Tempest EPB

  Chapter Two

  While the sheriff drove, Regan sat on the wagon seat beside him and took in the small town of Paradise. They rolled down the rutted dirt road that served as the main street, past Miller’s General Store, and a small log cabin with a sign over its door that read Telegraph.

  “Can we stop long enough for me to send a telegram to my family?” she asked. “I want them to know I arrived safely.”

  “Sure can.”

  People on the walks paused to watch her go inside and she wondered what they thought of her.

  The interior was small. Three older men, all sporting whiskers and beards, were seated around a table. In the center was a checkerboard. They all looked up at her entrance.

  One of them was the buckskin-wearing man of earlier. He grinned. “You didn’t come in here to shoot us, did you?”

  Regan dropped her head. Would she ever live this down? “No, sir. Just to send a telegram to my family in Arizona Territory.”

  “Then I guess we’re safe,” one of the other men said while studying the board. He moved a black disc, then smiled proudly. “Odell, your move.”

  Odell was the buckskin man. Bright blue eyes studied the board. He moved his red disc and hopped it over three of his opponent’s pieces to the king row. “Beat that, you old possum!”

  Regan wondered which of the men was the telegraph operator. “Gentlemen—”

  Odell said, “Sorry, ma’am.” He walked over to the desk and handed her a piece of paper and a pencil. “Write what you want sent, where it’s going, and to who.”

  So she did and handed it back.

  “This has to go through the operator in Cheyenne,” he explained. “Their line’s been down a few days. I’ll pass your message along as soon as things are fixed there.”

  Regan knew her family was probably worried because it had been over a week since her departure. “How long might that be?”

  He shrugged. “Could be a couple days. Could be more, but I’ll send it on soon as I can.”

  One of his buddies said, “Make sure of that, Odell. Don’t want her coming back and shooting up the place,” and he chuckled.

  Regan rolled her eyes. “Thank you, gentlemen.” She looked over at the window. A handful of people were staring in at her through the glass. She wondered if this was how it felt to be a circus attraction.

  “Your move, Odell.”

  Regan left the men to their game. Outside, she nodded at the curious onlookers, climbed back on the wagon, and the sheriff drove them away.

  Next to the telegraph office stood a bank, a barbershop, and a seamstress shop. On the other side of the street was a dentist’s office and Beck’s undertaking establishment. She thought about poor Mr. Casey. “Did Mr. Casey have family?”

  “No.”

  “Will someone pay for his burial?” She would willingly offer some of her own gold to ensure he rested in peace.

  “I’m pretty sure the stage company will.”

  “If they don’t, would you let me know? I’d like to help.”

  “Will do. That’s very kind of you.”

  Her thoughts turned to the dead outlaw. Would he be mourned? “Do you know the dead man’s name?”

  “Jeb Bailey.”

  “Does he have family here?”

  “Yes, a brother named Dun.”

  “Will you relay my condolences and explain the circumstances?”

  “I will.”

  “And the other two outlaws?”

  “Jess Rawl and Abel Corman. Corman’s the one you plugged in the arm. They’re loners as far as I know. Both are also wanted by the law in other parts of the county.”

  The businesses gave way to a small cluster of homes. A few were large, showing off turrets and gingerbread trim like the ones she’d seen in Ohio when she’d attended school at Oberlin, but most were cabins built from timber and stone. “How long has the town existed?”

  “Since about 1820. It started as a trading post run by Odell and Doc’s grandfather Ben. Odell said they took one look at the valley and called it Paradise. Back then there were only a few cabins, fur trappers, and Indians. Now, about fifty people live in town and a couple hundred more are on ranches and homesteads nearby.” He stopped the wagon in front of a small one-story home with a porch on the front. “This is it,” he said.

  An old woman wearing a long-sleeved brown dress answered the sheriff’s knock. Her thinning gray hair pulled back in a severe bun set off a bright-skinned bony face. The garment’s frayed cuffs and hem spoke to its age.

  “Afternoon, Miss Minnie. This is Miss Carmichael. Doc said she’s to stay with you.”

  She looked Regan up and down with unveiled disapproval. “You’re Colt’s intended?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Heard you shot him.”

  “Accidentally, yes.” Regan felt like she should be wearing a sign with those two words written on it.

  The brown face soured before she turned to the sheriff. “How long she staying?”

  “Until she and Colt settle on a date.”

  “If we set a date,” Regan tossed back, still simmering from their earlier brief encounter.

  “You don’t think you’re good enough?” Minnie sneered.

  “I think he may not be good enough.”

  “Beggars can’t be choosy.”

  Regan ignored that. “How much are your rooms?”

  “Thirty-five cents a night.”

  In response to the ridiculously high price Regan showed no emotion, but thought the place better be fit for a queen. “May I see it, please?”

  Minnie grudgingly stepped back so they could enter. The interior was shadowy, and the furniture in the parlor they passed through appeared to be as old as its owner. Regan didn’t see any evidence of other boarders.

  The room for rent was built onto the back of the house. A quick view showed a thin cot placed upon a wooden platform atop stacked wood. It appeared terribly uncomfortable. Beside it, a listing nightstand held a badly chipped porcelain basin. The ceiling above showed stained wooden beams still damp from a recent rain. Sleeping in the street might be better. “Is this the only room available?”

  She responded with a nasty smirk. “Yes.”

  Regan asked the sheriff, “Is there another place in town?”

  Before he could reply, Minnie snapped, “Not for a colored woman.”

  “Is she correct?”

  He gave Minnie a sharp look before replying, “There may be. Let’s go, miss. Sorry to bother you, Minnie.”

  Outside, Regan climbed back onto the wagon seat. “Should I take her unpleasantness personally, or is she that way all the time?”

  “Yes, and yes.”

  Regan was confused.

  “She’s unpleasant all the time, and she’s the great-aunt of Doc’s late wife, Adele.”

  A chill claimed her. “I see.”

  He got the horse under way. Regan looked back and saw Minnie standing on the porch watching their departure with hostile eyes.

  They were soon outside of town and traveling along a narrow road that cut through a forest of towering pines. The snowcapped peaks in the distance ruled the horizon. Unlike Arizona’s red-hued mountains, these were gray and they loomed like ancient gods.

  “How well do you know Dr. Lee?” she asked Lambert.

  “I’d say pretty well. We grew up together.”

  “Do you think my injuring him will make him want to call off the wedding?”

  She sensed him carefully choosing his words. “You’ll have to take that up with him. All I can say is he’s fair, honorable, and been a good friend to me.”

  It wasn’t the response she’d hoped for but supposed it would have to do.

  As they headed west, Regan thought about the woman who had been Colton Lee’s wife. Had she been well-loved by the people here? Would those who knew her resent Regan’s presence, and view her as contemptuously as Minnie? The largest question remaining was whether she and Dr. Lee would be able t
o move past their disastrous introduction and go forward. From his letters, he’d seemed like a good man. He’d been very up front about his lack of wealth. Many of his patients were unable to pay for his services but he treated them just the same. She’d been moved by his kindness and concerns for his motherless daughter.

  The travel-weary Regan spotted a ranch in the distance and hoped it was their destination. The sizable low-slung structure was made of timber and sat atop a small tree-filled rise. To its left were corrals and two outbuildings. “Is that the place up ahead?”

  “Yes. The woman who owns it is named Spring.”

  “Odd name.”

  “Named after her Shoshone grandmother whose name meant Spring Rain.”

  “How lovely. And she takes in boarders?”

  “Not usually, but she will you.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s Colt’s baby sister.”

  Regan blinked. He glanced over, gave her a smile, and refocused his attention on driving the wagon up the path.

  As they reached the house, a dark-skinned woman walked out of one of the barns leading a beautiful Appaloosa colt. Its reddish dappled coat reminded Regan of her sister’s mare, Arizona. That Spring wore denims and a man’s red-check flannel shirt buoyed Regan’s weary spirit because the attire reminded her so much of the clothing she’d worn back home. Spring was lean like her brother. Her thick black hair was braided into a fat plait that reached the middle of her back.

  Upon seeing them, she stopped. “Hey, there, Whit. Who’s that with you?” Her low-toned voice was a mixture of whiskey and smoke.

  He set the brake and got down. “This is Miss Regan Carmichael.”

  She nodded a greeting Regan’s way, then stilled. “You’re my brother’s mail-order bride.”

  Regan sighed. “Yes. And if you haven’t already heard, I accidentally shot him earlier today. With this.” She held up her silver-clad Winchester.

  Spring’s jaw dropped. “You didn’t kill him, did you? Never mind,” she said, waving the question away. “If you had, you’d be in jail. How serious is the wound?”

  Sheriff Lambert answered, “She plugged him in the shoulder. The bullet’s out. He’s fine. His pride’s hurt more than anything. She needs a place to stay so I brought her to you.”

  Still searching Regan’s face, Spring laughed. “Honey, if you shot my brother, you are welcome to share my home for as long as you like. Get down off that wagon and let’s go inside so I can hear the whole sordid tale.” She turned to the colt, saying, “Did you hear that, Paint Box? The pretty lady shot the esteemed Dr. Lee!”

  Regan smiled and decided she might enjoy being with Spring Lee.

  It took a few trips to get all Regan’s trunks and hatboxes inside Spring’s cabin. At one point, Spring asked with a laugh, “Are you planning to open a clothing shop? My goodness.”

  Regan took the good-natured dig in the spirit that it was given.

  Once they were done, the sheriff touched his hat and departed, and Regan dropped wearily into a sturdy but comfortable chair made of timber.

  “You look pretty tired.”

  “I am. I feel as if I’ve been traveling for years.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Extremely.”

  “Will a sandwich do? It’s all I can offer for now. Wasn’t expecting company.”

  “Yes.”

  The beef and soft bread was so good, it took all Regan had to remember her manners and not devour it like a starving ranch hand. She washed it down with a tumbler of cold spring water and was content. “Thank you,” she said as Spring took the empty plate from her hand. Now, all Regan wanted was a long stretch of uninterrupted sleep.

  “How about I show you where you can lay your head.”

  “That would be wonderful, and thank you for taking me in.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll hear about you and my brother once you’re rested up. I’ve always loved a good tale.”

  “You aren’t angry at me for shooting him?”

  “As long as he’s alive and I can continue to bedevil him, not at all. In fact, I’m looking forward to what might happen next. Being out here with nothing to do, folks like a little commotion. It breaks up the monotony.”

  Regan smiled. “Okay. Let me sleep awhile and I’ll share all the gory details.”

  “Holding you to that. Come on with me, and we’ll get you bedded down.”

  “You live alone?”

  She nodded. “Never married. Men tend to avoid a woman known for having her own mind.”

  A wide grin crossed Regan’s face. “The two of us will do well together.”

  “I think you might be right. Between your Winchester and my Remington, we’ll scare most men around here to death.”

  Regan was still chuckling over that as she settled her cheek against the crisp fresh pillow casing and closed her eyes.

  Colt unsaddled his horse and turned the stallion out into the pasture. Carrying the heavy gear to the tack room ramped up the pain in his shoulder but he managed it and entered the house. He was thankful for Whit’s aid but knew the wound needed to be cleaned properly and wrapped with a fresh bandage. He dropped down onto the sofa in the parlor and drew in a few deep breaths.

  “You hurt?”

  He looked up to see his grandfather Benjamin standing in the doorway. “Got shot.”

  Ben’s eyes widened and he hurried over to him. “Where? Let me see.”

  “Shoulder. I’m fine. Whit got the bullet out. I need to clean it again though.”

  “Here. Let me help.”

  Colt hated being fussed over but had enough sense to know he needed the assistance. Trying to put his shirt back on without help while under the watching eyes of the hellion responsible had caused more pain than he’d shown.

  Ben eased the shirt off his shoulder. Colt glanced down and was not surprised upon seeing the blood-soaked bandage. It would probably bleed for a short while longer.

  “Who did this to you?” Ben asked, sounding concerned and angry.

  Colt chuckled bitterly. “The woman I’m supposed to be marrying.”

  Ben froze and stared. “Miss Carmichael? She’s here?”

  “Yes, along with her fancy, silver-plated Winchester rifle.”

  Confusion filled Ben’s face. “What the hell she shoot you for? Let me get a basin of water so we can clean this up, and you tell me what happened.”

  “Hot water,” Colton called at his back. The shoulder would be stiff and sore enough without adding the risk of infection. Thanks to his late mother, Isabelle, and her insistence upon pampering herself with as many modern amenities as could be shipped to the wilds of Wyoming Territory, there was a boiler connected to the house. Adele had enjoyed the luxury as well. Her sweet face looked down at him from the large portrait hanging on the wall above the fireplace. He’d loved her so. She’d been gone now six years, and his guilt remained as fresh as it had been the day she slipped into death after Anna’s birth. Had he been at her side instead of off tending a miner’s broken arm, they might not have lost her. He looked away from the portrait, buried the somber memory, and awaited his grandfather’s return.

  Once the wound was cleaned and a fresh bandage applied, Colt told his grandfather the story and how the encounter with the Carmichael woman in the sheriff’s office ended with her berating him.

  Ben shook his head. “Doesn’t sound like she’s the one for you. She may be more trouble than she’s worth.”

  Colt was sure of only one thing. “Her shooting me is going to keep folks around here chuckling for decades.”

  “True,” Ben said, his face set with disapproval. “Where’s she now?”

  “I had Whit take her to Minnie’s. She can stay there until I figure out what I want to do.”

  “Minnie doesn’t want you remarrying.”

  “I know, but Anna needs a mother. Her only influences as she grows older will be Minnie and Spring. Neither are ideal.”

  “Spring just needs a
husband and some babies.”

  “Spring’s never going to find a husband because she doesn’t want one and Anna may not either if I let Spring have more of a say in her raising.”

  “I agree. Let me go empty this basin.”

  Ben’s exit left Colt alone with his thoughts. He loved his sister, but he worried about her defiant and rebellious nature rubbing off on his daughter. He had no quarrel with women moving into the once all-male bastions like medicine, teaching, and business, nor did he begrudge them a college education. However, like most men in the country, he continued to believe the goal of a well-raised young woman centered on a husband and raising a family. Adele had been a perfect example. Soft-spoken, well-mannered, deferential even upon the few occasions they’d disagreed. But his sister? Spring couldn’t spell the word deferential, and based on what he’d seen and heard from Miss Regan Carmichael today, she probably couldn’t either. His ears still burned from her blunt assessment of who she perceived him to be. And it made him wonder if she’d answered his advertisement because none of the men she knew back home would take her as a wife. She’d sounded so sensible and right in the letters they’d exchanged. She’d impressed him as being educated and refined, but he never imagined that education included being a crack shot. And this neighbor she’d referenced? Who was he? He’d obviously influenced her raising. Was he family? Colt had so many questions. Due to the positive nature of their correspondence, he assumed an arranged marriage between them would be an easy undertaking. Now, things seemed as complicated as a knotted skein of yarn, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to do the unraveling for fear of what he might find.

  “I think you should send her packing,” Ben said, reentering the parlor. “Her shooting might have been accidental but what other accidents will she bring? You have enough challenges being the only doctor around here without giving your name to an unsuitable woman. Find someone else.”

  Colt slowly ran his hands down his bearded jaw and replied, “That might be easier said than done. I’ve been placing advertisements in the Colored newspapers for almost a year, and counting the response from Miss Winchester there were only three.” One came from a Pennsylvania widow five years older than him with four children, and the other from the Kansas parents of a girl of seventeen, who’d been honest enough to admit their daughter was carrying another man’s child. “I’ll speak with her tomorrow, then decide whether she stays and gets to meet Anna. I need to reconcile the woman in her letters with the one who shot me today.” If he could.