Cheyenne Wife

“I don’t think it’s fair that I be charged for boarding my horses when they were stolen while in your care,” Lily said, trying to remain calm.

Becker looked up at Lily and dragged the back of his hand across his damp brow, leaving a smudged trail of dirt all the way across. He shrugged. “Knock a dollar off my bill,” he said to Fredericks.

“A dollar?” Lily gasped.

Fredericks made a notation in the ledger, then presented it to Lily. “There’s your total, Miss St. Claire.”

Her eyes widened. She felt light-headed. It was a fortune. An absolute fortune. How would she ever manage to pay it?

“I—I have the wagon,” she said and heard the desperation in her own voice. “Would you take that in trade?”

Fredericks and Sykes turned to Becker. He shook his head.

“That wagon of yours ain’t worth what it’d take to roll it off a cliff,” he said to Lily, shaking his head sadly. “Whoever stole your stuff ripped the canvas all to hell— Pardon me for saying so, ma’am. It’s tore up real bad on the inside, too. Running gear’s not much better.”

“But what about my belongings?” Lily offered hopefully. “Surely the vandals left something of value I could trade with.”

Becker shrugged. “All that’s left inside is a bunch of fancy dresses, some dishes, books—nothing that’s worth nothing.”

“Those dresses were designed and sewn by the finest seamstress in the East,” Lily insisted. “And the china is a pattern designed specifically for my family, sent all the way from—”

“You got anything of real value?” Fredericks asked her, cutting her off. “Tools? Whiskey?”

“Well…no,” Lily admitted.

“Huh…” Fredericks stroked his chin and looked back and forth between Sykes and Becker. “What you reckon we ought to do with her?” he asked them.

The three men gazed at Lily and it took all her willpower not to blush.

“How’s your cooking?” Sykes asked.

“Well, I don’t actually cook,” Lily said, then forced a hopeful smile. “I supervise cooks.”

Fredericks shook his head. “You got any sort of a trade?”

“No, not exactly,” Lily admitted.

“Well, what can you do?” Becker asked, looking her up and down.

“I can paint—I’m especially gifted with watercolors—and I embroider,” Lily announced. She drew herself up straighter. “I can plan a party for a hundred people, supervise a large domestic staff—”

“We’re not planning to have no parties any time soon,” Sykes said.

“And our domestic staff?” Becker said. “We gave them the summer off.”

A round of chuckles erupted from the men gathered in the trade room behind Lily. She blushed red, the heat burning her cheeks.

The laughter was followed by a long, uncomfortable silence as the three men continued to look at Lily, assessing her value.

“She can’t do anything,” Fredericks proclaimed, sounding the death kneel on Lily’s worth. “She’s too small to do any real work, she’s got no trade, no skills.”

Becker and Sykes nodded in agreement.

Lily’s embarrassment deepened because they were right. She really was of no value here in the West.

Yet might that work in her favor? Hope sprang in Lily’s thoughts. Since she was so obviously of no value to anyone here at the fort, would they simply let her leave, let her go on her way, knowing they couldn’t possibly recoup their money?

“I know people—wealthy people—in Saint Louis,” Lily said, her spirits lifting. “If you’ll just let me leave here, I’ll send your money back—every penny—as soon as I set foot in the city. I swear I will.”

“Naw,” Fredericks said, shaking his head. “That’s not a good idea.”

“How do we know you’d really send it?” Sykes proposed, then added, “No offense, Miss St. Claire.”

“We need the money before you leave,” Fredericks said, announcing it with a finality that caused Lily’s stomach to jerk into a tighter knot.

Lily’s mind spun. Her father’s business associates, friends in Saint Louis would send the money to her here at the fort. Aunt Maribel would gladly do the same. But it would take weeks—months, even—for her message requesting the money to be delivered and the funds sent to her here at the fort.

Revulsion tightened around her heart. She couldn’t—absolutely could not—stay at this fort for that length of time.

Mr. Sykes looked at her one more time, then sighed heavily and said, “Well, I guess there’s only one thing we can do.”

Lily’s hopes soared. She leaned forward trying to hear the three men as they crowded together and whispered. She prayed—desperately—that the men would take pity on her and simply let her leave.

“All right, then, it’s settled,” Sykes said when the huddle broke up. “Here’s what we’ve decided to do for you, Miss St. Claire. We’ve decided to set you up in business, right here at the fort.”

“Business?” Lily asked, stunned.

“Makes sense. Good sense,” Becker said, eyeing her critically, seeming to see her a little differently now. “After all, you’re just about the only white woman around these parts.”

Alarm spread through Lily. “What sort of business?”

Sykes shrugged. “You’re a pretty little thing, even if you can’t do much.”

“What sort of business?”

“Here’s how we’ll work things,” Fredericks explained. “We’ll give you a room here in the fort. Once word gets out, well shoot, I expect we’ll have men lined up all the way out the gate.”

“Are you suggesting that I become a—a—” Lily struggled to find her breath. “A—prostitute?”

“You got any better idea?” Sykes asked.

Raw fear raced through Lily. She backed up and turned, looking for an escape. But more men had come into the trade room and were blocking the door. And every one of them leered at her, as if contemplating her naked.

“I—I can’t possibly…” she said, shaking her head frantically.

“We’ll give you a break on your room rent,” Fredericks told her.

“N-no, I can’t—”