Chapter Three
Dean galloped his horse toward Elkio Gold Mine with the three carpetbags he’d stolen from the coach. His heart pounded wildly in his chest as he looked over his shoulder often, ensuring that no one followed him.
But he feared more than simply being captured. He feared that he’d just stolen a bag from his mail-order bride, Lydia. He was almost certain it was her. He’d gotten a full view of her face, and he would have bet his right hand it was her.
“Damn and blast!” he cursed, as he slowed his horse to a trot. He led the mare to a small private clearing where he stopped and hitched her to a tree.
He looked down at his clothes. He would need to shuck them and borrow clothes from a miner near his size to meet Lydia the next day. He observed his boots, knowing they would be nearly impossible to trade due to their large size, but he hoped perhaps she hadn’t gotten a good look at them. They were basic enough—black leather with a short riding heel—but a line of fringed leather along each side made them somewhat distinct.
Dean removed the carpetbags from his horse and set them down in the dewy grass. He set thoughts of Lydia aside and, with his hopes raised, searched the first bag, which had belonged to the other woman on the coach. After dumping out her clothing and other belongings, he ripped open the seams and searched for cash. He found none. Disappointed, but not giving up hope, he dumped the belongings of the next carpetbag. In it was a significant amount of money. Dean reckoned it was likely the man’s life savings. But when he ripped open the seams, he found none of the miners’ stolen money.
This was not a good sign, and his spirits sank. Only Lydia’s bag remained, and he doubted all the money would be stored there. It would have been foolish for Barnaby to only sew the cash into one bag. It should have been distributed to all three to even out the weight.
Still, he carefully searched her bag, trying not to notice her lacy undergarments or the fragrant scent of jasmine emanating from them. He found her wallet, which contained a modest amount of money, but no doubt all she had. He was sorry for her and the other passengers who felt like everything they owned was gone. They didn’t know he planned to deliver the bags back to them.
Not a single dollar was sewn into the seams of Lydia’s bag. It was a terrible disappointment, and he wondered how John had gotten the information so wrong. What a waste. Dean found a hollow log and sat on it. Birds chirped around him as though frantically cheerful about the sunlight streaming through the trees, but his spirits were low. The mission to retrieve the money owed to the miners was bust. He felt equally bad about his fiancée being on the coach. He’d played the part of an evil bandit and had made every effort to appear as terrifying as possible. He’d seen the fear in her eyes, which pained him, especially since she’d been so betrayed by her husband. He’d daydreamed about being the man to apply salve to her wounds, to prove to her that he would take care of her. Instead, he’d not only frightened her, he’d also stolen from her.
Dean packed up the carpetbags and tied them to the horse, then covered them with a bedroll. The next morning, when he rode a new horse to town, he would have to continue to keep the bags hidden, not only from the whole town, but also from Lydia, especially when she followed behind him on her own horse back to his cabin.
He rode the rest of the way to the mine and borrowed clothing from one of the miners who kept clean clothes in his personal cupboard. Dean’s reasoning for borrowing the clothes was that he wanted to appear sharp for meeting his mail-order bride the next day.
He spent the night in the hut that served as his office at the mining location. As he laid his head on a rolled blanket that night, Dean tried to think of the right way to tell Lydia what had happened. First, he would have to explain that things were different in the west—that the marshal was corrupt and they couldn’t rely on him to find their money. Even as he formed a plausible explanation in his mind, he knew it didn’t take away from the fact that he’d frightened and wronged her. And would he even get the chance to explain himself? What if she recognized him immediately and ran for her life?
???
The next morning, Lydia returned to the stagecoach station to meet her fiancé, where he was expecting to see her descend from Saturday’s coach. She’d spent the night in the livery on the other side of town, wrapping herself in horse blankets and sleeping on a stack of straw. She’d washed her face in the well out back earlier that morning. She didn’t have a change of clothes, a hairbrush, or her jasmine perfume to help her make a good first impression, but she could hardly be faulted for that. She hoped that despite the lack of preparation, she would still appear presentable to her betrothed.
She smoothed the front of her yellow taffeta frock and looked around, waiting to catch the first glance of Dean. She stood with a few other people who presumably were waiting for the coach, knowing that Dean would join them any moment.
When she spotted him walking toward the small crowd, her breath caught in her throat. He was every bit as good looking as his picture, and quite a bit taller than she’d imagined. He wore blue denims that hugged his thick legs and a clean white shirt, unbuttoned at the top revealing a tuft of dark chest hair. Over his shirt was an open suede coat that appeared a bit small for him, perhaps because of his tall height and the wideness of his chest.
When they locked eyes, he smiled and continued to walk toward her. He didn’t look surprised to see her on the platform with other people waiting for the coach, and she liked that. From his letters he seemed to be the kind of man with an even temperament who could adapt easily, and the way he noticed her and accepted she wasn’t where he thought she’d be without so much as a raised eyebrow seemed to prove that true.
He walked toward her steadily. She couldn’t believe they were about to meet for the first time. She tried not to look panicked, but that’s how she felt. By the time he reached her, her heart was fluttering wildly.
He swept the dust-colored hat off his head and gave a short bow. “How do you do, Miss Shaw?” His voice was deep and friendly, with a slow drawl.
“Please, call me Lydia.” She held out her hand, which he promptly enclosed in his much larger one.
“Only if you call me Dean,” he agreed, squeezing her hand gently.
Lydia felt heat radiating up her arm and throughout her whole body. Never had she felt such immediate attraction to a man. Her husband had always left her vaguely uncomfortable when he touched her, if not outright disgusted.
“I’d like that, Dean,” she said softly, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.
“I expected to see you when the coach arrived,” he said. “It’s not even here yet. Did you come on an earlier coach?”
“Yes,” she said. “There was room on an earlier coach, and it was said to be more comfortable, so I jumped at the opportunity to take it. But I wish I’d stuck with the coach set to arrive today.”
“Why’s that?”
“Our coach was held up by a bandit between here and Bells. My bag was stolen.”
“What? That’s terrible.”
“Aye,” she agreed. “After having all my money stolen by my husband, this felt particularly affronting, though of course the stagecoach bandit stole very little comparatively.”
“Still, what a bad welcome to Nevada,” he said. “I’m sorry.” He hung his head and shook it sadly, as though overcome by her plight.
“It’s no matter,” she said, adding a cheerful edge to her voice. “At least he didn’t harm me. Material goods can be replaced.”
He smiled faintly, though his face continued to show concern with his brows furrowed and a tic in his jaw. “You’re right, that’s what’s most important. Did the driver report the theft to the marshal?”
“Yes, but I have little hope of recovering my things.”
He held out his arm for her to take, then silently led her in the direction of the restaurant. At least, that’s where Lydia hoped they were headed. Half the day was over, and she still hadn’t eaten breakfast. As they walked, the wind picked up and a flurry of snow began to fall.
“Storm’s heading here fast,” Dean said, looking up at the sky. “It’s been colder these last few days, even with the sun shining. Now the clouds have come.”
Lydia shivered. Her coat had been stolen along with everything else.
As though reading her mind, Dean suddenly stopped, shrugged out of his coat, and wrapped it around her shoulders. “It’s too small for me anyway.”
“You’re very kind,” Lydia said, glancing over at him. She thought to herself that his shirt looked rather small for him too, as the sleeves did not quite reach his wrists.
Their steps quickened. “We’d better buy a coat for you at the mercantile and head to my cabin posthaste,” Dean said. “The snow will soon coat the path.”
Lydia nodded, understanding the urgency, though disappointed that they wouldn’t stop to eat or have a wedding. “What about getting married?” she asked. “Shouldn’t we do that before leaving town?”
“No time,” he said. His teeth began to chatter. “We’ll have to do it next time we’re in town. It’s too bad. I read there might be a storm, but I had hoped the forecast was wrong.”
They arrived at the mercantile, which housed a roaring fire off to one side, filling the room with warmth. Lydia took off the coat and handed it back to Dean, smiling. “You should put this on. You’re shaking from the cold.”
He took it from her but hung it on the coat rack instead of donning it. “Much warmer inside,” he said, rubbing his arms up and down to generate more heat.
“Howdy, Mr. Hunter!” a man said, stepping out from behind a long counter. “And is this the new Mrs. Hunter?” He smiled broadly at them.
“Still Miss Shaw,” she said, extending her hand.
He shook it vigorously and bowed. “I’m Mr. Conner. So pleased to meet you. The whole town will be. Everyone wants to know the fortunate woman who snagged Mr. Hunter, Elkio’s very own genius.”
“You’re too kind,” Dean said, rescuing Lydia from having to respond. “Please, Mr. Conner, we want to get to my cabin before the storm gets worse. Sell me your warmest winter coat for Miss Shaw here.”
“Of course, of course,” Mr. Conner said. He dashed off, seeming excited about the assignment.
Lydia looked at Dean. “Everyone knows of your girder invention, it seems?”
He nodded, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “Yes, but they don’t know I have yet to receive a single penny of royalty from it. They assume I’m rich already. Just watch Mr. Conner try to sell me this coat for an obscene amount.” He winked at her.
Lydia blushed, feeling pleased that he had taken her into his confidence. She liked his humility and way of talking to people. He was even more attractive than she could have hoped, and she was pleased to see that he was well admired by the townsfolk.
“Here’s the one!” Mr. Conner said, his voice excitedly high. “Isn’t it perfect for the winter days? Made of the finest wool.” He held it open for Lydia to try on.
She obediently stuffed her arms in the sleeves and pulled it around her body. It shrouded her in significant warmth.
“Do you like it?” Dean asked.
“Yes, I do.”
“How much?” he asked Mr. Conner.
“Oh… Well, for you and the lovely lady, I’ll give you a right smart deal. Only fifteen dollars and it’s yours. I’ll throw in an extra button in case one gets lost. It shouldn’t, mind you. The stitching is impeccable.”
Dean pulled out his wallet. “I’ll give you two-thirds of that,” he said firmly, handing him the money. “And we’ll take the button and a couple of those rolls on the counter.”
Mr. Conner grumbled a little, though his excited ramblings didn’t stop. “You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Hunter. But I reckon that’s fair.” He brought the plate of rolls and held it out. “One for each of you.”
Lydia was so hungry that she didn’t demur. “Thank you, Mr. Conner.” She glanced at Dean with a small grin, which he saw and returned with another wink.
When they were outside the restaurant, Dean handed her his roll. She took it and burst out laughing. “You were right! He did try to take you for a ride!”
“I told you,” he said, chuckling. “When I do become wealthy, I won’t bargain so much. Hardworking people like Mr. Conner deserve a little extra from time to time.”
Lydia fell into step beside him, thinking about his words. Though she thought what he said was well intentioned, she also found it a bit reckless of an idea. “You should still be careful with your money, even if you have plenty of it,” she warned. “The world is full of people looking to part you from it.”
“You’re probably right. That’s good advice.”
“Oh, yes, I’ve got plenty of advice,” she said wryly. “Too bad I didn’t heed it when I met my husband. I readily assumed his intentions were good, but not everyone is who they seem. I found that out the hard way. “
He stopped suddenly and turned to look at her. His dark eyes bored into hers when he said, “I have good intentions, Lydia. I hope you know that.”
The sound of his voice made her heart skip a beat. He spoke so fiercely, and there was something vaguely familiar about the urgent tone. She reached out and grasped his forearm, which was hard and sinewy with muscle. “I believe you, Dean. Your letters to me were so open about your life, so humble in describing your invention. I worried I’d never be able to trust someone again, but I feel safe with you. I can’t explain it. When I saw you on the stagecoach platform, I felt as though I’d already met you somehow.”
He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. She couldn’t tell whether he was pleased or upset by her words, and she wondered if she was coming on too strong. Perhaps she should try to be more coquettish, but that didn’t feel right either. She’d already agreed to marry him, so she felt it best to be frank with her thoughts.
His expression was sober when he held out his arm to her. She took hold of his elbow and fell into step beside him. The snow was falling harder now, and the street was emptying of people. Finally, he responded, “You’ll always be safe with me. I would never cause you harm.”
Lydia didn’t need that assurance. She already believed it, but it was nice to hear the words out loud.
They reached the livery, where Dean quickly saddled two horses. “You can ride, right?” he asked belatedly after he’d cinched the girth. He cupped his hands and held them out for her to use as a step up.
She placed her foot in his hands, noticing that her foot was dwarfed by them, and held on to his shoulder as he lifted her to the saddle. She swung her leg over. “Yes, of course,” she assured him, as she placed her feet in the stirrups. Noticing the stirrup straps were too long, she reached down and pulled out the leather, adjusting it to a shorter length.
Dean circled the horse. “Fixing your stirrups while mounted is a sure sign of horsemanship,” he said, adjusting the right stirrup to match the left.
He retrieved a large collection of supplies wrapped in a blanket and spent some time balancing and tying it to the horse. He then mounted and led them out of the barn. The snow was falling hard now. A thin coat of it covered the entire ground. He led the way to a small path.
Dean set the pace of their horses at a measured walk. Though Lydia knew he was anxious to go home immediately to avoid falling prey to worsening weather, he still behaved in a careful fashion. It was one more thing to like about him. Lydia tried not to think of her husband and the way his compulsive behavior had continuously put her at risk. Once he had given their address to a shady character from the saloon who had shown up while she was home alone. Not once had her husband considered her before himself. Every action had been to his own benefit, often to her detriment.
Throughout the journey, Lydia attempted to converse with Dean several times, only to be met with grunts and humorless chuckles. She wondered if she’d said something wrong, or if there was something about her he didn’t like. He had taken her into his confidence while in the mercantile, but it was almost as though a spigot had been turned and the flow of conversation had been shut off as soon as she’d confided her positive feelings for him.
She realized that he had made no comment about her appearance in the hour since she’d met him. She wasn’t a vain person, but it was customary for a man to compliment the woman he wanted to marry. Perhaps it was her fault. Their first topic of conversation had naturally been regarding the stagecoach robbery. Had that put a damper on him forming good feelings for her?
The snow began to fall even more heavily, and the wind swirled around them, causing Lydia’s cheeks to burn with the cold. She wanted to ask Dean how much longer until they reached his cabin, but she held her tongue, not wanting to appear worried or like she was nagging him.
Her stomach growled, the two rolls not having been enough to satisfy her hunger, and she longed to cook a nice stew for the two of them, assuming there would be enough ingredients at the cabin. It struck her that she didn’t know what was available at the cabin. She didn’t know what the house looked like or whether it would be comfortable.
Was she a totally foolish woman, so easily trusting this man who was silently leading her to a foreign place? He hadn’t even married her before taking her on this journey, and she’d easily accepted that. It had made sense at the time, considering the incoming storm. But should she have questioned it?
Dean spoke his first word in ages. “It’s there, up ahead. Do you see it?”
Lydia strained her eyes. Beyond the tall trees dotted with white, she saw what looked like a solid block of brown wood. “I see it!” she said, flooded with relief. He was taking her to safety after all. Of course he was. She shouldn’t have doubted it for a moment.