright red impression on his cheek. With a vicious curse, Baca drew back a fist, prepared to smash it into Carrie’s face. Knowing a blow from Baca’s fist would probably break most of the bones in her face, Carrie dropped to her knees.

“Touch that lady again, and I’ll kill you.” The words were spoken quietly and in a slow Texas drawl, but there was something in Lucas’s voice that made Baca’s body freeze.

“This ain’t none of your concern, Lucas,” Baca hissed, crazy with rage. “It’s between me and this woman.”

“Not after you laid a hand on her. No man mishandles a lady, or stands around and lets anyone do it.” One of the male passengers, spurred on by the contempt in Lucas’s voice, helped Carrie to her feet. Another came to life and helped her brush the dust from her clothes.

Tm warning you, Lucas, stay out of this. You ain’t got no business here anyway. Why don’t you take this here woman back to where she comes from if you’re so particular about her?”

“The lady told you what to do.” The lazy insolence of Lucas’s drawl was like a whip laid across the open wound in Baca’s pride.

“And I ain’t doing it,” he roared, whirling around to face Lucas. “There ain’t nobody can make me, not without a gun in their hand.” Lucas patiently unbuckled his gun belt and handed it to Bap, who had just gotten to his feet.

“I can.”

Just two words, but for Carrie they were more than sufficient.

“There ain’t going to be enough of you left for one of your horses to find when I get through,” Baca promised, a red light of triumph glowing in his evil eyes.

“Don’t, Mr. Lucas,” Carrie begged, certain no one could stand up under Baca Riggins’s attack. “I think it will be best for me to leave now and return with my husband and Mr. Bickett.”

“There’s no reason for you to be put to that much trouble.”

“But this isn’t your fight.”

“It is now.”

Carrie hardly knew what to say. She knew if she left now she would never return, but she didn’t know how she could make Riggins leave, not without killing him. And although she had been willing to shoot in self-defense, she couldn’t shoot a man with the intention of killing him.

“Come on, Baca, or pack up,” Lucas taunted him.

His relaxed and confident posture was an affront to Riggins’s pride, and the huge man charged his opponent with a roar. Carrie wanted to close her eyes, afraid of what she would see, but she kept them open, and like everyone else in the stage yard that afternoon, she was stunned by what followed. In a short, vicious fight which would soon become a legend in Colorado, Lucas brought the lumbering behemoth to his knees without ever receiving a blow himself. “Apologize to Mrs. Simpson,” Lucas ordered as Baca gathered his shaky legs under him.