Tilly stifled a sneeze. “How can I help?”
“I need a place to work.” He glanced over his shoulder, not quite meeting her gaze. “We can clear a space.”
A droplet splashed against her head and she scowled at the hole in the ceiling. “Let’s find a place away from the leak.”
“Good idea.”
“I am heartily sick and tired of all this rain.” She stepped over the growing puddle from the hole in the ceiling, cringing at the mud on her hem. She hadn’t felt clean in days. The damp air and the mud sucking at her shoes had grown from being annoying to unbearable. “Have you ever so much rain in your life?”
“Not here. Not like this.”
They worked in silence for several minutes. Tilly slanted a glance at Nolan. There were times when she felt as though there was something between them, a growing understanding. But there were other times when she felt as though she didn’t exist to him. As though she was standing next to Eleanor in a roomful of potential suitors, and she was invisible beside her beautiful sister.
Frustrated by the turn of her thoughts, she stacked several wooden boxes. The more she considered the boat, the more uneasy she grew. Events were building inexorably toward a precipice, and she was terrified of peering over the edge.
Her worry for the girls threatened to consume her. How had Eleanor survived all those years living in the rough conditions of Virginia City? The men inhabiting the coarse mining town had the same desperate look as the outlaws.
Lately the idea of traveling to New York left her feeling flat and uninspired. What was wrong with her? She’d turned into the manifestation of Eleanor’s predictions. She was the sort of person who flitted from activity to activity, without ever being content with anything.
She was flighty and irresponsible. She didn’t know what she wanted for herself, she only knew what she didn’t want.
Overcome with uncertainty, Tilly sat back on her heels. “When were you the happiest?”
“Why do you ask?” Nolan replied absently, his attention focused on maneuvering a rotted bale of hay from his path. “Seems an odd topic under the circumstances.”
“I want to think about something happy. I’m tired of worrying about whether or not I’m going to die in the next week.”
“No one will die, Tilly. Not if I can help it.”
“I know. But I want to take my mind off things.”
“Fair enough. Let me think.”
He rolled back the sleeves on his shirt, and her gaze was riveted to his muscled forearms. Her mouth went dry.
“I was happiest when both my parents were alive,” he said. “At home. I enjoyed farming. Working with the earth. Growing something. There was always a challenge.”
He grasped the bow of the boat. His shirt stretched across his back, highlighting his straining muscles.
Tilly dabbed at her brow.
“I drove my father to distraction,” Nolan continued. “I was always trying to find a better way of doing things—a better plant, a better crop rotation, a better seed mixture. My father preferred the tried-and-true methods. He wasn’t much for experimentation.”
Tilly gaped. She’d expected a yes-or-no answer, or one of his terse replies.
Encouraged by his success, she continued. “Why don’t you farm now?”
“What’s the point? The land is gone.” He moved to stand before her. “Stay clear. I’m going to right this thing.”
She scooted backward.
He pushed off on the stern. The boat teetered before falling. She cringed, expecting the wood to splinter into a thousand pieces. To her relief, the frame held together.
“Couldn’t you petition for the return of your land?” she asked. “As a former soldier, you deserve nothing less.”
“A former Confederate soldier.”
“But what about the Reconstruction?”
“The Reconstruction died with President Lincoln. The land is lost to my family forever. Had my father chosen to side with the Union, things might have turned out differently.”
“Where is your family now?”
“My father is all that’s left. He moved to Cimarron Springs, Kansas, after he lost everything. His sister and her husband settled there.”
“And you didn’t want to be near him?”
“I tried. It didn’t work out.”
“You can still homestead in Nebraska and Kansas,” she said. “They can’t deny you a homestead.”
He grasped one of the boxes she’d moved and placed it beneath the bowed edge for support. “Maybe I will. Someday.”
“What are you waiting for?” She knew immediately that she’d broached a forbidden topic. The muscles along his back tensed. “Never mind. Only I’ve seen your garden. There’s no way you lost heart in farming.”
“That garden will go to waste soon enough. The railroad surveyors have already been through town. Won’t be long before the train tracks follow. Maybe Pyrite will rise from the ashes as a train depot.”
“What will you do then?”
“I’ll keep moving. The Wyoming Territory. Maybe California.”
“You’ll find another solitary occupation?” The idea made her unbearably sad. “Don’t you ever get lonely?”
“Yes.” He gave a rueful laugh. “I’ve grown accustomed to the solitude. It’s better for me that way.”
“I couldn’t stand living that way.”
“I know.”
There was something in his gaze she didn’t quite understand. An intensity and a sorrow that hadn’t been there before. Despite his words, she sensed he wasn’t as content with his solitude as he’d have her believe.
“I envy you,” she said.
“Why?”
“You have the freedom to go wherever you want, to do whatever you choose. You have no family connections. Nothing to hold you back. You could easily pick up and leave tomorrow, and you’d never have to answer to anyone.”
“Independence is grueling.”
“That’s not fair.” She sniffed. “You’ve turned my words against me.”
“Your turn,” he said. “When were you happiest?”
Her cheeks flushed. He’d given her an honest answer, and he deserved one in return. An answer she couldn’t give. She couldn’t admit that she’d discovered a new strength within herself these past few days. She’d found a purpose, though a precarious one.
“I was happiest before Eleanor was married. Afterward, everything changed. Everyone changed. My father was different, Eleanor was different. I was too naive to understand that my place in her life would never be the same. As much as I chafed against her control, she was always the glue that held us together. Once she moved away, we drifted apart. I suppose in some ways I’ve been lost since then. As much as I complain about Eleanor, there’s a part of me that’s afraid of being on my own. Until this week, I hadn’t realized how dependent I am. Rebelling against my family has been my only identity. I want something different, something better, I suppose. Except I don’t know what that is.”
“You’ll find a way.”
“We’re a lot alike, you and me.”
“How do you figure?”
“We’re both trying to hide the worst parts of ourselves from the rest of the world.” She immediately regretted voicing her words aloud. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I only meant that you and I both want something uniquely our own.”
They were practically strangers. In another day, they’d be little more than acquaintances. It wasn’t as though they’d exchange letters. What did they have in common? They’d been thrown together under harrowing circumstances.
Yet they were irrevocably linked in ways she was just beginning to understand.
“You shouldn’t compare yourself to me.” Nolan stood from where he’d been crouching beside the boat. “I’ve never met anyone more open and honest than you.”
“I’m honest with everyone but myself. Eleanor is right to doubt me. I’m always saying that I’m going to set off on my own, but I never quite seem to make that happen.”
“You’re on your own now.”
“And suffering miserably,” she replied. “I wasn’t supposed to be on my own. Eleanor was supposed to accompany me. She stayed behind at the last minute. As much as I say I want my independence, I’m afraid of failing. I’m afraid of being alone. I’ve never been comfortable in solitude. I’ve always needed people around. I’m afraid if I get to know myself, I won’t like who I am.”
“You might be surprised.”
He turned away, but not before she caught a glimpse of his face. His bleak expression spoke more than a thousand words between them.
She preferred the bustle of activity and he preferred his solitude. They were different in temperaments but they were both the same in spirit.
They were both hiding from themselves.
* * *
As he waited for the next stagecoach, Nolan couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched. The hairs on the nape of his neck pricked and he hitched his shoulders. The brush between the buildings shook. Instantly alert, he studied the shadows. In a squall of feathers, a flock of blackbirds erupted into the sky.
He blew out the breath he’d been holding in a low whistle. This was the last stagecoach before the supposed gold shipment. Their time was running short, and the tension was robbing him of his common sense. Of course he was being watched. The outlaws had taken up their usual places. Charlie had positioned himself in his sharpshooter perch, and Snyder was waiting in the relay station, ensuring Tilly played her role.
Dakota Red balanced on the top rung of the corral. “I’m going to miss you, stagecoach man.”
“I don’t return the sentiment.”
The outlaw chuckled. “See? That’s what I like about you. Your honesty. I can tell you’re getting restless, which is why I’m keeping an extra close watch on you today. I don’t want you getting desperate and trying something stupid. You’ve got them girls to think about, remember? We can’t leave Charlie alone with your wife. Especially if you ain’t around to defend her. You do right by me, and I’ll do right by you.”
A distant call came from the direction of the river.
“You better get out of sight,” Nolan said. “That’s the bugle call.”
“We’ve got too many people up at the relay station. If there are passengers, tell them you’re not serving lunch. I don’t trust the captain to keep his mouth shut. That’s the problem with those military men, they’re always thinking they gotta be in charge.”
“The passengers will question the change in routine.”
“Tell ’em anything, but make it convincing. I don’t have to remind you what’s at stake.”
Nolan slapped the reins against the horses and urged them into position. As the next stagecoach approached, the team struggled against his hold.
English Bob and his outrider, Gerard, were right on schedule.
Busy with the reins, he didn’t immediately greet the driver.
English Bob leaped from his post and winked. “We’ve got some interesting passengers today, I’ll tell you that much.”
Nolan could only nod in return. The driver reached for the bridle of the lead horse. English Bob wasn’t particularly tall, but was solidly built.
The driver cast a glance over his shoulder, then peered at Nolan from beneath the brim of his hat. “You’re quiet today.”
“We’ve had some trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“You’d better fetch the passengers,” Nolan said. “I have an announcement that affects you all.”
Without waiting for Gerard’s assistance, two men emerged from the carriage. They were young, not yet in their midtwenties. They practically sprang from the confinement, their bottled energy evident. They had the sort of looks that brought to mind Captain Ronald’s soldiers. A fresh-faced, clean-shaven exuberance with a hint of youthful smugness.
The first man stretched his arms over his head and arched his back before straightening. “That is a miserable mode of travel.”
The second man caught sight of Nolan. “This is the supper stop, right? What are you serving?”
“No supper today,” Nolan replied. “Change of plans.”
“What do you mean?” the first man demanded. “We’re hungry. We were told this is the supper stop.”
The barrel of Charlie’s gun glinted. Nolan slanted a glance at the driver. English Bob worked the buckles on the hitched team, his face impassive.
Nolan shifted. “One of the passengers came through town real sick. He’s up at the house. Looks like scarlet fever.”
The first man visibly recoiled. “Are you certain?”
“Not for certain. It’s your hide if you want to risk it.” Nolan shrugged. “The fellow looked real bad the last time I saw him. Don’t know if he’ll pull through.”
The second man placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “We can find something at the next stop.”
His friend gave a look of disgust and jerked away.
“We’ll just stretch our legs, if it’s all right with you.”
“Don’t go far. The change of horses won’t take long.”
The two were liable to get themselves shot if they strayed too close to Charlie. At least one thing had gone smoothly. They hadn’t put up more of an argument about supper.
A sharp rap sounded from inside the carriage.
“I’m waiting,” a feminine voice called. Despite the closed door, her shrill voice carried the distance. “I will be informing your superiors at the Pioneer Stagecoach offices of this shoddy service.”
Gerard’s shoulders rose and fell with his deep sigh, and his face took an expression of long suffering. “Yes, ma’am.”
The outrider stowed his shotgun beneath the driver’s seat. His footsteps dragging, Gerard approached the door. He paused for a moment, as though gathering himself for a great ordeal. With deliberate care, he lowered the stairs. Before he could step out of the way, the door swung open, nearly clipping his nose.
Gerard reared backward, tripped over a dirt clod and landed on the soft earth.
An imposing woman with familiar blue eyes paused with her foot on the top stair. “Don’t just sit there. I need a hand.”
Nolan might have laughed at Gerard’s predicament except the woman’s eyes drew his attention once more. Though her face was scrunched in an annoying frown, her looks were striking. She had the sort of flamboyant beauty that turned men’s heads.
She wore a burgundy jacket over her white shirtwaist and matching burgundy skirt. A feathered hat topped her head. As Gerard struggled upright, she huffed and traversed the stairs unassisted.
Nolan felt the blood drain from his face.
Eleanor had arrived.