Wild At Heart (6 page)

Mariah stared at her hero. She didn’t think he had the strength to even make it across the street. “Do you need to go back to the depot and wait for the next train so you can continue your journey?”

He shook his head—slow and easy. “This
is
my stop.”

Well that certainly simplified things. Mariah smiled and looked around the small, rustic town of Medora, set in a valley between big mounds of hills and rocks that were part of the Badlands. They didn’t look all that bad to her. She turned toward the depot. Would Mr. McFarland be waiting there for her? Hopefully he’d received the telegram she’d sent yesterday from Bismarck.

Perhaps she should have sought him out before coming to the doctor’s office. He might have returned home when he couldn’t locate her.

A smattering of mostly one-story wooden buildings dotted the area, along with several brick buildings. She swallowed back her unease. Medora sure wasn’t like any place she’d ever been. Never had she imagined it would be such a rustic setting. “So, do you live here in town?”

“On a ranch.” He leaned his head back against the barbershop wall and closed his eyes.

Her heart leaped. What a coincidence. Perhaps he knew Mr. McFarland.

He swatted a pestering fly and grimaced. Mariah hated seeing him in pain. He’d been so commanding when he pulled that smelly thief off her seat and had swapped places with him—and then again when he saved her from being kidnapped and who knows what else. Why, just the jump from the fast-moving train would have probably killed her.

“Got a buckboard at the livery. If you want to help, you could fetch it and bring it here.” His right eye opened to a slit.

She gulped. How hard could steering a wagon be? She’d never done it before since her grandma had a carriage driver, but maybe the livery owner could instruct her. For her champion, she’d give it a try. When she nodded, he closed his eyes again.

“Just tell them you need the McFarland wagon.”

A spasm started in Mariah’s neck and skittered down her spine.
McFarland? As in Adam McFarland?

Surely it couldn’t be. But how common of a name was that in these parts? “Um… shouldn’t I give a first name also?”

“We’re the only McFarlands in the area. Just tell Jake that Adam sent you and I’ll settle up what I owe him in a few days.”

Mariah grabbed the nearest post and clung to it.
Oh dear.

Should she tell him who she was? Or would it be better to wait until they arrived at the ranch? Surely he wouldn’t force her to go back to town once he learned her identity. But would he allow the person responsible for his getting shot to stay at his ranch?

First things first.
Get the wagon from the livery to here. Worry about the rest later.

She pulled down the brim of her hat to cut the glare of the sun and retied the sashes under her chin. Just where was the livery anyway?

Mariah turned left and walked a few feet.

“It’s the other way. Past the depot.”

She halted and pivoted, thankful his eyes were shut. His smirk and sarcastic tone indicated he didn’t have much confidence in her abilities. Hiking her chin, she marched past his slumped form. So far she’d failed to show him that she was capable, but that would change.

Dust stirred in the streets on the warm breeze, assaulting her with the odors of manure and cattle. Mariah retrieved her handkerchief and held it to her nose. She made her way back to the depot then hurried past a malodorous holding area for cattle. Ignoring the pitiful cries of the penned creatures, probably doomed for the butcher block, she made a beeline for a lone barnlike structure with L
IVERY
crudely painted over the double doors.

Mariah brushed at the dried blood on her travel dress and winced at the dark splotches. If she didn’t get it soaking in cold water soon, the outfit would be ruined.

She stepped into the dimly lit building. Dust motes danced on shafts of light streaming through the cracks in the walls, and the strong odor of animals nearly overpowered her. Following a pounding sound, she located a giant of a man nailing a board across a stall. His back was to her. Mariah cleared her throat. “Um… pardon me.”

The man swung around, his hammer in the air. She took a step backward. He was one of the biggest men she’d ever seen. Sweat dripped off his dirty face into his beard, and he stared at her as if she were a mirage. He suddenly jerked into action, set his hammer on a bench, and wiped his face with a dirty bandanna.

“Excuse me, ma’am. I didn’t know you were there.” He swiped his filthy hands on faded overalls and stepped forward. “What can I do for you?”

The rancid scent of stale body odor and tobacco wafted past her. It took all of Mariah’s willpower not to shove her perfumed handkerchief back under her nose.

“I’m here to get Mr. McFarland’s wagon for him.” A horse stuck its head out of a nearby stall and nickered at her, as if asking for a treat.

The man’s beady eyes narrowed, and he spat a dark stream of something vile toward a nasty pot in the corner. He missed. “Where’s McFarland?”

Mariah swallowed down her nervousness. Another horse whinnied for attention. “He was shot in a train robbery. He saved my life, and now I’m trying to help him get home.”

The man snorted and ran his gaze down her body. “You know how to drive a team of horses?”

Mariah forced a sweet smile and batted her lashes. She despised flirting but this was for a noble purpose. She simply must get Mr. McFarland home before he collapsed. “I don’t suppose
you
could drive it over to the doctor’s office, could you?”

He softened his stance, and one corner of his thick mouth turned up. He scratched his chest. “Reckon I could—to help out a lady. Let me get the team hitched.”

Mariah swallowed back a relieved sigh as he entered a stall at the back of the livery and walked out one of the biggest horses she had ever seen. In spite of its size, the dappled gray had a smooth grace to it.

“This here’s Samson. Mighty fine animal, isn’t he?” He didn’t wait for a response but kept talking. “After their pa died, them McFarlands started raising these here Percherons. Folks from all over the area go to the Rocking M now to buy stock from them.”

The man’s deep voice rumbled as he talked, and Mariah filed the information away to consider later. He moved into the shadows in the back of the big barn and then reappeared with a near twin horse to the first one. This animal snorted and shook its head. Mariah moved back a few feet.

The man chuckled. “This here’s Delilah. Samson’s a sweet ole boy, but his sister… well, she’s a bit persnickety.”

Perfect.
Just what she needed—a horse with an attitude.

“My name’s Jake, by the way.”

“Miss Mariah Lansing.”

“Miss, eh?” Jake grinned, revealing yellowed teeth and a dark stain inside his mouth. He spat another black stream and wiped his chin with the back of his hand.

She stepped back at his suggestive leer. He chuckled and moved into motion, attaching yards of leather harnesses to the big animals.

When finished, Jake surveyed the team. Samson lowered his head and sniffed a stray clump of hay on the ground while Delilah pawed the dirt and snorted, as if anxious to be on her way. A trickle of sweat slid down Mariah’s temple, and she dabbed it with her hankie. The pair of matched blacks that her grandma owned looked half the size of the McFarlands’ team. How would she ever manage to steer such big horses?

“You ready?”

Mariah nodded. She studied the wagon. How in the world was she supposed to climb up to the seat and still resemble a lady? Jake stepped to her side, and she forced herself not to grimace at his filthy outstretched hands. Before she could attempt to climb up herself, he spun her around. She nearly screamed as he grabbed her waist from behind and tossed her upward. Mariah grabbed the side of the wagon and climbed on board, her cheeks burning. The big oaf may know how to handle horses, but he sure didn’t know how to treat women.

She rearranged her bunched skirts as she gathered her composure; then she sat. The padded leather cushion did little to soften the seat. The wagon lurched dangerously to the side as Jake climbed aboard. His bulk filled nearly the whole bench. Mariah scooted as far to the right as she could. She longed to keep her face turned away from the man’s overpowering body odor, but she needed to watch how he drove the team.

He used both hands, separating the long leather lines between his fingers, then grunted a “Step up.”

In unison, the horses lifted their big heads and moved forward. That seemed easy enough.

At the end of the road, Jake called out, “Gee.”

Mariah made note of the odd word and the wide right turn the team made. She watched how Jake held his hands out in front of him. Mariah relaxed in the seat. She could do this, and Mr. McFarland wouldn’t have to know she’d never driven a team before.

At Samson’s familiar whinny, Adam opened his eyes. It didn’t surprise him a bit that Jake drove the wagon instead of Miss Lansing. He had to hand it to her, the gal was resourceful. He imagined her blinking those long lashes and Jake nearly swallowing his chaw at her request for help.

Adam pushed up from the chair and hated the dizziness. His arm ached, and the bright sunlight made his head hurt. If only he could locate his hat, at least he could eliminate one problem. Clinging to a post, Adam waited for the wagon to stop. When Fancy Feathers turned her concerned gaze his way, his heart skittered. What would it be like to have a pretty gal like her taking care of him all the time?

He shook his head, driving the unwanted thought away. How could he forget so quickly how she so lethally handled those hatpins of hers?

Adam was grateful for the shadow created as Jake stopped the wagon in from of him. The buckboard creaked when the big man climbed down. “Thanks, Jake. I’ll square up my bill next time I’m in town, if that’s all right?”

Jake nodded. “Take care of that purty little gal and that arm of yours.” Jake tipped his cap to Miss Lansing and lumbered away.

Adam glanced up to see a worried expression on her face. Was she concerned about him? Or driving the team?

The wagon’s bench looked a mile away, but with some heaving and tight-fisted grappling using his good hand, he managed to climb up without embarrassing himself. After taking a moment to catch his breath, he reached for the reins. Miss Lansing snatched them up before he could get them. He frowned at her.

“You’re wounded. I’ll drive.”

He wanted to ask if she knew how but sat back and decided just to watch.

It took her a moment, but she managed to get a set of reins in each hand. Confusion wrinkled her brow; then her lips curved up in a smile, and she shook the reins. “Stand up.”

Samson and Delilah jerked their heads but didn’t move. Adam couldn’t help grinning. “They’re already standing up.

Did you perchance mean ‘Step up’?”

Red flamed across her pale cheeks, and she hiked her chin. “Yes, I believe that is the correct phraseology. Step up.”

The team lurched forward. Miss Lansing flopped backward, the beleaguered feather in her hat flapping as if waving good-bye. Relief washed across her pretty face. Women in this part of the country rarely had skin as fair as hers. He couldn’t help wondering if it would feel as soft as it looked. She struggled with the long reins and held them close to her chest, with the right side dangling a bit. Samson veered that direction, nearly plowing into a black horse tethered to a post. The surprised animal danced sideways then looked back to see what was behind him.

“Haw, Samson! Delilah.” The Percherons shifted to the left at his firm command and away from the near collision. Miss Lansing avoided his gaze, her cheeks red. “Keep the same tension on both reins. And hold your arms out some so you’re able to pull back, if needed.”

The woman scowled at his instructions but did as he said. Samson headed straight again. After several minutes and two more near misses, the wagon slowed at the depot. She pulled hard on the reins, leaning back so far her body nearly formed a straight line. Adam bit back a smile at her tenacity.

The horses stopped. Miss Lansing heaved a sigh and rose. “I need to get my things.”

“Don’t forget the brake.”

“What?” She whirled to face him. “Oh, uh… yes.” Her gaze traveled the bed and sides of the wagon. She nibbled one edge of her bottom lip. “I’m afraid I don’t know where it is.”

Adam pointed to the wooden lever on the side, and she struggled to pull it back. She wrestled with it a few minutes then huffed out a sigh. “I can’t seem to get it to budge.”

Adam resisted shaking his head. His first opinion was correct. Greenhorns had no business in the West. “I’ll do it.”

“But you’re injured.”

He ground his teeth together. It wasn’t the first time he’d been hurt. Shot, yes. Wounded, no. He stood. “Go ahead and get down.”

He held out his hand to assist her, but she glared at it and climbed down alone, fighting her skirts all the way. He half expected her to fall but was glad she didn’t. He shoved the brake in place and wrapped up the reins then struggled himself to get down one-handed. While Miss Lansing flagged down the purser, he went into the depot.