Untamed Journey (16 page)

“I see. That would make sense. Jack – I mean,
the Marshal said there had been half a dozen robberies in the area.
And he thought the same man was behind them all.”

“Does he know who is behind them, then?”
Montgomery asked.

“He didn’t say anything to me, if he does.”
Ruth didn’t know if she should be repeating anything Jackson had
shared with her on the matter. He’d said to trust this man, but
only as much as necessary.

She walked over to the window and
complimented the trading post owner on his roses, in an attempt to
politely change the subject.

“Thank you. I grafted them myself from two
more ordinary varieties, and they luckily took quite well to the
cold here. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll start supper while you
enjoy the view.” Montgomery stood, bowed politely, and disappeared
into the back.

Ruth smiled at his departure. She liked the
man with his good manners and reminders of a better life. She
didn’t want to be evasive with someone she liked. But then again,
she had chosen Jackson to place her trust in, and so far, he hadn’t
let her down. She couldn’t fault Jackson in any way, since he’d
saved her life not once, but twice. But now that she’d watched him
ride away, and was alone with her thoughts as Montgomery prepared
supper in the other room, she was starting to question her decision
to trust Jackson, a man she barely knew. Trusting a stranger had
gotten her into this situation and here she was, about to make the
same mistake again.

Ruth tried to quiet her own nagging doubts,
as she began pacing the length of the room, unconsciously comforted
by the sound of her thick heels clicking across the polished
floorboards. The boots Montgomery had found for her fit amazingly
well. She comforted herself with the admonition that her instincts
were good and they were telling her that Jackson was a fine
man.

She could lie to herself saying that she’d
had no choice in a desperate situation. But Ruth knew she would not
have made the same choice to leave the train if a man like Jasper
Smith had been her only alternative. She reminded herself that she
had never felt right about Smith, but had let herself be pressured
by her Aunt Kate into ignoring her own instincts. That was the
first and last time she would ignore them, she promised
herself.

She turned at the sound of footsteps.

“I’ve brought more tea, Miss Jameson. Supper
won’t be ready for another hour or so.” He stood at the table,
waiting to be invited before sitting.

“Yes, please. Won’t you join me? Another cup
would be wonderful, as would the conversation. I can’t remember the
last time I enjoyed either luxury.” Ruth took her seat so
Montgomery would be able to join her.

She was taken aback once more at how
well-mannered – even formal – Montgomery was. He presented a stark
contrast to everyone she’d met on her journey west. “If you’ll
forgive my curiosity, may I ask what brought a man of your
education out here?”

He smiled warmly at Ruth, but was not to be
forthcoming. “Miss Jameson, I’ve learned to read people well and on
short acquaintance in my years at this humble crossroads. And if
you’ll pardon my forwardness, I must say I like you. So allow me to
give you some advice, as a newcomer to the West. As people pass
through here, they are motivated by a variety of things. At first,
it was mostly gold. Or just a better life for the poor than the
established East offered. But since the War, people’s motives have
changed. They’ve become muddied, darker if you will. War makes men
do unconscionable things, at times, Miss Jameson. And the West can
be a fresh start for the soul, and not just the pocketbook, of
those men. Never ask a man why or where he’s coming from. Instead,
ask him where he’s going.”

Ruth hesitated for a moment before carefully
replying, “Advice well taken, Mr. Wilson. I do appreciate your
candor.” Taken to heart, she silently thought, as she also
desperately wanted to leave her past behind.

The question was, would it leave her alone or
come after her? Her husband had paid for her expenses, so far. And
Ruth had a sinking suspicion that Aunt Kate had received something
for herself as well. Frank Masterson might not look too kindly on
that loss, not to mention being tied legally to a woman who had
disappeared.

Ruth didn’t want to think about something she
couldn’t change any more than her companion wanted to relive his
past. So instead she inquired about the unusual business of coming
to the aid of strangers like herself.

“So tell me more about this business you have
of offering protection,” she said. “If I understand things
correctly, you offer a safe haven to travelers, such as myself,
even though you’re not the Law?”

“A not so unusual business, in my opinion,
Miss Jameson,” he replied. “The town sheriff, the circuit judge,
prison guards – they all get a paycheck, don’t they?”

At Ruth’s reluctant nod, Montgomery
continued. “Tell me, Miss Jameson, did the men wearing genuine army
uniforms necessarily represent safety for you during the War? I’m
sure most of the men stealing your last meal had official orders in
their pocket saying it was right and proper to do so in the name of
some bright and shining cause. Did that make you any less hungry?
Take one last piece of hard-earned advice from me, if I may be so
bold. When you’re at the wrong end of a loaded gun, it never really
matters whether the pistol is official government-issue or just a
side piece purchased at the local trading post.”

“You sell side arms, too, I take it?” Ruth
replied, only half joking. She had no real argument against his
logic, having survived what she had during the War.

Montgomery laughed at Ruth’s rejoinder. “I
admire your intelligence and wit, my dear. It can take you far in
this life when society as a whole is giving folks little to laugh
about.”

Ruth shrugged off his compliment. “Since
you’re in the business of providing protection, it just seemed
reasonable that you would offer the proper tools to do so.”

“Naturally,” he said. “Life out West works
for those who can take care of themselves. And from my experience,
you either learn this lesson quickly or die by the side of the
road, waiting to be rescued.”

“Amen,” Ruth muttered under her breath.

“I do my very best to put people at ease, as
much as possible, out here in the wilderness,” he continued. “The
curtains and the roses are all reminders of life back east. They
give most people feelings of order and the safety of the familiar.
That alone is worth quite a lot for travelers who are leaving
something destroyed behind, rather than setting out on an
adventure.”

“Running from rather than running toward,
something new and exciting,” Ruth clarified.

“Exactly,” Montgomery said. “It doesn’t seem
like such a big difference, as both types of travelers can end up
in the same place. However, the difference in perspective can color
not only your journey, but the destination as well.”

As Ruth wondered if she was destined to be a
runner for the rest of her days, or if she could somehow return to
being the seeker she’d hoped to be when she accepted Frank
Masterson’s proposal, Mr. Wilson’s half-wolf let out a warning
bark.

Montgomery was already standing to the side
of the front window, glancing past the lace curtains at the
approaching figure, before the beast had let out his second bark.
Ruth hadn’t seen anyone move that quickly, except for maybe
Jackson. She silently wondered if all men out West were this quick
on their feet.

“No need to worry yourself, Miss Jameson.
It’s just a local miner, coming by for his monthly supplies. Come
out and I’ll introduce you. Harcourt’s a bit rough around the
edges, but mostly a decent sort. You should get used to his kind,
if you’re going to live out here in the Marshal’s world.”

She didn’t bother to correct Montgomery on
her intentions, as she didn’t know herself where she would be
living past tonight.

Ruth took the trading post owner’s proffered
arm and was led out the front door to greet the newcomer.

“Harcourt,” Montgomery called out by way of
greeting to the skinny, dust-covered redhead that was just
dismounting from a steel grey mule. “Are you here for your usual
supplies?”

Harcourt O’Malley grunted his assent as he
unapologetically stared at the first woman he’d seen in close to a
year. And this one looked to be a lady. Not that Harcourt knew much
about ladies, unless you counted his Ma. But he at least knew
enough to say for certain she wasn’t a camptown lady.

“Is she your intended, Montgomery? If not, I
know a few locals that are in the market for a wife, including
myself.”

At Ruth’s shocked look, Harcourt continued
matter-of-factly. “Well, Miss, how do you expect folks out here to
get kids, if they don’t find a woman to have them? Not to say you
can’t buy those too, but it ain’t the same as having your own kin
nearby. Some folks is funny that way, and will only stand for blood
kin to be at their back. So are you hitched already or what?”

Ruth didn’t know how to reply to such a bald
question, and Montgomery appeared too amused at the situation to be
of any help. So she picked up the trail of O’Malley’s convoluted
thoughts to, if nothing else, satisfy her curiosity. “What about
the wives? They aren’t blood kin.”

Harcourt seemed to have no trouble following
her train of thought. “Don’t mostly trust them for that very
reason, Ma’am. But then not many of them last long out here, if
you’ll pardon my direct talk. Those that do turn out okay. They got
their young‘uns to look out for them once they lose their looks.
But if you turn out strong, I’ll keep you - even when you’re old. I
was real close to my Ma, and would want you nearby for any
young‘uns.”

Ruth nodded her understanding, and did her
best to keep a polite look on her face. “I see. That’s very
practical, I suppose. And we all need to be a bit practical in
these times, no doubt. But I’m afraid I’ll have to turn down your
offer, Mr. Harcourt. I thank you, most kindly,” Ruth added quickly,
recalling Montgomery’s advice about manners and safety. “But I’m
already spoken for, you see. Otherwise, I’m sure my father would
have been most pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Ma’am,” Harcourt muttered, tipping his hat.
His shrewd eyes quickly calculated the fact that Marshal Jackson
had passed him not two miles down the road. Being acquainted with
Jackson’s reputation alone might be enough to stop any further
advances on his part, although having a two-mile head start was
enough to tempt a lonely man facing a quickly-approaching winter.
But it only took one too polite look from Montgomery Wilson to have
Harcourt O’Malley removing his dusty hat and executing a quick bow
in the general direction of the lady in question. “I understand.
Jackson’s a good catch for a lady like you. No doubt your pa was
pleased. The Marshal’s the kind to have at your back.”

With the fleeting thought of woman-stealing
dismissed, Harcourt’s mind let go the dream of his almost new wife
and returned to the task of buying feed for his mule to carry them
through the coming winter.

J
ackson found no
trace of the last outlaw Ruth had wounded at the cabin. With the
trail cold, and no idea which direction Mike and Emmett were
headed, he rode to the main crossroads between the site of the
train robbery and the army post at Fort Lyon. It was a five-hour
detour, but worth the effort when Jackson received word from his
brother.

With no mail service beyond the confines of
Fort Lyon, the locals were in the habit of leaving messages tacked
to a large oak. Whenever a traveler passed by, they’d search for
familiar names and deliver any letters that were on their way.

Emmett and Mike left just such a message for
Jackson. Although most of the travelers passing through were
illiterate, Emmett penned his note in French, the language of their
mother, as a precaution. Jackson knew right away that the letter
addressed to “Beau” was from his brother. He quickly unfolded the
paper and began translating.

No sign of our mutual friends. They either holed up
for winter or headed south before the passes close. We’re searching
the nearby towns and settlements for information. The old man says
you should return home until we pick up the trail again. We’ll send
word if anything changes.

Jackson wrote a terse reply that he and Ruth
were headed to the ranch, then tacked it forcefully to the tree
with Emmett’s knife.

Jackson liked the idea of cooling his heels
at the ranch about as much as the prospect of delivering bad news
to his cousin. But Emmett was as good a tracker as Jackson himself,
and Old Mike knew every trapper, Indian, settler and outlaw in the
territory. If the job could be done, they were the men to do it. In
the meantime, Jackson had to get Ruth to safety and start
preparations for winter, or they would all go hungry.

He mounted his stallion and set off at a
brisk pace to fetch Ruth. With no immediate threat to contend with,
Jackson debated if he could slow down their journey a bit. The
horses needed the rest, as did Ruth.

But not one to lie to himself, Jackson
acknowledged the added benefit of more time alone with her. He’d be
a fool not to get a head start on the men at his ranch.

R
uth was so busy
concentrating on cooking over an open fire – a task she’d rarely
done except to make coffee – that she didn’t notice Jackson
preparing for a bath.

He’d pulled off his boots and socks and
neatly folded his shirt by the time she turned in his direction, to
ask where he kept the coffee. She nearly dropped the pot of water
she’d started to heat when she turned to find herself directly in
front of his naked chest.