Courting the Corporal. Heather McCorkle
couldn’t help but wonder how much of a rogue this man might be. He wouldn’t skip out on paying their bill, would he? Surely Sean and Ashlinn wouldn’t trust her in the company of a man like that. But how could one such as he afford a fine establishment like the one they’d stayed in last night? Well, she wasn’t about to skip out without paying. To start her journey in such a manner was unthinkable.
“I already settled it,” he said.
The surprise must have shown on her face because he rolled his eyes skyward and shook his head. His arm reached toward her and just as she was about to flinch back, his hand closed on a door handle directly to her right. She let out a breath. Wood ground against wood as he slid the door open, revealing a dark tack room. Leaving her gaping, he stepped inside.
“There was no need for that. I’m funding this journey,” she said.
She was forced to step out of the way as he walked out of the room carrying a saddle in one hand and a bridle in the other. The morning light pouring in through the open door of the stables afforded her a glimpse of his blank face.
“I chose the hotel,” he said as he walked past, eyes flicking out the door for a brief moment before he turned down the aisle toward the horses.
His long legs stretched out into a quick pace, as if he were in a hurry to get away from her. Did this topic bother him so much? She did not want him paying for this on the principles of being a gentleman, not when she clearly had more coin than he did. Besides, it indebted her to him, and she liked that far less. Trying not to stomp like a child, she stormed after him.
“Well if I had known you were going to pay for it, I would have insisted on a more frugal hotel.”
He entered his horse’s stall without even glancing back at her. “’Tis done, forget about it. Now if you’ll please saddle your horse, we need to get moving.”
Though she couldn’t see his face, the impatience in his tone told her all she needed to know.
“Fine. But I am paying you back for the expense.”
When he didn’t answer after a moment, she gritted her teeth against a growl and stormed back to the tack room. Lincoln gave a playful little bark and bounded after her. She patted his head before fetching her saddle and returning to the horses. Aside from the pup’s playful antics, they saddled their horses in silence. The big painted horse stood quietly for her, solidifying her concerns that he may fall asleep on the trail. How ever were they going to get to California on time with horses like these? The longing for her fox hunter mare became an ache so deep she began to fear she was making a mistake.
It wasn’t the horse so much, and certainly not the grand house or all that laid within it. She missed Deirdre and Sadie and worried for them, as they had started their journey as well. Would they be safe with their armed escorts? Had they made the right decision? How would the Widows of the 69th organization fare without them?
Sneaking looks at Fergusson’s mount as he worked on the packhorse, she tried to figure out the proper fitting for the rear cinch and breast collar. Both looked loose compared to how she had put hers on the painted horse.
“Too tight,” came Fergusson’s voice from directly over her shoulder.
Though she jumped inside, she managed to hide the reaction. He loosened both the breast collar and the rear cinch a little then handed her something that fit in the palm of her hand. She flipped the cool, metal object over. A compass. Brows rising, she gave him a hard look.
“Do you expect we’ll get lost?” she asked.
“No. That’s for if we get separated so you can find your way to the next station.”
She clutched the compass a bit tighter. “Why would we get separated?”
He retreated to his own horse, calling over his shoulder as he walked. “Weather, animals, natives. If it happens, you keep going, get to the next station, and I’ll meet you there.”
“Station?” she asked, feeling terribly clueless.
“The old Pony Express stations. We’ll be traveling close to the trail they established, and there were stations every ten miles or so. It doesn’t matter if they’ve been repurposed or not. Even if they’re burnt to the ground, we can still meet there.” His matter-of-a-fact tone grated her all kinds of wrong ways.
Without so much as another word, he swung up into the saddle of his buckskin gelding and turned him toward the back door to the stables. Considering he had not even offered to help her onto her horse, she surmised that his paying for the hotel had not been a gentlemanly act so much as one of pride. It figured. She tucked the compass into a pocket.
To her delight, the horse stood still as she swung up into the odd saddle. Sleepy he may be, but at least he was well trained. The saddle held her securely, rising up both in front of and behind her. It was a bit snug for her liking, considering she had only ever ridden in an English saddle, or bareback. The tails of both Fergusson’s buckskin and his speckled packhorse drew quickly away. Lincoln trotted on ahead, darting out into the sunshine. By the time she took up the reins Fergusson was nearly to the open back door.
“Is there a reason we’re going out the back?” she called to him.
“Aye.”
She waited, but only the clop of his horse’s hooves on the packed dirt outside broke the silence that fell. With a squeeze of her legs, she urged her horse to catch up. The gelding leaped into a trot, surprising her with his enthusiasm. She quickly caught up to ride alongside Fergusson. His gaze remained fixed on the road ahead. It was a back road that skirted along the edge of town the best she could tell. At some unseen command from him, his horse began to trot, the packhorse instantly picking up the gait as well. Though her horse’s ears perked forward, he didn’t pick up the trot until she squeezed with her legs. At this point, she wasn’t sure if it was good training, or just laziness.
The town began to fall behind them. Their little side street came around a grouping of cottonwood trees whose green, heart-shaped leaves blocked the sun for a brief moment. Once past the trees the road joined the wide, main road leading out of town. Fergusson glanced back toward town, his shoulders relaxing a bit before his eyes went back to the road ahead. They kept to the side, near the grass, avoiding the wagon wheel ruts. Since he didn’t slow, she forced herself to sit in the saddle rather than post through the trot as she had been taught. It felt a bit unnatural, but if they were going to keep this pace up, she would quickly tire by posting.
“Are we in a hurry for some reason?” she asked.
“Aye.”
Damn that man and his simple answers. She opened her mouth to unleash a tart reply when he spoke again.
“You said you ride well.” It was more of a question than a statement.
“Yes, I do.”
Green eyes sparkled with mischief as he shot her a grin. “Let’s find out then.”
The haunches of his buckskin dropped down as the horse dug in, then launched into a gallop. His spotted packhorse followed suit a pace later. She was suddenly glad she had left all her valuables for the wagon to bring, particularly the breakable ones. Her own painted horse became a bundle of tense muscles and energy beneath her but waited for her command. Perhaps he was well trained after all. Gritting her teeth and dropping her heels low to gain a deeper seat in the saddle, she squeezed her legs. Her horse bolted after the other, quickly catching up to run alongside Fergusson. Beside them, Lincoln ran with all the glee only a dog can, ears flopping and tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.
As the pup began to lag behind, Fergusson reined his horse back into a slow canter and settled deep in the saddle as if for a long haul. Brows raised high, he gave her a nod that she took to mean he was impressed. However, the grin on his face looked a bit too stretched. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him glance behind them again. Chills began to creep up her spine as she wondered what he was looking for.