Frontier Courtship

The slim cords of Faith’s reticule were still looped around her wrist. Had she been in better command of her faculties, she might have questioned his request. Instead, she raised the drawstring bag to him without speaking.

“Good, because I don’t. I’d hate to waste a whole dollar on this.”

Although pain was coursing through her like the racing water of a rain-swollen stream, she was still capable of a modicum of indignation. “I beg your pardon?” Her mouth dropped open. What audacity! The man had invaded her reticule to withdraw the asked-for penny.

“This will do.” Flipping the oversize copper coin into the air and catching it several times, he whistled at a young boy who was passing. “Son! Over here.”

The boy’s face lit up when he spied the coin. “Yessir?”

Connell bent low, holding out the penny as inducement. “I want you to fetch that Mrs. Morse from the trading post. You know her?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Tell her a lady is hurt and needs her. Then bring her here and I’ll pay you for your trouble.”

Young eyes darted from the coin to the pale, disheveled woman leaning against the wall. “Did you hurt her, mister?”

Faith managed to smile. One hand remained pressed tightly to her ribs, but she put out the other and laid it on the buckskin-clad arm of her Good Samaritan. “No,” she said. “There was an accident and this gentleman came to my rescue. Now, hurry. Please.”

“Yes, ma’am!” The boy was off like a shot.

Breathing shallowly to minimize her pain, Faith peered at the man on whose sturdy arm she was leaning. Soon, she would release her hold on him. Just a few seconds more and she’d feel strong enough to stand alone.

“I do thank you for looking after me,” Faith managed. “No one else seemed to even notice.”

“They noticed.” How delicate she seemed, Connell McClain thought. Her skin was soft, like the doeskin of his scabbard, only warm and alive. And her eyes. No wonder they had reminded him of a deer’s the first time he’d looked into them. They were the most beautiful, rich brown he’d ever seen.

He scowled. Better to keep the woman talking and draw her thoughts away from her injuries. She didn’t look well. If she passed out on him before Mrs. Morse arrived, he didn’t know what he’d do with her.

“The Indians wouldn’t help you because they don’t dare touch a white woman,” he explained. “And if the soldiers got involved, they’d have to admit they were the cause of your troubles. That could mean the stockade.”

“Oh.” The woman glanced at the street and seemed to realize passersby were eyeing her with curiosity. “I’ll bet I look a fright.”

“You have looked better,” he said, remembering the strong response he’d had when he’d almost bowled her over in the trading post. Some of the pins had come loose from her hair and it was tumbling down over her shoulders. He hadn’t imagined that the coffee-colored tresses under her bonnet would be nearly as comely as they actually were.

Nodding, she folded her arms more tightly around her body in an apparent effort to cope. Between the sweltering heat and the pain she was evidently experiencing, it was little wonder she was struggling so.

“I expect they think I’m your kin, so they’re leaving us alone,” he offered.

“I’m truly sorry to have inconvenienced you, sir. If I had money to spare, I’d gladly repay you for your kindness. My sister and I are on our way to California. After arranging our passage I’m afraid we have very little left.”

A sister? Connell vaguely recalled that there had been another woman with her in the trading post, but for the life of him, he couldn’t picture what she’d looked like.

An unexpected twinge caught her unaware and she gasped before she again gained control of herself. Tears gathered in her eyes. He hesitantly cupped her elbow with as light a touch as he could manage and still support her.

“I’m sorry for being such a ninny,” she said, with a faint smile. “I’m usually quite brave. Really, I am.”

“I’m sure you are, ma’am.”

“I can’t be seriously injured, you know.” She looked east toward the wagon camp. “I may have to drive the team when we leave here.” Her voice trailed off. She could tell from the way the man was looking at her that he had already decided she was, indeed, badly hurt. Coming on top of so much throbbing pain, the thought of not being able to function on her own was too much for her.

Darkness pushed at the edges of her vision. Flashes of colored light twinkled like a hundred candles on a festive Christmas tree. Nausea came in waves. She fought to keep her balance, but it was no use. Closing her eyes, she began a slow-motion slide toward the ground.

Connell saw her going out. The doe’s eyes glassed over, then rolled back in her head. He cast around for help. Where had that fool boy gotten to?

The plainsman instinctively grabbed Faith’s arms, then made the split-second decision to catch her up in spite of his misgivings. Next thing you knew, he’d probably be shot by the woman’s jealous husband or brother for trying to help her. They’d bury him on the prairie in an unmarked grave and forget he’d ever lived. Then, who’d be left to find out what had happened to poor Irene?

Connell lifted the unconscious Faith in his arms, trying not to jostle her ribs as he swung her across his chest. She was so tiny. Barely there. He couldn’t just walk away and ignore her plight. He wasn’t going to leave her until he’d seen to it she was safe and well cared for.

He could only hope that someone, somewhere, was doing the same for his intended bride.

Chapter Two

Connell met the breathless boy halfway to the trading post.

“She die, mister?”

“No. Fainted. Where’s Mrs. Morse?”

“She ain’t comin’. I told her what you said but she didn’t believe me.” He trotted alongside, struggling to keep up with Connell’s long, purposeful strides. “Kin I have my penny, anyhows?”

Connell muttered under his breath. No telling what had happened to the coin. Chances were he’d dropped it when he’d had to catch the girl.

He glanced down at the eager child. “Look in the dirt, where we were before. If it’s not there, follow along and I’ll get you another. And bring my horse. His name is Rojo. That’s Mexican for red. Call him by name and he won’t give you any grief. He’s a full-blooded canelo I picked up in California and I’d hate to lose him. I’d never find another one like him out here.”

“Aw, shucks. You said…”

Connell was in no mood for argument. “Go, before somebody else finds your money.” The boy seemed to see the logic in that suggestion, because he took off like a long-eared jackrabbit running from a pack of coyotes.

Crossing to the trading post, Connell and his frail burden solicited few inquisitive glances. He looked down at the sweet face of the girl. Her cheeks were smudged and her hair nearly undone. The bonnet hung loosely by its ribbons. Her doe eyes were closed, but he could still picture them clearly.

She stirred. Long, dark lashes fluttered against her fair skin like feathers on the breeze. She was so lovely, so innocent looking, lying there, the sight of her made his heart thump worse than the time he’d fought with Fremont against the Mexicans in San Jose in ’45.

The quick lurch of his gut took him totally by surprise. He stared down at the girl. She was all-fired young. Much younger than Irene. Couldn’t be more than eighteen or nineteen if she was a day. That made her ten or so years younger than he was; about the same distance apart in age as his mother and father had been.

Clenching his jaw, he tried unsuccessfully to set aside the bitter memories of his childhood, the mental image of his mother’s funeral and the cruel way his father had behaved afterward. If it hadn’t been for Irene and her family taking him in and showing him what a loving home was supposed to be like, no telling what would have become of him back then.

Connell took a deep breath and started across the street, his purpose redefined, his goal once again in focus. It didn’t matter how attracted he might be to this woman. Or to any other. It was Irene he had to think about, Irene he had sworn to find. To marry. If he had to spend the rest of his life looking for the truest friend he had ever had, then he would. Without ceasing.

The unconscious girl moaned as Connell mounted the walkway in front of the trading post. Several Indians edged out of his path.

As he made his way into the store, all conversation ceased. He headed straight for the proprietress.

Anna Morse clapped a hand to her chest. “Land sakes! The boy was tellin’ the truth.”

“Obviously.” The plainsman reached her in six quick strides, his tall cavalry boots thumping hollowly on the floor. “Where can I put her?”

“Let’s take her upstairs,” Anna said. “Her sister’s right over…” Pointing, she snorted derisively. Charity had fainted dead away. The girl lay draped across a stack of flour sacks while two other women and a child patted her hands and fanned her cheeks. “Never mind. We’ll see to her, later. Bring Miss Faith this way.”