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  “Neither of us is interested in marriage,” Abby said.

  He’d heard that before from women who’d been treated badly, but they all jumped at the first chance to make a good marriage. He didn’t expect Abby and her sister to be any different. “One can never have too much information,” Bryce said. “Now, if there’s nothing else I can do for you, the men and I will leave you to take stock of your situation.”

  Despite his irrational attraction to Abby, Bryce hoped the Pierce sisters would decide Fort Lookout wasn’t the place for them. As much for his peace of mind as theirs.

  Abby watched Bryce leave the store with mixed emotions. The fact he wanted them to leave as soon as possible didn’t endear him to her, but she was coming to the conclusion he might be the only person who didn’t want to use her and her sister for his own personal advantage. It was very hard not to ask him to stay, not to want to get to know him better. Since he’d saved them, his mere presence was a comfort, but Abby suspected her desire to keep him close had as much to do with being attracted to a handsome man as it did with thankfulness. After Albert, the last thing she needed was to become involved with a man.

  “We ought to take the colonel’s suggestion,” Moriah said. “This isn’t what we expected.”

  So far nothing had been what Abby expected, including the fort commander. She was having a difficult time fighting down the fear that danced wildly in the back of her mind. She’d expected danger from wild animals, not from wild men. She was still shaking from the encounter with those men. She still hadn’t assimilated the reality of how close they’d come to being raped. If Colonel McGregor hadn’t arrived when he did—

  It didn’t bear thinking of.

  “I admit my first inclination is to turn tail and run,” Abby said, “but I can’t go back to St. Louis. The police might arrest me.”

  “They said they had no evidence against you,” her sister said.

  “It doesn’t matter as long as Albert keeps telling them I did it. My only choice is to build a future elsewhere, and this is the only place I can go.”

  “You could get married.”

  “It was hoping to get married that got me into trouble in the first place. From now on I want nothing to do with men.”

  “I don’t see how you can do that if you’re going to be surrounded by them.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I’d rather be suspected of being a thief than murdered in my bed.”

  “I don’t intend to be murdered in my bed. But speaking of beds, it’s time we had a look at where we’re going to live.”

  That look almost convinced Abby to return to St. Louis. Everything in the room was coated with grease or soot—walls, furniture, windows, the dirty dishes and pots that covered the table and stove. The air smelled of rank grease and acrid soot. The low ceiling and clutter of the room made it feel small, claustrophobic. Abby crossed the room and tried to open a window, finding it nailed shut.

  “It’s worse than a pigpen,” Moriah said.

  Abby wasn’t ready to go that far, but the rooms where her father had lived were filthy. She wasn’t entirely certain she couldn’t detect the smell of urine. At least the room had a wooden floor.

  “I can’t believe Father lived like this,” Abby said. “You heard the colonel say the store was closed half the time because the operator was drunk I’m sure that man was responsible for this.”

  “I don’t care who’s responsible—we can’t live here,” Moriah declared. She opened the door to a bedroom. The situation there was no better. “I couldn’t touch that bed. Sleeping in it would be impossible.”

  Abby had to agree with her sister. She was certain the mattress was infested with lice and bugs. It made her skin crawl to think of it. “We’ll think of something,” she said. “In the meantime, we might as well begin to clean up this place.”

  “You can’t mean to stay here,” Moriah said in disbelief.

  ”Tubs of hot, soapy water will soon put everything to rights,” Abby said with a show of bravery she didn’t entirely feel.

  “Not that bed.”

  “We can see about getting another mattress until that one can be aired out.”

  “It will never be aired sufficiently for me to sleep on it.”

  “Then I’ll sleep there.”

  “I can’t stay here. I won’t live like an animal.”

  Abby felt a sinking feeling in her stomach, but she refused to give in without a fight. “I told you to stay in St. Louis with Aunt Emma.”

  “You can’t mean to stay after seeing this,” Moriah said, her hand sweeping the room. “I’m sure there are rats.”

  Abby knew there were. She’d seen one. “There won’t be rats or any other vermin once we’ve cleaned the place up.”

  “I can’t touch anything here,” Moriah said. “I’d feel contaminated.”

  “Then I’ll do the cleaning. You can make an inventory of the stock. Please write everything down so I won’t have to do it all over again after you leave.”

  “I’m not leaving without you.”

  “I’ve already told you, I won’t go back to St. Louis.”

  “We can go somewhere else.”

  “This is the only place I can support myself.”

  “Then I’ll stay, too.”

  “Moriah, you’re scared to death of this place. You’ll faint if a mouse crosses your path.”

  “I won’t leave you alone in this horrible place.”

  “There’s no point in both of us suffering.”

  “You’re the only sister I have. I couldn’t live with myself if I left and heard you’d been raped or killed by some savage.”

  “There’s no point in both of us being subject to danger.

  “I’ll learn to use a gun.”

  Moriah couldn’t have said anything that would have shocked Abby more. “You don’t believe in killing anything, even bugs.”

  “Maybe if people think I’ll shoot, it would achieve the same thing.”

  Abby doubted men willing to be cut up in a knifefight would be intimidated by a woman brandishing a gun. “You’re going back on the first wagon out of here,” Abby said, “and that’s the end of it. But you’re here now, so you might as well give me a hand. I wonder where Father kept the soap.”

  “I doubt any has been used on this place since it was built.”

  “We must have some for sale.”

  “You’ll also need wood and water and a tub to heat it in.”

  “Wood and water have to be here somewhere, and we must have tubs in the store.”

  But as Abby surveyed the magnitude of her task, she wasn’t so sure she shouldn’t be on the next wagon out with Moriah.

  Bryce wasn’t entirely surprised to open his door and find Abby and her sister, but his reaction to seeing her extinguished any hope he’d had of being able to put her out of his mind. Abby simply wasn’t the kind of woman you forgot. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

  “I want you to teach us about guns.”

  Bryce just barely stopped himself from jumping aside when she raised a pistol and pointed it at him.

  “It’s not loaded,” Abby said. “I can’t find the shells that go in it.”

  “I’d rather show you how to make arrangements to return home.”

  “My sister will be leaving soon. I’m staying.”

  “I’m not leaving unless Abby does,” Moriah said.

  Okay, he’d lost the first skirmish, but he had plenty of time. There ought to be at least a half dozen things a day that would make them long to go back East. He couldn’t take a chance on their making a shambles of the store. It was too important to the post. “I can’t have you using a gun at the fort. That could be dangerous.”

  “I don’t want to shoot anyone. I just want to know enough to sell the guns in my store.”

  Bryce couldn’t imagine a man buying a gun, much less a rifle, from a woman who couldn’t load it, but he was certain saying that would only encourage A
bby to stay and prove him wrong. He decided to let her discover it for herself.

  “The first thing you need to know is, never point a pistol at anyone unless you mean to use it,” Bryce said as he ushered them into the house. “The other person will be sure it’s loaded and expect you intend to use it on him. He’ll try to shoot before you do.”

  “So much for your idea of pointing an empty gun at people to intimidate them,” Abby said to Moriah.

  “Nobody out here is intimidated by guns,” Bryce said. “Even kids live with them constantly.” He couldn’t imagine women surviving in the Colorado Territory thinking they had only to brandish a pistol and whoever was threatening them would scamper away. They’d be dead before the end of the summer if he didn’t do some-thing to prevent it.

  “Lay the guns out on my desk,” Bryce said. They had brought pistols, rifles, and shotguns. Moriah dropped a sack on the desk. Ammunition. From the looks of it, Bryce figured they’d brought some of everything they had.

  “I’ll tell you which ammunition goes with which weapon,” Bryce said, “but you shouldn’t attempt to use any weapon without proper instruction.”

  Reluctantly, Bryce spent the next twenty minutes explaining each weapon’s use, how it worked, and the kinds of ammunition it used. He didn’t attempt to explain that there were dozens of makes of these three kinds of weapons, each with its own strengths and drawbacks. He hoped they’d be gone before they needed that kind of knowledge. But he’d underestimated Abby Pierce.

  “My sister made a list of all the firearms we found in the shop,” she said, handing him the paper. “How will we know which one to recommend to a customer?”

  Moriah Pierce had apparently written down everything she found on each weapon—name, style, model number, manufacturer, even the city where it had been made.

  “There are too many for you to learn about,” he said.

  “There are only fourteen,” Abby said. “I can easily master that many in a week.”

  “You can’t really understand these guns until you’ve used them,” Bryce said.

  “I expect to hire someone to teach me how to use each of them as soon as I get the store organized and operating smoothly.”

  “Didn’t you like any of the offers for your store?”

  “We didn’t answer the door,” Abby said. “We were busy cleaning and in no fit condition to receive visitors.”

  “Is that why your hands are so red?” He didn’t know why he’d noticed that. He never noticed the hands of any of the laundresses, and they were much worse than Abby’s. He’d never noticed their eyes, either. Something about Abby was different… and dangerous.

  “I’ve had to scrub the kitchen stove from top to bottom, wash every plate, cup, and pot. I used to work in a bank. My hands aren’t used to hot, soapy water.”

  “The living quarters are uninhabitable,” Moriah said. “I can’t believe you would expect any human to live like that”

  “No one is requiring you to live like that or any other way,” Bryce said, taking umbrage that these women seemed to believe the condition of their father’s living quarters was his responsibility. “The trading post was your father’s home. What you found is what he left.”

  “I’m convinced the man who has occupied those rooms since my father’s death is responsible for their miserable condition,” Abby said. “I would prefer to hire only women in the future.”

  “There are no women at the fort to hire,” Bryce said. “Every woman who’s not an officer’s wife is employed as a laundress.”

  “Then I will speak to the officers’ wives,” Abby said.

  “You won’t find any of them willing to take employment.”

  “Why not? Surely at least one or two of them could use some extra income.”

  “They probably could, but there’s a strict separation on the base between enlisted men and officers. Officers communicate with sergeants, who communicate with the enlisted men. No enlisted man is allowed to speak to an officer without his sergeant’s permission. The same separation exists between the officers’ wives and the wives of the enlisted men. That’s why no officer’s wife would work in your store.”

  “Who’s responsible for that piece of nonsense?” Abby asked. “This is a democratic country.”

  “It’s the way it has been since I entered the army.”

  The look of outraged disbelief on Abby’s face was comical at first. Then he found himself feeling embarrassed. He’d accepted the system without question because everyone else had accepted it During combat, all separations of rank fell away. To stay alive, every man did what he had to do, shouted at anyone he needed to shout at.

  “That’s immoral,” Moriah said. “And unchristian.”

  “It flies in the face of all our forefathers fought for,” Abby said. “I can’t imagine a man of honor bowing to such a system.”

  Bryce was willing to forgive these women a lot. They were suffering from the loss of their father and the shock of finding themselves in a situation as frightening as it was beyond their experience, but they had gone too far.

  “Let me suggest that you moderate your language until you have a better understanding of the conditions under which we live at this fort,” Bryce said, trying hard to keep his voice level, his expression neutral. “Not every man will take kindly to being told he’s immoral, unchristian, and without honor.”

  “I didn’t say that of you,” Abby said.

  “It sounded like it to me.”

  “Then I apologize. But I don’t under—”

  “That’s just it. You don’t understand, which is why you should turn around and go home.”

  “My sister is going home, but I intend to stay.”

  “I will not leave without Abby,” Moriah said.

  “Now, Moriah, I’ve told you—”

  “There’s no point to discussing it,” Moriah said. “If you say, I stay.”

  Wonderful! Now he had two impossibly stubborn, totally inexperienced women on his hands. They would probably be more trouble than the Indians. How could he be crazy enough to be attracted to Abby? Apparently part of him didn’t respond to common sense. He desired this woman more strongly than any he’d ever met.

  “I have one further request to make of you,” Abby said, turning back to Bryce. “Where can I find two mattresses? Those in the trading post are infested with lice and bedbugs.”

  “I doubt you can find any tonight, but I’ll see what I can do for you tomorrow.”

  “I appreciate that, but my immediate concern is for tonight. It’s impossible for us to sleep on those mattresses until they’ve been cleaned and aired.”

  “They can stay with us, Daddy.”

  Chapter Three

  Bryce turned at the sound of his daughter’s voice. “You’re supposed to be in bed, Pamela.”

  “I couldn’t sleep with you talking.”

  His daughter had an irrepressible curiosity, much more than was good for her at a place like Fort Lookout.

  “They can use Miss Wallace’s room,” she said.

  Pamela entered the room, her bare feet showing under the hem of her embroidered nightgown, a redheaded doll held tightly in the crook of her left arm. “How do you do?” she said, stepping forward with her hand held out to Abby. “I’m Pamela McGregor. I’m seven.”

  Bryce saw Abby’s lips twitch, but with suitable gravity, she took Pamela’s hand and shook it. “I’m Abby Pierce and this is my sister, Moriah. We’ve come to run the trading post.”

  “Was Mr. Pierce your daddy?”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “I liked him. He smiled at me.”

  “He also gave you candy behind my back,” Bryce said.

  “He said it was our secret.”

  “Everybody on the post knew he spoiled you.”

  “I liked him,” Pamela insisted.

  “It’s nice to know my father was liked by such a sweet child as you,” Abby said.

  “I’m not a sweet child,” Pamela
declared. “Daddy says everybody spoils me rotten. He says I’ll grow up to be a termagant. Did I say it right this time?” she asked her father.

  Unfortunately she’d pronounced it with such accuracy and clarity that Abby knew exactly what she’d said.

  “I don’t think you need to tell Miss Pierce everything I say.”

  “She said her name was Abby.”

  “I heard her.”

  “Then why don’t you call her Abby?”

  “Because it’s much too familiar.”

  “Is it all right for me to call you Abby?” Pamela asked Abby.

  Abby said yes at the same moment Pamela’s father said no. “It’s very kind of Miss Pierce to invite you to call her by her first name,” Bryce said, “but you know I don’t allow you to address adults except by their surnames.”

  “She said I could.”

  “I said you couldn’t.”

  “Is that fair?” Pamela asked Abby.

  “Colonel McGregor is your father,” Abby said. “You have to do what he says.”

  “I don’t see why I can’t call you Abby if you don’t mind.”

  Abby looked up at Bryce, but he shook his head. They wouldn’t be here long. He didn’t want them undermining his daughter’s manners.

  “You have to do what your father wants,” Abby said.

  “Did you do what your father wanted?”

  “Always.”

  “But he was nice.”

  “I’m sure your father is nice, too.”

  Pamela looked doubtful. “He’s very strict.”

  “A father can’t be too careful with his daughter,” Abby said.

  “Do you think she’s right?” Pamela asked Moriah.

  “Without question,” Moriah answered.

  Bryce figured that of the two, Moriah was the one with the better understanding of how to deal with people. Her sister seemed too headstrong.

  “But if I have to call each of them Miss Pierce, how can they tell which one I’m talking to?” Pamela asked.

  “We can worry about that another time,” Bryce said. “It’s time for you to get back into bed.”