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An Excerpt From Meadowlark

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A meadowlark’s song
Given freely to the wind,
Drifts easily with the breeze
Undisturbed by fence post
Or man’s clink and clank

Unlike mine,
An easy song
Which needs not be understood
To feel its enjoyment.

And, this by pen,
A much too complicated
Thank you
For the all-out effort
Of a small yellow-bellied bird.

Louis R. Lampman

Meadowlark

I love to poke around old ghost towns, to walk the deserted streets and imagine what must have been like. South Pass City, a gold rush boomtown high in the Wyoming Rockies is one of my favorites. Though it appeared in two of my three Cheyenne Trilogy books I’d never considered actually setting a story there until one summer day when we ventured to the mountains for a family picnic.

As I peeked through the cracks of an old boarded up blacksmith shop at the end of Price Street, the essence of the place crept into my soul as never before. I could almost hear the smith’s hammer on the anvil and feel the ground shaking from the underground blasts in the mines. “There’s a story here,” I said in awe. “Can’t you feel it?” My husband just grinned. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that.

I walked down the wooden sidewalks surrounded by ghostly music from the brothels and saloons and shivered as I stepped into the underground cellar where the women and children hid during Indian attacks. MEADOWLARK began to form in my mind.

My heroine was obvious. Orphaned, broke, and in deep trouble, Becky White wouldn’t survive long in the rough mining town without help. Enter the hero.

I have always loved gentle giants. Hoss was my favorite Cartwright even when I was old enough to find Little Joe and Adam attractive. I decided to see if I could create just such a hero, one that any heroine worth her slat would choose over the handsome, self-centered villain without a moment’s hesitation.

From the beginning I knew he was Scandinavian, but having spent most of my life in Wyoming, I hadn’t been around many people with a Scandinavian background. To make sure I got my character right, I enlisted the help of my friend Kathy who is half Swedish and half Norwegian. We discussed everything from what he ate (and didn’t eat) to how he talked and what he did with his leisure time. In less than half an hour, I had my hero.

Garrick Swenson was big and strong, but also gentle and kind. He was also a bit reserved not one to show strong feeling. Since this was my fourth book, I had discovered that a character’s quirks are what make them seem real. So I gave his character a little twist by giving him the nickname of Swede even though he is Norwegian. He tells Becky that most people in South Pass City couldn’t tell the difference between Norwegians and Swedes and he’d just never bothered to correct them. On top of that I gave him a dangerous job, a mysterious past, and a bruised soul, all of which pretty much guaranteed he would be irresistible to any heroine. Kathy assures he is also the epitome of the Scandinavian hunk.

I had my hero, now for the villain. Cameron Price. Handsome, charming, incredibly brave, he was even a bona fide army hero, and Becky’s first love. His only flaw was that he was self-centered and a bit of a womanizer. In most books he would be the hero, one the heroine would save from himself. If Garrick was a bit like Hoss Cartwright, then Cameron was the cover model Fabio. In fact, that was the picture I kept in my mind as I wrote. I love the idea of Hoss going up against Fabio and the girl picking Hoss. As the book opens, however, choosing between two such yummy men is as far from Becky’s reality as riding an elephant. In fact, her biggest difficulty is figuring out how to survive.

Perhaps my love for South Pass City is the reason MEADOWLARK is my most emotional book. Or maybe it’s Becky and Garrick themselves. Whatever the reason, this book touched my heart and I hope it touches yours.

Issue #1

(South Pass City, Wyoming Territory, 1870)

Becky was out of options and she knew it. With the last of her money gone, it was only a matter of time until hunger drove her down to Beer Garden Gulch in search of a job in one
of the saloons. It was stupid to wait any longer hoping for a miracle. Cameron wasn't coming back.

She kicked a small rock into the creek and glanced down the street. There was already music and raucous laughter coming from the saloons. It wasn't even dark out and business
was booming. Obviously the owners would be too busy to talk to her now. Morning would surely be better.

With a relieved sigh, Becky sat down on a pile of sluice box tailings. There was no guarantee anybody down there would hire her anyway. No one else in town had. Too
young, they said or not enough experience. She'd heard some of the hurdy gurdy girls were almost as young as she was. Maybe it wouldn't matter that she was tall and gangly with
too much hair and not enough chest like her father always said.

Cameron hadn't minded. In fact he'd made her feel ‚beautiful and loved right up until he walked out of her life.‚Becky's father said Cameron Price played her for a fool, taking what he wanted and never giving her another thought after he rode away. As the months passed and no word came, it began to look as though her father was right.

“Oh, Cameron,” she whispered into the twilight, “Would it have made any difference if you'd known about your son?”

Her hands moved over her softly rounding stomach. Within a month she wouldn't be able to hide it any more and they wouldn't even let her work in a brothel. Becky's lips twisted, too young to work, but old enough to have a baby.

Maybe her father wasn't far wrong when he called her a stupid little slut. His words and the hard slaps that followed were etched indelibly into her mind. Afterwards he had gone to work his shift in the mine and had never returned.

Becky closed her eyes and tried to conjure some regret for her father's death. There was none. It had been over a month and she still couldn't mourn him.

Her stomach rumbled painfully. Another night without food. She was almost used to it by now. With a deep sigh, Becky opened her eyes and watched the brilliant reds and golds of the sunset fade into cool, concealing darkness as the sun dipped below the hill.

The cold dampness of the ground beneath her began to soak through her skirt, but she ignored the discomfort as she savored the spring evening. The moist pungency of rich soil and the smell of wood smoke covered the other, less pleasant, odors of man. Crickets chirped in the nearby grass, and an owl called to its mate over the roar of the swollen creek.

At last, some of the lights began to wink out. It was late and people were staggering home to bed. Though the saloons and bawdy houses would keep going until dawn, there was almost total silence in the city of tents that made up a good portion of South Pass City. It was time to find a place to sleep.

Becky rose from the ground and walked to the edge of the creek. The spring run-off was at its highest. The placer miners had been watching it for days, anticipating the new
gold it would wash out of the hills. She looked down at the normally insignificant stream that now roared by with awesome power. An entire tree rolled by bobbing in the turbulent waters.

Suddenly, the ground crumbled under her feet and she slid down into the icy stream. The water choked off Becky's scream as it closed over her face. Then her head collided with a solid object, and her thoughts sank into blessed darkness as she surrendered to the flood.

****
“A bottle of Redeye, Sam,” Garrick told the bartender then glanced around at the brightly lit room. As a casino and a brothel, The Green Garter was the best South Pass had to offer, but for some reason, watching the miners gamble away their pitifully small wages irritated him this evening. He’d been one of their number often enough, but tonight it seemed a pathetic waste of time.

With a sigh, Garrick turned back to the bar, slid a few coins across its shiny surface to Sam, and picked up the bottle. As he pulled the cork out with his teeth and poured the deep amber liquid into a glass, he thought how aghast his mother would be to see him doing such a thing. The thought of Minnesota brought the usual pang of homesickness, and he lifted the glass to his lips in irritation. He gulped down the raw whiskey and grimaced as the fiery brew burned its way to his stomach. It tasted worse than usual and did nothing to relieve his loneliness.

“Hello, Swede.” A husky feminine voice cut into his thoughts. “Aren’t you going to give my dealers a chance to win back some of that money you walked out of here with last night?”

Garrick glanced down at the brassy redhead and smiled. “Not tonight, Angel. I have a feeling the cards wouldn’t fall my way.”

Angel snorted. “Well, that’d be a first. Never seen anybody with luck like yours.” She gave him an appraising look. “What’s eatin’ you anyway. That scowl would curdle milk.”

“Bored I guess. Care for a drink?”

Angel glanced at the bottle in front of him and made a face. “No, thanks. Rotgut whiskey isn’t my idea of a good time. Don’t remember it being yours either.”

“Not usually, but we ran short of black powder so I don’t have to work tomorrow.”

“You planning on getting drunk?”

“I was, but if you won’t join me...”

She laughed and patted his arm. “If it’s company you want, I may have just the ticket. A new girl came in on the stage today. Calls herself Collette, though she ain’t any more French than Sam.” Angel nodded toward a sultry dark-hair beauty at the end of the bar. “Be glad to introduce you.”

Garrick let his gaze roam over the curvaceous brunette, wondering how he’d managed to miss her before. Almost as if she felt his gaze, Collette glanced up, wet her lips, and smiled seductively.

“Well, what do you think, Swede? Want to see if she can wipe that frown off your face?”

He shrugged. “Might as well.” Maybe Collette was what he needed.

“Hello,” he said when she sidled up to him.

“Hello yourself.” Collette ran her and up his arm. “I just love big men.”

“Well, I let you two get to know each other,” Angel said, walking away. “Take good care of Swede, Collette, he’s one of my best customers.”

“Don’t you worry, Miss Angel. I’ll take excellent care of this one.” Collette let her fingers wander down the massive chest. “Tell me, Swede, are you big all over?”

He let a slow smile cross his face. “Only one way to find out.”

Three quarters of an hour later Garrick buttoned his coat against the chill outside and collected his bottle of whiskey. Collette had been all he could wish for, and yet, if anything, he felt worse than he had before.

He went outside and took a deep breath of the crisp mountain air. There was a tang of spring on the breeze tonight, almost like home. Garrick turned his steps toward the creek. Maybe a walk would clear his head and chase away the blue devils that plagued him.

From the corner of his eye he caught a movement far up the bank. Peering through the darkness, he saw the shadowy figure walk toward the edge of the creek, apparently contemplating the rushing water as he was. Whoever it was, he hoped their thoughts were more pleasant than his.

As he watched, Garrick was startled to see the stranger stop on the very edge of the bank.
Didn’t they know how dangerous the creek was this time of year? Garrick was beginning to wonder if he should call out a warning when, to his utter horror, the other person went down and was swallowed up by the flood. Shock held him immobilized for a blink of an eye. Then he was shrugging out of his coat and pulling off his boots, as he scanned the stream for some sign of the stranger.

At last, he spotted a flash of white up-stream. Quickly judging where the current would carry its burden, he stepped into the frigid water. Garrick’s breath seemed to catch in his lungs as the icy wetness struck his legs.

It took all of his strength to withstand the force of the water as it sucked and pulled at him like a living thing. Searching frantically for another glimmer of white, Garrick wished his eyes could pierce the blackness of the water. But he could see nothing as he battled his way to the middle of the stream.

All at once, something hit him, and he went down. Some instinct made him reach out and his hands encountered the unexpected texture of cloth. As he grabbed the body inside the clothing, he let himself be taken downstream until he had firm hold. By the time his head broke the surface the third time, he had the other person locked against his body with one arm.

Pulling great draughts of air into tortured lungs, he struck out for the edge of the stream. Though Garrick was a strong swimmer, his skills were nearly useless in the rush of water that swept them along.

Instead of fighting the current, he move with it, working steadily closer to the bank. At last his knee struck solid ground, and he scrambled up the muddy bank where he collapsed on the shore. Panting for air, he lay there for a moment holding the unmoving body of the stranger against his chest, as he fought the blackness that threatened to overwhelm him.

Gradually, Garrick’s vision cleared, and he gently rolled his burden to the ground. As he blinked the water out of his eyes, he glanced down at the thin body and long skirt and his eyes widened in surprise. A woman!

He felt for a pulse along the delicate neck. A slight fluttering against his fingers reassured him. Garrick leaned down and put his cheek next to her nose. There was no movement against his skin, no stirring of air. She wasn’t breathing

With a sense of urgency, he turned the woman to her stomach and straddled her hips. Alternately pushing on her upper back and pulling on her elbows, he attempted to force the water from her lungs. Push... Pull...Push...Pull. Garrick kept repeating the motions, over and over, never admitting the possibility that his efforts might be wasted. At long last she choked as the strangling water came rushing from her mouth.

Relief rolled through him. Garrick moved to the side as she coughed and gasped, trying to catch her breath. At last the spasms stopped, and he pulled her into his arms. “It’s all right little one,” he murmured as a whimper escaped her lips. “You’re safe.”

A deep voice like melted honey flowed over Becky. She opened her eyes and looked up into the kind face of an angel. Never had she seen such hair, so pale it seemed to glow in the moonlight. She reached up and tried to touch it.

“Where do you belong?” he asked.

“With angels?” she whispered hopefully, then sank into sweet dark oblivion.

Issue # 2
Angel's “Angel’s? You’re from the Green Garter?” Garrick thought he knew all of Angel’s girls pretty well, but he didn’t remember seeing this one before. What was she doing out this time of night when she should be working?

A sudden breeze reminded him of how wet they both were. Whoever the woman was, he needed to get her warmed up and soon. Garrick thought longingly of the coat he’d left on the bank of the creek. Unfortunately, it was a good three hundred yards up-stream somewhere with his boots and most of a bottle of whiskey.

He climbed wearily to his feet, picked up the girl and turned toward the Green Garter. It would be useless to go to his tent where it wasn’t much warmer than outside.

Though slender, she was obviously quite tall and no featherweight. As he carried her slung over his shoulder, Garrick lost count of the times he had to stop and rest before they reached the Green Garter.

Loud music and laughter coming through the double swinging doors brought him to a halt. Angel wouldn’t thank him for bringing a nearly drowned girl in the front door during her busiest time. He stumbled around to the back and made his way to the storeroom where he laid his burden on the floor and looked around for something to cover her with. There was nothing. Briefly cursing Angel’s efficient housekeeping, he turned and walked down the short hallway.

At the door that led to the casino, he stopped. If he walked in soaking wet with no boots on he was bound to stand around answering a lot of questions while the girl lay freezing on the cold floor of the storeroom. With a brief grin, he opened the door slightly then slammed it. The sound was loud enough to be heard above the din but probably wouldn’t be noticed by many.

Garrick crossed his arms and settled back against the wall to wait. Angel would be here soon, ready to do battle with whoever had the audacity to enter her private domain.

Within, minutes the door burst open and Angel was there her eyes snapping with fire. “Swede! What in blue blazes do you think you’re doing?” She demanded.

“I need to talk to you privately.”

“Well, this is a damn funny way to...” Her voice faltered. “For God’s sake, you’re soaking wet! What the hell is going on?”

Garrick glanced over Angel shoulder at the gun-toting bartender standing protectively behind her. “I’ll explain as soon as we’re alone.”

“It’s all right, Sam,” she said, lifting her hand and waving him away. “I’ll take care of this. You can go back to the bar.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure. I have nothing to fear from Swede. She closed the door behind Sam. “Now what’s this all about?”

“I just pulled one of your girls out to the creek.”

“What?”

“She almost drowned. In fact I thought I’d lost her for awhile.”

“All my girls are working, Swede.”

He shrugged. “She said she lived here.”

“Where is she?”

“In your storeroom.”

With a swish of taffeta, Angel walked down the hall to the small room where the girls lay unconscious. She knelt down and brushed the wet strands of hair back from the girl’s face.

“Well I’ll be damned. It’s Fenton White’s daughter.”

Garrick looked over Angel’s shoulder. “So you do know her.

“Not really. I’ve seen her around a little. Her father had a bad habit of getting drunk and busting up whatever place he was in. She usually came and got him before he did too much damage. Nobody cried much when he died a couple of months ago.”

Garrick rubbed his chin. “I wonder why she said she belonged here.”

“Who knows? Doesn’t have any family that I know of, poor girl. Maybe she was going to ask me for a job.” Angel stood up and dusted her hands briskly. “Anyway, we’ve got to get her warmed up, or she’ll catch her death. I have an empty room upstairs if you want to bring her along.”

With a nod, Garrick picked the unconscious woman again and followed Angel up the back stairs. He laid his burden on the bed in a room he’d never seen before, and looked around in surprise. It was very different from the other upstairs rooms in The Green Garter.

Totally devoid of the opulence that characterized the establishment, it would have fit more easily into a genteel home than a notorious brothel. There was a large bookcase along one wall filled with many well-worn volumes. An over-stuffed chair was placed in comfortable proximity to the pot-bellied stove that Angel was building a fire in. Cheerful calico curtains at the single window went with the brightly colored rag rug on the polished wood floor, and the hand-made quilt on the bed. There was a homey, welcoming feel about the tidy little room.

“You needn’t look like that,” Angel snapped, slamming the stove door. “This is my room and I like it this way.”

“Actually, I like it a whole lot better than the others.” He smiled down at her as she stomped to the bed and began to undo the girl’s buttons. “To tell you the truth, it suits you.”

“Humph, don’t try to bamboozle me. You’re shocked as hell!” She gave a fatalistic shrug. “As a matter of fact it does fit me--far better that the rest of this place. You’re the only man besides Sam that’s ever been in here so forget you ever saw it.”

“It’s already forgotten.”

“Good. Keep it that way.” As she slid the wet dress off the girl’s shoulder, she suddenly stopped and gave him a sharp look. “I can handle this myself. You go change your clothes before you catch pneumonia.” She turned back to her task. “But get back here as soon as you can. The girl shouldn’t be left alone, and I can’t spare anyone to sit with her.”

Without a word, Garrick turned on his heel and left. When he returned half an hour later, his charge was tucked into bed and sleeping soundly.

“It’s about time,” Angel said rising from the chair by the bed as he let himself in.

“Sorry, I had to get my coat and boots from the creek bank.”

“And I have work to do,” Angel grumbled. “Your friend hasn’t moved much, but at least she’s warmed up some.” She nodded toward a decanter and glass on the table next to the bed. “Give her some brandy if she wakes up.”

“I’ll try, though I’m not much of a nurse maid.”

“And you think I am?”

He grinned at her. “I think you have a lot of talents you don’t share with the world.” Ignoring the disgusted sound Angle made, Garrick glanced longingly as the bookshelf. “Mind if I borrow a book? I haven’t had anything but the South Pass News to read in a long time.”
Angel raised her eyebrows. “Well, well, I’d never have figured you for a reader.”

“I could say the same for you.”

“Good point.” She walked to the door. “Read anything you like. Just make sure you put it back on the shelf when you’re done. I’ll see you about dawn.”
****

Awareness came to Becky slowly. There was sound, an ominous crackling close at hand that Becky couldn’t identify at first. When she did, there was an instant recoil in her gut.

Fire! She was dead and her bright-haired angel had only been an illusion. Afraid to open her eyes, Becky lay still as she gradually became aware of a variety of sensations. A slight odor of flowers in the air...the ground soft and warm beneath her... the unexpected rustle of a page turning...none of it made any sense.

Cautiously, she opened her eyes. The confusion in her mind intensified. She was lying on a bed in a comfortable room, the kind she remembered from her childhood. The fire didn’t burn in the deepest pits as she had supposed, but in an ordinary pot-bellied stove. It was the sight of the stove that suddenly brought it all together. Closing her eyes, she made a small noise in the back of her throat. She was still alive.

“You’re awake.” A deep melodious voice from the other side of the bed startled Becky. Her eyes popped open and she turned to look.

It was the angel! No, not an angel, she corrected herself, a man...a lying, hurting, deceitful, man.

“Drink this.” He poured something into a glass, then slipped his arm around her back and held the beverage to her lips.

Taking a swallow obediently, Becky came straight up in bed, coughing and choking as the liquid fire burned its way down her throat.

“Easy now,” he said patting her back with a huge hand. “Brandy is meant to sip not gulp.”

When she finally caught her breath she glared up at him with reproachful eyes. “Brandy!”

“It’s a restorative. You nearly drowned”

“Who are you?”

“They call me Swede.” Easing her back against the pillow, he set the glass on the small table.

A Swede. Well that explained the white-blond hair. Becky watched as he rose to his feet, her eyes widening in amazement as she crossed the room. He was huge! The easy swing of his walk struck a chord of memory and she realized she’d seen him striding down the muddy street of South Pass more than once. She’d noticed him because he was so tall. “Where am I?”

“Angel’s,” he said over his shoulder as he squatted down in front of the stove with a poker.

“Where?”

“Angel’s. You know, the Green Garter.”

“You brought me to a brothel?” Becky wondered why she was so dismayed when she’d planned on doing the same thing herself. It seemed that thinking about it and doing it were very different.

The note of panic in her voice surprised him. “You said you lived here.” He closed the stove and rose to his feet. “I asked where you belonged and you said with Angel.”

She did have a vague recollection of saying something about angels. “Why did you save me?”

“You fell into the creek. If I hadn’t been there you’d have drowned.”

Becky turned away. “It might have been better if you had just let me go.”

“What?” Garrick was shocked.

“Drowning would be less painful than starving.” She rubbed her hand across the blanket. “It was an option I hadn’t even thought of. I think I might like it better than becoming a saloon girl.”

“A saloon girl! Surely there are plenty of other jobs around South Pass City.”

“Not for me.” Becky shook her head. “Nobody would hire me. They all said I was too young. Of course they’d throw me out as soon as they found out about the baby anyway.

I won’t even be able to work in a place like this for very long.”

“Baby? You have a child?”

“No, but I soon will have.”

“You’re expecting?”

“Expecting, in a family way, pregnant, whatever you want to call it.”

“What about the father?”

She bit her lip as an image of Cameron flashed through her mind. “He’s gone. I thought of going somewhere else and pretending to be a widow. The farthest I could get on the money I had was Miner’s Delight and I don’t think twelve miles would be enough.

Silence fell between them. Becky closed her eyes, seeking solace in oblivion as sleep overtook her once more.

Thunderstruck by the turn of events, Garrick came back to the bed and sat down. His book lay forgotten on the washstand as he mulled over the new information, approaching it from all angles.

Two things were abundantly clear no matter how he looked at it. He had saved two lives instead of one, two lives that might still be lost unless she found some way to support herself.

Suddenly, he wondered if finding a solution for this woman and her child might begin to atone for the black shadow that lay in his past. Would salvaging two lives make up for the loss of one?

It was nearing dawn when Becky awoke once more. He was still there, the blond giant with the beautiful voice. Somehow she thought he’d be gone once her learned of her shame. Her own father had turned his back on her, why wouldn’t a stranger?”

“Would you like a drink?”

“No, thanks.” Becky remembered the brandy with a shudder. “Did you spend the whole night in that chair?”

“I was thinking.”

“Must have been some problem!”

“Bad enough you thought drowning sounded like a good idea.”

“Oh.”

Unbelievably he smiled, not a false tinny smile but one that lit up his whole face. “I thought of something I’m sure you never considered.”

“What?”

“We can get married.”

Issue #3

“Swede’s waiting for you downstairs,” Angel said from the doorway.

Becky turned away from the window, where she’d been basking in the mid-day sunshine. “I’m ready.”

“Good, because he seems kind of fidgety.”

“Oh, dear.” Becky paled at the thought of making him angry. With a quick glance in the mirror, she hurried past Angel and out into the hallway.

“You don’t need to look like that. He isn’t going to bite you.”

Becky didn’t bother explaining being bitten was the least of her worries. Bitter experience had taught her the folly of keeping a man waiting. It was a lesson she had no intention of forgetting.

As she rushed down the stairs, she was barely aware of the opulent surroundings. She had eyes only for the man at the bar trading small talk with the bartender.

He glanced up at her arrival and straightened in surprise as she came to a halt in front of him.

Slightly breathless, she dropped her gaze to the floor. “Sorry I took so long,” she murmured. Nervously she waited for him to say something. After several long moments of silence, she looked up.

Becky was very tall herself, but the top of her head only came to his chin. She had the unfamiliar sensation of being small as she looked up at him. There was no clue of what he was thinking as he watched her impassively.

For the first time, she realized his eyes were a pale aquamarine. The blue-green color reminded her of frigid water beneath a thin shell of ice in the winter. His thick white-blond hair added to the illusion of cold.

“You planning on standing here all day?” Angel asked.

Garrick tore his eyes away from his prospective bride to look at his friend. “No, and we’d better get going. Would you mind coming with us, Angel? We’ll need a witness.”

“A witness? For what?”

“For our wedding.”

“Your wedding!”

Garrick smiled at Becky. “Angel seems to have developed a habit of repeating everything I say.”

Becky looked away in confusion. The words were teasing, but she didn’t want to do the wrong thing and make him mad.

“I thought you didn’t know her,” Angel said.

“I do now.”

Angel gave a crack of laughter. “I’ll be damned, Swede. You’re the last person I’d expect to be swayed by a pretty face. All right, I’ll go with you but don’t be surprised if the new Justice of the Peace won’t let me in her house. It’s the disadvantage of letting women hold public office, you know. They’re a trifle skittish around my kind.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. If you’d rather not go...”

“I don’t mind, but your bride might,” Angel said. “Mrs. Morris will probably think this little chick is one of mine.”

Becky shook her head. “It doesn’t matter to me what she thinks. I...I’d like you to come. You’re the only friend I have.”

Angel gave her an odd look but didn’t dispute Becky’s claim of friendship.

“Well, let’s go then,” Swede said, self-consciously offering each lady an arm and escorting them out the door. “We may be a little crowded, but at least we won’t have to walk in all this mud.”

Becky felt a flash of disappointment as Swede led her to the dilapidated black buckboard sitting in front of the Green Garter and helped her up. She had always imagined going to her wedding dressed in a beautiful gown of white satin and riding in a shiny new buggy, the envy of all who saw her.

Staring at the peeling paint of the buckboard, she suddenly realized the enormity of what she was doing. A few hours ago it had seemed a heaven-sent solution to her problems, a way out of the impossible situation she’d landed herself in. Now she wasn’t so sure. By marrying Swede she was giving up everything she had ever dreamed of.

An image of Cameron with his debonair charm and heart-stopping good looks rose in her mind. Irritated with herself, Becky pushed the thought away. She’d given up the right to dreams when she’d gotten pregnant. Instead of finding fault with Swede and their arrangement, she should be thanking her lucky stars.

Crammed together on a seat that was meant for two, the trio headed down the street to Esther Morris’s home. Becky was uncomfortably aware of the long muscular thigh pressed against her own and the huge hands gripping the reins. The thought of those same fingers knotted into a fist made her shudder. She would have to be very careful around this man.

“Listen,” Angel said suddenly, “a meadowlark!”

Becky and Garrick both looked at her questioningly as the bird’s warbling call filled the air.

“Look over your shoulder when a meadowlark sings,” she quoted an old saying. “Long life, love and good luck it brings.”

Garrick and Becky glanced back at the street behind them. It was filled with men, horses, and mules battling the quagmire of mud and animal droppings that made the thoroughfare difficult to navigate. Nothing new there.

As they turned back around, their eyes met. Garrick raised an eyebrow and smiled down at her. “Maybe he’s wishing us good luck.”

“Or telling us we’re lucky we don’t have to walk,” Becky said returning his smile.

“Whatever he’s saying, I’m glad to hear him,” Angel put in. “If the birds, are back that means spring is finally here. Winters in South Pass City are entirely too long to my way of thinking.”

“Ja, it is always that way in the mountains,” Garrick said as he pulled to a halt in front of a well-kept cabin at the end of the street. “Well, here we are.”

He jumped to the ground and lifted Becky’s down from the buckboard.

She instinctively put her hands on his shoulders to catch her balance. Even through the heavy flannel of his shirt she could feel the thick muscles moving beneath her fingers. A curious jolt ran through her at the unexpected contact. Attributing odd sensation to nervousness, she put it from her mind as Swede helped Angel alight.

Esther Morris herself opened the door, and it was all Becky could do not to gape in surprise. For the second time in less than thirty minutes, she felt dwarfed. The woman had to be at least six feet tall and none too slender.

Right now she was listening patiently as Garrick explained why they had come. When he finished her rather stern face broke into a smile.

“A wedding. How delightful. Please come in and make yourselves comfortable. It won’t take me a minute to get ready.” If she recognized Angel, she didn’t mention it. Angel was still a bit wary, but relaxed her defensive stance as she muttered something about feeling like a midget.

To the rest of the world Esther Morris was a celebrity, for she was the first female justice of the peace in the entire country. She was said to have been instrumental in pushing the world’s first woman’s suffrage bill through the territorial legislature, and had already gained the reputation for making just decisions.

To Becky, she would always be the woman who quite cheerfully bound two strangers together for life.

“You’re my first wedding,” she said as she came back into the room a few minutes later thumbing through a book. “It will be a pure pleasure to do this. Now let’s see, it should be right...ah here it is. If the bride and groom will please join hands...”

Most of the ceremony passed in a blur for Becky. As Mrs. Morris read the ritual, responded at the appropriate times with little enthusiasm. She was surprised when Mrs. Morris called, Swede “Garrick Swenson.” How strange to be marrying a man without knowing even his name!

She looked up at him and he squeezed her fingers reassuringly. Her hand felt lost in Swede’s hard callused palm, and yet his touch was as gentle as though he held a delicate piece of porcelain.

“And now the ring...” Mrs. Morris looked at Garrick expectantly.

There was an uncomfortable pause as Garrick realized will all his other plans he’d forgotten to get a wedding ring. Then suddenly, he smiled and pulled a rawhide thong from around his neck. Dangling at the end of it was a silver ring, which he removed and placed on Becky’s finger. It still held the warmth of his body, branding her skin, tying her to him. A few more words, and the wedding was over.

There was a moment of discomfort as Mrs. Morris gave him permission to kiss his bride. With an apologetic look, Garrick leaned down and brushed his lips across Becky’s.

The touch was brief, and not unpleasant, but it brought Becky to earth with a jolt. As her husband he’d certainly expect her to share his bed. Her mind flashed to the intimacy she’d shared with Cameron. She swallowed nervously, wondering if she’d be able to be to do those things with a total stranger.

Within a very short time the three were back outside and loaded into the buckboard. All too soon, they dropped Angel off at the Green Garter. For the firs time all day Becky and Garrick were alone.

Garrick looked down at the woman beside him, sensing her nervousness but unsure what to say. He slapped the reins against the horse’s back and they started down the street. “I’m sorry about the ring.”

“What?”

“The ring. I forgot to get one.”

“Oh.” For the first time she glanced down at the ring on her hand. It was made from a horseshoe nail, cleverly bent into a circle and fused together. Burnished by years of wear, it shone like the finest silver in the sunlight. “This one is fine. It fits pretty well.”

“My grandfather made it.”

“Oh,” she said again, unable to think of anything else. Silence fell between them as he maneuvered the horse and buckboard around the worst of the potholes and mud puddles in the street.

“Where are we going?” She asked after a few minutes.

“Home.”

“Where is that?”

“Just out of town. I bought out a miner who decided it was time to move on. Sold me everything for a grubstake and my tent.” He looked down at her. “Did you want to stop and pick up your things first?”

“There’s nothing to pick up. I sold it all.” She searched her mind for something else to say, to fill the uncomfortable void. “Was the horse part of the deal?”

“Ja.”

“She looks fat and healthy.”

“Her owner said he was pretty sure she’ll foal in the spring. Her name’s Sophie.”

The mare’s ears twitched at the sound of her name and Becky smiled. “Hello, Sophie.”

Garrick followed the road to a small aspen grove then turned down a faint track that hardly more than a trail. They bounced along through the trees until they came to a small cabin.

Garrick’s heart sank. With all his other preparations he hadn’t had time to come out and examine his purchase. It looked as if it had been abandoned. The front door was open, hanging by a single leather hinge. A hole gaped where the window should have been showing a glimpse of the dismal interior.

He hadn’t expected it to be perfect, but it appeared much worse than he’d imagined. “Wait here,” he said as he tied the reins to the brake lever and jumped down. At the doorway he stopped and stared at the mess in dismay. The floor was covered with dirt and debris, and light showed through numerous holes where the chinking had fallen out of the walls. A bunk sagged against the wall and a rickety table stood in one corner next to the fireplace.

“Is something wrong?” Becky asked, joining him in the doorway. “Oh, my.”

“The miner I bought it from said it was in good shape. I hate to see something that he thought needed some work.”

“It has four more-or-less solid walls and a roof. To most miners this is a palace.”

“Maybe, but it’s no place for a woman.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Becky stepped over the threshold and looked around. “I’ve lived in a lot worse. Other than a little dirt, it’s not bad.”

“It could use a few repairs.”

“I suppose.” She moved across the room to a large wooden box by the fireplace. “I wonder what’s in here. Oh, look, pots and pans!”

Garrick watched her for a moment as she dug out a battered collection of blackened cooking utensils. Her delight was obvious. With a shake of his head, he turned back to the buckboard. Any other woman he knew would have been in tears.

By the time Becky had dug clear to the bottom of the wooden box and rearranged it to her satisfaction, Garrick had replaced the missing leather hinge on the door. She watched as he turned his attention to the bunk.

Apparently he was a man of action and few words. Beyond his observation about the cabin’s state of disrepair, he had said nothing. Instead he’d gone out to the buckboard, retrieved a hammer from his things and gone to work.

By now, Becky’s father would have somehow decided it was all her fault and wouldn’t have hesitated to take his frustration out on her. But Swede hardly seemed concerned by the inconvenience. Even now, trying to support the sagging bed frame with his shoulder as he worked on the leg, his face was calm, his temper apparently unruffled.

“W...would you like some help?” Becky asked timidly. “I could hold that up for you.”

Garrick glanced up in surprise. “All right,” he said after a moment as he shifted the side rail off his shoulder. “Hold it right here.”

Obediently, Becky knelt by the bed and put her hands under the board. With a barely perceptible nod of approval, he went back to work. As the light reflected off her wedding ring caught her eye, Becky suddenly realized this was the bed she would have to share with him. Though it was certainly big enough for two people, it would be crowded when one of them was the size of her new husband.

“Did you find anything interesting?” his voice broke into her thoughts.

“What?”

“In the box. Were there any surprises?”

“Not really though there were a few things I didn’t recognize. I think they might be for setting pans on in the fireplace, but I’m not sure. I’ve never cooked in a fireplace before.”

“I’m sorry there isn’t a stove.”

“It doesn’t matter. I haven’t ever cooked on one of those either. We never had anything but a campfire.”

As he glanced over his shoulder at her in surprise she hastened to add, “But I’m sure it won’t be that difficult to learn to use the fireplace.” Looking away from his gaze, Becky mentally cursed her unruly tongue. He probably thought she’d starve him to death before she learned the proper way of it.

When he said nothing, Becky wondered uncomfortably if he was already regretting the generous impulse that had led to their marriage. Stiffening her spine, she vowed he would never have cause to look back on this day and be sorry he’d tied himself to her.

“That should do it,” Garrick said a few minutes later as he finished reinforcing the board she was holding. He stood up and looked around as he reached down to give her a hand up. “It may be awhile before this place is livable.”

Putting her hand in his Becky smiled up at him shyly as she climbed to her feet. “I don’t know, I think it’s...oh...”

Becky forgot what she was saying as her ears started ringing and Swede’s face swam in front of her eyes. Unable to focus, she felt her body sway before she pitched forward into darkness.

Issue # 4
“Rebecca? Can you hear me? Rebecca, open your eyes!”

Becky heard the vaguely familiar voice through the rushing noise in her ears, but she couldn't remember who it belonged to. Her mind felt stiff and awkward, almost as though it were stuffed with cotton. Gradually, though, her senses began to clear, and she opened her eyes. “Becky,” she said, as Swede's face swam into view.

“What?”

“Nobody calls me Rebecca any more.”

“Are you all right?”

Becky suddenly realized she was lying half on his lap, her upper body supported by his arms as he stared down at her with concern.

“What happened?”

“You fainted.”

“I did?” She struggled to sit up as hot embarrassment stained her face. “How silly of me. I must have stood up too fast.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

“I...I don't know. Yesterday maybe.”

“When?” he asked again, his voice firm.

Becky hung her head. “Three days ago.”

“Good Lord, why didn't you say something?”

“I d-didn't want to bother you.”

“Don't you think it bothered me to have you faint in my arms?”

“I'm sorry. I didn't know I'd faint,” she said in a small voice. “I ran out of money, and there wasn't anything else to sell except...myself” her voice sank to a whisper. “I was trying to get the courage to ask for a job in Beer Garden Gulch when I fell into the creek.”

Garrick's chest tightened painfully. He felt stupid for not realizing the truth when she told him drowning was a kinder death than starving. “Why didn't you eat at Angel's this morning?”

“Nobody was even awake until just before you got there this afternoon.”

“Stop looking so guilty. It's more my fault than yours.” He sighed then gave her a slight smile. “I'm kind of hungry. What do you say we go back to town and have supper?”

“Shouldn't we do a little more work here first?”

“Nope.” He shook his head decisively. “It's our wedding day and we should be celebrating.”

“I-I hadn't thought of that.”

“Neither had I until just now.” He stood up and scooped her up in his arms. “It's good luck for the groom to carry the bride over the threshold. I suppose it works just as well going out as in,” he said, as he ducked through the doorway.

Becky had the irrational desire to lay her head on his shoulder as he carried her to the buckboard and deposited her on the seat. The big Swede had shown more kindness in the few hours she'd know him than her father had in ten years she’d lived with him. For the first time in a very long time, she began to feel safe.

They went to the Sherlock Hotel for supper. Garrick ordered a huge meal, and Becky tried not to wolf it down. She didn't think any food had ever tasted quite so wonderful. Fighting the urge to eat like a pig, she went slowly and was careful to stop before she made herself sick.

Garrick studied her face across the table. Gone was the slightly pathetic waif he'd pulled from the creek. The huge brown eyes, thick dark hair, and pert little nose were still the same, but somehow she been transformed into a lovely woman. Becky didn’t have the classically pretty features that inspired poets and artists; hers was the sort of earthy beauty that made a man's blood run hot in his veins and his breath catch in his throat. That she seemed innocently unaware of her allure only added to her appeal.

He wondered about the man who had tasted her charms. Had he loved her, whispering sweet promises he couldn't keep? Or had he been drawn by her beauty, uncaringly seduced her and then walked away?

Satisfied at last, she looked up from her meal and caught him staring at her. Blushing slightly, she smiled. “A penny for your thoughts.”

Figuring she wouldn't appreciate observations about her appeal or questions about the baby's father, he racked his brain for an acceptable topic. “Why doesn't anyone call you Rebecca anymore?”

“My grandmother was about the only one who ever did. It was her name, you see. After she died, my mother would call me Rebecca Anne when she was mad at me, but the rest of the time I was Becky.”

He smiled. “Rebecca Anne, I like that. My father called my mother Anna occasionally. It was his nickname for Alaina.”

“Alaina? That doesn't sound much like a Swedish name.”

“She's Irish.”

Becky looked surprised. “You must resemble your father then. No one would think you were anything but pure Swedish.”

“I do, but he isn't Swedish either.”

“He isn't?”

“Nope, not a drop of Swedish blood in him.” Garrick grinned. “My family is Norwegian.”

“What? Then why do they call you Swede?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. I guess all Scandinavians look and sound pretty much the same to the rest of the world. The crew boss called me Swede when I worked on the railroad. I never corrected him, and it just sort of followed me to South Pass.”

“Well, I think it's ridiculous. I'm going to call you by your given name and that's that.” She gave her head a decisive nod to emphasize her point. After a moment she looked at him. “It is Garrick isn't it?”

He laughed, the deep rich sound turning heads and bringing smiles to the faces of the other diners.

“Ja, my name is Garrick, though nobody has called me that for so long I may not answer to it. How did you know it anyway?”

“The same place you found out mine was Rebecca. Mrs. Morris called you that at the wedding.”

They smiled at each other, both suddenly much happier about the bargain they'd made.

“Are you finished?” Garrick asked, nodding toward her plate.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. I couldn't eat another bite.”

“Good. What would you like to do now?”

“We could go back to the cabin,” she said uncertainly.

Garrick smiled. “We could, but I have a better idea. There's a troupe of actors in town, putting on a play at the Variety Theater. Would you like to go?”

“Oh, could we? I've never been to a real play before.”

Becky's delight at the promised treat was like a warm glow inside Garrick as he paid for their dinner and took a room at the hotel for the night. Noting Becky's wistful look when the clerk mentioned the bath down the hall, Garrick paid the extra four bits for her to use it.

He knew his poker winnings wouldn't last long if he continued to spend so recklessly, but Becky’s look of pleased surprise was worth every penny. After escorting his new wife to the room, he left her to take her bath in private and took his belongings back out to the cabin. As he drove down the rutted trail, it occurred to him that his bone-deep loneliness of the night before was gone.

Becky luxuriated in the first hot bath she'd had in years. Though she knew her time was limited, she couldn't resist the self-indulgence of washing her hair with the fresh-smelling soap. She didn't even care that it would still be wet hours later. Trying not to wish she had clean clothing to put on, she dressed and was ready to go by the time Garrick returned.

Justin T. Franklin and his world-renown acting troupe were far from the best that had ever graced the boards of South Pass's first theater, but Becky was enchanted. It didn't matter that the leading lady had a tendency to forget her lines, and the villain had a suspiciously unsteady gait. The play held her spellbound, and she was sorry when the final curtain fell.

She chattered happily all the way back to the hotel, reliving the entire performance in minute detail. Adjusting his stride so she didn't have to run keep up, Garrick listened with half an ear. He was pleased with her obvious delight, but his mind had already turned to the night ahead. Though they'd exchanged vows, and he'd given her his ring, he was pretty sure they weren't really married.

Right now she seemed reconciled to their situation, but after her baby was born she might feel differently. Becky was young and bound to fall in love someday. When she did, she’d want her freedom. Even if the marriage was legal, they could get it annulled easily enough if they never consummated their union. The important thing now was to make her feel safe and secure by thinking their marriage was real.

Garrick needed to come up with a plausible reason for not sleeping with her. It shouldn't be too difficult. Many women were intimidated by the size of him and he could tell his new wife was one of them. He'd seen the fear in her eyes. Listening to her talk, he wondered if nervousness might have something to do with her nonstop conversation. By the time they reached the hotel, he was sure of it.

“...and I hope we're done with snow for the year,” Becky was saying. “Of course, that's the problem with living in the mountains like this. Spring comes so late that-”

“Becky, I would never hurt you.”

She glanced at his face in shock. “Wh-what?”

“I said I wouldn't hurt you, and I won't. You don't have to be afraid of me.”

“I-I'm sorry if it seems that way.” She dropped her gaze. “I'm just very tired.” When she realized what she'd said her face turned a dull red.

“We don't have to make it a real marriage tonight,” he said gently.

“I-I don't mind.”

“This time yesterday we didn't even know each other, and we're still practically strangers. We both need time to adjust.”

She looked up at him questioningly, and was surprised to find gentle understanding in his eyes.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You take the bed. I'll sleep on the floor.”

“That hardly seems fair. You paid for the room.”

Garrick smiled, as they climbed the stairs “Sleeping on the floor won't bother me. I'm used to the ground.”

“So am I.”

“Then you'll enjoy a nice soft bed.”

“I slept in one last night while you sat in a chair.”

“Most beds are too short for me anyway.” Garrick opened the door and stepped aside for her to enter.

She looked at the tiny room doubtfully. An iron bedstead was pushed up against one wall, while a chest of drawers with a mirror and a washstand took up most of the other. The distance between them was barely big enough to walk in. She'd forgotten how small the room was. “There isn't enough room for you down there. We'll have to share the bed.”

For a moment he was tempted then cool reason returned, and he shook his head ruefully. “I don't think so.”

“Then I'll take the floor.”

“No, you won't. You'll sleep in the bed and that's final.”

“And where are going to sleep, then, under the bed?” After moment she sighed. “I just don't see that we have much choice. Either I sleep on the floor or we share the bed.”

He looked from floor to the bed and back again. She was right. There was no way he'd fit in that small space. “All right, have it your way then. I'll be back in about half an hour or so.”

Without another word, he turned on his heel and left.

It took Garrick somewhat longer than he'd expected to discover his supply of black powder had arrived and to have it delivered to the mine. When he finally tracked down Ox Bruford, the freighter was already involved in a poker game and not interested in leaving. Though Garrick finally managed to get the mule skinner to cooperate, Ox complained good-naturedly all the way out to the mine about friends who take unfair advantage.

By the time they had unloaded the kegs of powder, and Garrick had made his way back to the Sherlock, Becky was sound asleep. He stood looking down at her for a few minutes before blowing out the lantern and stripping down to his long underwear.

As quietly as possible, Garrick crawled into bed and settled down to sleep. The bed was too short, and the soft, warm body next to him far too enticing. Still, with his lack of sleep from the night before, it wasn't long before he started to relax.

Just as he was beginning to drift off he heard a soft noise from the other side of the bed. Turning his head toward the sound, he listened intently until it came again. With a grin, he settled back down and closed his eyes. There was something strangely endearing about a woman who snored.

Issue # 5
“Garrick?” Becky sat up in bed and looked around the room. He was gone. Except for a dent in the pillow next to her, he might never have been there. Thinking he'd probably gone outside to the privy, she scrambled out of bed and dressed hurriedly.

Half an hour later she was pacing the limited floor space of the tiny room in agitation. Where was he? Time passed and still he didn't come. At last, Becky could stand the waiting no longer.
Downstairs the desk clerk greeted her with a smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Swenson. Your husband left you a note.”

“Oh?” Becky blinked. It was strange to be addressed as Mrs. Swenson. “When did he leave?”

The clerk shrugged. “In time for the morning shift.”

“I see. Thank you.” Feeling rather silly, Becky took the note and walked over to the window. Of course he'd have gone to work. Why hadn't she thought of that?

The strong, heavy lines on the paper reminded her of him. Though she was not a very accomplished reader, she was able to figure out most of his message. He'd left her money in.... something... and wanted her to buy.... bread? What in the world?

After struggling with Garrick's note for several minutes she finally decided he wanted her eat breakfast and then pick up supplies. It made sense.

It only took a few minutes to go back upstairs and locate the money he'd left in the dresser. There was a great deal, more than she'd ever had to spend before. For once, she'd be able to buy a few luxuries like coffee, maybe even some sugar.

After a leisurely breakfast, Becky went to the nearest mercantile. Within a short time, she emerged armed with those items she considered indispensable for cleaning. The storekeeper had offered to drop off the supply of food staples on his way out of town later. Walking the quarter of a mile to the cabin, she felt more positive than she had in a long time. Life no longer looked quite so hopeless.

Garrick couldn't afford to be distracted. A dozen lives, including his own, depended on his ability to concentrate on the task before him. Usually it wasn't a problem, but today a pair of velvety brown eyes kept intruding as he carefully measured the black powder into the exact amount needed for a charge.

He'd awakened at first light, his body responding uncomfortably to the feminine warmth pressed against him. Stifling a groan, he regretfully untangled himself and crawled out of bed before he gave into temptation.

As he pulled on his clothes, he studied his wife. For the first time he wondered how old she was, not more than twenty, certainly. She was little more than child who had lost a lover, then her father, and finally bound herself to a total stranger.

Garrick reached into his pants pocket to pull out his rapidly dwindling roll of bills. He peeled off a couple, and then glanced down at Becky. She'd never really been given the chance to leave South Pass, to make a new life for herself somewhere else. After a moment, he divided the roll in half and placed part of it in the dresser drawer. He really didn't want her to go, but he had to give her the option.

Telling himself it was the only honorable thing to do; Garrick borrowed a pen and paper from the desk clerk downstairs. After telling her where he'd left the money, and urging her to get breakfast, he told her to do whatever she wanted with the rest. Leaving the note with the clerk, he left quickly before he had a chance to change his mind.

All day he regretted his generous impulse. She had no reason to stay, and he given her a small fortune to take with her if she wanted to leave. By the time his shift was finally over, Garrick was convinced he was the biggest fool around.

Though he was expecting it, the hotel clerk's revelation that Becky had left after breakfast and not returned was like a hammer blow. Uncertain why her defection should bother him so much when they were virtual strangers, Garrick went to the stable to collect the horse and buckboard. He might as well pick up his things from the cabin and come back to town for the night. Maybe a game of poker at the Green Garter would lift his spirits.

The ride out to the cabin was a gloomy one. When he arrived, he ducked through the open door of the cabin, and came to an abrupt halt. He looked around the room in amazement. All the dirt and grime had disappeared. The walls and floor had a freshly scrubbed look, and a few wet spots remained on the floorboards. The battered collection of pots and pans sat on the hearth gleaming in the firelight as a pot of beans bubbled invitingly over the fire. It must have taken hours to remove the accumulation of soot that had covered them.

The sound of splashing water outside caught his attention. He stepped back through the door just as Becky upended a bucket of water into a barrel that sat at the corner of the house.

“Oh,” she said, looking up. “You startled me.”

“What are you doing?”

Becky's welcoming smile faltered. “I-I was just filling the water barrel.”

“Not anymore, you aren't,” he said gruffly as he took the bucket from her hand and walked toward the creek.

Becky watched him leave with confusion. She knew that curt sound in a man’s voice. It meant he was angry for some reason, and he didn't even know she'd spent all the money he'd given her yet. Wondering what else she could have done wrong, she went inside and immediately realized the pans were still stacked on the hearth. She'd left them there after she scrubbed out the storage box, waiting for it to dry. It was just the sort of thing her father had always berated her for.

With a sinking feeling in her middle, Becky hurried over to the fireplace and started stuffing the pans into the box. That's what came of trying so hard to make things nice for him. She'd done the best she could and it wasn't good enough. What had made her think it would be?

By the time Garrick finished filling the water barrel, Becky had mixed up a batch of corn bread and was putting it among the coals to bake. Forcing herself not to look up, she pulled the hot embers up around the dutch oven. “Supper will be ready pretty soon.”

“Good.” Garrick could tell she was unhappy, and he was pretty sure he knew why. He just didn't know how to say he was sorry for putting her through all this. His tongue felt as though it was stuck to the roof of his mouth.

As the silence stretched out unbearably, Becky stood up and nervously wiped the spotless mantle with a rag. “I'm sorry I didn't have everything finished when you got here,” she finally blurted out.

“What?”

“The house was a mess, supper wasn't ready.” Her voice quavered as she dropped her forehead to her hands. “I didn't even have the water barrel filled.”

Her words hit Garrick like jagged pieces of metal. Two steps took him to her side. Feeling like a complete fool, he laid his hand on her shoulder. “Becky...”

“I wa-anted to have it all finished wh-en.. you got here. I spent all your money and supper isn't ev-even done.”

“Don't cry.” Her sobs tore at Garrick's heart as he pulled her into his arms. Not sure what to do, he patted her back clumsily, but her sobs continued on unabated. “I never expected you to do all this,” he said at last. “You shouldn't even be here.”

That got her attention. “W-why not?” she asked, pulling away from his shoulder with a sniff.

“The place is falling apart. You can see daylight through the walls in a dozen places, the window's broken, there's no furniture, and the roof probably leaks.” He glanced around ruefully. “In fact there isn't much right with it.”

“Oh, but you're wrong,” Becky said, wiping her eyes. “Look at the floor.”

Garrick glanced at his feet and then back to her face “What about it?”
“It's wood, not dirt, and only a few of the boards are warped. The walls are solid so we can replace the chinking and mend the roof.” Then Becky grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the window. “Listen.”

Obediently, Garrick strained his ears. “I don't hear anything.”

“That's right. Other than an occasional boom from one of the mines, I didn't hear much all day. If I didn't know South Pass City was less than half a mile away, I'd think this was an isolated mountain cabin.”

“And that pleases you?”

“Very much.” She smiled. “When high water is over, the creek in back will even be fairly clean because we're upstream from town. There isn't much mining going on above us either so if we let the water set for awhile in the water barrel, it should be safe to drink.”

“Well,” Garrick said looking around, “you've got it looking much better than I would have ever imagined. I'll admit I'm impressed.”

“Then you're not mad anymore?” Becky's voice was barely more than a whisper.

Garrick gave her a startled look. “I never was.”

“You sounded like it when you finish filling the water barrel.”

“I wasn't happy to find you doing it, but I wasn't mad at you.”

“Why didn't you want the barrel filled?”

“It has nothing to do with the water barrel. You shouldn't be lifting heavy buckets, or chopping wood or doing anything that could hurt your baby.”

“Oh.”

“Promise me you'll leave things like that for me to do.”

“A-all right.” Becky said. Nobody had ever worried about her like that before. It seemed like almost everything this man did was a new experience to her. As she watched him dig through the pile of his belonging he'd dropped off the day before, she wondered if she'd ever learn to understand him.

“Here,” he said pulling out a canvas bag and handing it to her. “I'll be right back.”

When Becky opened the bag she discovered two tin plates and the flatware to go with them. There was only a single cup, but at least they wouldn't have to eat out of the pans with their fingers.

By the time the corn bread was done baking, Garrick had returned with two pieces of a log. Both were more-or-less flat on either end and stood about two feet high. Becky was puzzled until he upended them next to the table and covered each with one of his shirts.

“They won't be the most comfortable stools around, but they'll work until I can build some chairs.”

“You can do that?” Becky looked surprised as she set the table.

Garrick shrugged. “My father made all our furniture.”

“Was he a craftsman then?”

“No, a farmer, but he always told me working with wood was something he always loved.”

“Were you close to him?”

Garrick smiled softly as he looked into the distant past. “Ja, we were very close.”

“When did he die?”

“Last I heard he was still alive.” Abruptly, he turned away and walked to the fireplace. “Are the beans done?”

“I-I think so.”

“Good. Let's eat.”

The first meal they shared in their new home was far from exciting, but the food was plentiful and filling. Beyond cutting her apology short and telling her he didn't mind that she had spent all the money he'd given her, Garrick had very little to say. He was more inclined to eat than talk, and Becky was beginning to find his long silences less unnerving. In fact, she was more disturbed by sharing the single cup with him. There was something oddly disquieting about drinking from it moments after his lips had touched the rim.

After supper, Becky washed the dishes while Garrick dug out his lantern and a large square of canvas he'd used as flooring in his tent. After cutting it in half, he covered the window with part of it and rigged a curtain across one corner of the room with the other.

Becky watched silently as he made up her bed on the bunk then spread his own bedroll in front of the fireplace. Telling herself she was glad he was being so considerate, she couldn't help wondering how long it would be before he wanted to share a bed the way they shared the cup.

As the days went by, life settled into a routine. Every morning Garrick left for work right after breakfast and returned at the end of his shift twelve hours later. He spent the evenings building furniture while Becky sewed, and a quiet camaraderie began to develop between them. Though their marriage wasn’t without its bumps, they were, for the most part, satisfied.

When Garrick taught her how to drive the buckboard, Becky was delighted. She’d grown up accepting boredom and loneliness as a way of life; now she reveled in the freedom the buckboard gave her. During her daily excursions, Becky talked to Sophie as she would a friend. The horse always swiveled her ears toward the sound as though she were listening intently.

More and more frequently Becky found herself telling Sophie about the confusing feeling Garrick roused in her. The memory the solid comfort of his body the time he’d held her in his arms and his many kindnesses lay soft and warn in her mind. It wasn’t love, for the hot thrills Cameron’s tough had evoked weren’t there. Still, the thought of sleeping with her new husband wasn’t the least bit repulsive. Perhaps her father had been right about her, after all.

Issue # 6
“Supper's on, Garrick.”

“Be right there.” Garrick sank his ax into the chopping block and picked up an armload of split wood to take into the cabin. Maybe he'd get lucky and they'd have something different to eat tonight.

In the month and a half that he and Becky had been married, the meals had never varied. Supper was always corn bread and beans and breakfast was cornmeal mush. She'd faithfully sent cold beans and corn bread every day for lunch until he told her he really didn't have time for a mid-day meal.

Garrick ducked through the door and dumped the wood into the wood box. Glancing toward Becky who was cheerfully setting supper on the table, his heart sank. Beans.

With an inward sigh, he rolled up his sleeves and poured hot water into the washbowl. In spite of her unimaginative cooking, he was well satisfied with his young wife. She kept the cabin spotless and never complained about anything. He didn't even mind her cheerful chatter that seemed inexhaustible. If he occasionally wished for a little peace and quiet, he reminded himself of how lonely he’d been before she came into his life.

“How was your day?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Fine.”

“I finished sewing your new shirt this afternoon.”

“Thanks.”

Becky resisted the urge to slam the pan of corn bread down on the table. If she told him she'd spent the afternoon running naked through the streets of South Pass City he'd probably just arch one of those darn eyebrows of his and say, “Oh?”

A sudden knock on the door startled them both. Their eyes met in a look of mutual surprise. There had never been a visitor in all the time they had lived there. “Who do you suppose that is?” Becky asked heading for the door.

When she opened it, a complete stranger confronted her. He was tall and broad, with dark hair and bright green eyes that widened when he saw her. “Good evening, Ma'am,” he said, whisking his hat from his head. “I was told I might find the Swede here.”

“Ox!” Garrick greeted their visitor with obvious pleasure as he dried his neck with a towel. “What brings you out here?”

“I need to talk business with you.”

“We were about to sit down to supper,” Becky said. “Would you like to join us?”

Ox's face split into a delighted grin. “I sure would, Ma'am. I never turn down a home-cooked meal.”

“Hope you like beans,” Garrick couldn't resist saying as his friend came inside. “This is my wife, Becky. Becky, Ox Bruford.”

“How do you do?”

“It's a real pleasure, Ma'am, a real pleasure.”

Becky blushed slightly and moved away to set another place at the table. Thank goodness Garrick had thought to buy more dishes.

“Holy hell, Swede,” Ox said in an undertone. “Where did you find her? She's plumb beautiful.”

“It's a long story.”

“And you never were one for talking a man's leg off,” Ox said with a grin. “Danged if that ain't one I'd like to hear, though.” He let out a soundless whistle, as Becky turned sideways to set the table. Her pregnancy was obvious. “Son of a gun, Swede. You don't waste any time do you?”

Garrick shrugged. “Some things come naturally.”

Becky gave a sigh of relief at the sound of Ox's delighted laughter. Apparently she'd done the right thing inviting the man to dinner. She hadn't been sure.”

Ox Bruford turned out to be as garrulous as Garrick was quiet. He spent the entire meal telling stories of his travels and Becky listened with real interest. When supper was over, she regretfully cleared the table so the two men could talk.

“You hear about the Indian trouble out at Fort Stambaugh?”

Garrick nodded. “I heard there'd been a few skirmishes. Why?”

“The colonel ordered an escort for all wagons for the next few months, at least until the Sioux go to their winter hunting grounds. That means we won't be able to come in as often. So I need to know how much black powder you're going to need to hold you over in just in case.”

“Did you talk to Tom Ryan?”

“Yup, and he said to ask you and Klynton since you'd be using it.”

“How long do you figure it might be between deliveries?”

“Hopefully not more than a few weeks but better be prepared for a month.”

Garrick rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he pondered the question. “Better get me a dozen kegs, then. I don't want to run short. You’ll have to ask Klynton about the nitro.”

“He’s going to have to make special arrangements for that with somebody else. I wouldn’t touch it for half the gold in the Carissa. Well, guess I'd best get on back to town.” He stood and flashed Becky a grin. “Thanks for supper, Ma'am. Those were damn...er...I mean dang good beans.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bruford. I hope you'll come again. “Her words were for Ox but her eyes never left Garrick.

“Take care of yourself,” Garrick said walking their guest to the door, “and I'll see you in a few weeks.

“Yup, thanks again for supper. Good night,”

Garrick knew Becky was unhappy about something, but he didn't have a clue what. No doubt she'd tell him soon enough.

He didn't even glance at her as he went to the corner and picked up the seat of the rocking chair he was working on. He didn't have to; he was aware of her with fiber of his being, just as he always was. God, help him, but she seemed to grow more beautiful with each passing day.

Nights were the best...and the worst. Becky always waited until the lantern was out, and she thought he was asleep before she prepared for bed. The first time she'd stepped out from behind the canvas curtain dressed in a voluminous nightgown and with her hair in a long thick braid, Garrick thought his heart would stop. Unaware of how transparent the firelight made the cotton, she'd moved freely through the cabin, doing little womanly things before she went to bed.

It had become a ritual that Garrick looked forward to every night. Sometimes she would sit and brush her hair until it crackled, other times she'd only wash her face and hands, but it was always intensely satisfying to watch her from his darkened corner. Even her impending motherhood didn't make her less desirable. In fact the softly rounding contours stirred unfamiliar feelings within him that were more difficult to deal with than lust.

Now, Garrick waited patiently for the storm to break over his head. It was the way his father had always dealt with his mother's volatile Irish temper, working quietly at some task until she finally blew up and told him what was bothering her. He'd sit contritely listening to her tirade then smooth her ruffled feathers with good calm Norwegian logic. Though Garrick's mother often complained that her husband didn't fight fair, it seemed the best way to deal with an angry woman.

Garrick could tell Becky's anger was simmering just below the surface as she slammed the dishes in and out of the dishwater. It wouldn't be long now. He braced himself.

But nothing happened. Finally he chanced a glance in her direction and was appalled to see tears sparkling in her eyes. “What's wrong?”

“What's wrong?” she repeated, glaring at him. “Nothing's wrong. I just found out my husband has the most dangerous job in the world and he never told me. Why should I be upset?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You're a powder man aren't you?”

“Well, yes but I use black powder, not nitroglycerine like Ace Klynton does. The way I do it, my job isn't any more dangerous than any other.”

“Oh, no. You just blow things up. If you use too much powder, or too short a fuse or somebody sneezes at the wrong time, you're either blown to smithereens or buried under several tons of rock. There's nothing dangerous about that.”

Garrick was incredulous. “You're mad because I'm a powder man?”

“No, I'm mad because you never told me. But then I guess that shouldn't come as a surprise. You never tell me anything. We've lived together for six weeks and we're still total strangers.”

“We are not.”

“Oh no? I don't know one thing about you that I didn't find out the first day.”

Garrick felt a spark of anger. “That's not true.”

“It is too. I couldn't even get you to tell me if you wanted me to make you a new shirt.”

“I bought that material for you and the baby.”

“But did you tell me that? No. You just brought it in and dropped it on the table. I was supposed to figure out what you wanted on my own.”

“What did you want me to do?” he asked rising to his feet and glaring back at her, “give you detailed instructions?”

“I want you to talk to me once in awhile.”

“I talk to you.”

“Yes, one word at a time. Don't you understand, Garrick? You never tell me anything. I don't even know if you like me.”

That hurt. He'd shown her how much he liked her in a dozen different ways. Didn't she realize all the things he did around the cabin were for her? He felt the irrational desire to hurt her back. “How can I tell you anything when you never shut up long enough to listen?” he asked.

“Maybe I would if you'd tell me what's going on inside your head.”

“You don't want to know what I'm thinking.”

“Try me.”
“All right,” he said, crossing the room to her. “Sometimes I think I'll go crazy if I don't have some peace and quiet. I detest cornmeal mush, and I'm so sick of beans and corn bread that I could throw up.”

As he advanced, Becky backed away until she stood cringing against the wall. The stark terror in her eyes infuriated him even more. He braced his hands on either side of her head and loomed over her menacingly. “And most of all,” he said in a dangerously soft voice, “I hate the way you act when I get close to you.”

As he moved to grab his hat off the mantle, she instinctively covered her face and ducked away with a whimper of fear.

“You don't need to worry, Madam Wife,” he said with dry emphasis. “I won't touch you.” He took a dozen steps and went out, slamming the door behind him.

With a sob, Becky slid to the floor. Why oh why hadn't she just left well enough alone? Suddenly, she realized how she must look to him, tall and gangly, her body distorted and swollen with another man's child. No wonder he hadn't ever wanted to share her bed. He couldn't even stand the thought of touching her.

Worst of all was the knowledge that she'd been making a complete fool of herself, and he knew it. Shame flooded her as she thought of the many times she'd unobtrusively leaned closer to him to catch the scent of wood, leather and an indefinable something that was uniquely Garrick. When she'd touched his hand or brushed against him just to feel his solid warmth, he'd been aware of what she was doing and had been repulsed by it.

Tears came and sobs of anguish racked her body. After everything he'd done for her, saving her life, giving her a real home, chinking the walls, mending the roof, building chairs, chopping wood, she couldn't even cook him a decent meal. She was a dismal failure as a wife. Right now he was probably on his way to the saloon, and the thought scared her half to death.