The Express Rider's Lady. Stacy Henrie
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A large barn was also visible. While the place might appear rustic standing beside the ornate hotels back East or her own brick house back in Pennsylvania, Delsie couldn’t recall a more welcomed sight. Her first day on the trail was finally at an end.
They rode to the stable, where Myles dismounted first before coming to assist her. She was too exhausted in mind and body to pay much heed to the open stares from the other Express workers who’d come to collect the horses. She’d grown accustomed to the surprised looks or words exchanged at each station along the route when the men discovered her riding beside Myles and on a Pony Express horse, no less.
Myles lifted her to the ground, but when he released her waist, Delsie found her legs would no longer support her. Her knees crumbled beneath her riding habit, and she would have fallen onto the hard-packed dirt if Myles hadn’t gripped her arm.
“Careful,” he murmured, his voice surprisingly gentle. “You’re likely a little stiff by now.”
Stiff? She gave an unladylike snort. The single word didn’t even begin to explain what she felt at the moment. Somewhere back on the trail, the throbbing ache in her back and legs had finally numbed, bringing temporary relief. But as she hazarded a step, with Myles still holding on to her elbow, sharp prickles of pain lanced through her lower body. She almost preferred the numbness.
Delsie bit her lip to keep from crying out as she hobbled next to Myles—she didn’t want the triumph of the day marred by complaint. But, oh, how she longed for her bed at home, with its laundered sheets and feather-soft mattress.
“Myles!” An older man approached them from the direction of the house. A gray beard and a friendly smile graced his weather-beaten face. His blue-gray eyes widened when he noticed Delsie limping alongside the Express rider. “Who’s this young lady?”
Myles stopped walking, forcing Delsie to follow suit. She didn’t think she could manage a single step on her own just yet. “Good to see you, Amos. This is Delsie Radford.” He motioned to the other man with his free hand. “Miss Radford, meet Hank Amos. Express worker, avid explorer and accomplished harmonica player.”
Hank Amos chuckled and extended his hand. “Guilty as charged. Pleased to meet you, Miss Radford.”
Delsie shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Amos.”
His laughter deepened. “Not to contradict a lady, Miss Radford, but call me Amos. Everybody does.” He glanced at the sky. “Elijah off hunting?” he asked.
Myles nodded. “He flew off before we rode in.”
Amos considered Delsie, his gaze lingering on the spot where Myles still held her arm. “What brings you West...with Mr. Patton?”
Myles released Delsie’s elbow at once and took a deliberate step to the side. She swayed a moment, but her feet held firm. “I promised to escort her to Guittard’s today.”
Delsie threw him a questioning glance, but he wasn’t looking at her. He’d told her he would consider tonight whether to take her the rest of the way to California. She hoped he hadn’t already made up his mind. While she felt nigh unto death, she’d certainly kept up her end of the bargain by not slowing him down.
“Are you catching the stage from here, Miss Radford?”
“No. We’re actually going—”
“To be late for dinner,” Myles interjected. “Let’s get you some real food, Miss Radford.” With that, he clutched her elbow again and led her at a trot toward the house.
Delsie frowned up at him. Did he really care that much about her well-being? He had offered her his hardtack hours ago and helped her cool down with his wet-handkerchief trick. But something about his thoughtfulness right now struck her as false. Why hadn’t he let her tell his friend about her plans? She opened her mouth to ask him, but the words were forgotten the instant she inhaled the tantalizing smell of cooked ham and rolls floating from the house.
Her stomach grumbled in response, resurrecting the gnawing sensation she’d felt for hours. She placed a hand over her middle to squelch it. “That smells absolutely scrumptious,” she muttered, though not softly enough.
Amos gave another throaty chuckle. “Tastes even better.”
“I think if shoe leather smelled that wonderful, I’d eat my fill and die perfectly happy.”
There was a low rumbling that sounded in her right ear, not unlike distant thunder but more jovial. It took Delsie several seconds to realize the noise came from Myles—he was laughing at her remark.
Though she knew it shouldn’t, the sound of his laughter and the knowledge she’d solicited it filled her with momentary pleasure. Her father would be displeased at her errant thought. She was supposed to be deciding if she loved Flynn Coppell, the man who managed her father’s bank, not entertaining ideas of how to make some other man laugh once more. Of course what she was or wasn’t thinking would likely be the least cause for worry, if Owen Radford could see her now. Alone in Kansas, having ridden one hundred and twenty-five miles with a man she’d never met before this morning.
Myles steered her toward the back entrance. Inside the kitchen, Delsie found herself seated at a large wooden table beside Myles and across from Amos. Her backside instantly protested the return to a seated position, especially on the uncushioned seat, but Delsie chose to be grateful that neither the chair nor the table would be moving any time soon.
They were served ham, eggs, rolls and coffee by the station owner’s wife, who, upon discovering another woman in her kitchen, made a motherly fuss over Delsie. Uncertain why Myles wanted to keep quiet about her plans, she answered the woman’s questions, and those from the other Express workers as they trailed in, with the simple explanation that she was going to visit her sister in California.
Delsie ate everything on her plate and even accepted seconds of the ham and eggs. Her father would have been horrified by her ferocious appetite, but he’d never ridden so far in a single day.
Though she longed to sequester herself in a room upstairs and wash away the dust from the day’s ride, she lingered at the table, listening to the Express riders’ stories. The tales they told of dodging Indian arrows, riding through thunderstorms or racing buffalo across the prairie sent tremors of fear and excitement up her spine. Would she encounter all these experiences herself? The conversation soon turned to the Indian troubles farther west and the speculation on how the other Express stations and riders were faring.
“Come, now, boys,” the station owner’s wife gently scolded in her slight French accent as she refilled the coffee mugs. “No more of that kind of talk.” She tipped her head at Delsie. “Especially in the presence of a lady.”
Delsie scooted her chair back and stood. “That’s all right, Mrs. Guittard. I believe I shall retire for the night. Thank you for the delicious dinner. I can honestly say it was better than anything I’ve eaten back home in Pennsylvania.”
The woman blushed at the compliment. “I’ll show you to your room, Miss Radford.”
Delsie glanced at Myles, as did everyone else in the room, but he was gazing into his coffee cup. “I just need to locate my valise first...”
Myles scraped back his chair. “I’ll get it.”
After bidding the rest of the workers good-night, she followed Mrs. Guittard up the stairs to a large and tidy bedroom. “I’ll get you some water to wash up.” She exited the room, pulling the door shut behind her.
Delsie unpinned her hat and set it on the bureau. The mirror revealed a stretch of pink across her nose and upper cheeks. She touched the sunburned flesh with a sigh. Oh well. She’d likely only get browner as the days went by.
All for you, Lillie, she thought ruefully as she went to peer out the window. She pushed back the curtains and spied Myles talking with Amos near the barn. He shook his head at something the older man said, then removed his hat and ran a hand through his dark hair. His entire manner breathed agitation. Were they talking