Badlands Bride. Cheryl St.John
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she could, leaving her hat on the end of the mattress.
The water was a blessing. Even though it was warm, she scooped a palmful and drank it before she removed her jacket and unbuttoned her blouse, washing her face, neck, arms and hands. The rough toweling he’d provided exhilarated her skin, and, once finished, she felt refreshed, although she would’ve given anything for a bath.
Hallie replaced her clothing and carried the pan out, tossing the water on the ground.
“Next time water the vegetables with it,” he said. Her nose nearly bumped his chest.
Next time? He took the pan and pointed to the table. Hallie sat obediently. Beside the plate lay a smooth white spoon and two-pronged fork. “These are lovely What are they made of?”
“Bone.”
She stared at the object in her fingers. “What kind of bone?”
“Buffalo.”
“Oh.”
He sat across from her and ate. She followed his example. The ham was a trifle salty, but the bread and eggs were filling. Hallie cleaned her plate, and didn’t object when he gave her more from the skillet on the stove.
“I didn’t see a chicken coop,” she commented.
“Turkeys.”
“Turkeys?”
“Wild turkeys. They lay eggs in the brush. I have some chickens coming this afternoon.”
She swallowed her last bite. “Well, thank you for your hospitality. I’d best be on my way.”
She stood.
He picked up the plates.
A thought occurred to her. “About my trunk...”
He looked up.
“May I leave it with you until I know where I’ll be staying?”
He nodded and moved away from the table.
“Very well, then. Thank you again.”
He turned back. “You know where to find me.”
She nodded, picked up her valise and let herself out his door. Immediately the wind snatched at her skirts and blew dust in her face. Hallie drew her gloves from her reticule and pulled them on. The bag’s weight brought an ache to her shoulder, but she made her way through the foot-deep dried ruts that formed a street of sorts, praying for success in finding somewhere to stay. Even an adventuress needed a rest now and then.
Chapter Three
The nearest building was a healthy walk, and exhaustion set in to Hallie’s body and mind. She crossed the distance, thinking of her letter to her father sitting at the station for another two weeks until a stage came through to take it east.
She could probably walk faster.
Well, not unless she got a night’s rest. And if she found her way. And if she could carry food and water to last weeks. And if she didn’t run into those godaw-ful robbers or others like them.
A shudder ran through her frame. She really was vulnerable. She’d never experienced the reality of it before. All of her father’s and brothers’ monotonous warnings came to mind. They’d known. But she’d led such a pampered, protected life, she hadn’t thought any harm could actually befall her.
What an eye-opening day this had been.
The trading post was like nothing Hallie had ever seen. The building itself had been constructed of blocks of sod, and the cracks were chinked with mud. The thatched ceiling was suspended by a rough frame, weeds and cobwebs dangling over furs and tools and foodstuffs, everything covered with thick layers of dust. Besides dirt, the overpowering stench of tobacco and gunpowder and unwashed bodies hung in the cramped space.
Three men glanced up from their seats around a black stove in the center of the room. “Look, Reavis, it’s one o’ them brides. A purdy one, too!”
An unshaven man got up with stiff-jointed unease and took his post behind a laden counter. Obviously baffled with her presence, he scratched his head with bony fingers. Hallie stepped closer, so her words wouldn’t be heard by the others. “Are you the proprietor?” she asked.
He chewed something that made a lump in his cheek and his whiskered upper lip puckered. His gray beard held a brown stain at the corner of his lip. He scratched his angled shoulder. “I’m Reavis. This here’s my place.”
Hallie glanced at the two men by the stove. They appeared eager to listen to the conversation without a qualm about rudeness. She leaned a little closer to Reavis and spoke softly. “Mr. Reavis, I seem to have run into unfortunate circumstances. Until funds are delivered to me or I’m able to secure wages on my own, I’m in need of lodging.”
He worked over whatever was inside his cheek. “Huh?”
Hallie glanced from Reavis to the listening men and back again. “I need work and a place to stay.”
“Why didn’t ya say so? Somebody oughta told ya they ain’t no place to stay and they ain’t no work for womenfolk.”
“No one has a room?”
“Everbody got a room,” he said, and scratched between the buttons of his faded shirt. “Jest not one without a body in it already.”
Hallie glanced around, thinking quickly. “Where does the justice stay when he’s here?”
He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Throws down a roll in my back room.”
“Could I do that?” she asked, hoping the justice wasn’t staying long.
“Sure can.” He exchanged a knowing look with the others and one of them snickered. “If’n ya don’t mind my snorin’.”
Warmth crept up Hallie’s collar and heated her cheeks. “Oh.” She mustered her dignity and peered around hopefully. “Why don’t I clean the shop for you?”
He sized up the room defensively. “What fer? It’d jest get dirty agin.”
Hallie’s back ached and she’d never been so tired. She confronted the men eavesdropping. “And you, gentlemen? Would either of you have a job for me? I need to earn money to get home to Boston.”
“Ain’t no whores at the saloon,” one of the others replied. His unpleasant smile revealed a missing front tooth. “You be fixin’ to take that spot?”
She didn’t care for the leering way he ran his eyes over her body. Refusing to show her mortification, Hallie turned away without giving his crude suggestion a reply.
They snickered again.
“Coffee there,” Reavis said. “Or somethin’ stronger if you hanker. You could sit a spell.”
“Thank you,” she replied, anxious to get away. “But I’ve just eaten.” She ignored the men in the chairs and made a beeline out the door.
Just as well, she thought. From the appearance of the sales area and the vigor with which the man had scratched, she could only imagine what the back room and beds must be like. Hallie shuddered again.
Between the trading post and the next building, the wind covered her with as much dirt as she’d washed away at DeWitt’s. Curiously she studied a large square tent with a sagging canvas roof as she passed. It appeared to have been there for some time, because weeds grew up around the bottom and a dirt path had been worn beneath the flap-covered opening.
In the open doorway of the next wooden structure the bare-chested liveryman stood, watching her approach. Embarrassed, Hallie kept her eyes carefully focused on his soot-besmeared face. He stared at her as if she was an apparition the wind had blown in.
“How