The Passionate Bond Between Two Hearts

Chapter One

Grace Anderson stepped onto the boardwalk and glanced up from her shopping list. She froze mid-step in front of the general store. Her jaw dropped and she inhaled a quick breath. Could it really be? No longer concerned if she’d ordered enough flour to last the summer, she stuffed the slip of paper into her reticule and darted to the window.

She tightened the drawstrings in order to close her purse, and left it to dangle from her elbow. Hands cupped on either side of her face, she pressed her nose against the windowpane. Her pulse raced with excitement.  Bright yellow fabric blossoms adorning a large brimmed hat caught her attention. The bonnet stood out with its long white ribbon and trimmed edge. It was a lovely hat. She had to have it. Even girls like her, who worked and lived on a way station in the middle of nowhere, needed finery to call their own.

A bell above the door sounded as she crossed the threshold. Inside the dry goods store, she marched to the counter and handed her list to the proprietor. Good day, sir. I’d like to have this order filled and put on the Orin County Stage’s account, please.

Certainly, Miss Grace, Mr. Clarkson said. The tip of his pencil came within inches of the bonnet she’d removed from the window display. Would you like to buy the hat as well?

She yanked the coveted apparel from his reach and smiled inwardly as she ran her thumb across the velvet lining. Warm like Aunt Nell’s winter sweater when she’d pull Grace close for a hug, it felt good. Yes, I believe so.

With his pencil still pressed between his fingers, Mr. Clarkson scratched the back of his head. Will that be all for you today?

Before she had time to change her mind, Ruth Clarkson, the owner’s wife, came in from the back of the store. What a lovely bonnet, Grace. It goes well with your dress.

Do you really think so, Mrs. Clarkson? Grace placed the hat on her head and quickly knotted the ribbon under her chin.

Heavens, yes, the hat looks very nice on you. The proprietor’s wife assured her and turned to her husband and raised her brow. Don’t you think so, dear?

Yes, of course. Mr. Clarkson nodded several times with a look of shock on his face. Grace couldn’t blame him for being surprised. It wasn’t like her to buy anything for herself, especially something so impractical.

Thank you. Grace held her head high and turned to the store owner. Mr. Clarkson, can you have the supplies loaded this afternoon? Uncle Vern’s wagon is right outside.

Yes, of course. He answered with a tight smile.

Good day, Mr. and Mrs. Clarkson. Grace waved as she sauntered to the door proudly wearing her first fancy new hat.

She stepped out onto the boardwalk and took a deep breath. It was a beautiful day, perfect for taking a walk down Main Street while she waited for Uncle Vern to finish with the blacksmith. With a spring in her step and her purse dangling from her wrist, she paraded south away from the stage depot and livery station. If she pushed all thoughts of the coach line from her mind, she could almost believe she was an average girl living a normal life in a small town. At least it gave her a short reprieve from her tedious world.

The tip of her boot caught on the edge of a splintered plank, and she tumbled forward. She threw her hands out to brace herself. A strong arm wrapped around her waist and steadied her from falling.

Are you all right, Miss? A concerned male voice came from somewhere above her head.

She straightened her hat and slowly raised her eyes to see a tall handsome cowboy peering down at her. A strand of thick dark hair fell onto his forehead, almost covering a pair of piercing hazel eyes. The man didn’t seem to realize he stood too close to be considered appropriate. Mortified, she stepped backward and toppled over the edge of the boardwalk where someone had planted a lilac bush. Seated gracelessly with her legs on the boardwalk and her bottom resting on the edge of a giant bucket, she realized her skirts had flown up high enough to reveal her ankles. Cheeks flaming, she brushed down her dress and then braced her hands on the edge of the container to push her way out. The planter tilted precariously.

The man towered over her. His deep set eyes twinkled with mirth. One side of his mouth stretched upward while his chest shook with silent laughter. How dare he find humor in her awkward predicament? Without asking her permission, he reached out his arm, took her by the hand and lifted her up from the pleasant smelling foliage. His actions were kind, but she didn’t care for his attitude. She didn’t know if she should thank him or slap him.

Grace? Someone called her name from across the street.

It was Uncle Vern, ready to meet for lunch. With a muttered word of thanks, she fled from the arrogant stranger’s stare.

#

Jason Preston shifted his long legs and bit back a grunt. A body wasn’t meant to be cramped in a wooden box, at least, not while they’re still breathing. If he had his way he’d be on the back of a horse checking fences, or out looking for strays. Even riding drag on a cattle drive would be better than spending the afternoon cramped in a rolling sweat box.

Hold up there a moment, Ben. The Orin County division agent’s deep voice carried from across the street. He waved a pair of ticket stubs in the air for the driver to see. You’ve got two more riders.

The stage schedule called for the coach to leave ten minutes ago. Half past twelve and already the summer air hot enough to fry chuck-wagon chicken in a cast iron skillet. The window shades had been raised in an attempt to catch a breeze, but that wouldn’t happen until they got moving.

Well then, what are they waiting for? Ben’s voice pitched with irritation, and his rounded cheeks grew a darker shade of red. His calm demeanor seemed to melt away as the air temperature rose. You know I’ve got a schedule to keep.

The two men scurried across the street. Like lizards in the desert sand, they’d dart forward and then pause between passing wagons and horses as they navigated their way to the stage. Up till this point of the trip, Jason had enjoyed having the coach all to himself. Not that he minded having company. At least they were men and not a pair of prim and prissy ladies. The thought of being surrounded by ribbons and lace put a lump in his throat and raised goose bumps on the back of his neck.

Raised on a ranch, ladies were a mystery to him. Like the one he’d plucked from a flower bush the day before. Pretty as they come, she couldn’t take more than two steps without falling. If he hadn’t been there she’d have fallen flat on her face. Thank goodness, his new job as the hostler at the Orin County Way Station would keep him out of the path of scatterbrained females.

The driver yanked the door wide and waved his hand like the ringmaster in a circus. Right this way, gentlemen. Step on up. There’s lots of room. Next stop is Meadowview.

Jason tipped his hat in the general direction of the new passengers and shifted to allow them room to pass. The first, a short stout man wearing a tweed suit, clutched a satchel close to his chest. He might as well be wearing a sign with there’s something valuable in here written in bold red letters.

Good afternoon, The second man took the seat next to Jason and across from the short man. He was an older, balding gentleman with bloodshot eyes and bad breath. The strong stench of body odor soured the air in the coach. Did I hear the driver right? Did he say the next stop is Meadowview? I thought this stage went to Springfield.

I believe Meadowview is the name of the way station where we will be spending the night. The man in the tweed suite leaned forward to explain the situation to the confused gentleman. His gaze flicked upward and then he continued with sarcasm. Weren’t you listening when the agent said there’d be an overnight stop?

Yes, now that you mention it, it does seem as though he said something about stopping at a way station. The older chap ran the palm of his hand over the top of his bare head before dropping his fingers to fiddle with the fob on his pocket watch. His gaze roamed the interior of the coach and then landed on Jason. With brows puckered, he removed his hand from his waistband pocket and gave a sharp nod to no one in particular.

Are you two traveling together? Jason ventured to ask. Poking his nose in other folks business wasn’t something he did often, but these two were an odd pair.

No, no. Tweed suit shook his head adamantly. I’m Edward Brown. Mr. Wade and I just happened to buy our tickets at the last minute today. As for me, I do most of my traveling alone. I find there’s less complications that way, no one to slow me down.

Jason Preston. He offered his name, although neither one of them had inquired. It seemed like the proper thing to do, but that’s the problem with growing up on a ranch. A cowpuncher answers to the trail boss and doesn’t worry about what folks think. How’s he supposed to know what’s proper or not?

The stage swayed under the driver’s weight. Jason grabbed hold of the window frame and braced himself until Ben finally settled on the box next to the conductor. He’d be up there himself if there were room.

It sounds to me like you do a lot of traveling, Mr. Brown. Mr. Wade’s words came out with a gush of air, and then he raised his hand to his mouth. His eyes widened and a potent hiccup escaped.

Only when business calls for it. Mr. Brown tugged on the lapel of his suit and leaned against the wall of the coach. His face turned toward the window as if to ward off any more questions.

Jason was fine with not talking. The stage pressed forward and his companions settled back in their seats. They rolled past the buildings on the south end of Main Street. The bank, a bakery, and a large church marked the end of town. When they reached the outskirts of town the driver yelled for the horses to pick up speed.

A gust of air, almost passing for a cool breeze, filled the coach. Jason pulled his hat low on his face and crossed his arms over his chest. The only way for him to fit comfortably in the coach was to stretch his long legs and prop his boots on the empty seat across the aisle. His lower back felt each bump along the rutted road. With any luck he’d be able to endure the miserable trip by getting some shut-eye.

He’d wanted to ride a horse, but the stage depot didn’t have one to spare. The agent said not to worry. There would be plenty of stock for him to choose from at the way station. At least the company absorbed the price of the stage ride since he was their newest employee.

Chapter Two

The stage should be here in an hour or so, Grace. Uncle Vern called from the back bedroom where he’d gone to make sure