Chapter 4
Chapter Four
A dull throbbing pulsed in Josie’s temples and chest when the stagecoach arrived in Willow Grove.
She sighed in relief, but as she looked down at her shortened nails, her fears resurfaced.
It had been a long, tiring journey—six grueling days by train to St. Louis, then on to Kansas City, Denver, and finally Cheyenne.
After that, Josie endured an excruciating fourteen-day stagecoach journey, jolting and rumbling across the plains.
The relentless motions had left Josie feeling sicker than she did cooped up in Aunt Tia’s attic.
Vomiting and headaches had been her loyal traveling companions, refusing to leave even as passengers came and went at every stop.
Each day had seemed like an eternity, and the weariness clung to her bones, aching in every attempt to stretch.
Now all she wanted was a soft bed. Maybe a hot meal.
Or just possibly a warm bath. Anything but more traveling.
Josie poked her head out the window, letting the gentle mountain breeze wash over her face.
When would this nausea go away? But every wave of sickness, every cramp and tightness in her muscles, she reminded herself why she had embarked on this journey.
She loved the baby in her womb more than anything, and her sacrifices proved how much she did.
She wouldn’t be marrying a stranger if it weren’t true.
The stagecoach finally came to a halt, and the driver opened the door, extending his hand.
Fatigue wore Josie down, but a tinge of excitement pushed her forward.
What would a small wheat-farming town look like?
This would be her home now, the place where her child would grow up.
In the past weeks, Josie had grown restless, wanting to know everything about Willow Grove.
She stepped onto the soft, muddied ground, her boots sinking slightly as she took in her surroundings.
Worn buildings lined the streets, and wooden planks created a boardwalk in front of them.
For a moment, the town resembled Cheyenne, only smaller and more weathered.
The buildings lacked paint, and only two wagons rolled by instead of the usual bustling traffic.
The second driver removed her bag from the top of the coach and dropped it down to her.
The brown carpet bag was light, containing only what Aunt Tia could spare without suspicion.
After taking her belongings, Josie brushed the dust from her linen burgundy skirt and button-down bodice, taking a moment to collect herself.
The wind whistled and whipped her hair free from its pins.
She sucked in yet another breath, closing her eyes as she tucked the loose strands beneath her bonnet.
This is it, Josie. You’re home now. You’re safe. No one will find you here.
When she opened her eyes and lifted her chin, her heart paused.
Squinting and shielding her face from the hot sun with her hand, she made out the figure of a man, standing under a sign that read “Post Office.” His gaze locked with hers, making Josie nearly forget to breathe.
She remained frozen in the street, perhaps staring too long, but he kept his eyes locked on hers.
When he moved in her direction, Josie’s throat tightened, rendering her mute. She clutched her carpet bag handles, her grip increasing as the seconds ticked by. If this is Travis, I hope he is pleased.
A brown suit coat, with sleeves rolled to his elbows, fit snugly over a matching vest. A white shirt peeked out at the collar, along with an uneven tie. If this wasn’t Travis, then some poor wheat farmer had dressed foolishly for July.
The man paused in front of her and removed his hat, revealing his dark slick-back hair that stopped just below his ears. Sweat visibly glistened from his forehead.
“You must be Miss Callahan,” he said, extending his arm towards her. His low baritone voice carried a crisp edge.
Josie hesitated for a moment before shaking his hand. Goodness, Josie, don’t appear a fool. “And I gather you must be Mr. Blythe,” she said, taking his hand.
His grip was loose—too loose. His palm was clammy, but Josie forced a smile, determined to hide her discomfort.
“I hope your trip went well,” Travis remarked, pulling his hand away. He hid it behind his back, wiping his palm on his trousers.
“Tiring—but the sights were worth seeing.”
Travis opened his mouth to speak again but closed. He bit his lip and looked down at Josie’s bag. “Let me take that for you,” he offered, reaching forward.
“Oh, there’s no need.” She gripped the handle tight. “I can carry it.”
“I don’t mind. My wagon is just over there.”
Josie followed his gaze and spotted a wagon parked and hitched by two horses in front of a gray building. She forced a soft smile. “Very well then.”
Travis took her bag, his sleeves tightening around his forearms, outlining his muscular build. Josie’s eyes widened upon studying them. Travis wasn’t as broad as Marcus had been, but his muscles were large and powerful. One hand latched around her throat and it wouldn’t take long to—
“Just this way.” Travis’s warm voice removed Josie from her thoughts. She nodded, lifting up her dragging petticoat.
Josie trailed behind him as he made his way down the muddy road.
The recent rain had deepened the mud, making every step a challenge.
At least you didn’t wear your good shoes.
She carefully proceeded and focused on keeping her balance.
The last thing she wanted was for Travis to see her as a clumsy woman.
She needed this marriage to happen. If he found her unfit, he’d send her home.
Josie pressed a hand to her stomach while it twisted in knots. We won’t go back. We won’t.
The gray building boasted a sign reading “Lynde General Store.” Its painted exterior stood out against the surrounding unpainted buildings of raw lumber and mortar.
Josie looked upward, studying the merchandise through the large windows—fabrics, jars of preserves, shelves of canned goods, and a display case of carved wooden toys.
A boy and a girl stood beside their mother as she conversed with the man at the counter.
The children giggled, pointing at the candy jar.
The mother’s eyes narrowed at the children and she snapped at them.
Josie laughed softly. Oh, how mischievous children are at that age.
Travis loaded Josie’s bag, then brushed his hands together. “Sorry about the street. We were recently blessed with a downpour.”
Josie dropped her arms at her sides. Blessed was an understatement for a farmer, dependent on rain to make a decent living. “I’m all right.”
Travis climbed up the wagon and extended his hand towards Josie.
His strong arm led her upward, and she situated herself on the driver’s seat.
Travis didn’t seem like a horrid man, but Josie knew better than to judge too quickly.
He wasn’t what she had expected—clean-shaven, well-mannered, lacking the ruggedness she imagined.
Those striking blue eyes of his caught her off guard—they were inviting yet mysterious, and she couldn’t help but think he was rather handsome.
But looks didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. What truly mattered was if she could trust him with her life—and her baby’s
A wave of relief came over Travis as his curious questions about his bride were finally answered.
Miss Josephine Callahan wasn’t at all what he had expected—she wasn’t a woman of spinster age or a girl too young to be considered a woman.
Instead, she embodied the perfect image of a mature woman—well-mannered, modest, and dressed in fashionable yet proper attire.
Her bonnet, with its ridiculous flowers at the brim and silk ribbon tied under her chin, might be too gaudy for a humble farmer’s wife, but her high-neck bodice and matching petticoat were simple enough for Sunday best.
Not only was Miss Callahan of proper marrying age, but she was also easy on the eyes.
Her blonde hair, the exact shade of wheat, peeked out from under that gaudy bonnet, shimmering like gold beneath sunlight as the wagon rolled down the main road.
Travis did notice her a mite too skinny, her cheekbones sharp beneath her skin and her waist too narrow.
But after weeks on the trail, he could sympathize with her.
While Travis didn’t mind her petite frame or youth, one concern consumed him: how would she adjust to the rugged realities of frontier life?
He had witnessed the challenges it posed to even the strongest individuals—his father and uncle, both of whom passed before turning forty.
He could envision the tragic day like it was yesterday, his father dropping dead from a heart attack because of the laborious work.
Travis pushed the memory away, like many times before.
No matter if Miss Callahan lacked experience, her delicate demeanor might not be suited for the hardships they would face.
When shaking her hand, he was shocked by how soft her hands were—smooth like a baby’s skin.
She’d need calloused hands, strong stamina, and determination to survive.
Yet who was he to say she lacked those skills?
“So . . . um . . . Was it difficult saying goodbye to your family?” Travis asked.
Miss Callahan opened her mouth to answer but then hesitated.
Her face turned a deep shade of red. Had Travis said something wrong?
He couldn’t tell if the heat caused her to flush or if he had somehow upset her.
You fool, Travis scolded himself, clutching the reins tighter.
What a stupid question to ask. Of course it was upsetting.
You can see it on her face. The last thing he wanted was to make her more uncomfortable than she already seemed.