The Express Rider's Lady. Stacy Henrie
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“No. Only when we’re being pursued by Indians.” Myles climbed out of the saddle. “It’s mostly for show—like my outfit here.”
He went to help her dismount. As he placed his hands on her trim waist and assisted her to the ground, Delsie frowned, her eyebrows dipping toward her pert nose. Did she look down on him and his lowly station in life as Cynthia had? Myles pulled his hands away and practically dropped her onto her feet.
“I know you’re trying to scare me, Mr. Patton,” she said, bracing herself against the saddle.
He tipped his hat up. “Come again?”
“With your remark about Indians.” She righted her own hat and tucked a few strands of hair back into the elaborate coil at the back of her neck. “I told you I am aware of the dangers, but I’m still intent on reaching my sister for her wedding on the twenty-second.”
She knew of the dangers? Myles resisted the impulse to laugh at her naïveté. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you.” He took the reins of his horse and started toward the waiting boat. “Come on. It’s time to board the ferry.”
Once the mounts were situated on the boat and it had pulled away from the bank, Myles excused himself.
“Where are you going?” Delsie asked, a note of alarm in her voice.
“I’m not up and leaving. Like I said, this uniform is only for show. We always change on the boat.”
Her face relaxed, though he noticed lines of worry still pinched her eyes.
“You ever been on a boat before?”
She shook her head. If a short ferry crossing made her this nervous, how in the world did she expect to survive the next eighteen days? Myles battled the urge to ask the captain to take Delsie back to the Saint Joseph shore. He’d given his word to accompany her all the way to Guittard’s, though, and he’d do it. Not only because his stepfather had ingrained in him the importance of integrity, but Myles had also sworn an oath as a rider to conduct himself honestly.
He ducked into the room the Express riders used for changing and traded the fancy uniform and scabbard for a trail-worn shirt and a buckskin jacket and trousers, though he kept his Colt revolvers. Despite loving Cynthia, he’d always loathed the idea of having to dress up if they married. He much preferred the ease and comfort of his riding clothes, and the absence of stiff collars and scratchy fabrics.
When he emerged from the changing room, he was surprised to find Delsie standing at the railing. Her gloved hands held the metal rail in a vise-like grip, but she stood there nonetheless, her face turned toward the western horizon.
“Is trying new things a first for you?” he couldn’t help asking.
She glanced at him, without loosening her hold on the railing. “Is it that obvious?” Her lips curved into a crooked smile. “Lillian, my sister, was the adventurous one. I was more content to stay near the house or our governess. But eventually she would coax me to join her in some harebrained scheme, in which one or both of us ended up dirty or in tears.”
A feeling of loneliness cut through Myles at the familial picture she presented. His parents had both died of illness before he turned five. He’d been taken in by his stepfather after that. Charles Patton had lost his wife and new baby a few months earlier. The man soon became the only father Myles could remember—so much so that he’d taken on Charles’s last name as his own. His stepfather had taught him everything he knew about horses and had encouraged Myles’s dream of owning a horse ranch one day. Even five years after his death, Myles still mourned the man and the loss of the only family he’d ever known.
He cleared his throat to ward off the emotion collecting there. “Does your sister know you’re coming to her wedding?”
Delsie shook herself as though she’d been caught up in memories, as well. “No...she doesn’t. I considered writing, but when I heard the mail wasn’t necessarily getting through out West, I decided to go in person instead. I didn’t want to risk a letter not reaching her in time.”
“Suppose that makes sense.”
The ferry bumped against the shoreline. Myles led his horse down the gangplank, Delsie and her mare following behind. “Welcome to Kansas,” he said drily.
“What do we do now?” Delsie asked as he assisted her into the saddle again.
“We ride.”
Myles climbed onto his horse and urged it forward, whistling for his sparrow hawk, Elijah. He’d let the bird fly off earlier, as was his custom, to collect some breakfast of its own. A few seconds later, the brown-and-blue hawk swooped over the wharf and landed on Myles’s shoulder. The bird would remain there most of the trip, except when Myles changed horses at the different swing stations or when it felt more inclined to fly ahead.
“Is that your bird?” Delsie nudged the mare closer and eyed the hawk with obvious fascination.
“I found him, out on the prairie, if that’s what you mean.” He rubbed the speckled breast of the hawk. “He was hurt, so I brought him home and fixed him up.”
“Does the bird have a name?”
“Elijah,” Myles muttered.
“Elijah? That’s an unusual name for a pet.”
He frowned at her remark, not wishing to get into the particulars. “Pick up the pace, Miss Radford. We’ve got mail to deliver.”
Without waiting to see if she complied or not, Myles urged his horse to move faster. A few people called out in greeting to him as he made his way swiftly through town. Myles tipped his hat in response. If anyone thought it strange that a woman, and a well-dressed one at that, dogged his heels, no one said so. He’d have enough explaining to do at the stations along the route today.
Once the people and buildings gave way to open prairie, Myles pushed his horse into the usual slow gallop. The sunshine had burned away the coolness of the early-morning air and now it glistened off the dewdrops dotting the grass. The clean, fresh smell of wind and prairie filled Myles’s nostrils and he sucked in a deep breath, filling his lungs completely. Only out here, charging across the plains, did he feel at home, with the sky, the earth and Elijah for companions.
Of course he couldn’t entirely forget the woman riding several feet behind him. He shot a look over his shoulder to ensure Delsie was keeping up. Her hands seemed to grip the reins as tightly as she had the boat railing, but her wide-eyed stare appeared to hold more interest than fear.
“It’s so big...and wide,” she called to his back. A few moments later her horse drew alongside his. “I’m from Pennsylvania, you see. It’s very different than this. Are you from Missouri originally, Mr. Patton?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever been back East?”
“No.”
“What’s the farthest west you’ve been?”
“Nebraska.”
He eyed her with mounting irritation. Did she plan to talk the entire one hundred and twenty-five miles to Guittard’s? He wasn’t accustomed to hearing much but the thud of the horse’s hooves beneath him and the occasional trill of birds in the distance. Elijah watched her, too, his head cocked to the side as though trying to figure out the strange creature tagging along with them today.
“How far is it to the first station?”
Was she already uncomfortable? He stifled a groan. She rode well enough, despite the absence of a sidesaddle. “The Troy station is about fifteen miles from Saint Joseph,” he answered. “It’s at the Smith Hotel. We’ll change horses there and head on to the hotel in Syracuse.”
A smile quirked her lips, though she tried to hide it. Myles got the instinct impression she was laughing at him. “Something funny?”
She