A Temporary Family. Sherri Shackelford
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had the uneasy feeling that her sister’s marriage had not been entirely happy. Though Eleanor had always denied any discontent, with each subsequent visit home, she’d become a shell of her former self. If the life Eleanor had been dreaming about since she was a child had done that to her, Tilly wanted no part of marriage. She refused to suffer the same fate as her sister.
“There’s a room in the back,” Mr. West said. “Caroline can rest there.”
Relief rushed through Tilly. “Thank you, Mr. West.”
“Call me Nolan.”
He scooped Caroline into his arms and carried her down the corridor. Grateful for his assistance, Tilly trailed after them. The room he’d chosen was sparsely furnished with only a bed and a small table, but the space was spotless. He rested Caroline on the counterpane.
Tilly touched his arm, and the muscles tensed beneath her fingers.
“Is she going to be all right?” she asked. “Do you think we should send for a doctor?”
“The nearest doctor is in the village of Yankton, and that’s a two-day ride. There’s a fellow who comes through town once in a while, but I never know when.” Nolan pressed the backs of his knuckles against Caroline’s forehead. “She’s not running a fever. It’s probably just something she ate.”
Bill Golden appeared in the doorway, concern etched on his grizzled face. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Tilly considered her options. Travel by stagecoach was uncomfortable in the best of circumstances. The air was stifling, the bumpy conditions grueling and the chance for rest all but impossible.
“I don’t think she can travel.” Tilly wrapped her arms around her midriff. “Can you wait until she’s better?”
“I’m afraid not.” Bill scratched his forehead. “This here is a mail coach. The mail has to go through. The passengers are secondary.”
“When is the next stagecoach?”
“Thursday.”
“We can’t wait until Thursday.”
“I’m afraid that’s the best I can do.”
Tilly’s shoulders sagged.
Nolan scowled. “I can’t have a bunch of greenhorns underfoot.”
Her stomach knotted, and she pictured Eleanor’s disapproving frown. The simple task of boarding the stagecoach in Virginia City, Montana, and exiting once they arrived in Omaha, had suddenly become a whole lot more complicated.
She clasped her hands before her. “Surely you can stay an hour or two. I’m certain Caroline will be much improved by then. This town doesn’t appear fit for children.”
“She’s right.” Nolan set his chin in a stubborn line. “This lady has no business being here.”
Her spine stiffened. This lady? This lady?
The way he said the words made her sound singularly incompetent. She narrowed her gaze. At least Eleanor and her father had a basis for their criticism. She certainly hadn’t traveled all this way to take orders from a man who knew nothing about her capabilities. The stagecoach man had no foundation for the contempt in his voice.
“You don’t have a choice, Mr. West,” Tilly challenged. “If Caroline is unable to travel, we’re staying put, and that’s that.”
“I’m in charge.” The stagecoach man propped his hands on his lean hips. “And I’ll have the last say.”
So much for being in charge.
The day following the arrival of his unexpected guests, Nolan glanced up from placing a harness on the peg in the livery. A scrape sounded and Victoria appeared in the opening of the livery doors. Her two dark braids rested against her shoulders, and her blue calico dress was clean and neat with a starched apron tied around her waist, an improvement over her younger sister.
Nolan brushed at the phantom blueberry stain on his knee.
The girl jammed her hands in the pockets of her apron, stretching the material taut. “Whatcha doin?”
“Oiling the harnesses.”
“How come?”
“Because dry leather cracks and breaks. Oiled leather is stronger.”
“What happens if the leather breaks?”
“The horses get hurt.”
“Can I help?”
“I’m finished,” Nolan said.
Victoria grasped the oil can. “What’s this?”
“Machine oil.” Nolan reached for the tin and replaced the base in the circle in he’d drawn on the workbench. “For machines.”
He nudged the handle until the tin faced north.
“Oh.” Victoria plucked a tool from the wall. “What’s this?”
“Pincers.” Nolan retrieved the tool and hooked the handle on the nail in the silhouette he’d drawn on the wall. “For shoeing horses.”
“Are you a blacksmith?”
“No. But sometimes a horse will throw a shoe on the trail. I can do some basic repairs.”
“It sure is quiet in this town.”
“I like quiet.”
“Hmph.” Victoria tapped her chin. “Do you have any matches? I want to light a fire.”
“Stay away from fire.” Nolan slid his hand over the box on his workbench. He surreptitiously stowed the matches in his pocket. “Even with the rain, the buildings along Main Street are nothing but dry tinder.”
“I just wondered.” Victoria shrugged. “Aunt Tilly found some oil lamps.”
“Where did she find them?”
“She and Elizabeth are exploring the town while Caroline sleeps.”
“Your aunt sure keeps busy.”
“Mama said that Aunt Tilly needs activity like some other folks need water or air.”
“You don’t say.”
He’d managed to cover his outburst the previous afternoon with relatively little notice. He’d set up a cot in the livery, and let his guests take over the relay station. Mostly he’d spent his time avoiding Miss Hargreaves. She had a look in her eye that didn’t bode well. She kept staring at him as though he was a knot she wanted to unravel. He wouldn’t let her get to him like she’d gotten to Bill.
“I like Aunt Tilly,” Victoria said, “but I miss my mama.”
He was curious about the circumstances, but reluctant to pry. Pulling answers from a seven-year-old didn’t sit well with him. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Mama stayed behind to sell our furniture and stuff, but that’s not what she told Aunt Tilly,” the girl said matter-of-factly. “I don’t think Mama wants Aunt Tilly to know that we’re poor. Mama even sold our horse and our dollhouse. We’re going to live with our nanny and poppy in Omaha because Papa spent all our money and left us with a worthless gold mine. Mama said that she wasn’t surprised our pa died. She always said that gold fever was going to kill him. Can you catch gold fever?”
“No.” Nolan cleared his throat. “Sorry about your pa, too.”
He tugged on his collar. That was more information than he’d intended to learn. While he figured Eleanor ought to confide in her sister, pride was an emotion he