her. She had counted on persuading Bootie to buy her a dozen eggs.
Involuntarily, she glanced at the little gold watch pinned to her own genuine cashmere shawl. The creature's meeting was due to begin in fifteen minutes. Well, she would not be present.
Inside the store, she inhaled a blend of tantalizing aromas, her mouth watering at the scent of pickles and onions, coffee beans and smoked sausage. After inspecting the tumble of goods tossed willy-nilly on the shelves, she paused before a piled stack of sugar bags, wishing she could purchase something smaller than a ten-pound sack.
"Ain't you going to Mrs. Waverly's meeting?" Cora asked innocently, appearing from another aisle.
"Hardly!" A pungent scent wafted from the black licorice whip Cora was chewing. "And neither are you!" She stared at the bag of licorice Cora clutched in her hand. The rich dark aroma filled her nostrils.
Cora's eyes narrowed. "I am too going! I guess I can go wherever I want when I ain't working!" Turning abruptly, she hurried down a narrow aisle and left the store.
Heartsick, Augusta stared at the bags of sugar without seeing them. Licorice. Cora had spent part of her dollar on licorice. Augusta had surrendered one whole precious dollar so that stupid, wasteful Cora could buy licorice.
A flood tide of rage, frustration, and helplessness almost knocked her to her knees. Despairing, she pressed her purse against her side. Oh, God. What was she going to do?
Cody watched Webb's dark face as he wound through the traffic clogging the post square. He moved forward as Webb stepped onto the boardwalk. "We'll stop in at Rogue Street on the way back to camp. Looks like you could use a drink."
Rogue Street was situated outside the post, a collection of saloons, washhouses, and whores' cribs. They entered the last saloon in the row and took a table near a cracked window that gave them a view of the post's entrance gate. Miles Dawson, the head teamster, would remain at the post until the last of the brides, Augusta Boyd, returned to camp. Cody wouldn't relax until all his passengers had returned to the train.
Tilting his chair against the rough log wall of the saloon, he scanned the faces of the men crowding a faro bank. "I knew the commander of this fort when I was in the army. Willis says Jake Quinton passed through about four days ago."
Webb tossed back a whiskey. "I would have thought Quinton had had his fill of army posts."
"Willis thinks Quinton and his men robbed Jed Lexy's train."
Webb nodded. "I'll tell the watch to keep their eyes open."
They never left the guns and molasses wagons unguarded. Someone was always posted on look out, day and night. Both men were fully aware the freight they carried made the train a target for marauders like Quinton and his gang.
Cody poured a second round of whiskey. "This is none of my business, but I keep telling you she's poison, old friend."
"You're right. It's none of your business. And it's not my place to mention that you regard all women as lethal since Ellen died." Webb turned his gaze toward the window and the view of the post entrance.
Cody didn't answer, but Webb's observation stung as it was intended to. When Ellen and her newborn son had died a day after the birthing, he had gone crazy. The craziness eventually cost him his career in the army, but that no longer mattered. What mattered was he never wanted to endure that kind of pain again.
Webb turned his shot glass between long elegant fingers. "You worry me, my friend."
"You worry about you; I'll worry about me," Cody muttered.
"You're letting what happened poison your thoughts against all women." He tossed back the whiskey. "That's why you're planning to settle in Oregon at the end of this trip."
Cody almost laughed. "Because there aren't many women in Oregon? Is that what you think?"
Webb smiled. "If the cargo we're carrying is any indication, there don't seem to be many temptations in Oregon."
Cody let his chair bump down on the
Involuntarily, she glanced at the little gold watch pinned to her own genuine cashmere shawl. The creature's meeting was due to begin in fifteen minutes. Well, she would not be present.
Inside the store, she inhaled a blend of tantalizing aromas, her mouth watering at the scent of pickles and onions, coffee beans and smoked sausage. After inspecting the tumble of goods tossed willy-nilly on the shelves, she paused before a piled stack of sugar bags, wishing she could purchase something smaller than a ten-pound sack.
"Ain't you going to Mrs. Waverly's meeting?" Cora asked innocently, appearing from another aisle.
"Hardly!" A pungent scent wafted from the black licorice whip Cora was chewing. "And neither are you!" She stared at the bag of licorice Cora clutched in her hand. The rich dark aroma filled her nostrils.
Cora's eyes narrowed. "I am too going! I guess I can go wherever I want when I ain't working!" Turning abruptly, she hurried down a narrow aisle and left the store.
Heartsick, Augusta stared at the bags of sugar without seeing them. Licorice. Cora had spent part of her dollar on licorice. Augusta had surrendered one whole precious dollar so that stupid, wasteful Cora could buy licorice.
A flood tide of rage, frustration, and helplessness almost knocked her to her knees. Despairing, she pressed her purse against her side. Oh, God. What was she going to do?
Cody watched Webb's dark face as he wound through the traffic clogging the post square. He moved forward as Webb stepped onto the boardwalk. "We'll stop in at Rogue Street on the way back to camp. Looks like you could use a drink."
Rogue Street was situated outside the post, a collection of saloons, washhouses, and whores' cribs. They entered the last saloon in the row and took a table near a cracked window that gave them a view of the post's entrance gate. Miles Dawson, the head teamster, would remain at the post until the last of the brides, Augusta Boyd, returned to camp. Cody wouldn't relax until all his passengers had returned to the train.
Tilting his chair against the rough log wall of the saloon, he scanned the faces of the men crowding a faro bank. "I knew the commander of this fort when I was in the army. Willis says Jake Quinton passed through about four days ago."
Webb tossed back a whiskey. "I would have thought Quinton had had his fill of army posts."
"Willis thinks Quinton and his men robbed Jed Lexy's train."
Webb nodded. "I'll tell the watch to keep their eyes open."
They never left the guns and molasses wagons unguarded. Someone was always posted on look out, day and night. Both men were fully aware the freight they carried made the train a target for marauders like Quinton and his gang.
Cody poured a second round of whiskey. "This is none of my business, but I keep telling you she's poison, old friend."
"You're right. It's none of your business. And it's not my place to mention that you regard all women as lethal since Ellen died." Webb turned his gaze toward the window and the view of the post entrance.
Cody didn't answer, but Webb's observation stung as it was intended to. When Ellen and her newborn son had died a day after the birthing, he had gone crazy. The craziness eventually cost him his career in the army, but that no longer mattered. What mattered was he never wanted to endure that kind of pain again.
Webb turned his shot glass between long elegant fingers. "You worry me, my friend."
"You worry about you; I'll worry about me," Cody muttered.
"You're letting what happened poison your thoughts against all women." He tossed back the whiskey. "That's why you're planning to settle in Oregon at the end of this trip."
Cody almost laughed. "Because there aren't many women in Oregon? Is that what you think?"
Webb smiled. "If the cargo we're carrying is any indication, there don't seem to be many temptations in Oregon."
Cody let his chair bump down on the
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