The Complete Oregon Series, page 57
She studied the artful pen strokes on the letter and read some of the sentences. Phineas Sharpe was a simple ranch hand, yet his words had a poetic beauty that surprised her.
Deftly, she put the letter into its envelope. She’d never allowed herself to be blinded by beauty. Her mother’s art, though beautiful, hadn’t filled her siblings’ stomachs when her father was too drunk to work.
When she bundled the letters, her glance fell on the dented tintype Jo had placed between two envelopes.
The small, slightly out-of-focus image showed a blond man sitting stiffly with his hat on his knees. He craned his neck as if he was uncomfortable in his starched shirt, worn only for the occasion of having his image taken. His hair was parted on one side and his handlebar mustache neatly trimmed, probably from a recent visit to the barbershop.
Rika had never cared for mustaches.
With every mile on the bumpy road to Oregon, her doubts grew. Had her desperate decision been foolish? If she found out Phineas Sharpe had misrepresented himself and was neither good-natured nor hardworking, what would she do? What if he discovered she was not the woman who had sent him the letters? Could she take the next stage out of town and go home?
Rika shook her head. She had no home, not for a long time.
No. There’s no way around it. She would have to become Mrs. Phineas Sharpe and get used to a mustache.
Hamilton Horse Ranch
Baker Prairie, Oregon
April 18, 1868
“Phin?” Amy shoved open the creaking door.
Phin flinched and whirled around. His razor dangled from his fingers, and the scent of castile shaving soap filled the small cabin. “Damn it, Amy. If you keep comin’ in like this, I’m gonna kill myself one day.” He wiped a drop of blood from his throat and turned back around. “Or your father will do the killin’ for me. A young, unmarried lady visitin’ a bachelor without a chaperone...”
“You’re our foreman. How else can we organize our workday if Papa or I don’t come to talk to you?”
Phin’s blue eyes met hers in the mirror. “Talk about it over breakfast at the main house?”
“With Mama there to try and get me out of the most interesting things? No, thanks.”
“Don’t know why you bother,” Phin said. “Your mama always knows what you’re up to anyway. Your parents never keep secrets from each other.”
Yes, because they have nothing to hide. Unlike me. She pushed the unwelcome thought aside and fiddled with the edges of a saddle blanket hanging over a chair. “Besides, most people would say I’m not a lady.” Not that she cared. If it meant being like the young women in town, Amy wanted no part of being a lady.
“I’d give anyone who said that to my face a good thrashin’.” Phin’s jaw clenched beneath the shaving soap. Then his expression softened. “You’d better learn to knock or meet me at the main house anyhow. I’m not gonna be a bachelor for much longer.”
“What? You’re joking, right?” To her knowledge, Phin wasn’t courting anyone. She rode stirrup to stirrup with him every day. She would know if he had a sweetheart somewhere.
He turned toward her, and she sensed that he was blushing under the thick layer of shaving soap. Wordlessly, he pointed at the table against one wall.
Amy pivoted. Her fingertips slid over the burned corner of the table where she and her younger sister, Nattie, had toppled over the kerosene lamp years ago, when they fought over something Amy couldn’t remember. Traces of flour still lingered in the fine grain of the wood, remnants of countless apple pies Mama had made for Papa when they had lived in the cabin, their first home in Oregon.
Amidst the childhood memories was something new. A stack of letters. On top, the tintype of a young woman looked back at her.
She frowned. “Who’s that?”
“My future wife.” Phin’s chest swelled like that of a rooster.
“You’re really getting hitched?” She gave the image on the table a curt nod. “To her?” It wasn’t that she was jealous. Not like that. Phin was like a brother to her. She just hated the thought of him moving away or another woman invading her home.
“To her,” Phin said. “Johanna Bruggeman. Ain’t she pretty?”
She was. Her enchanting smile dazzled Amy even in its black-and-white form. But pretty or not, would she fit in at the ranch? Amy looked around the small cabin. “Papa says the cabin isn’t fit for a woman to live in. Not that I think so, but she looks like the kind who’d agree. Didn’t you ever wonder why none of the ranch hands has a wife?”
“They’re too ugly?”
They broke out in laughter, but it didn’t last long.
Amy pressed her fingertips to the table’s familiar contours. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
“I can’t be a foreman forever,” Phin said. “I like workin’ for the Hamilton outfit, but I want to have my own place someday. Your father promised to set me up with a few acres of land and some horses.”
It was true, and Phin had earned it, but she still bit her lip at the thought of him leaving. Papa would hire a new foreman, and for Amy, the struggle to be accepted and not sent away to the kitchen would begin anew.
“Hey,” Phin said. “Why the long face? I’ll still be your friend. Seein’ how Johanna doesn’t know a soul ’round here, she’s goin’ to need a maid of honor for the wedding. Would you do us the honor?”
Amy slapped her hips. “What’s with you and everybody else wanting to see me six inches deep in petticoats?”
Phin eyed her as he would a stubborn filly. “Maybe you should think about gettin’ married too.”
Not that again. It was why Amy rarely went into town. The whispers and glances made her feel like the only unwed twenty-year-old on the face of the earth. “Where did you meet her?” she asked instead of answering. “She new in town?”
Shaving soap dripped onto Phin’s shirt, and he wiped it away. Then he found a few more spatters that needed his attention.
“Phin?”
“I haven’t exactly met her yet.”
“What do you mean?”
Phin drew in air as if he were about to face a lynch mob. “I put an advert in three fancy eastern papers, and I got an answer from a young lady in Boston.”
“You advertised for a wife?” Amy had heard of that but never understood it. What kind of self-respecting woman would sell herself to a complete stranger?
His gaze veered away from hers. “I knew you’d think it tomfoolery, but you gotta understand. There’s nary an unwed woman in town and none who’d have me, so...”
“There are a few.”
Phin snorted. “Yeah, the likes of Ella Williams and Fanny Henderson. No, thanks.”
“So you thought you’d just order yourself a woman from the catalog, like you’d order a new saddle?”
“What’s a feller to do if he’s aimin’ to marry? Since you won’t have me.”
His grin was contagious. Amy could never stay angry with her friend for long. “So you’re marrying Johanna Bruggeman.” She risked another glance at the picture of the smiling woman. “Is that a German name?”
“Dutch.” Phin’s grin grew, as if being Dutch were a great accomplishment.
Lord, he’s smitten, and he hasn’t even met her. She watched in silence as Phin continued to shave. Somehow, his simple, efficient movements seemed wrong, maybe because he was shaving himself. Amy had watched her parents share this private ritual almost every day for as long as she could remember.
Papa sat in the kitchen, and Mama lathered his face with the shaving soap, sometimes sneaking a kiss when she thought their daughters weren’t watching. Amy always watched. She knew she was witnessing something special, something that bound her parents to each other. Trust glowed in Papa’s eyes when he let Mama put the razor to his neck.
A sudden longing for that kind of trust overcame Amy. She shook it off and focused on Phin.
For Phin, shaving seemed to be a necessary evil. There was nothing gentle or loving about the way he scraped lather and stubbles off his cheeks and his strong chin.
Maybe he really needs a wife. “So when is she coming here?” Amy asked.
“Well...” He wiped off the rest of the shaving soap and twirled his handlebar mustache. Amy often teased him about it. She liked Papa’s clean-shaven look better. “I wanted to talk to you about that. If the stagecoach is on time, she’ll get here Monday afternoon.”
Meaningful silence spread between them.
“Monday afternoon? But—”
“I’m supposed to leave for Fort Boise with your father on Monday mornin’, yes.”
This was her chance! Amy hid a grin and tried for nonchalance. “Oh, not a problem. I’ll help Papa bring the horses to Fort Boise, and you can pick up your bride from town on Monday afternoon.”
He cleared his throat. “That’s not what I meant, and you’d have to discuss that with your father.”
Who would say no. Not because traveling four hundred miles with a herd of horses was a man’s job. Papa never told her something like that. He would say that she wasn’t ready for the trip, not while there was unrest among the Shoshoni, and that he wanted her to keep an eye on the ranch while he was gone.
She sighed. “So what did you mean?”
“If it ain’t too much to ask, you could put on your Sunday finery and pick up my future wife from town.”
That meant wearing a dress and facing the nosy folks in town, not two of Amy’s favorite activities. Still, Phin was her best friend.
“Please?” He grinned his most charming smile. “I don’t trust any of the boys with her.”
Asking her to pick up his betrothed so she would be safe from unwanted attentions... Amy shook her head. Phin didn’t understand the irony of it. It’ll be fine. She might be pretty, but she’s not Hannah. “All right,” she said. Something occurred to her. “So your courtship consisted of writing letters, right? How did you manage that? You can’t write.”
“I’m learnin’. Miss Nattie is teachin’ me.”
“But you always said you’d rather spend winter evenings repairing broken bridles than studying words on a page.”
He shrugged. “Changed my mind. Miss Nattie’s a great teacher.”
“Nattie helped you advertise for a wife?”
“Oh, no.” He rubbed his palms over freshly shaven cheeks. “I wouldn’t bother her with that. Your mother helped. But Miss Nattie knew.”
“Mama and Nattie knew all this time, but no one ever said one word to me?”
“Miss Nattie heard it from the postmaster. The damn gossip told half of Oregon that I’m gettin’ letters from a lady in Boston. I thought maybe you’d heard it around town too.”
“Not a word.” Amy swallowed her hurt feelings. After all, Phin wasn’t to blame for her reluctance to visit town. She tried to stay away from Hannah and the other young women who always knew the latest rumors.
Phin scratched his chin. “I thought you weren’t interested in affairs of the heart things.”
True. She had never given him reason to think otherwise. She and Phin talked about horses but rarely discussed feelings.
When she stayed silent, he ducked to look into her face. “Are you mad at me for not tellin’ you sooner?”
“No.” She wasn’t mad, just a bit hurt and strangely unsettled. Sharing her home with a beautiful young woman could mean trouble.
“Listen up, boys,” Luke said. Decades-old habits made her square her shoulders to appear bigger than she was. “Phin and I will leave tomorrow. Amy is in charge while we’re gone.” She let her gaze sweep over the ranch hands perched on their bunks and standing around the bunkhouse’s cast-iron stove. “Anyone have a problem riding for a woman?”
The ranch hands had worked side by side with Amy every day for the past few years, but working with her and working for her were two different things.
Most of the men shook their heads.
“No problem, boss,” Hank said.
Adam spat out a stream of chewing tobacco, earning a sharp glare from Luke. If anyone gave Amy trouble, it would be Adam. She stared at him until he looked away.
“Amy’s only in charge until you get back, right?” Emmett asked, shuffling his feet. “It’s just for two months.”
Luke suppressed a grin. They had no idea that they’d worked for a woman much longer than that. To the world, she was Lucas Hamilton—rancher, husband, and father. Only three people knew that she was not what she appeared to be: her wife, Nora, her oldest friend, Tess, and their neighbor Bernice Garfield.
“For now,” she said. Maybe one day, Amy would be able to do what Luke couldn’t: run the ranch as a woman.
When no one protested, she gave some last-minute instructions and then left the bunkhouse.
Darkness had fallen, and a myriad of stars twinkled down at her. Luke lifted her head and inhaled the tangy aroma of pines, manure, and sage from Nora’s herb garden. A horse’s whinny cut through the sounds of a gurgling spring and a hooting owl. She wandered across the ranch yard to check on the horses one last time.
The place in front of the corral was already occupied. Amy stood with her elbows on the top rail and one booted foot propped on the bottom rung. She didn’t turn around when Luke joined her.
Side by side, they watched the dark shapes of the horses move around the corral.
Midnight wandered over and snuffled Amy’s sleeve. She patted the gelding’s neck and combed her fingers through his forelock. “Did you talk to the men?”
“Yes. They know you’re in charge.”
“Good.”
Luke turned to look at her and leaned her shoulder against the corral. “You nervous?”
“No,” Amy said quickly—too quickly.
“Because if you were, I’d certainly understand. I was about your age when I earned my lieutenant stripes. Suddenly, I was expected to command a troop of soldiers, some of them much older and more experienced than me.”
Amy leaned against the corral too so that they were face to face. “Were you nervous?”
“Terrified,” Luke said. Not so much about not measuring up, of course. Back then, her worst fear was being injured so badly that surgeons discovered her secret. “There’s no shame in being afraid, Amy. The trick is not to let it paralyze you.”
The whites of Amy’s eyes gleamed in the darkness. Her chaps scratched along the corral post as she shifted. “I’m a bit nervous,” she finally said. “But you don’t need to worry. I won’t disappoint you, Papa.”
“I know.” Luke wrapped her arm around Amy’s shoulders and squeezed, surprised as always to feel sturdy muscles under her hand. When had the little girl who begged her for rides on Measles become this strong young woman? She sighed. She’d miss her family. “Come on.” She gave Amy one more pat to the shoulder. “Let’s go to bed. We both have a long day tomorrow.”
Nora folded strips of cloth and handed them to Luke, who stowed them in her saddlebags. “Put them at the bottom so no one will see,” Nora said.
“Not necessary,” Luke answered. “If one of the boys finds the rags, I’ll just tell them those are compresses should one of the horses get hurt.” She winked and leaned down to brush her lips over Nora’s.
But even the warmth of the kiss couldn’t chase away Nora’s worries. She entwined her fingers with Luke’s, lifted them to her lips, and kissed the familiar pattern of scars and rope burns on Luke’s hand. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”
Luke stroked the back of her fingers over Nora’s cheek. “I wish I could stay, but you know we need the money if we want to invest in draft horses.”
“I regret ever suggesting that.” If anything happened to Luke on the way to Fort Boise, she would never forgive herself.
“Hey, don’t talk like that,” Luke said. “You’re a clever businesswoman and have never steered us wrong in all these years. Now that the railroad is coming, investing in draft horses is a brilliant idea.”
“It’s only brilliant if nothing happens to you,” Nora said.
“We’ll be careful and post guards at night.”
“The trip holds more dangers for you than just Indians and horse thieves.” Every muscle in Nora’s body felt tight, like a rope that was trying to hold a panicked mustang. “You’ll have to live in very close quarters with Phin, Charlie, and Kit for over two months. There’ll be no outhouse, no bedroom with a sturdy lock, no privacy to change clothes, wash, or take care of private matters.”
Luke slid her arms around Nora and held her close. “I admit I haven’t had to do that in a while, but I’ve lived among men for years. People see what they think is true, not what’s really there. And I’m the boss, so I can decide when to scout ahead or leave camp under the pretense of hunting for game. I’ve always been good at slipping away from camp.”
“Oh, yeah?” Amusement bubbled up. “Is that why you were shot by our own guard when you slipped away to follow the call of nature?” She brushed her lips against Luke’s upper arm, where an old scar reminded of that day seventeen years ago.
Groaning, Luke rubbed her nose. “Thanks for the reminder of that glorious moment.”
Nora laughed, then moved back to look into Luke’s eyes. The rain cloud gray told her that Luke was as worried as she was; she just didn’t want to admit it. “Come on.” She tugged on her hand. “Let’s go to bed.” She wanted to hold Luke and pretend that she’d never have to let go.
Luke walked around the bed and tested the door to make sure it was locked. Only then did she slip out of her clothes.
In the flickering light of the kerosene lamp, Nora watched as Luke unwrapped the bandages around her chest until she revealed small breasts, pale against the darker color of her arms. Nora licked her suddenly dry lips.
