know me. You don't want to know me. Just let this be. I'm doing the right thing here and Seth would agree with me. You know he would. Let that be an end to it." Without another word, he released her and slammed out the door into the rain.
Mariah stared at the worn wooden portal, too angry to speak, too stunned to move. She felt Hattie's arm on hers and turned toward the older woman.
"He's right, you know, dear," Hattie told her gently. "You couldn't follow him on that kind of a trip. It's rough, dangerous country—"
Mariah's chin rose with characteristic determination. "He's wrong, Mrs. Lochrie. He doesn't know that yet, but he will. If Mr. Devereaux thinks he's leaving tomorrow without me, he's got another thing coming."
Chapter 4
The rain stopped around dawn and Mariah was still awake to hear its stealthy departure. As she lay beside Mrs. Lochrie, sharing the narrow bed which her husband had generously relinquished for the night, Mariah watched the sun creep over the windowsill in the thick, white-washed sod wall.
The smell of damp, rain-washed earth lingered on the morning breeze that fluttered the lace curtains at the window. She smoothed the starched white sheet beneath her hands, admiring the home Hattie Lochrie had carved out of this wilderness. It was the kind of home she'd planned to make for herself and Seth. The kind of home a man could be proud of.
She pressed her fingertips against her tired eyelids. Sleep, except for short snatches here and there, had eluded her, despite her fatigue. In the darkness of night, Seth's face haunted her and her thoughts careened wildly out of control. What if Seth were dying slowly without her? Alone. Had she not seen men who'd lost their will to live back in the hospitals in Chicago rally when a loved one found them? Would Seth blame her if she came to him with Creed Devereaux?
She thought not.
The bounty hunter had refused to speak any more about her going with him when he'd returned from the barn. Ignoring her, he'd spread his bedroll out beside the others on the floor near the fire and shut her out by turning his back on her.
Mariah gathered a fistful of sheeting in her clenched hands. The man was infuriating! But he hadn't heard the last from her. Of that she was certain. A plan had begun to form in her mind sometime in the dark of night. All she needed was a little help.
In the outer room, the intermittent rattle and wheeze of men snoring was broken by the sound of a door being carefully latched shut. Mariah lay perfectly still for several minutes, waiting to hear boot heels moving against the floor or the fire grate opening stoked. Instead, the crunch of footsteps outside drew her gaze to the window. Mariah sat bolt upright in bed and saw his dark shape cross the yard.
Devereaux!
Why, the rat! He was sneaking off before she even got up! Mariah pushed the bedclothes aside and started to dress. With a practiced hand, she slipped her new readymade Dr. Warner's Coraline corset around her waist, hooked it together and re-tightened the lacings as best she could. She winced when it pinched her and cursed the newness of the whalebone stays. Over that went her corset cover and two petticoats made of crinoline and red flannel.
She pulled a serviceable, if wrinkled, two-piece green calico from her bag as Hattie stirred behind her.
"My dear," Hattie muttered sleepily. "What's wrong? Can't you sleep?"
Mariah slipped the skirt over her petticoats and tied the drawstring waist. "Mrs. Lochrie," she began, slipping the bodice over her shoulders and keeping her voice low, "you must help me."
Hattie sat up in bed, confused and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Help you?"
"I wouldn't ask, but I'm desperate."
"Desperate?"
"I need a horse."
Hattie blinked as she began to understand. "A horse—? My dear, you can't mean what I think you mean."
"I mean exactly that. I have no one else to turn to. I have money. I can pay you."
Hattie shook her mob-capped head.
Mariah stared at the worn wooden portal, too angry to speak, too stunned to move. She felt Hattie's arm on hers and turned toward the older woman.
"He's right, you know, dear," Hattie told her gently. "You couldn't follow him on that kind of a trip. It's rough, dangerous country—"
Mariah's chin rose with characteristic determination. "He's wrong, Mrs. Lochrie. He doesn't know that yet, but he will. If Mr. Devereaux thinks he's leaving tomorrow without me, he's got another thing coming."
Chapter 4
The rain stopped around dawn and Mariah was still awake to hear its stealthy departure. As she lay beside Mrs. Lochrie, sharing the narrow bed which her husband had generously relinquished for the night, Mariah watched the sun creep over the windowsill in the thick, white-washed sod wall.
The smell of damp, rain-washed earth lingered on the morning breeze that fluttered the lace curtains at the window. She smoothed the starched white sheet beneath her hands, admiring the home Hattie Lochrie had carved out of this wilderness. It was the kind of home she'd planned to make for herself and Seth. The kind of home a man could be proud of.
She pressed her fingertips against her tired eyelids. Sleep, except for short snatches here and there, had eluded her, despite her fatigue. In the darkness of night, Seth's face haunted her and her thoughts careened wildly out of control. What if Seth were dying slowly without her? Alone. Had she not seen men who'd lost their will to live back in the hospitals in Chicago rally when a loved one found them? Would Seth blame her if she came to him with Creed Devereaux?
She thought not.
The bounty hunter had refused to speak any more about her going with him when he'd returned from the barn. Ignoring her, he'd spread his bedroll out beside the others on the floor near the fire and shut her out by turning his back on her.
Mariah gathered a fistful of sheeting in her clenched hands. The man was infuriating! But he hadn't heard the last from her. Of that she was certain. A plan had begun to form in her mind sometime in the dark of night. All she needed was a little help.
In the outer room, the intermittent rattle and wheeze of men snoring was broken by the sound of a door being carefully latched shut. Mariah lay perfectly still for several minutes, waiting to hear boot heels moving against the floor or the fire grate opening stoked. Instead, the crunch of footsteps outside drew her gaze to the window. Mariah sat bolt upright in bed and saw his dark shape cross the yard.
Devereaux!
Why, the rat! He was sneaking off before she even got up! Mariah pushed the bedclothes aside and started to dress. With a practiced hand, she slipped her new readymade Dr. Warner's Coraline corset around her waist, hooked it together and re-tightened the lacings as best she could. She winced when it pinched her and cursed the newness of the whalebone stays. Over that went her corset cover and two petticoats made of crinoline and red flannel.
She pulled a serviceable, if wrinkled, two-piece green calico from her bag as Hattie stirred behind her.
"My dear," Hattie muttered sleepily. "What's wrong? Can't you sleep?"
Mariah slipped the skirt over her petticoats and tied the drawstring waist. "Mrs. Lochrie," she began, slipping the bodice over her shoulders and keeping her voice low, "you must help me."
Hattie sat up in bed, confused and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Help you?"
"I wouldn't ask, but I'm desperate."
"Desperate?"
"I need a horse."
Hattie blinked as she began to understand. "A horse—? My dear, you can't mean what I think you mean."
"I mean exactly that. I have no one else to turn to. I have money. I can pay you."
Hattie shook her mob-capped head.
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