Rocky Mountain Marriage

“Funny he never told me.”

“Told you what?”

“That he had a daughter.”

Dora stopped and looked at him. “Why would he? He left when I was five. I haven’t seen him since.” But he’d seen her.

In his letters, her father had described his visits to Colorado Springs over the years, how he’d watch her from afar on her way to school or leaving church on Sundays. They were full of fatherly observations and practical advice. The last one, the one tucked carefully into her diary and that she’d read over and over on the stagecoach, had said how proud he was the day she’d become a teacher.

“That doesn’t sound like Bill.”

Now, after reading his letters, she didn’t know what to believe. Why hadn’t he made himself known to her? And why had her mother told her he didn’t want her, that he didn’t care? Her mother had obviously lied, but why?

“You talk as if you’d known him well. Did you?”

He sat back in the saddle, toying with what looked like a watch fob that hung from a short chain attached to his belt. “As well as anyone, I guess. I spent a lot of time in that saloon.”

“Yes, you would, wouldn’t you? Given your profession.”

“My profession.” He smiled at her in the moonlight, and for a moment she caught herself thinking how handsome he was. “You say it like it’s a dirty word.”

“Well, you are a gambler, and you do work in a saloon.”

“A saloon you own.”

The reminder shocked her to her senses. She pulled her cloak tightly about her and continued her march toward town. “I plan to sell it, if you must know. That and whatever ranch land goes with it.”

“Good luck. You’ll find out soon there aren’t any buyers.”

“Really? I’m not stupid, Mr. Wellesley, despite what you may think of me on first impression. My father’s business appeared quite robust.”

The rich sound of his laughter in the dark sent a shiver straight through her.

“You have no idea what I think of you, Miss Fitzpatrick, and if you did, I suspect you’d slap me.”

Of all the nerve! Dora quickened her pace.

“And robust it may be, though I’ve never heard a saloon described quite that way before.”

“I’m certain you know what I mean.” The image of a scantily clad employee waiting with a drunken cowboy in the long line outside one of the upstairs bedrooms popped unbidden into her mind.

He laughed. “I know exactly what you mean.”

“Hmph.” She kept walking, curtailing any further conversation with him. Though she didn’t know what to believe anymore—her mother’s warnings or her father’s adulation—one thing was clear to her.

Chance Wellesley was trouble.

He trotted along beside her, whistling bawdy tunes, while at the same time making certain she moved safely off the road when carriages rumbled by. She thought that bit of chivalry amusing, given his character.

Why was he so interested in her? What would provoke a gambler she’d never laid eyes on before tonight to give up an evening of card-playing to see a schoolteacher on her way? She didn’t know and she didn’t care. She just wanted to get away from him.

When at last they reached town, she headed straight down the muddy main street toward Last Call’s only hotel, the one she’d spied that afternoon when she’d first arrived.

“There’s something you ought to know about your, uh, inheritance.” He didn’t say saloon, and for that she was grateful. To think she actually owned the place!

“What’s that?” she said curtly, refusing to look at him again.

“Your father owed a lot of money to a lot of people, some of them not so nice. The Flush is likely mortgaged to the hilt. The ranch land, too.”

“How would you know?”

“Let’s just call it a hunch.”

“I don’t believe in hunches, Mr. Wellesley.” The bank was just ahead, across the street next to a law office. She’d make visits to both establishments first thing tomorrow morning.

“No?”

“No.” She shot him a hard look to make the point, then stopped in front of the hotel, relieved that the Vacancy sign she’d seen earlier that afternoon was still displayed in the window. “Well, here we are.”

Chance dismounted and tied Silas to a hitching post jammed with other horses. Cowboys and miners and men of every description roamed the street. She’d never seen a town so small so busy, and at this time of night.

“You see?” she said, turning toward him. “I was perfectly capable of getting here on my own.”

“Maybe so. But you might be needing a ride back to the, uh, ranch, after all.” He nodded toward the hotel.

She followed his gaze, then gasped, thunderstruck, as a hotel clerk snatched the Vacancy sign from the window.

“Told you they’d be full up. One of the big mines outside Fairplay struck a lode last month. Paid off today. The town’s crawling with miners who’ve got money to burn. Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She ignored him, marched up the steps to the hotel and threw herself on the mercy of the clerk. He had to find her a room. He just had to! Five minutes of pleading later, she was back on the street, fuming.

Chance leaned casually against the hitching post, his hat pushed back on his head, that irritating grin of his aimed right at her.

“I will not spend the night in that saloon.”

“You sure?”

“And I will not ride double with you on that horse.” It was out of the question. She never intended to be that close to him ever again.

“It’s either that or walk back. Silas doesn’t take to people, especially women. In fact, he’s downright ornery. Likely he’d buck you off if you tried to ride him solo.”

She eyed the horse. “He doesn’t look too terribly ominous. I’m sure I’ll manage.”

“So you will come back to the Flush with me.”

It appeared she had no choice, unless she wanted to sleep in the street. If she had to stay the night in a saloon, at least it would be her saloon and not one of the questionable-looking drinking establishments lining Last Call’s main street.

She approached the gelding and matter-of-factly untied him from the post. Silas looked at her, seemingly unconcerned. “I’m not with you, Mr. Wellesley. I’m simply borrowing your horse.”