Page 1 of Wagon Train Honor
Chapter 1
What was the young lady doing out there by herself? Who was she?
Twice before, he’d observed her sitting on the hillside, head bent over a notebook, studiously writing something. The sun glistened off her blonde hair, catching hints of coppery color. Whatever she was doing, it held her attention completely.
Robert Davis leaned back into the shadow of the trees, content to watch the girl. Something about her seemed not quite real as if she’d blossomed from the ground like the flowers surrounding her. His curiosity had to be satisfied, so he eased around the clearing’s perimeter until he stood in front of her. Although he was only feet away, she hadn’t detected his presence.
The grass shushed under his boots as he stepped forward.
Her head jerked up. Wide blue eyes crashed into his gaze. She slammed shut the notebook that moments ago completely captivated her and scrambled to her feet.
“Ma’am. Miss. I mean you no harm.” He spread out his hands in a gesture of peace. His scarlet tunic should convince her he was more than law-abiding—he was a defender of the law. His sidearm might make her nervous, although her glance didn’t even go in its direction.
But she shook her head hard enough to send a spray of golden hair across her cheek. She brushed it aside and hurried away, her attention diverting neither to the left nor to the right.
“Wait.” But his entreaty didn’t slow her steps.
Why was she so afraid? Did she think he meant her harm? He shrugged. Despite evidence he was a Mountie, she might feel she had reason to think so. After all, they were on a hill, their presence hidden by trees from those at the fort and the many travelers clustered in the valley. Would she come again, or had he frightened her enough to stop future wandering?
What attracted her to this spot? He studied the place where she’d perched. He blinked. A square of white lay on the green grass. Had she dropped something?
His long strides ate up the distance, and he picked up a bit of paper worn to the feel of cotton as if she’d unfolded it and refolded it many times. Or was it even hers? Only one way to know. He opened it up to the bold black script of a letter addressed to Miss Woods.
The recipient of this news had been invited to join a group of people studying the plants of the Rocky Mountains.Your drawings will be invaluable to our work.
The three covered wagons parked in the valley belonged to the Woods and Miller families. The name Woods made him think of his friend, Carson. Carson was expecting his family to join him at Fort Taylor, but he’d said nothing about Millers. Both were common enough names, so did they have a connection to his friend?
The paper drooped in his fingers. The illusive woman was likely one of the travelers. He’d easily enough find out and return this letter to her if, indeed, it was hers.
As he pivoted to leave, a second bit of paper, caught in the grass, fluttered in the breeze, and he stooped to retrieve it. A sketch of a flower. The details of it were so precise he touched the paper, half expecting to feel the petals’ texture.
“Amazing.” He folded the papers and put them into his breast pocket for safekeeping. He patted his chest, the paper sighing under his touch. What better excuse for finding the mysterious woman?
The August heat intensified as he strode downhill. The covered wagons came into view. Several people circulated around the campfire. None of the women had the copper-threaded blonde hair of the woman he sought.
As always keenly aware of his surroundings, he shifted his gaze. There were two other small camps. All men. All seeking their fortune in whatever path they’d chosen. One of his duties was making sure they’d follow a legal path.
A wagon loaded with household goods secured by a network of ropes stopped in front of the trading post, which was a tiny reminder of the North-West Mounted Police fort that once stood in this area. The present business, nothing more than a rough log structure with a worn wooden step and two narrow windows in need of cleaning, showed none of its former glory.
A man and woman descended from the wagon and went inside.
Homesteaders. Robert grunted. Heads full of dreams. Reality often proved to be a far cry from those shining dreams. He wished them all the best and hoped they’d selected their quarter of land wisely.
Cattle grazed behind the post. Horses lounged next to the barn. Two riders loped up the far hill heading west. The West called to many even as it did to him.
His boots thudded on the trading post’s wooden step. The door sighed open. Three pairs of eyes turned to him. Seeing his scarlet tunic, the travelers straightened. Their eyes widened. Hiram, the operator of the establishment, greeted Robert.
“How do, Constable. Still no news on yer horses?”
Robert paused to touch his hat brim and nod a greeting to the watchful couple before he answered. “I hoped you’d heard something.”
“Nary a word. Nary a word. Sorry.” Hiram turned to indicate something to the travelers.
Huffing out his impatience, Robert eased back to the wall. The letter in his pocket and his task of returning it to its owner somewhat tempered his displeasure over waiting for the animals he was to deliver further west to Fort Taylor.
What was hindering him? He knew where the Woods and Miller crew parked. They’d been there a day already after crossing a large portion of Canada. The last few days before their arrival would have them traveling over a hot, dry prairie, challenging both man and beast.
All he had to do was march over there and ask to speak to Miss Woods. With him being a Mountie, no one ever questioned his right to be nosy. From what little he’d learned of those traveling together, there were two unmarried gals. Hadn’t Carson said his ma would be accompanied by his widowed sister and four unmarried ladies? Robert had been distracted the last time Carson told him about the travelers. Had he said something about his ma getting married again? And some old friends accompanying them? Could this be the same Woods family?
