The Lawman’s Frontier Bride Read online

  Later in the morning, she'd seen Tate emerging from the hotel. He hadn't paid her any attention. Instead, he'd walked straight over to the mercantile and spent a long time in there. On her way back down, walking in the direction of the empty train station, she'd seen Tate leaving the mercantile carrying a few bags. He'd made his way up to the livery and disappeared inside.

  Gretchen wondered what could be the cause of Tate's sudden activity. Maybe he was thinking of leaving, she told herself. That single thought made her heart heavy. She recalled the way he'd retrieved her reticule. The way he'd saved all her possessions. That one incident had made Gretchen worry all morning. It had made her realize that she might not be safe in this town. But she didn't know what she could do about it. The man who'd stolen from her might come back at any moment. And he might not be the only troublemaker she'd encounter over the next six days. The prospect of being stranded in town for that long awoke anxiety in Gretchen.

  And, to make things worse, if Tate did leave, then there would no-one to whom she could turn for help.

  Finishing her morning walk, Gretchen headed back to her hotel room. After lying down for a short while, she rose and opened the doors to the balcony. Stepping out, she heard a familiar voice to her left.

  "Almost time for lunch."

  Gretchen saw Tate standing on his side of the balcony barrier. He looked good, she admitted to herself. He was dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt. He'd shaved since the incident at breakfast. His bright gaze regarded her with what she thought looked like appreciation. She tried to smile but, after all the worrying thoughts she'd been playing with, found it hard.

  Tate frowned. "You still not hungry?" he advanced toward the white-painted wooden dividing barrier. Resting his hand on the barrier, he added: "Or is there something else on your mind?"

  Gretchen sighed. "I've been thinking."

  "Me, too," Tate added quickly.

  Gretchen narrowed her eyes. "What about?"

  Tate thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "About what happened this morning. And what it could mean."

  "I saw you going to the mercantile and the livery," she said tentatively. Glancing at him she added: "Are you leaving town?"

  "Maybe," he replied. Gretchen frowned. She'd been right in thinking that Tate may be about to leave Refuge.

  Tate leaned closer and peered at Gretchen intently. "But if I do leave town, I don't want to go on my own."

  "You don't?"

  Tate shook his head. "I think you know this place isn't safe for you, Gretchen. I can see it in your eyes." He gave her a piercing look which made her heart skip a beat. Suddenly, he looked deadly serious. "You saw what happened this morning."

  Gretchen shrugged. "That kind of thing happens out here," she retorted. "Didn't you tell me that yourself? That Montana isn't like Pennsylvania. Maybe I'll just have to get used to things being different."

  Tate sighed. "That's not what I meant. There are dangerous men out here. And they won't hesitate to cause trouble to a beautiful woman."

  Gretchen felt her mouth drop open. A shadow descended upon Tate's eyes and he turned his head away from her as if he realized what he'd just said.

  Tate had just called her beautiful, Gretchen told herself. She hesitated, considering the significance of that one word. Had that just been a slip of the tongue? Or had that thought been lingering in his mind from the moment they'd met outside the mercantile?

  Tate whirled around and faced Gretchen. "What I mean is that it might be best if you leave Refuge."

  "Leave? How can I do that?" The next train isn't for six days."

  Tate ran a hand through his dark hair. "I'm not talking about taking the train, Gretchen."

  She liked the sound of her name on his lips. She knew what he was suggesting. A journey across the Montana territory. He was thinking of sending her away. That was why he'd been in the mercantile and livery this morning.

  Gretchen shook her head. "I can't go. I'll wait here and take my chances."

  Tate groaned. "You can't do that. You don't know the kind of men there are around here. What they're capable of."

  Lifting a brow, she said: "And you do? I thought you were just a drifting cowpuncher."

  Tate smiled and nodded. Maybe he'd been momentarily amused at her use of the description of what he did for a living. "That's what I am." Then his expression became grim again. "But I know this part of Montana. And when I say it isn't safe for a woman, I mean that."

  "So you expect me to get on a horse and go riding west and hope I end up in Inspiration," she said firmly. "Is that it?"

  Tate shook his head. "No. You can't go alone."

  "Who's going to take me?"

  "I am," Tate declared defiantly.

  A long silence hung in the air between her and Tate. Then she said: "You?"

  Tate nodded. "I can take you to Inspiration. It's a four day ride. But we can take enough supplies to last the journey. And the summer weather will help. Long days and short nights."

  Gretchen frowned. "You'd do that for me?"

  Tate sighed. "Anything to make sure you get where you want to go."

  For a moment, Gretchen was lost for words. She rested her hands on the balustrade and gazed out across the Main Street. Of course Tate was right. This town wasn't safe. Gretchen had seen evidence of that this morning. Even with Tate around, and willing to help her, she knew trouble might find her. And then what. All her dreams of happiness out here in Montana would come to a sudden end.

  Turning to face Tate she asked: "Do you know the way?"

  Tate nodded. "I've been in this territory long enough. I think I can get us there."

  Gretchen looked into Tate's eyes. Could she trust this man? After all, he was still almost a complete stranger. But she'd seen the way he'd rescued her from trouble this morning. He hadn't hesitated to come to her aid. If his intentions weren't honorable, he wouldn't have done that, would he? Trusting Tate was a risk. There was no denying it. But, her situation was dire. She knew she had to take a chance.

  Turning her back on him, she wrapped her arms around herself and offered up a silent prayer.

  Lord, guide me to make the right choice. Maybe, You've brought this man into my life to be my protector. To take me to where You want me to be. Help me make the right decision, Lord.

  She turned to face Tate again. To her surprise, he was holding a small object which had been wrapped in pink paper. A neat little ribbon had been tied around the object, which was rectangular in shape.

  "What's this?" she asked, smiling at him.

  "I bought it for you when I was at the mercantile," Tate explained. He tilted his head. "When I saw it, I remembered you telling me it was one of the things you left on the train."

  He held the package out and she took it. Unwrapping it, she pulled away the thin paper and gasped. It was a book. But not just any book.

  "A Bible?" she said breathlessly.

  Tate nodded. "You told me you lost your own back on the train."

  It was a small volume, less than the size of her hand. It had a soft, brown leather binding. The pages were gossamer thin and fluttered softly as she flicked through them. "It's beautiful, Tate," she said. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome. Maybe it will help on our journey," he suggested.

  "Our journey?"

  Tate nodded. "You know it's the only way. I've got everything we need. The horses are ready at the livery. Supplies. And I got you some riding gear."

  "What!" she exclaimed.

  Tate glanced down the length of her gown. "If your going to ride for four day, you're going to need something more practical than a ladies gown."

  "What did you get?"

  "A riding skirt. You know. One of the ones that is split into two parts."

  "I know what a riding skirt is," she snapped. Gretchen ran a hand down the length of her gown. He was right. This wasn't exactly outdoor apparel. "What if it doesn't fit?"

  Tate lifted a brow. "I'm sure you can do somethi
ng about that," he suggested.

  Gretchen nodded and then shrugged in agreement. "You're right. My mother taught me how to use needle and thread." Memories of days long gone drifted into her mind. Sweet memories of family. Gretchen felt a familiar longing stir in her heart. That world was a long way away, now, she told herself. She had a new life to make for herself. Gretchen pushed the memories away. She had a decision to make.

  Holding the Bible in her hand, she gazed at Tate. His features were set in an earnest expression. He was waiting for her answer. She still hadn't confirmed that she would go with him. But this last few moments had gone a long way to reassuring her that Tate might be a man she could trust. She thought about all the preparations he'd already made. Had he been so sure she would agree? Or was there another reason why he wanted to leave town so quickly. Maybe this morning had spooked him.

  But, there really was no other choice, Gretchen reflected.

  "So, what do you say?" Tate asked.

  "You know I haven't ridden across country like this before."

  "Let me worry about that," Tate said. "We can go easy for the first day or two."

  Sighing once more, Gretchen peered into Tate's icy blue eyes. They shimmered with barely contained anticipation. She could see how much this meant to him. Whatever the reason for that, she knew she had made up her mind.

  "When do we leave?" she asked.

  Tate grinned and his shoulders sank, all the tension easing out of his body. "This afternoon," he announced.

  "So soon?"

  Tate shrugged. "We have everything we need." He tilted his head and gave her a mischievous grin. "And you have a very reliable guide. Even if I say so myself."

  Gretchen laughed quietly. Now he was having fun with her. And, she had to admit, she liked it. Each time he smiled at her like that, she felt a warm glow in her middle. She knew she'd have to be careful with that during the journey. Tate was her guide. Nothing else. Once they reached Inspiration, they'd go their separate ways. And that would be the end of her time with Tate Campbell.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  They left Refuge in the middle of the afternoon, heading west out of town along a rough trail which Tate knew led across rolling grasslands and through some dense forests. The sun was bright and high in the Montana sky. The air was warm and clear. Tate figured it was a good day to be setting out. And he was glad they were leaving Refuge long before there was any chance that Frank Wolfe's outfit would hit town.

  Tate rode his own mustang which John Douglas had been looking after for the last few days. After inspecting the few horses which Douglas had on offer, Tate had chosen a pinto for Gretchen. He'd looked at the horse carefully, and had asked Douglas if he thought the animal's temperament would be suited to an inexperienced rider going across country on unfamiliar territory. After some long thinking Douglas had eventually confirmed to Tate that he thought the pinto would behave.

  Both horses had been packed with what would be needed on the journey. They had enough food for a few days. Each horse carried a rolled up bedroll and spare blanket. Tate had made sure all other essential were packed away. His Colt .45 and plenty of bullets were stowed away in his saddlebag. A Sharps rifle rested vertically in its scabbard on the right side of Tate's mount.

  He avoided talking about the rifle to Gretchen when she came to the livery. He didn't want her worrying about why he might need a gun. The rifle would be needed for hunting for food. And for dealing with any other unwanted visitors.

  The packs weren't so heavy that the horses would tire too quickly. The animals would need regular breaks though. The terrain west of Refuge could be rough in parts. And Gretchen's inexperience at this kind of riding would make things tougher. But Tate was confident they'd be able to work things out.

  Before leaving, Gretchen had gotten herself into a panic when she realized that her gray, woolen riding skirt had to be adjusted. She'd spent what had seemed to Tate like a long time in her room adjusting the skirt. After this, she'd insisted on going over to the mercantile so she could buy herself a shirt and jacket, even if they didn't fit properly. It seemed like she was taking seriously the idea of an outdoor journey, Tate had reflected as he'd stood outside the mercantile waiting for Gretchen to finish her last minute buying spree.

  Later, when she'd stepped out of her hotel room, shortly before leaving, she'd been wearing the whole outfit. Tate had whistled and Gretchen had given him a stern look. Instantly he'd realized he'd need to contain any sign of enthusiasm for the appearance of his companion on the journey. She looked exceedingly fine, as far as Tate was concerned. She'd bought a small-fitting, light brown buckskin jacket and wore that over the shirt and riding skirt. The transformation was dramatic and Tate approved mightily. Tate's compliments had been sincere, although Gretchen had accepted them with obvious reluctance.

  Now that she was riding alongside him, Tate had to admit she looked ready for the outdoors. Her gown was packed away in one of the large saddlebags, along with her reticule and bonnet. Her different apparel didn't distract from her natural beauty. If anything, the practical outfit made her look even more attractive to Tate. She looked like she belonged in the beautiful countryside through which they were slowly riding.

  Tate kept the pace easy, at first. He wanted to assess Gretchen's riding skills. It was important he know how much she could sustain when it came to riding. He noticed that she sat high in the saddle, like she was out for a ride in one of those parks back East. Her back was ramrod straight, her arms were rigid, and her gloved hands held the reins tightly. Too tightly.

  As he glanced across at her, she fixed him with a look and frowned. "What are you staring at?" she asked.

  "I'm looking at the way you're sitting in that saddle."

  "What about it?"

  "You're sitting too tight. You'll never be able to keep that up all the way to Inspiration."

  "What do you want me to do?"

  Tate sighed and leaned forward. "Can't you relax a bit?"

  She shifted, but not by much, he reflected. Tate shook his head and tipped the front of his Stetson up. "I don't see much difference there."

  "It feels fine to me," she retorted.

  "We're not out for a Sunday stroll," he countered.

  For making that remark he was rewarded with a scolding look from Gretchen.

  "Maybe it's the saddle," he suggested.

  "I thought you fixed the saddle for me back at the livery," Gretchen objected.

  She was right. Tate and the livery owner had spent some time adjusting the cinches, making sure that Gretchen would be comfortable once she started out. But now that they'd been riding a while, he could see the saddle slipping slightly.

  "Let's stop." He drew up.

  "Why?" she demanded.

  "So I can make some adjustments there," he explained.

  Gretchen frowned. Maybe after all the preparations, she was just eager to keep moving, Tate told himself. Gretchen drew her pinto to a halt. Tate stepped down from his mustang and tied its reins to a nearby tree.

  "Just stay there," Tate instructed.

  He saw Gretchen's mouth twist into a very noticeable pout. Her brows creased as he reached down and started checking the cinches beneath the saddle. He wondered if she was going to argue with him over every small detail. If that was the case, then the next few days were going to pass by very slowly, he reflected.

  Tate untied one of the cinches and shifted the saddle slightly. The movement made Gretchen straighten abruptly. Tate was sure he even heard Gretchen utter a quiet, disapproving noise as he fussed with the saddle. She glanced down at him. Tate wondered why she was so bothered by what he was doing. Surely she understood how important it would be for her to be steady on the horse.

  "Sit still," he ordered.

  She sighed noisily. That wasn't encouraging, Tate told himself. He tugged hard on the cinch for one last time.

  Reaching up, he took her arms and pulled gently on them. "Relax," he instructed.

  "I am r
elaxing," she insisted.

  To Tate, her arms felt as rigid as tree branches. He took the reins and demonstrated how to hold them. "Look. You're not trying to strangle someone with the reins. You don't need to hold them so tight." Looking up at her he saw her mouth tighten. This wasn't going well.

  Handing her the reins, he said: "Try holding them again."

  Gretchen puffed out a noisy sigh. She took the reins and wrapped her fingers around them. He was pleased to see that, in spite of her protests, she was doing what he'd shown her.

  Encouraged, he started to reach up, intending to place his hands on the middle of her back. He froze when he saw the way Gretchen was looking at him.

  Tate cleared his throat. "Do you mind if I show you how to improve your posture? You're going to be riding for a long time."

  Gretchen looked at him for a moment. Maybe she was weighing up his true intentions. Tate knew they were perfectly innocent. He was under no illusions about what a leap of faith she'd made in trusting him to make this journey safely. After all, they'd only just become acquainted.

  "Go ahead," she agreed and then looked straight ahead.

  Very gently, Tate placed his hands on the middle of her back. In spite of his entirely innocent intentions, he felt his heart quicken as his hands settled on her back. Taking care not to hold her too tightly, he moved his hands slowly, easing some of the tension out of her lower back. He felt her back muscles soften. Then her entire posture shifted downwards.

  "Does that feel more balanced?" he asked.

  Tilting her head, Gretchen thought a moment and then nodded. "I guess it does." She looked down at him. "Is this my first lesson? Or do you have others in mind?"

  Tate felt his face flush with heat. He was sure his cheeks had turned a deep shade of red. Gretchen frowned and then her eyes widened as she realized the unintended meaning of what she'd just said.