Jasmine's Journey Read online

  The woman stepped down and Zane’s heart plummeted to his boots. This dumpy little woman had to be forty if she was a day. I knew I should never have done such a dang fool thing as write away for a bride, now look what I’ve got.

  Betsy had written that she had blonde hair. He could see a few wispy bits of corn colored hair peeping out from her bonnet. He cleared his throat. “Betsy Raynor?”

  “No. Who are you?”

  He did not know whether to be happy or not. Dan Telford, a neighboring rancher, jumped out of a buckboard and dashed up. “Ivy, finally you’ve arrived. Rose will be so pleased to see you.”

  Dan nodded to Zane. They were barely on speaking terms, and he had never bothered trying to make friends because he was too busy clearing his land to socialize.

  “How’s the wife doing?” The man who came to unhitch the team asked Dan.

  “Not so good, but with her sister here to help, things will get better.”

  Now what was he going to do, Zane wondered. He strode up to the driver. “I was expecting a young lady,” he said.

  “Well, as you can see, she ain’t here.”

  “Would she have got off at a different stop by mistake?”

  “No. All the passengers got on in Cheyenne.”

  Where was Betsy? Surely, she had just not turned up after he had sent her the fare money and a little extra to cover expenses. He hovered for a few moments before swinging on his heel and striding toward the buckboard.

  Maybe she had sent a telegram saying she had been delayed. Hope surged in his breast. That must be it. Mrs. Crenshaw had assured him Betsy was a decent young woman who had a genuine need for a husband. The exact nature of the problem, Betsy would tell him herself.

  At the telegraph office, Zane marched up to the clerk behind the desk, his confidence building that there would indeed be word from his bride-to-be. “Good afternoon, I’m Zane McIvor, do you have a telegram for me?”

  The man reached over for a wooden box with a few slips of paper in it and flipped through them. “Ah, yes, came in yesterday.”

  Zane took the paper and as he skimmed through it, he stifled a curse. It was short and to the point of cruelty. Changed my mind. Found someone else. Betsy.

  “Any reply?”

  “What?”

  “Do you want to send a reply?”

  “Yes. I want my money back,” he muttered.

  “What did you say, Mr. McIvor?”

  “Nothing. No reply.” He strode out of the telegraph office wondering why smoke wasn’t pouring out of his ears. Now what? Get drunk? He felt like it, although that would be of no help with his predicament. He had too much to do at home to waste time in town drowning his sorrows.

  Surely, he deserved a decent cup of coffee and a nice slice of apple pie from Evie’s diner. He could not believe what a fool he had been over this Betsy woman. Had she done this type of thing before? Pretended to be interested in marrying a man, get whatever money she could out of him, before grabbing herself another victim?

  What about Mildred Crenshaw? She had seemed so genuine when she visited Laramie three months ago, to set things into motion.

  He chose a table at the diner away from anyone else. The last thing he wanted to indulge in was idle chit-chat. A few tables were occupied, he noticed as he waited for the waitress to come up to him. He had only been here a couple of times before, although his understanding was Evie and her husband ran it.

  “What will you have?” asked a smiling waitress. “Would you like a menu?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll have a strong black coffee and a slice of apple pie.”

  “Won’t be long.” The waitress walked away with a slight swaying of her hips. Why should he care how she walked? Why should he care about any women at all? Treacherous creatures that they were. Now, thanks to Betsy he might lose his ranch. She knew it had been his reason for marriage. He had been honest about it and she had agreed a wife would certainly help his chances.

  His barn was good, as he had spent a lot of time on it, too much on reflection. It might have been better had he spent more time and energy on the house. I can’t lose the ranch, not after the money, blood, sweat and tears I’ve poured into it. A couple of large ranchers, including old man Vasey, were hovering in the wings, just waiting to swoop on extra land which might come up.

  They had the money and the power to manipulate the government officials. One strike against him and he would be out. He did not doubt it for a single moment.

  A wife would also have eased his loneliness. For years he had dreamed of owning his own ranch, having a wife and family. Having been brought up in an orphanage, he had no-one now his two friends had been killed in the war. He fought the bitterness of his loss and thought he had overcome it; now he realized how fragile his hopes of happiness had been.

  “Here we are.” The cheery voice of the waitress interrupted his brooding. She placed a large slice of apple pie in front of him, the coffee just to one side.

  “Thank you.” Biting into the pie, he closed his eyes to best savor the taste. The aroma of fresh coffee infused his nostrils. Maybe Mrs. Crenshaw could find him another bride? There was enough time. No reason why he could not contact her and express his displeasure and disappointment at being duped by Betsy Raynor.

  He knew Mrs. Crenshaw was working out of the Grand Hotel in Cheyenne for a while, then heading into Colorado with her assistant. Her plan was to travel to each of the states with large male populations and few respectable women. A noble concept when it worked. A disaster when it failed.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Jasmine climbed on board the stagecoach for the last leg of her journey. After weeks of travel by either stagecoach or train, she was fed up with it all. She had bought a train ticket for the end of the line when she left St. Louis, but got off at an earlier station, and repeated the exercise many times over so even if the Pinkerton Agents were after her they would have difficulty finding her.

  If she never traveled on a stage again, it would be too soon. Now she was almost at her final destination, Laramie. One of the reasons she had decided on Laramie was because it was serviced by both stage and train. It had two different modes of escape, if necessary.

  She nodded to the elderly couple who were getting off at Lassiter. A youngish man wearing a black suit sat opposite, showing scant interest in his fellow passengers.

  The stage suddenly took off with the crack of a whip and loud yells from the driver, or maybe it was the man riding shotgun, she had no idea which. They both appeared uncouth and unsavory.

  Wearing a simple brown dress with a stand-up collar and matching bonnet, she looked and felt ordinary. She had pulled her hair tightly and pinned it at the back of her head. She wanted to be the type of young woman who blended into the background, noticed yet not really seen.

  She had stayed at the plainest, most inexpensive hotels as possible. So long as they were respectable, it did not bother her, likewise places to eat.

  Her escape from Esmeralda and Cedric had been harder than she had anticipated. With the rat cunning from her days of surviving by her wits in the poorer parts of London, Esmeralda had watched her like a hawk.

  She was convinced the woman was insane. There was no mistake in Jasmine’s mind if she had not got away, she would have ended up dead. Apparently, her share in the brewery was virtually nothing now as Esmeralda had squandered all the money.

  The only incentive for them to let her live once she came of age, was if she married Cedric. This idea they had about claiming estates and titles in England on behalf of any male heir she might produce was fanciful, although Esmeralda was adamant it was true. The woman was probably deluded, but it still meant that Jasmine Dunbar was a dead woman walking.

  She should have been frightened, traveling hundreds of miles on her own with only a small handgun for protection, yet she wasn’t. Her greatest fear was the Johnson’s might find her. They would have instigated a search, probably gone to the Pinkerton Detective Agency for help, e
specially as she had to resort to theft to fund her journey.

  Stealing would have been a despicable act in normal circumstances, but she justified the criminality because she might now be classified as a thief, while they were would-be murderers.

  Laramie, her final destination, was close enough to Cheyenne or Denver if she had to make a hurried escape.

  She had been careful, spoken to no one of her plans, mentioned nothing to anyone about where she came from and even took a false name. Surely that would be enough to throw any would-be pursuers off the track. What a horrible way to live, distrusting everyone, and too scared to make anything except desultory conversation with people she met.

  One carpet bag was all she possessed now, and she was lucky to have it. Fortunately, the night before she had planned to escape, she had hidden it in the garden.

  Esmeralda had become more and more erratic and suspicious, even as she planned the lavish wedding for her. It would be the social event of the year in St. Louis. How would Esmeralda explain the bride’s sudden disappearance to her snooty friends? Maybe that’s why she had started locking her in the bedroom when neither she nor Cedric were home. She dared not risk the bride running away, and the subsequent humiliation which would follow.

  She had been able to climb out the window and down the vine covered walls in the middle of the night. Walking to the station to take the early morning train out of town had been easy.

  The old couple sitting opposite both snored, the man in black placed his hat over his face and if he slept, he made no sound. She glanced out the window of the stagecoach at the dry, inhospitable countryside.

  Several hours later the stage pulled up at Lassiter to drop the elderly couple off and change the sweating horse.

  She could not understand why the men had driven them so hard. It was tempting to say something about their behavior. She resisted the urge, even though it was justified to give them a piece of her mind for treating animals so harshly.

  “You didn’t need to drive them so hard,” the old man unhitching the team said.

  Jasmine had to ask for a drink of water as none was obviously going to be offered. The man riding shot gun stomped over to a wooden barrel and dipped a tin cup into it.

  “Here.” He thrust it at her.

  She took it and gulped the brackish tasting liquid down. At least it was cool and wet. What a horrible stage stopping place this was. She was beginning to wish she had traveled with a different line. Served her right for being impatient.

  No new passengers appeared, so she shared the stage with the silent man in black. They took off so fast her head slammed into the back of the seat. “Ouch,” the exclamation shot out of her mouth.

  The man in black stared at her, uttered not a sound, and placed his hat over his face. What a rude, surly person he was.

  She closed her eyes, hoping she might sleep. Goodness only knew she needed it. I must look like a washed-out hag of a woman. She wanted to be inconspicuous, not unclean and bedraggled.

  After the first day on the train, when she had fended off the unwanted advances of a young man, no one had taken any undue notice of her. Fortunately, she had kept the clothes she had worn from Virginia to Esmeralda’s place and now wore them. She had lost weight over the last few weeks and they hung loosely on her. All the better; the plainer and uglier she looked the safer it was, and this had certainly proven to be true.

  She had been to one dressmaker’s fitting for the wedding gown and could imagine Esmeralda’s fury at having to cancel the order. Hopefully, she would pay the seamstress for the work already done, although it was doubtful the poor woman would ever see any money.

  Eavesdropping was an underhanded, deceitful thing, yet, where would she be had she not overheard those evil plans from the closet in Arthur’s study?

  She had read about women being drugged and forced to marry men they didn’t want. By once more eavesdropping on a conversation she was never supposed to hear, she had learned this was Esmeralda’s option of last resort.

  She would soon be twenty-one and able to claim her inheritance, only there was nothing left now. Her father’s legacy had been squandered by these two evil people. She was glad Arthur died before he found out the lies Esmeralda had told, and her treacherous behavior. Fissions of distaste shot through her. Hopefully, she would never set eyes on them again. They had turned her into a runaway thief.

  The stage stopped suddenly, waking her up with a start. Now what?

  “You can get out and stretch your legs for five minutes,” the driver yelled. “I need to relieve myself.”

  What a crude man he was.

  “There’s water to be had at that rock over there,” the passenger wearing black said, as he climbed out first and held the door open for her. “All the stages pull in here for a short break.”

  Feeling as stiff as a board, she clambered from the stage. A small cabin was built near a rocky outcrop. The best part of the building was the front porch, which seemed of much later construction, by the looks of it. One end of the porch was built against a rocky hillside. A trickle of water, running into an overflowing trough, caught her eye.

  “It comes from an underground spring,” the man in black said. “If you need to um….just duck behind those trees. Make it quick because the driver won’t wait.”

  “Thank you, I will.”

  She hurried off. At least this man was a cut above the driver. What an uncouth oaf he was, and the man riding shotgun appeared little better.

  In retrospect, she should have waited the extra two days and got the regular stage, but she had been too impatient. Extra nights at a hotel meant less money in her dwindling supply, now she had nothing left to sell. The pawnbroker she had gone to had driven a hard bargain; criminal the small amount of money he gave her for Esmeralda’s tiara and matching necklace.

  The clump of trees the man had pointed to looked closer than what they were. Jasmine quickened her pace. On the return trip to the cabin she started running and slammed into a low growing branch. Stars exploded in front of her eyes before blackness engulfed her.

  Jasmine woke up and groggily looked around. Where was she? Remembrance returned. She rolled on to her knees, pulling herself up by using the very branch that had knocked her senseless. The stage? She staggered forward, groaning with pain. Desperation forced her to hurry even though pain shot through her head.

  The stage had gone. Now what? Holding her head between her hands she stumbled on to the porch and over to the water. Picking up one of two tin cups, she filled it with water and gulped it down.

  The cold water trickling down her parched throat gave her enough energy to glance around. The stage had definitely departed, not even a distant speck of dust could be seen on the horizon. What type of men would leave a young woman out here in the wilderness alone?

  The man in black had known where she was and had obviously said nothing. All three men were despicable.

  Dare she try to walk into the nearest town, wherever it was? Maybe there would be a ranch not far away. If not, she could perish in the wilderness. Staying here and waiting for the next stage was the logical thing to do. At least there was water and shelter.

  What a mess she had got herself into, and she had lost her belongings, as well. At least she still had her handgun for protection. Even though her head ached she headed to the cabin door and pushed it open.

  Dubiously, she glanced around. The interior was rough looking with unlined walls and roof. At least there was a stone fireplace down one end A blackened pot hung from a tripod. If she could get the fire going, maybe she could find something to eat.

  Sending up a desperate prayer to God, she stepped over to a shelf containing several tins, all neatly marked. Coffee, flour, sugar and salt. Obviously, some of the coaches stopping here must provide food for their passengers. Another tin contained string, matches and a hunting knife. It was too much to hope there might be a rifle somewhere, although she checked to make sure.

  She had campe
d out in the mountains around Virginia with her father on many occasions. They had both enjoyed doing it. You are not a little hot house flower, Jasmine Dunbar, get to work and set yourself up for the night or two it will take for the next stage to arrive. With the run of luck she was having, it would be loaded with passengers. She vowed to be on it, even if it meant sitting on top of the luggage or sharing a seat with the driver.

  Starting to feel a little more optimistic, she remembered pa’s words. “Always keep a cool head. Panic leads to wrong decisions.”

  Once the fire was going, she wondered whether there would be wild Indians out here. Outlaws? There had been no sign of them, and nothing had been mentioned about this being dangerous territory. It was a chance she had no choice but to take.

  She ventured outside to gather more wood. What a primitive place this was, she thought, feeling somehow comforted by the ribbon of smoke unfurling from the chimney.

  There was no privy, unless the collapsed building down the back was it. At least it was easy to gather up an armful of this wood to feed the fire.

  The fireplace had been cleaned out and a neat pile of wood rested on the stone hearth so she figured there must be an unwritten rule that you cleaned up after yourself in readiness for the next person to come along.

  Tree covered hills, almost impenetrable in some places, towered over the back of the cabin. Exactly where she was, she had no idea. Would there be any game she could shoot for food? She would have to get in close using only a handgun. There was flour and coffee. For today this would be enough. Maybe tomorrow, she could try her hand at getting fresh meat.

  Surely, within the next day or so, someone would come. The stagecoaches coming from Laramie would have to pass by, as would the ones coming from Cheyenne in the opposite direction, or even Denver. No need to panic because there was enough of the basic foods to last a few days.

  She suddenly wondered who provided the supplies. Fortunately, it was the beginning of summer and not scorching hot. Nights could get cool, though. A nice, roaring fire would keep her warm and deter any marauding animals, as the door looked rather flimsy and not strong enough to withstand the charge of a large animal.