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An Excerpt From Meadowlark
A meadowlark’s song
Given freely to the wind,
Drifts easily with the breeze
Undisturbed by fence post
Or man’s clink and clank
Unlike mine,
An easy song
Which needs not be understood
To feel its enjoyment.
And, this by pen,
A much too complicated
Thank you
For the all-out effort
Of a small yellow-bellied bird.
Louis R. Lampman
Meadowlark
I love to poke around old ghost towns, to walk the deserted streets and imagine what must have been like. South Pass City,
a gold rush boomtown high in the Wyoming Rockies is one of my favorites. Though it appeared in two of my three Cheyenne
Trilogy books I’d never considered actually setting a story there until one summer day when we ventured to the mountains
for a family picnic.
As I peeked through the cracks of an old boarded up blacksmith shop at the end of Price Street, the essence of the place
crept into my soul as never before. I could almost hear the smith’s hammer on the anvil and feel the ground shaking
from the underground blasts in the mines. “There’s a story here,” I said in awe. “Can’t you
feel it?” My husband just grinned. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that.
I walked down the wooden sidewalks surrounded by ghostly music from the brothels and saloons and shivered as I stepped into
the underground cellar where the women and children hid during Indian attacks. MEADOWLARK began to form in my mind.
My heroine was obvious. Orphaned, broke, and in deep trouble, Becky White wouldn’t survive long in the rough mining
town without help. Enter the hero.
I have always loved gentle giants. Hoss was my favorite Cartwright even when I was old enough to find Little Joe and Adam
attractive. I decided to see if I could create just such a hero, one that any heroine worth her slat would choose over the
handsome, self-centered villain without a moment’s hesitation.
From the beginning I knew he was Scandinavian, but having spent most of my life in Wyoming, I hadn’t been around many
people with a Scandinavian background. To make sure I got my character right, I enlisted the help of my friend Kathy who is
half Swedish and half Norwegian. We discussed everything from what he ate (and didn’t eat) to how he talked and what
he did with his leisure time. In less than half an hour, I had my hero.
Garrick Swenson was big and strong, but also gentle and kind. He was also a bit reserved not one to show strong feeling.
Since this was my fourth book, I had discovered that a character’s quirks are what make them seem real. So I gave his
character a little twist by giving him the nickname of Swede even though he is Norwegian. He tells Becky that most people
in South Pass City couldn’t tell the difference between Norwegians and Swedes and he’d just never bothered to
correct them. On top of that I gave him a dangerous job, a mysterious past, and a bruised soul, all of which pretty much
guaranteed he would be irresistible to any heroine. Kathy assures he is also the epitome of the Scandinavian hunk.
I had my hero, now for the villain. Cameron Price. Handsome, charming, incredibly brave, he was even a bona fide army hero,
and Becky’s first love. His only flaw was that he was self-centered and a bit of a womanizer. In most books he would
be the hero, one the heroine would save from himself. If Garrick was a bit like Hoss Cartwright, then Cameron was the cover
model Fabio. In fact, that was the picture I kept in my mind as I wrote. I love the idea of Hoss going up against Fabio and
the girl picking Hoss. As the book opens, however, choosing between two such yummy men is as far from Becky’s reality
as riding an elephant. In fact, her biggest difficulty is figuring out how to survive.
Perhaps my love for South Pass City is the reason MEADOWLARK is my most emotional book. Or maybe it’s Becky and Garrick
themselves. Whatever the reason, this book touched my heart and I hope it touches yours.
CHAPTER 1
(South Pass City, Wyoming Territory, 1870)
Becky was out of options and she knew it. With the last of her money gone, it was only a matter of time until hunger drove
her down to Beer Garden Gulch in search of a job in one
of the saloons. It was stupid to wait any longer hoping for a miracle. Cameron wasn't coming back.
She kicked a small rock into the creek and glanced down the street. There was already music and raucous laughter coming from
the saloons. It wasn't even dark out and business
was booming. Obviously the owners would be too busy to talk to her now. Morning would surely be better.
With a relieved sigh, Becky sat down on a pile of sluice box tailings. There was no guarantee anybody down there would hire
her anyway. No one else in town had. Too
young, they said or not enough experience. She'd heard some of the hurdy gurdy girls were almost as young as she was. Maybe
it wouldn't matter that she was tall and gangly with
too much hair and not enough chest like her father always said.
Cameron hadn't minded. In fact he'd made her feel ‚beautiful and loved right up until he walked out of her life.‚Becky's
father said Cameron Price played her for a fool, taking what he wanted and never giving her another thought after he rode
away. As the months passed and no word came, it began to look as though her father was right.
“Oh, Cameron,” she whispered into the twilight, “Would it have made any difference if you'd known about
your son?”
Her hands moved over her softly rounding stomach. Within a month she wouldn't be able to hide it any more and they wouldn't
even let her work in a brothel. Becky's lips twisted, too young to work, but old enough to have a baby.
Maybe her father wasn't far wrong when he called her a stupid little slut. His words and the hard slaps that followed were
etched indelibly into her mind. Afterwards he had gone to work his shift in the mine and had never returned.
Becky closed her eyes and tried to conjure some regret for her father's death. There was none. It had been over a month and
she still couldn't mourn him.
Her stomach rumbled painfully. Another night without food. She was almost used to it by now. With a deep sigh, Becky opened
her eyes and watched the brilliant reds and golds of the sunset fade into cool, concealing darkness as the sun dipped below
the hill.
The cold dampness of the ground beneath her began to soak through her skirt, but she ignored the discomfort as she savored
the spring evening. The moist pungency of rich soil and the smell of wood smoke covered the other, less pleasant, odors of
man. Crickets chirped in the nearby grass, and an owl called to its mate over the roar of the swollen creek.
At last, some of the lights began to wink out. It was late and people were staggering home to bed. Though the saloons and
bawdy houses would keep going until dawn, there was almost total silence in the city of tents that made up a good portion
of South Pass City. It was time to find a place to sleep.
Becky rose from the ground and walked to the edge of the creek. The spring run-off was at its highest. The placer miners had
been watching it for days, anticipating the new
gold it would wash out of the hills. She looked down at the normally insignificant stream that now roared by with awesome
power. An entire tree rolled by bobbing in the turbulent waters.
Suddenly, the ground crumbled under her feet and she slid down into the icy stream. The water choked off Becky's scream as
it closed over her face. Then her head collided with a solid object, and her thoughts sank into blessed darkness as she surrendered
to the flood.
****
“A bottle of Redeye, Sam,” Garrick told the bartender then glanced around at the brightly lit room. As a casino
and a brothel, The Green Garter was the best South Pass had to offer, but for some reason, watching the miners gamble away
their pitifully small wages irritated him this evening. He’d been one of their number often enough, but tonight it seemed
a pathetic waste of time.
With a sigh, Garrick turned back to the bar, slid a few coins across its shiny surface to Sam, and picked up the bottle. As
he pulled the cork out with his teeth and poured the deep amber liquid into a glass, he thought how aghast his mother would
be to see him doing such a thing. The thought of Minnesota brought the usual pang of homesickness, and he lifted the glass
to his lips in irritation. He gulped down the raw whiskey and grimaced as the fiery brew burned its way to his stomach. It
tasted worse than usual and did nothing to relieve his loneliness.
“Hello, Swede.” A husky feminine voice cut into his thoughts. “Aren’t you going to give my dealers
a chance to win back some of that money you walked out of here with last night?”
Garrick glanced down at the brassy redhead and smiled. “Not tonight, Angel. I have a feeling the cards wouldn’t
fall my way.”
Angel snorted. “Well, that’d be a first. Never seen anybody with luck like yours.” She gave him an appraising
look. “What’s eatin’ you anyway. That scowl would curdle milk.”
“Bored I guess. Care for a drink?”
Angel glanced at the bottle in front of him and made a face. “No, thanks. Rotgut whiskey isn’t my idea of a good
time. Don’t remember it being yours either.”
“Not usually, but we ran short of black powder so I don’t have to work tomorrow.”
“You planning on getting drunk?”
“I was, but if you won’t join me...”
She laughed and patted his arm. “If it’s company you want, I may have just the ticket. A new girl came in on the
stage today. Calls herself Collette, though she ain’t any more French than Sam.” Angel nodded toward a sultry
dark-hair beauty at the end of the bar. “Be glad to introduce you.”
Garrick let his gaze roam over the curvaceous brunette, wondering how he’d managed to miss her before. Almost as if
she felt his gaze, Collette glanced up, wet her lips, and smiled seductively.
“Well, what do you think, Swede? Want to see if she can wipe that frown off your face?”
He shrugged. “Might as well.” Maybe Collette was what he needed.
“Hello,” he said when she sidled up to him.
“Hello yourself.” Collette ran her and up his arm. “I just love big men.”
“Well, I let you two get to know each other,” Angel said, walking away. “Take good care of Swede, Collette,
he’s one of my best customers.”
“Don’t you worry, Miss Angel. I’ll take excellent care of this one.” Collette let her fingers wander
down the massive chest. “Tell me, Swede, are you big all over?”
He let a slow smile cross his face. “Only one way to find out.”
Three quarters of an hour later Garrick buttoned his coat against the chill outside and collected his bottle of whiskey. Collette
had been all he could wish for, and yet, if anything, he felt worse than he had before.
He went outside and took a deep breath of the crisp mountain air. There was a tang of spring on the breeze tonight, almost
like home. Garrick turned his steps toward the creek. Maybe a walk would clear his head and chase away the blue devils that
plagued him.
From the corner of his eye he caught a movement far up the bank. Peering through the darkness, he saw the shadowy figure walk
toward the edge of the creek, apparently contemplating the rushing water as he was. Whoever it was, he hoped their thoughts
were more pleasant than his.
As he watched, Garrick was startled to see the stranger stop on the very edge of the bank.
Didn’t they know how dangerous the creek was this time of year? Garrick was beginning to wonder if he should call out
a warning when, to his utter horror, the other person went down and was swallowed up by the flood. Shock held him immobilized
for a blink of an eye. Then he was shrugging out of his coat and pulling off his boots, as he scanned the stream for some
sign of the stranger.
At last, he spotted a flash of white up-stream. Quickly judging where the current would carry its burden, he stepped into
the frigid water. Garrick’s breath seemed to catch in his lungs as the icy wetness struck his legs.
It took all of his strength to withstand the force of the water as it sucked and pulled at him like a living thing. Searching
frantically for another glimmer of white, Garrick wished his eyes could pierce the blackness of the water. But he could see
nothing as he battled his way to the middle of the stream.
All at once, something hit him, and he went down. Some instinct made him reach out and his hands encountered the unexpected
texture of cloth. As he grabbed the body inside the clothing, he let himself be taken downstream until he had firm hold. By
the time his head broke the surface the third time, he had the other person locked against his body with one arm.
Pulling great draughts of air into tortured lungs, he struck out for the edge of the stream. Though Garrick was a strong swimmer,
his skills were nearly useless in the rush of water that swept them along.
Instead of fighting the current, he move with it, working steadily closer to the bank. At last his knee struck solid ground,
and he scrambled up the muddy bank where he collapsed on the shore. Panting for air, he lay there for a moment holding the
unmoving body of the stranger against his chest, as he fought the blackness that threatened to overwhelm him.
Gradually, Garrick’s vision cleared, and he gently rolled his burden to the ground. As he blinked the water out of his
eyes, he glanced down at the thin body and long skirt and his eyes widened in surprise. A woman!
He felt for a pulse along the delicate neck. A slight fluttering against his fingers reassured him. Garrick leaned down and
put his cheek next to her nose. There was no movement against his skin, no stirring of air. She wasn’t breathing
With a sense of urgency, he turned the woman to her stomach and straddled her hips. Alternately pushing on her upper back
and pulling on her elbows, he attempted to force the water from her lungs. Push... Pull...Push...Pull. Garrick kept repeating
the motions, over and over, never admitting the possibility that his efforts might be wasted. At long last she choked as the
strangling water came rushing from her mouth.
Relief rolled through him. Garrick moved to the side as she coughed and gasped, trying to catch her breath. At last the spasms
stopped, and he pulled her into his arms. “It’s all right little one,” he murmured as a whimper escaped
her lips. “You’re safe.”
A deep voice like melted honey flowed over Becky. She opened her eyes and looked up into the kind face of an angel. Never
had she seen such hair, so pale it seemed to glow in the moonlight. She reached up and tried to touch it.
“Where do you belong?” he asked.
“With angels?” she whispered hopefully, then sank into sweet dark oblivion.
CHAPTER # 2
Angel's “Angel’s? You’re from the
Green Garter?” Garrick thought he knew all of Angel’s girls pretty well, but he didn’t remember seeing this
one before. What was she doing out this time of night when she should be working?
A sudden breeze reminded him of how
wet they both were. Whoever the woman was, he needed to get her warmed up and soon. Garrick thought longingly of the coat
he’d left on the bank of the creek. Unfortunately, it was a good three hundred yards up-stream somewhere with his boots
and most of a bottle of whiskey.
He climbed wearily to his feet, picked up the girl and turned toward the Green Garter.
It would be useless to go to his tent where it wasn’t much warmer than outside.
Though slender, she was obviously
quite tall and no featherweight. As he carried her slung over his shoulder, Garrick lost count of the times he had to stop
and rest before they reached the Green Garter.
Loud music and laughter coming through the double swinging doors brought
him to a halt. Angel wouldn’t thank him for bringing a nearly drowned girl in the front door during her busiest time.
He stumbled around to the back and made his way to the storeroom where he laid his burden on the floor and looked around for
something to cover her with. There was nothing. Briefly cursing Angel’s efficient housekeeping, he turned and walked
down the short hallway.
At the door that led to the casino, he stopped. If he walked in soaking wet with no boots on
he was bound to stand around answering a lot of questions while the girl lay freezing on the cold floor of the storeroom.
With a brief grin, he opened the door slightly then slammed it. The sound was loud enough to be heard above the din but probably
wouldn’t be noticed by many.
Garrick crossed his arms and settled back against the wall to wait. Angel would
be here soon, ready to do battle with whoever had the audacity to enter her private domain.
Within, minutes the door
burst open and Angel was there her eyes snapping with fire. “Swede! What in blue blazes do you think you’re doing?”
She demanded.
“I need to talk to you privately.”
“Well, this is a damn funny way to...”
Her voice faltered. “For God’s sake, you’re soaking wet! What the hell is going on?”
Garrick
glanced over Angel shoulder at the gun-toting bartender standing protectively behind her. “I’ll explain as soon
as we’re alone.”
“It’s all right, Sam,” she said, lifting her hand and waving him away.
“I’ll take care of this. You can go back to the bar.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,
yes, I’m sure. I have nothing to fear from Swede. She closed the door behind Sam. “Now what’s this all about?”
“I
just pulled one of your girls out to the creek.”
“What?”
“She almost drowned. In fact
I thought I’d lost her for awhile.”
“All my girls are working, Swede.”
He shrugged.
“She said she lived here.”
“Where is she?”
“In your storeroom.”
With
a swish of taffeta, Angel walked down the hall to the small room where the girls lay unconscious. She knelt down and brushed
the wet strands of hair back from the girl’s face.
“Well I’ll be damned. It’s Fenton White’s
daughter.”
Garrick looked over Angel’s shoulder. “So you do know her.
“Not really. I’ve
seen her around a little. Her father had a bad habit of getting drunk and busting up whatever place he was in. She usually
came and got him before he did too much damage. Nobody cried much when he died a couple of months ago.”
Garrick
rubbed his chin. “I wonder why she said she belonged here.”
“Who knows? Doesn’t have any family
that I know of, poor girl. Maybe she was going to ask me for a job.” Angel stood up and dusted her hands briskly. “Anyway,
we’ve got to get her warmed up, or she’ll catch her death. I have an empty room upstairs if you want to bring
her along.”
With a nod, Garrick picked the unconscious woman again and followed Angel up the back stairs. He
laid his burden on the bed in a room he’d never seen before, and looked around in surprise. It was very different from
the other upstairs rooms in The Green Garter.
Totally devoid of the opulence that characterized the establishment,
it would have fit more easily into a genteel home than a notorious brothel. There was a large bookcase along one wall filled
with many well-worn volumes. An over-stuffed chair was placed in comfortable proximity to the pot-bellied stove that Angel
was building a fire in. Cheerful calico curtains at the single window went with the brightly colored rag rug on the polished
wood floor, and the hand-made quilt on the bed. There was a homey, welcoming feel about the tidy little room.
“You
needn’t look like that,” Angel snapped, slamming the stove door. “This is my room and I like it this way.”
“Actually,
I like it a whole lot better than the others.” He smiled down at her as she stomped to the bed and began to undo the
girl’s buttons. “To tell you the truth, it suits you.”
“Humph, don’t try to bamboozle
me. You’re shocked as hell!” She gave a fatalistic shrug. “As a matter of fact it does fit me--far better
that the rest of this place. You’re the only man besides Sam that’s ever been in here so forget you ever saw it.”
“It’s
already forgotten.”
“Good. Keep it that way.” As she slid the wet dress off the girl’s shoulder,
she suddenly stopped and gave him a sharp look. “I can handle this myself. You go change your clothes before you catch
pneumonia.” She turned back to her task. “But get back here as soon as you can. The girl shouldn’t be left
alone, and I can’t spare anyone to sit with her.”
Without a word, Garrick turned on his heel and left.
When he returned half an hour later, his charge was tucked into bed and sleeping soundly.
“It’s about time,”
Angel said rising from the chair by the bed as he let himself in.
“Sorry, I had to get my coat and boots from
the creek bank.”
“And I have work to do,” Angel grumbled. “Your friend hasn’t moved much,
but at least she’s warmed up some.” She nodded toward a decanter and glass on the table next to the bed. “Give
her some brandy if she wakes up.”
“I’ll try, though I’m not much of a nurse maid.”
“And
you think I am?”
He grinned at her. “I think you have a lot of talents you don’t share with the world.”
Ignoring the disgusted sound Angle made, Garrick glanced longingly as the bookshelf. “Mind if I borrow a book? I haven’t
had anything but the South Pass News to read in a long time.”
Angel raised her eyebrows. “Well, well, I’d
never have figured you for a reader.”
“I could say the same for you.”
“Good point.”
She walked to the door. “Read anything you like. Just make sure you put it back on the shelf when you’re done.
I’ll see you about dawn.”
****
Awareness came to Becky slowly. There was sound, an ominous crackling
close at hand that Becky couldn’t identify at first. When she did, there was an instant recoil in her gut.
Fire!
She was dead and her bright-haired angel had only been an illusion. Afraid to open her eyes, Becky lay still as she gradually
became aware of a variety of sensations. A slight odor of flowers in the air...the ground soft and warm beneath her... the
unexpected rustle of a page turning...none of it made any sense.
Cautiously, she opened her eyes. The confusion in
her mind intensified. She was lying on a bed in a comfortable room, the kind she remembered from her childhood. The fire didn’t
burn in the deepest pits as she had supposed, but in an ordinary pot-bellied stove. It was the sight of the stove that suddenly
brought it all together. Closing her eyes, she made a small noise in the back of her throat. She was still alive.
“You’re
awake.” A deep melodious voice from the other side of the bed startled Becky. Her eyes popped open and she turned to
look.
It was the angel! No, not an angel, she corrected herself, a man...a lying, hurting, deceitful, man.
“Drink
this.” He poured something into a glass, then slipped his arm around her back and held the beverage to her lips.
Taking
a swallow obediently, Becky came straight up in bed, coughing and choking as the liquid fire burned its way down her throat.
“Easy
now,” he said patting her back with a huge hand. “Brandy is meant to sip not gulp.”
When she finally
caught her breath she glared up at him with reproachful eyes. “Brandy!”
“It’s a restorative.
You nearly drowned”
“Who are you?”
“They call me Swede.” Easing her back against
the pillow, he set the glass on the small table.
A Swede. Well that explained the white-blond hair. Becky watched as
he rose to his feet, her eyes widening in amazement as she crossed the room. He was huge! The easy swing of his walk struck
a chord of memory and she realized she’d seen him striding down the muddy street of South Pass more than once. She’d
noticed him because he was so tall. “Where am I?”
“Angel’s,” he said over his shoulder
as he squatted down in front of the stove with a poker.
“Where?”
“Angel’s. You know,
the Green Garter.”
“You brought me to a brothel?” Becky wondered why she was so dismayed when she’d
planned on doing the same thing herself. It seemed that thinking about it and doing it were very different.
The note
of panic in her voice surprised him. “You said you lived here.” He closed the stove and rose to his feet. “I
asked where you belonged and you said with Angel.”
She did have a vague recollection of saying something about
angels. “Why did you save me?”
“You fell into the creek. If I hadn’t been there you’d
have drowned.”
Becky turned away. “It might have been better if you had just let me go.”
“What?”
Garrick was shocked.
“Drowning would be less painful than starving.” She rubbed her hand across the blanket.
“It was an option I hadn’t even thought of. I think I might like it better than becoming a saloon girl.”
“A
saloon girl! Surely there are plenty of other jobs around South Pass City.”
“Not for me.” Becky shook
her head. “Nobody would hire me. They all said I was too young. Of course they’d throw me out as soon as they
found out about the baby anyway. I won’t even be able to work in a place like this for very long.”
“Baby?
You have a child?”
“No, but I soon will have.”
“You’re expecting?”
“Expecting,
in a family way, pregnant, whatever you want to call it.”
“What about the father?”
She bit
her lip as an image of Cameron flashed through her mind. “He’s gone. I thought of going somewhere else and pretending
to be a widow. The farthest I could get on the money I had was Miner’s Delight and I don’t think twelve miles
would be enough.
Silence fell between them. Becky closed her eyes, seeking solace in oblivion as sleep overtook her
once more.
Thunderstruck by the turn of events, Garrick came back to the bed and sat down. His book lay forgotten on
the washstand as he mulled over the new information, approaching it from all angles.
Two things were abundantly clear
no matter how he looked at it. He had saved two lives instead of one, two lives that might still be lost unless she found
some way to support herself.
Suddenly, he wondered if finding a solution for this woman and her child might begin
to atone for the black shadow that lay in his past. Would salvaging two lives make up for the loss of one?
It was nearing
dawn when Becky awoke once more. He was still there, the blond giant with the beautiful voice. Somehow she thought he’d
be gone once her learned of her shame. Her own father had turned his back on her, why wouldn’t a stranger?”
“Would
you like a drink?”
“No, thanks.” Becky remembered the brandy with a shudder. “Did you spend
the whole night in that chair?”
“I was thinking.”
“Must have been some problem!”
“Bad
enough you thought drowning sounded like a good idea.”
“Oh.”
Unbelievably he smiled, not a
false tinny smile but one that lit up his whole face. “I thought of something I’m sure you never considered.”
“What?”
“We
can get married.”
CHAPTER 3
“Swede’s waiting for you downstairs,” Angel said from the doorway.
Becky turned away from the window, where she’d been basking in the mid-day sunshine. “I’m ready.”
“Good, because he seems kind of fidgety.”
“Oh, dear.” Becky paled at the thought of making him angry. With a quick glance in the mirror, she hurried past
Angel and out into the hallway.
“You don’t need to look like that. He isn’t going to bite you.”
Becky didn’t bother explaining being bitten was the least of her worries. Bitter experience had taught her the folly
of keeping a man waiting. It was a lesson she had no intention of forgetting.
As she rushed down the stairs, she was barely aware of the opulent surroundings. She had eyes only for the man at the bar
trading small talk with the bartender.
He glanced up at her arrival and straightened in surprise as she came to a halt in front of him.
Slightly breathless, she dropped her gaze to the floor. “Sorry I took so long,” she murmured. Nervously she waited
for him to say something. After several long moments of silence, she looked up.
Becky was very tall herself, but the top of her head only came to his chin. She had the unfamiliar sensation of being small
as she looked up at him. There was no clue of what he was thinking as he watched her impassively.
For the first time, she realized his eyes were a pale aquamarine. The blue-green color reminded her of frigid water beneath
a thin shell of ice in the winter. His thick white-blond hair added to the illusion of cold.
“You planning on standing here all day?” Angel asked.
Garrick tore his eyes away from his prospective bride to look at his friend. “No, and we’d better get going. Would
you mind coming with us, Angel? We’ll need a witness.”
“A witness? For what?”
“For our wedding.”
“Your wedding!”
Garrick smiled at Becky. “Angel seems to have developed a habit of repeating everything I say.”
Becky looked away in confusion. The words were teasing, but she didn’t want to do the wrong thing and make him mad.
“I thought you didn’t know her,” Angel said.
“I do now.”
Angel gave a crack of laughter. “I’ll be damned, Swede. You’re the last person I’d expect to be swayed
by a pretty face. All right, I’ll go with you but don’t be surprised if the new Justice of the Peace won’t
let me in her house. It’s the disadvantage of letting women hold public office, you know. They’re a trifle skittish
around my kind.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. If you’d rather not go...”
“I don’t mind, but your bride might,” Angel said. “Mrs. Morris will probably think this little chick
is one of mine.”
Becky shook her head. “It doesn’t matter to me what she thinks. I...I’d like you to come. You’re the
only friend I have.”
Angel gave her an odd look but didn’t dispute Becky’s claim of friendship.
“Well, let’s go then,” Swede said, self-consciously offering each lady an arm and escorting them out the
door. “We may be a little crowded, but at least we won’t have to walk in all this mud.”
Becky felt a flash of disappointment as Swede led her to the dilapidated black buckboard sitting in front of the Green Garter
and helped her up. She had always imagined going to her wedding dressed in a beautiful gown of white satin and riding in a
shiny new buggy, the envy of all who saw her.
Staring at the peeling paint of the buckboard, she suddenly realized the enormity of what she was doing. A few hours ago it
had seemed a heaven-sent solution to her problems, a way out of the impossible situation she’d landed herself in. Now
she wasn’t so sure. By marrying Swede she was giving up everything she had ever dreamed of.
An image of Cameron with his debonair charm and heart-stopping good looks rose in her mind. Irritated with herself, Becky
pushed the thought away. She’d given up the right to dreams when she’d gotten pregnant. Instead of finding fault
with Swede and their arrangement, she should be thanking her lucky stars.
Crammed together on a seat that was meant for two, the trio headed down the street to Esther Morris’s home. Becky was
uncomfortably aware of the long muscular thigh pressed against her own and the huge hands gripping the reins. The thought
of those same fingers knotted into a fist made her shudder. She would have to be very careful around this man.
“Listen,” Angel said suddenly, “a meadowlark!”
Becky and Garrick both looked at her questioningly as the bird’s warbling call filled the air.
“Look over your shoulder when a meadowlark sings,” she quoted an old saying. “Long life, love and good luck
it brings.”
Garrick and Becky glanced back at the street behind them. It was filled with men, horses, and mules battling the quagmire
of mud and animal droppings that made the thoroughfare difficult to navigate. Nothing new there.
As they turned back around, their eyes met. Garrick raised an eyebrow and smiled down at her. “Maybe he’s wishing
us good luck.”
“Or telling us we’re lucky we don’t have to walk,” Becky said returning his smile.
“Whatever he’s saying, I’m glad to hear him,” Angel put in. “If the birds, are back that means
spring is finally here. Winters in South Pass City are entirely too long to my way of thinking.”
“Ja, it is always that way in the mountains,” Garrick said as he pulled to a halt in front of a well-kept cabin
at the end of the street. “Well, here we are.”
He jumped to the ground and lifted Becky’s down from the buckboard.
She instinctively put her hands on his shoulders to catch her balance. Even through the heavy flannel of his shirt she could
feel the thick muscles moving beneath her fingers. A curious jolt ran through her at the unexpected contact. Attributing odd
sensation to nervousness, she put it from her mind as Swede helped Angel alight.
Esther Morris herself opened the door, and it was all Becky could do not to gape in surprise. For the second time in less
than thirty minutes, she felt dwarfed. The woman had to be at least six feet tall and none too slender.
Right now she was listening patiently as Garrick explained why they had come. When he finished her rather stern face broke
into a smile.
“A wedding. How delightful. Please come in and make yourselves comfortable. It won’t take me a minute to get ready.”
If she recognized Angel, she didn’t mention it. Angel was still a bit wary, but relaxed her defensive stance as she
muttered something about feeling like a midget.
To the rest of the world Esther Morris was a celebrity, for she was the first female justice of the peace in the entire country.
She was said to have been instrumental in pushing the world’s first woman’s suffrage bill through the territorial
legislature, and had already gained the reputation for making just decisions.
To Becky, she would always be the woman who quite cheerfully bound two strangers together for life.
“You’re my first wedding,” she said as she came back into the room a few minutes later thumbing through
a book. “It will be a pure pleasure to do this. Now let’s see, it should be right...ah here it is. If the bride
and groom will please join hands...”
Most of the ceremony passed in a blur for Becky. As Mrs. Morris read the ritual, responded at the appropriate times with little
enthusiasm. She was surprised when Mrs. Morris called, Swede “Garrick Swenson.” How strange to be marrying a man
without knowing even his name!
She looked up at him and he squeezed her fingers reassuringly. Her hand felt lost in Swede’s hard callused palm, and
yet his touch was as gentle as though he held a delicate piece of porcelain.
“And now the ring...” Mrs. Morris looked at Garrick expectantly.
There was an uncomfortable pause as Garrick realized will all his other plans he’d forgotten to get a wedding ring.
Then suddenly, he smiled and pulled a rawhide thong from around his neck. Dangling at the end of it was a silver ring, which
he removed and placed on Becky’s finger. It still held the warmth of his body, branding her skin, tying her to him.
A few more words, and the wedding was over.
There was a moment of discomfort as Mrs. Morris gave him permission to kiss his bride. With an apologetic look, Garrick leaned
down and brushed his lips across Becky’s.
The touch was brief, and not unpleasant, but it brought Becky to earth with a jolt. As her husband he’d certainly expect
her to share his bed. Her mind flashed to the intimacy she’d shared with Cameron. She swallowed nervously, wondering
if she’d be able to be to do those things with a total stranger.
Within a very short time the three were back outside and loaded into the buckboard. All too soon, they dropped Angel off at
the Green Garter. For the firs time all day Becky and Garrick were alone.
Garrick looked down at the woman beside him, sensing her nervousness but unsure what to say. He slapped the reins against
the horse’s back and they started down the street. “I’m sorry about the ring.”
“What?”
“The ring. I forgot to get one.”
“Oh.” For the first time she glanced down at the ring on her hand. It was made from a horseshoe nail, cleverly
bent into a circle and fused together. Burnished by years of wear, it shone like the finest silver in the sunlight. “This
one is fine. It fits pretty well.”
“My grandfather made it.”
“Oh,” she said again, unable to think of anything else. Silence fell between them as he maneuvered the horse and
buckboard around the worst of the potholes and mud puddles in the street.
“Where are we going?” She asked after a few minutes.
“Home.”
“Where is that?”
“Just out of town. I bought out a miner who decided it was time to move on. Sold me everything for a grubstake and my
tent.” He looked down at her. “Did you want to stop and pick up your things first?”
“There’s nothing to pick up. I sold it all.” She searched her mind for something else to say, to fill the
uncomfortable void. “Was the horse part of the deal?”
“Ja.”
“She looks fat and healthy.”
“Her owner said he was pretty sure she’ll foal in the spring. Her name’s Sophie.”
The mare’s ears twitched at the sound of her name and Becky smiled. “Hello, Sophie.”
Garrick followed the road to a small aspen grove then turned down a faint track that hardly more than a trail. They bounced
along through the trees until they came to a small cabin.
Garrick’s heart sank. With all his other preparations he hadn’t had time to come out and examine his purchase.
It looked as if it had been abandoned. The front door was open, hanging by a single leather hinge. A hole gaped where the
window should have been showing a glimpse of the dismal interior.
He hadn’t expected it to be perfect, but it appeared much worse than he’d imagined. “Wait here,” he
said as he tied the reins to the brake lever and jumped down. At the doorway he stopped and stared at the mess in dismay.
The floor was covered with dirt and debris, and light showed through numerous holes where the chinking had fallen out of the
walls. A bunk sagged against the wall and a rickety table stood in one corner next to the fireplace.
“Is something wrong?” Becky asked, joining him in the doorway. “Oh, my.”
“The miner I bought it from said it was in good shape. I hate to see something that he thought needed some work.”
“It has four more-or-less solid walls and a roof. To most miners this is a palace.”
“Maybe, but it’s no place for a woman.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Becky stepped over the threshold and looked around. “I’ve lived in a lot
worse. Other than a little dirt, it’s not bad.”
“It could use a few repairs.”
“I suppose.” She moved across the room to a large wooden box by the fireplace. “I wonder what’s in
here. Oh, look, pots and pans!”
Garrick watched her for a moment as she dug out a battered collection of blackened cooking utensils. Her delight was obvious.
With a shake of his head, he turned back to the buckboard. Any other woman he knew would have been in tears.
By the time Becky had dug clear to the bottom of the wooden box and rearranged it to her satisfaction, Garrick had replaced
the missing leather hinge on the door. She watched as he turned his attention to the bunk.
Apparently he was a man of action and few words. Beyond his observation about the cabin’s state of disrepair, he had
said nothing. Instead he’d gone out to the buckboard, retrieved a hammer from his things and gone to work.
By now, Becky’s father would have somehow decided it was all her fault and wouldn’t have hesitated to take his
frustration out on her. But Swede hardly seemed concerned by the inconvenience. Even now, trying to support the sagging bed
frame with his shoulder as he worked on the leg, his face was calm, his temper apparently unruffled.
“W...would you like some help?” Becky asked timidly. “I could hold that up for you.”
Garrick glanced up in surprise. “All right,” he said after a moment as he shifted the side rail off his shoulder.
“Hold it right here.”
Obediently, Becky knelt by the bed and put her hands under the board. With a barely perceptible nod of approval, he went back
to work. As the light reflected off her wedding ring caught her eye, Becky suddenly realized this was the bed she would have
to share with him. Though it was certainly big enough for two people, it would be crowded when one of them was the size of
her new husband.
“Did you find anything interesting?” his voice broke into her thoughts.
“What?”
“In the box. Were there any surprises?”
“Not really though there were a few things I didn’t recognize. I think they might be for setting pans on in the
fireplace, but I’m not sure. I’ve never cooked in a fireplace before.”
“I’m sorry there isn’t a stove.”
“It doesn’t matter. I haven’t ever cooked on one of those either. We never had anything but a campfire.”
As he glanced over his shoulder at her in surprise she hastened to add, “But I’m sure it won’t be that difficult
to learn to use the fireplace.” Looking away from his gaze, Becky mentally cursed her unruly tongue. He probably thought
she’d starve him to death before she learned the proper way of it.
When he said nothing, Becky wondered uncomfortably if he was already regretting the generous impulse that had led to their
marriage. Stiffening her spine, she vowed he would never have cause to look back on this day and be sorry he’d tied
himself to her.
“That should do it,” Garrick said a few minutes later as he finished reinforcing the board she was holding. He
stood up and looked around as he reached down to give her a hand up. “It may be awhile before this place is livable.”
Putting her hand in his Becky smiled up at him shyly as she climbed to her feet. “I don’t know, I think it’s...oh...”
Becky forgot what she was saying as her ears started ringing and Swede’s face swam in front of her eyes. Unable to focus,
she felt her body sway before she pitched forward into darkness.
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