CHAPTER 33

Vashti lay in the icy water, stunned. The fall was farther than she’d bargained for, and the bottom rockier. She’d had the breath knocked out of her. Both ankles and one wrist throbbed, but she didn’t move. She lay with her head to one side, hauling in gulps of air and concentrating on keeping her face out of the six-inch-deep water.

Above and behind her, several shots rang out. She didn’t care. She only wanted to breathe.

A closer explosion jerked her into reality. She craned her neck and looked up at the bridge. Luke was up there, still wearing the ridiculous mask. He’d spotted her in the creek. He raised his rifle to his shoulder and pointed the barrel at her.

“What’s the matter, Georgia? You used to like me.”

She turned her face away. Let him shoot her if he wanted. That would be better than going with him again. Lord, if You want to take me home, I’m ready, she thought. Then she remembered Griffin and the others. She looked around at Luke again. He was still aiming at her.

“Come on. I haven’t got all day. Get up.”

She closed her eyes.

Two more shots rang out. Something splashed in the water beside her. She opened one eye. A rifle was caught in the current but snagged on the rocks. It lay there in the burbling water. Had Luke dropped his gun?

A bigger splash threw gallons of freezing water over her. She raised her head. Luke lay facedown in the creek, on top of his rifle.

Vashti huddled, shivering in the stagecoach. Libby and Bitsy rubbed her hands and feet. Both had donated their shawls to keep her warm, and they’d recovered her leather vest.

“You’re going to be all right,” Bitsy said, wrapping Vashti in her arms. “Griff and the other men will get the team straightened out, and we’ll take this coach back home.”

“No,” Vashti said. “We’ve got to get the mail through to Nampa.”

“We’ll go back to the Democrat Station, and they’ll get a new team,” Libby said. “Then we’ll take you home. Someone else can drive to Nampa.”

They wouldn’t have an extra driver on hand, but Vashti knew it was useless to explain the quirks of the stage line.

A gunshot sounded, very close and loud. She jumped and grabbed Bitsy’s hand.

“There now, honey. Griff said they’d have to put the one horse down. I’m sorry.”

Vashti squeezed her eyes tightly shut. A tear escaped and ran down her cheek.

Hiram came to the door of the coach. “How are you doing, ladies?”

“We’re all right.” Libby’s usually cheerful voice was subdued as she looked to her husband for news.

“Griff’s unhitching the lead horse that wasn’t hurt. He’s going to send the cowboy to get the men from the Democrat Station.”

“What about the outlaws?” Bitsy asked.

“Mr. Rice and the other passenger are guarding the two that Griffin captured.”

Bitsy frowned. “So … two dead?”

“Three. That one we got first thing—” Hiram stopped and swallowed hard.

“The one you shot out the window? What about him?” Bitsy asked.

“We took all their masks off. It’s Cecil Watson.”

Vashti stared at him for a moment, then collapsed against the back of the seat. The man who’d run out on her in Nampa had joined the outlaws. She felt as if every ounce of energy had been drained from her.

Outside, receding hoofbeats told her the cowboy was leaving for the swing station. A moment later, Hiram stepped aside and Griffin appeared in the doorway.

“We’ve decided to wait until they bring another team out. One of the wheel horses has a flesh wound. He’ll heal up, but I don’t want to ask him to pull right now.”

Vashti sat up, finding new strength. If Griffin could keep going with his knee all smashed up, she could, too. “What about the leader? The one blocking the bridge?”

Griffin winced. “We’ll have to move him. I figure when Mr. Jordan and his boys get here, we’ll hitch the new team to the horse and drag him off the road. Maybe we can get a crew out here this afternoon to dig a hole. Don’t want to leave something dead that big so close to the road.”

She nodded, thankful for that. She wouldn’t have to pass the horse’s carcass every time she drove this road.

Griffin leaned his big body inside so that he was half in the coach and blinked in the dimness. His gaze focused on Vashti. “How you doing?”

She nodded, frowning. “I’ll be all right. I’m a little sore in places.” He reached out and touched her cheek gently. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll have Doc check you over.”

She nodded and on impulse grabbed his hand. “How about you? Hiram said one of the outlaws was Cecil Watson.”

“That’s right. He’s dead. Him and Hatley and the one they called Benny. So now we know: They had an insider who knew when there would be treasure in the box.”

She sucked in a breath. “Thank you, Griff. You and Hiram.” Her tears let loose, and she turned her face away.

Two hours later, Griffin and Vashti rode together in the stagecoach. Mr. Jordan had insisted he could drive a team of mules back to his station. It wasn’t that far, and the injured parties needed to sit inside, in relative comfort.

Libby, Bitsy, and Hiram opted to ride on the roof with Jordan, and the other passengers rode the two healthy horses from their original team. Griffin thought they’d all gone to great lengths to put him and Vashti alone in the stage together, but he didn’t mind. If his knee didn’t hurt so much, he’d have been tickled.

“You’d better have Doc check out that knee,” Vashti said. She hadn’t protested when he sat beside her on the cushioned seat at the back of the coach, instead of one of the other seats. He took that as a good sign.

“My knee will be fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”

“I’m just bruised up. Nothing’s broken.” Her clothes were still damp, but she’d dried out considerably. She probably would heal up within a couple of weeks, but it wasn’t her bumps and bruises that worried him.

“What about Luke?” he asked.

“What about him?”

Griffin drew in a deep breath. “Did you know he was in these parts?”

She was quiet for a moment; then she looked at him. “I thought I saw him in Boise, that one time I drove through. Trudy was with me. I saw a man come out of a saloon, and I thought it was Luke. Scared me something awful.”

“Did you tell Trudy?”

Vashti nodded. “I decided it wasn’t really him—just my imagination.”

“Do you think he came here looking for you?”

“No. He probably came looking for a chance to make some easy money. When he heard about me, he probably thought it was a streak of luck.”

“Folks have been talking about the female driver,” Griffin said. “Yes. And if he heard my name was George Edwards …”

“He knew you as Georgia?”

“Yes. I changed my name after I left Ike’s.” She sighed and shrank away from him, into the corner of the seat.

Griffin reached over and found her icy cold hand. He cradled it in his and stroked it with his thumb. “That’s all in the past.”

“I know.” Her voice had gone tiny, but she didn’t pull her hand away.

He inhaled deeply and let the breath out in a puff. “So why did you pick the name Vashti?”

She blinked at him. “You sure you want to chitchat now?”

“Might as well.”

She looked out the coach window. They were going uphill, only half a mile or so from Democrat. She sat back with a sigh, still letting him hold her hand. “When I came here to Idaho, I wanted a new name. Somebody told me once that Vashti was the name of a queen in the Bible.”

“I reckon that’s right.”

“Yeah. But see, after we got the parson and I started going to church, I found out the king got mad at Vashti and kicked her out. He got himself a new queen.”

Griffin nodded. “Esther.”

“That’s the one. And Esther was the really pretty one, and she ended up being the honorable queen. Vashti was thrown out of the palace in disgrace. Esther saved her people.”

“That’s true, but I wouldn’t be so hard on Vashti if I were you.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“Nope. From what Reverend Benton says, I’d say Queen Vashti was quite a lady.”

“You think so?”

“Yes. Her husband wanted her to act in an unseemly manner, and she refused.”

Vashti pondered that. “I thought she was bad because she wouldn’t do what the king said.”

“Maybe. But I think she had a reason for that. Maybe if you ask Miz Benton, she can tell you more about Queen Vashti.”

“I might do that.”

“Good. Because I happen to think the name suits you more than you know.”

“Really?”

“Yup. You don’t stand by convention, and … well, if anyone was to ask me, I’d say you had a regal way of moving, and you’re pretty enough to show off, too.”

She eyed him critically, as if she thought he was making fun of her.

“I mean it,” he said softly. “I think a heap of you, Vashti Edwards.”

She sucked in a breath. “Honest?”

He squeezed her hand. “Honest.”

Halfway back to Fergus they met the welcoming party. Jordan had taken the stage and its paying passengers on to Nampa himself, driving the mule team and taking one of his hostlers along as shotgun messenger. He’d loaned Griffin his farm wagon. With Hiram driving, they’d headed out with the two sound horses from the stage team in harness. Libby and Bitsy sat on the seat with Hiram, and Griffin and Vashti sat in the back on a quilt.

From the road ahead, a whooping broke out with the sound of pounding hoofbeats. Vashti held on to the side of the wagon and raised herself until she could see three horses approaching at breakneck speed.

Ethan and Trudy Chapman galloped toward them, and out in front came Justin on Griffin’s gelding, Pepper.

“Uncle Griff!” When Justin saw his uncle in the wagon, he halted Pepper and slid to the ground. Hiram stopped the team, and Justin climbed over the wheel into the wagon bed. He flung himself into Griffin’s arms. “What happened? Mrs. Chapman and I were worried, so the sheriff telegraphed Nampa. They said you were late.”

“We got waylaid.” Griffin slapped the boy on the back. “We’re all right, so quit fretting.”

Justin looked at Vashti. “You, too, Miss Edwards?”

“I’m going to be fine, Justin,” she said.

Ethan and Trudy rode up to the wagon and greeted them all. Bitsy launched into a colorful account of the day’s events.

“So where are all these road agents you whipped?” Ethan asked. “Down to Democrat’s,” Bitsy said. “Two living and three killed.” Ethan looked them over solemnly. “You folks all right?”

“We’re fine,” Hiram said. “One of the passengers was grazed, but he wanted to go on to Nampa.”

“Griffin and Vashti both need to see Doc when we get home,” Libby said.

Trudy rode Crinkles around the wagon. When she came close, Vashti reached out and petted the mare’s nose, glad to see Trudy’s mount had been returned to her.

“You sure you’re all right?” Trudy asked.

“Scrapes and bruises,” Vashti said. “Griffin hurt his knee, but we’ll make it.”

“I guess I’d better go on to Democrat’s,” Ethan said.

“They’ve got the prisoners locked in the corn crib,” Hiram said. “Maybe you’d better get a few men to help you take them to Boise.”

“I’ll loan you a wagon, if you want to come to the livery,” Griffin said.

“You’re not going alone to take two prisoners in.” Trudy eyed her husband sternly.

“I’ll get a couple of my deputies.” Ethan returned her stubborn look. “My male deputies. This isn’t a job for ladies.”

“For once, I’m going to agree with you,” Bitsy said. “Can we go home now?”

Two nights later, Griffin walked slowly down the street to the Spur & Saddle. He still limped, but his knee didn’t hurt so bad anymore. He went slowly up the steps and into the building. Bitsy was wiping off a table. Doc Kincaid and Isabel Fennel sat in one corner, chatting softly. Rose Caplinger lingered at a table across the room, sipping coffee with Maitland Dostie. Griffin looked, then looked again. He supposed it made sense—Rose had opened her millinery shop last year in the vacant storefront next to the telegraph office. The two must see each other every day.

Bitsy looked up and smiled. “Hello, Griff. Where’s your shadow?”

“I left Justin over to the Nashes’ playing Chinese checkers with Ben and Silas.”

Bitsy nodded. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Piece of pie, then? Coffee? Or did you just come for the company?”

Griffin smiled and glanced toward the kitchen. “I came to see one of my drivers.”

“She’s in the dishpan, as usual.”

“Is my apron hanging by the door?” Griffin asked.

She laughed and shooed him toward the kitchen. Griffin found Vashti scrubbing Augie’s saucepans.

“Evening, Griff,” Augie called. He picked up a bucket of slops and went out the back door.

Vashti smiled at him but kept on scrubbing the pan. “What brings you out?”

Griffin grabbed an apron off a hook and walked toward her. “I came to see how you were doing and if you’ll be ready to drive again Monday.”

“You mean you’d let me?”

He smiled. “I don’t think we’ll see any outlaws on the Nampa run for a while.” He held out the apron.

She took it and pulled up the neckband. Griffin stooped toward her. She slid it over his head, then leaned close and kissed his cheek.

He straightened, eyeing her closely. “What’s that for?”

“You saved my life. I’ve already been to see Hiram and thanked him personally.”

“Did you kiss him?”

Her face went scarlet. “No, I …”

Griffin laughed.

She eyed him askance and began to laugh, too. “That was just for you.” She turned back to her dishwater.

“Aren’t you going to tie my apron strings?”

“If you want.”

“Vashti …”

“Yes?”

He could look into those leaf-green eyes forever. He reached for her, and she came into his arms before he even knew what he was going to do. Her kiss was sweeter than Augie’s cinnamon rolls.

He held her close against his apron front and sighed. “You can drive anytime you want, sweetheart.”

She reached all the way around him and squeezed him tight. Griffin held her, wanting never to let go. After a while, he dared to reach up and stroke her hair. “You know I only opposed your driving because I wanted to take care of you.”

“Is that so?” Her tone held amusement.

He pulled back a little and looked down at her. “Maybe not at first. But … well, you’re a strong woman. I didn’t know how strong. But I’d still like to take care of you. For the rest of my life, if you’ll have me.”

Her lips curved into a smile. “What kind of talk is that? If I’ll have you.”

“I mean it.”

She shook her head. “I’m the one who’s got a load of baggage. Are you sure you can overlook everything?”

“It’s in the past. I’ll make sure it stays in the past.”

She looked away, frowning, then turned back to face him. “I never …” Tears glistened in her eyes. She cleared her throat. “I never got close to a man except those that had bad intentions.”

“Well, my intentions are honorable.”

She nodded slowly. “And you won’t make me quit driving?”

“No.” A sudden thought came to him. “Well, not unless … well, you know.” Blood rushed to his cheeks, and he wished he still had his beard to hide it. “If you were in a delicate way …”

She reached up and stroked his stubbly cheek. “I love you, Griffin Bane.”

It was the one thing he’d meant to say, but hadn’t been sure how—and now she’d said it first. “I love you, too. Can we go see the parson after services tomorrow?”

“That would be lovely.”

He kissed her again, and the dishes would have sat unwashed for hours if Augie hadn’t come in with his empty slop bucket and slammed the back door.

“Well now! Wait till Bitsy hears about this! She’ll be some tickled.”

Vashti stood beside her bridegroom in the dining room of the Spur & Saddle, ready to cut the wedding cake. Augie had outdone himself. With help from Rose Caplinger, he’d fashioned a garden of sugar roses and topped the four-tiered masterpiece with two feathery white doves.

Ethan Chapman came over near the table and raised his hands. “Folks, if I could interrupt for just a minute, I have an announcement to make.”

The murmuring quieted as everyone focused on the sheriff. Ethan looked over at Griffin, and he shrugged. Vashti took that to mean he had no idea what was going on, but he was in a mellow mood and didn’t care how many announcements people made today. The vows were said, and nothing could change that. She reached for his big hand, and he squeezed hers, smiling.

“Some of you know I got back from Boise yesterday. I delivered some prisoners to the U.S. Marshal there a few days ago. Those outlaws are two of the gang we believe held up the stagecoach twice on the Nampa run and once each on the Catherine and Silver City runs. The postal service had sent notice of a reward to the marshal before Griff Bane and Hiram Dooley caught the outlaws.”

“We had some help,” Griffin muttered.

Ethan swung around and grinned at him. “Yes, you did. In fact, I have orders to give a share of the reward to the following people: Griffin Bane, Hiram Dooley, Leo Rice, Buck Ashley—”

Arthur Tinen Jr. let out a whoop at the mention of the name of one of his cowhands. Ethan smiled and nodded at him.

“Yes, Buck was on the stage that day, and other witnesses say he acquitted himself well. The same with the drummer who was a passenger, Mr. John Sedge. The marshal will send his part to him. Also receiving a share of the reward will be Miss Georgia Edwards, Mrs. Hiram Dooley, and Mrs. Augustus Moore.”

Libby, Bitsy, and Vashti exchanged looks across the room. Hiram beamed, and Augie said, “That’s my darlin’ girl.” He gave Bitsy a loud smack on the cheek.

Griffin let go of Vashti’s hand and slid his arm around her waist. “You deserve it, Queen Vashti.”

Ethan grinned. “If each of you will please see me when it’s convenient, I’ll give you a bank draft for your share in the ten-thousand dollar reward.”

“Ten thousand!” Bitsy’s jaw dropped.

“What’s that make your share?” Augie asked.

“That’s $1,250,” yelled Justin, who had been sipping lemonade in a corner with his friends.

Ethan smiled at the boy. “That’s exactly right, and spoken by Mr. Bane’s accountant.”

Everyone laughed.

Goldie called out, “And the newlyweds get a double share.”

“That’s fittin’,” said Bitsy.

Vashti looked up into Griffin’s brown eyes. With that and the money Wells Fargo had sent for new equipment, they wouldn’t wonder where the money to keep the stage line running would come from. Griffin nodded, contentment oozing from him. She snuggled close and hugged him around the waist.

Johnny Conway stepped up beside Ethan with his driving whip in his hand. “Folks, I have an announcement, too.”

The crowd quieted.

“I know it’s not far to the happy couple’s new home,” Johnny said, “but when they’ve finished their cake and are inclined to leave this jolly gathering, Ned and I have a carriage waiting outside to carry them home.”

Griffin’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“Take a look out the window, boss,” Ned Harmon called.

Griffin seized Vashti’s hand and strode to the front window. They both looked out at their transportation for the two-block ride home: the red and gold Concord coach, with roses twined all along the top luggage rack and tucked into the horses’ harness.

“Anytime you’re ready, just say the word, and we’ll drive you home,” Johnny said.

Vashti tugged the whip out of his hand. “Oh no, you won’t. You can ride along as far as the house if you want, but I’m driving.”