The Independent Bride

  ALONE AT LAST

  “Let’s stop here for a few minutes,” Bryce said, indicating a grove of cottonwood and peach leaf willow.

  “What would people think if they found us alone so far from the fort?” Abby’s tone was sarcastic.

  He put his hands around her waist and lifted her from the saddle before he let himself answer. “I don’t know what they might think about you, but they would know the only reason I would be out here would be to rescue a stubborn, hardheaded female from the folly of her own actions.”

  Abby looked angry, but the fact that she could be angry at being called to book for such a crazy stunt only increased his frustration.

  “Did you think I was just trying to scare you when I told you how dangerous it could be out here, or did you think I was trying to make you think I was a big, brave soldier who would take care of the little, helpless woman?”

  Abby backed away from him. “I never thought that I thought—”

  “That’s the problem. You never thought!”

  Other books by Leigh Greenwood:

  SWEET TEMPTATION

  WICKED WYOMING NIGHTS

  WYOMING WILDFIRE

  The Night Riders series:

  TEXAS HOMECOMING

  TEXAS BRIDE

  BORN TO LOVE

  The Cowboys series:

  JAKE

  WARD

  BUCK

  CHET

  SEAN

  PETE

  DREW

  LUKE

  MATT

  The Seven Brides series:

  ROSE

  FERN

  IRIS

  LAUREL

  DAISY

  VIOLET

  LILY

  The

  Independent

  Bride

  LEIGH GREENWOOD

  Copyright © 2004, 2011 Leigh Greenwood

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Colorado Territory, 1868

  Abby Pierce stared in disbelief at the building that was supposed to house her father’s store. It didn’t look like the stores she was used to in St. Louis. It was a squat, broad-fronted building of adobe and rough-hewn logs that didn’t have all the knots shaved off. It did have glass windows, but each appeared to be covered with enough dirt to support a small plant. A pair of sturdy iron hinges held the door in place, and a boardwalk kept customers’ feet out of the mud, but neither did anything to improve the looks of the building.

  “Surely they’ve directed us to the wrong place,” Moriah said. Abby’s sister looked even more dazed than Abby felt. “It’s hardly better than a dog kennel.”

  “I suspect dogs have to do with a good deal less in the Territories than in St. Louis,” Abby said. “The sign would hardly say Pierce’s Supplies if it wasn’t Father’s store.”

  “But surely—”

  “The Colorado Territory isn’t like St. Louis, Moriah. The trip out here should have convinced you of that.”

  The stage journey had been long and harrowing. Abby had dreamed of going west ever since her father left them with his sister in St. Louis fourteen years earlier. Mile by weary mile, her bright expectations had been jolted out of her by roads rutted from winter rain and snow, and frozen out of her by the bitter winds that howled across the plains and worked their way inside the stagecoach. Mud that splashed up from the flat, empty prairie had spattered her from head to foot. Later it dried, turned to dust, and infiltrated every pore in her body. Denver had sparked a brief resurgence of her hopes for a few comforts. The wagon trip to Fort Lookout had bludgeoned them into extinction.

  Discovering that her father had worked in a place like this to send money to his two daughters so they could continue to live in comfort made her feel like a selfish woman. If she’d had any notion, she’d have come out to help him years ago. From the time she was a little girl, she’d always wanted to be with him wherever he went. Following him west wouldn’t have been what her mother would have wanted, but if she’d gone, at least Abby wouldn’t now be suspected of embezzlement.

  “We can’t stay here,” Moriah said. “I’ll see about making arrangements to return to St. Louis.”

  “You can go back if you wish. I’ll stay,” Abby said.

  “You can’t even be sure of your safety. I’ve seen nothing but men since we arrived, half of whom wouldn’t be allowed on the streets in St. Louis.”

  Abby looked around. What she saw made her feel small and insignificant. To the west, a range of mountains rose like a wall, their peaks towering thousands of feet above the plain. They looked so immense, dwarfed the distance so completely, she almost felt she could reach out and touch them. To the north and south lay a narrow band of hills and canyons created by streams that tumbled out of the mountains, their waters still icy from mountain snow. To the east lay the bleak plain that stretched all the way back to Missouri.

  In the middle of this wilderness sat Fort Lookout Whether she liked it or not, this unfamiliar, hostile land would be her new home, her father’s store her means of support. She didn’t know anything about running a store, but she would learn. She had always worked in a bank, but there wasn’t a bank at the fort. Even if there had been, no one would have hired her.

  Not after St. Louis.

  As for the men… well, it didn’t matter what they looked like. After Albert, she’d never trust a man again.

  “I’m going inside,” Abby said. “You stay here. There may be mice.”

  “I’m sure there will be,” Moriah said. “Rats and snakes, too. Just because people move into their territory, you can’t expect all God’s creatures to leave.”

  Abby took her sister’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Moriah had an almost phobic fear of mice. “You really shouldn’t have come.”

  “Don’t be silly. I don’t like mice, but they’re probably more suited to inhabit this earth than you or I. It’ll be up to me to make peace with them.”

  “But you don’t like me West, either. You hate everything about it.”

  “What kind of sister would I be if I let you stay here and do all the work while I went back East and lived in comfort? Now let’s not talk of it again. It’s time we had a look at Father’s store.”

  Hand in hand, they entered the building.

  Abby felt like she was entering a cave. Two kerosene lamps suspended from the ceiling did little to relieve the darkness. She was used to brightly lighted stores with well-swept floors, neatly stacked shelves, candies and valuables under pilfer-proof glass. She was also used to clerks in vests and rolled-up sleeves hurrying to wait on her.

  Her father’s store looked more like a warehouse, with barrels of pork, vinegar, and flour hard by bags of beans, boxes of soap, candles, and salt. Abby wasn’t the least bit encouraged by the large quantity of merchandise she saw on the she
lves or stacked on tables or in piles. She couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to buy in such a depressing atmosphere. Any merchant in St. Louis who dared open such a store would have gone out of business in less then a week.

  “It’s not very appealing,” Moriah said.

  Abby had expected someone to come out of the back to wait on them, but no one appeared. A survey of the stock told her that however unattractive the layout of the store and the disposition of its goods, it contained just about everything a person would need to survive. Guns, ammunition, cloth, kettles, axes, sugar, tobacco, coffee, molasses, and alcohol were only a few of the items her father had sold. There were even luxury items such as butter crackers, cotton hose in six shades, Berlin gloves, silk handkerchiefs, and many kinds of canned goods, including table fruit, oysters, honey, and olives. Clearly not all aspects of life at the fort had been reduced to essentials.

  “I wonder who buys lobster?” Moriah said, holding up a can.

  “At seventy-five cents each, not many people.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “It’s marked on the bottom,” Abby said, turning the can upside down.

  “I suppose we’ll have to learn how much everything costs. I’ll see what’s through that door,” Moriah said, indicating a sagging door beyond a counter and the potbellied stove that was likely their only source of heat during the winter. “Maybe the clerk is having his noon meal.”

  “No matter what he’s doing, I’ll want to know why he isn’t watching the store. Anyone could drive away with a loaded wagon and he’d be none the wiser.”

  The sound of footsteps behind them caused both women to turn. Three men had entered the store, men unlike any of Abby and Moriah’s acquaintance. Two were tall and thin, one shorter and broad with muscle. All three wore sturdy boots caked with mud, dirty pants, and heavy coats. Three very dissimilar hats covered heads of unkempt hair and shaded faces obscured by shaggy beards.

  Abby’s first impulse was to escape through the back door. These men looked wild and dangerous. And drunk. But she told herself not to be foolish, that most westerners would probably look wild and dangerous compared to men in St. Louis.

  The men moved slowly, apparently letting their eyes gradually become accustomed to the dark interior. Instinctively Abby and Moriah moved closer together behind a counter that displayed stacks of men’s checked shirts and heavy wool pants. Abby started to offer to help them, but these men had no reason to know she owned the store or that she had the authority to accept money for purchases. Furthermore, she didn’t know anything about the stock, and probably wouldn’t know the price of what they wanted or where to find it. Any attempt to help them would probably just create confusion.

  “I’ll see if there’s someone in the back who can help you,” she said.

  “No need,” the broad-shouldered man said. “You’ll do just fine.”

  “I’ve only just arrived and don’t know the stock,” Abby said.

  As the man approached, Abby’s first impression was confirmed. He was big and frightening. Her instincts told her to be wary; her brain said he was a customer who needed help.

  “You can do everything I want,” the man said.

  Since Abby felt incapable of doing anything, that was not a comforting thought.

  “I’ll do the best I can,” Abby said. “Do you need supplies?”

  “Yeah, we need grub,” one of the tall men said. They had come up behind their friend, standing a little to each side of him. They looked even bigger and more fearsome up close.

  “That ain’t all we need,” the big man said.

  “I imagine you would appreciate a bam and a shave,” Abby said, “along with new clothes. We can help you with the clothes, but you’ll have to seek out a hotel for the rest.”

  “You shouldn’t be talking to strangers in such a familiar manner,” Moriah whispered to her sister.

  “I like it when gals is friendly,” the man said. “All three of us likes it a lot.”

  The men grinned at Abby, but she was sure their interpretation of friendly behavior differed from hers by a considerable degree.

  “It’s my intention to be as friendly as possibly to all customers,” Abby said. “It’s good business.”

  The grins grew even broader. “Sure is,” the man said. “I wish more ladies felt that way.”

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to take a bath and have your dinner before you do your shopping?” Moriah asked.

  “We done our shopping,” the big man said. “Now we’re ready to buy.”

  Abby said, “Just tell us what you want. We’ll try to find it, but you’ll have to carry it out to the wagon yourselves.”

  One of the tall men stepped forward and swept Moriah up into his arms. ‘This is what I want. I’ll carry her out to the wagon.”

  “Put me down,” Moriah cried. She underlined the urgency of her request by beating the man about the face. She might as well have saved her energy. The man appeared completely unaffected by her blows.

  Abby realized these men had misinterpreted everything she’d said. “Put my sister down immediately,” she ordered. “We’re the owners of this store, not doxies selling our virtue for a few dollars. If you wish to buy supplies, we’ll try to help you. Otherwise, I must ask you to leave. Not before you release my sister, however,” she said, when the one man started to turn.

  He acted as though she hadn’t spoken. Having captured his prize, he seemed determined to hold on to it.

  “You can’t have one to yourself,” the other tall man said. “There’s not enough to go around.”

  “You can share with Larson.”

  “I ain’t sharing with nobody.” The barrel-chested man pointed straight at Abby. “She’s my woman.”

  “I’m nobody’s woman,” Abby declared. “Neither is my sister. Tell your friend to put her down immediately.”

  Larson just laughed. “Orman ain’t had a woman in more than six months. Now he’s caught himself one, you can’t expect him to let her go.”

  Moriah continued her futile struggle.

  “That’s exactly what I expect,” Abby stated as she walked past Larson. “Put her down this instant,” she ordered Orman. She pulled ineffectively on his arm. “If you don’t, I’ll summon the police.”

  “Do I have to?” Orman said, turning to Larson.

  “Yeah, you do,” the third man said. “There’s not enough for you to have no woman to yourself.”

  “Shut up, Hobie,” Larson said. “You got another female around here?” he asked Abby.

  “I thought you were here to buy supplies. It never occurred to me that you’d… well, it never occurred to me. Tell that man to put my sister down.”

  Abby didn’t like the way Larson eyed her, like she was a piece of meat he was checking for excess fat. Neither did she like it that Orman didn’t set Moriah down. She was unused to such men, and she was becoming afraid.

  Larson turned to Orman. “You and Hobie share that one. I’m taking the mouthy one for myself.”

  Before Abby could utter the outraged protest on the tip of her tongue, Hobie pulled a knife from his belt.

  “Put her down, Orman. You’re going to have to cut me to keep her.”

  Moriah hit the floor with a thud as Orman pulled his own knife. She was up in an instant and clutching Abby with both arms. Abby gaped at the two men. Their knives had twelve-inch blades and looked as sharp as razors.

  “We could share like Larson said,” Orman said.

  “I ain’t sharing.”

  “This is absurd,” Abby said. “Leave my store immediately.”

  Larson turned his drunken, leering gaze on her. “You two stay still while Orman and Hobie settle who gets the quiet one.”

  Abby couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to. There were only two routes of escape. Orman and Hobie filled one. Larson blocked the other.

  Abby watched in fearful fascination while Orman and Hobie circled one another, feinting, lunging forward, backing
away from a flashing blade that could easily have severed a finger, maybe even a hand. As they maneuvered, trying to find an opening, they backed Abby and Moriah closer to the side of the store that had neither door nor windows. Larson’s attention was focused on the combatants. Taking what she feared might be her only chance, Abby grabbed Moriah’s hand, and the two of them made a run to get round him.

  Larson took a quick step forward and his huge arm swung up and out, trapping them against the wall. “Stay put.”

  “They mean to rape us,” Moriah whispered after they’d retreated beyond Larson’s reach.

  “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  Much to her surprise, Abby was so mad, she almost forgot to be afraid. “This place is full of weapons and ammunition,” Abby said. “All we have to do is get our hands on it.”

  “But that would mean we’d have to shoot them.”

  “Better that man let ourselves be raped.”

  It shouldn’t be difficult to reach the weapons. They were so far from the door, Larson probably wouldn’t pay attention if she eased away from him. Being careful not to move too quickly, Abby edged toward the guns. Her fearful looks, while not entirely false, were intended to make Larson think they were merely trying to get as far away from him and the fight as possible.

  The last, at least, was true. Orman had drawn blood. It ran down Hobie’s cheek and dripped onto his coat.

  “I don’t want to kill you,” Orman said. “Say we can share.”

  Hobie responded by throwing himself at Orman. Both men were bleeding when they separated.

  “Go easy,” Larson cautioned. “You’ll be soft pickings for some grizzly if you get cut real bad.”

  “Do you know anything about pistols?” Abby whispered to her sister.

  “Of course not. How could I? I never went hunting with Father every chance I got”

  Abby knew almost nothing about pistols or shotguns— her father had taught her to shoot with a small rifle— but she wasn’t going to let that stop her. She picked up a pistol and a box of shells. But as soon as she opened the box, she could tell the shells were the wrong size.

  A shout caused her to look up. Orman had cut Hobie again.