Emmy (Gold Rush Brides Book 2) (8 page)

He was answered with silence but a quick glance over his shoulder confirmed she was still back there, plodding away, her head hung low. Shame tried to nibble at his gut but he kicked it away. He didn’t ask her to come out here, so whatever happened was on her head. He refused to feel sorry for any ninny who made their bed with poison oak.

But it appeared his deputies didn’t feel the same. He didn’t let on, but Mason had noticed each man in turn falling back to check on her and give her words of encouragement. He was pretty sure Fred tried to pass her a small packet — probably the leftover rabbit he’d not-so-slyly pocketed the night before — but she steadfastly refused. She was a stubborn one, that much was certain.

After a few hours of scouring the countryside trying to track down anyone who’d seen the bandits, they came upon a small homestead. A line of fresh linens were blowing in the breeze and a tidy little garden was fetched up next to the cabin. Mason could see a man off in the distance tending to a herd of sheep and, as they approached the cabin, a stocky woman stepped outside holding a shotgun.
 

He raised a hand in greeting and to show her he meant no ill will, but she kept the gun cradled in her arms nonetheless. At least she wasn’t aiming it at them. She had the air of a woman who’d been recently spooked — and she didn’t look like a gal who was easily spooked.
 

He pulled the posse up a hundred feet away, not wanting to give her reason to level that weapon at him. A lot of people thought Indian attacks were the leading cause of deaths in the west, but Mason knew better. Most natives were downright peaceful and, for the most part, only fought to protect themselves. No, next to disease, more settlers died from being accidentally shot by other settlers. He didn’t want his name added to that list.

“Mornin’, ma’am. I’m Sheriff Mason Wilder from Nevada City. Me and my deputies here are on the trail of a known murderer and we were hoping you might have seen him and maybe his crew ride through this way.”

The woman squinted at him. “You got a badge or something?”
 

“Yes, ma’am, I do. It’s right here in my pocket.”
 

He reached slowly into the pocket of his cowhide coat and just as slowly pulled out his shiny new star. A glint of light reflected on her face and she nodded.
 

“Well, welcome to the Dalton farm. C’mon, then. You don’t got no time to waste and you’re probably needing a bit o’ lunch right about now. You can water your horses over yonder.”

She tromped back into the house, leaving the door open. Not wanting to put his deputies in jeopardy, he entered first to make sure she wasn’t going to pick them off one at a time, but she’d set her gun by the door and was busy at the stove, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious.

“Thank you kindly for the offer of lunch, Mrs. Dalton, but there’s four…I mean, five of us and we couldn’t put that kind of burden on you.”

She waved her hand. “Nonsense. And call me Lill. My husband got a nice deer the other day so there’s plenty to go around. ‘Sides, it’s the least we can do if you’re aiming to catch that band of thieves.”

Jake and David filed in behind him. He presumed Fred was taking care of the horses, and he tried not to care where Emmy was. He’d already wasted too much energy worrying about her when he had more important things to focus on.
 

“So you
have
seen them then?”

“Oh, yes, I seen ‘em,” Lill said, plopping bowls of venison stew in front of the men. “They rode through here late last night when we was sleepin’. Ralph heard the chickens squawking like mad and thought it was a coyote or panther, so he took his shotgun with him to check on ‘em. Danged if a scraggly bunch of bandits wasn’t in there trying to nab dinner.”

“What happened?” Jake asked through a mouthful of stew.

“Didn’t your mama teach you never to talk with a full mouth?” David chided him, his own mouth full of food.
 

“No, but let me tell you what
your
mama taught me—” Jake shot back.

Lill interrupted the boys’ banter by setting a plate of biscuits in front of them. “They pulled guns on Ralph so there weren’t much he could do. They took three of our fattest hens and skedaddled. I was peeking through the window the whole time, and I tell ya, those fellas looked as likely to shoot him as let him go. Kinda thought I was about to be a widow — or worse.”

“How many were there, Mrs. Dalton?” Mason asked.

“Told ya to call me Lill. I counted four, but it was dark out so who knows. The leader — the one who did all the talkin’? — was a fine lookin’ chap, all dudded up fancy, I could see that much. Had a big yeller mustache, couldn’t miss it. Then there was a tall one, taller than the leader but skinny. The other two were sorta normal lookin’, I reckon. That’s about all I got for ya.”

“When they lit out, which way did they head?”

“Pretty sure it was south. I didn’t see their horses, but I heard ‘em, and it sounded like they went south. Prolly don’t help ya much.”

Lill set three tin cups full of water in front of them and they drank it greedily. Mason always forgot how thirsty he got on hard rides. It made him think about how thirsty the horses got, and was glad Fred had tended to them promptly.

As the thought entered his mind, Fred ambled through the door followed by Emmy, who looked as miserable as anyone he’d ever seen. He could tell by her twitching fingers that it was taking all her will not to scratch herself bloody. He’d had poison oak before and he wouldn’t wish it on anyone. He moved to give up his seat to her.

And then she opened her mouth.

~ * ~ * ~

“Shouldn’t you be out hunting a killer, Sheriff, instead of eating this kind woman’s food?”

Fire blazed in the sheriff’s eyes and she knew she’d touched a nerve. Good!

The woman whose house they were in rushed over to her. “Oh, lordy! That’s one mighty bad rash you got, darlin’. You must be itchin’ something awful. C’mon with me and I’ll fix you right up, then you can have some grub, too.”

She grabbed a pot from a shelf and led Emmy out back to a well, where she pulled up a bucket of cool water. Emmy gratefully accepted the rag she’d dipped in the bucket and pressed it to her burning, itching skin. She actually sighed in relief, making the woman chuckle.

“Here, now slather this all over your skin.” She held out a pot of cold oatmeal and Emmy looked at her blankly.
 

“Why?” The very thought of rubbing that on herself was disgusting.

“Oh, darlin’, it’ll help with the itch. Trust me.”

Emmy didn’t need to be told twice and immediately grabbed a glob of the stuff. It was lumpy and wasn’t easy to apply but it soothed the burn tremendously.

“Ooooh, thank you so much, ma’am! You have no idea how horrible this has been.”

The woman chuckled. “Course I do. Why do you think I know how to ease the itch? And just call me Lill.”
 

She took a step back and gave Emmy a long, hard once-over. “What are you doin’ with a posse, anyhow? Don’t seem like a place for a lady such as yerself. Is that a…wedding dress?”

Emmy couldn’t help but smile. “It’s a long story, but yes, it’s a wedding dress.”

Lill was smart enough to not ask any more prying questions, as much as she might want to. “So how’d you get the rash?”

When Emmy explained, Lill tsk’d and shook her head. “I’m sorry, darlin’, but you gotta burn that dress and blanket. The oils from the oak will keep getting atchya till it drives ya mad. Or worse, scars that purty skin of yours.”

Emmy paled at the suggestion. Burn her mother’s wedding dress? “But…”

“Nope, there’s no other way, I’m afraid. ‘Sides, it’s all stained and tore up. Ain’t no good as a wedding dress no more. And I’m guessin’ it didn’t turn out too good. Best to say goodbye to that chapter, dontchya think?”

She was right. Everything about this dress represented pain and humiliation. And if Emmy kept wearing it, it would only continue to bring her the same. As much as she hated to do it, she needed to leave it behind.
 

She started to nod but froze. “I don’t have any other clothes.”

Lill gave her another once-over, thinking hard. “I’m a sight bigger’n you, that’s for certain. But maybe…wait here.”

While she was gone, Emmy continued slathering the oatmeal on her face and hands. She was grateful the dress had a high neck and long sleeves, otherwise her rash would be far worse.
 

As it was, she knew she looked a fright. The men in the posse — aside from the sheriff — kept giving her pitying looks, which was not something she was used to. Normally men looked at her with appreciation, not revulsion.
 

All morning she’d cried over her ruined looks. She’d kept her head down so no one would see, especially Sheriff Wilder, but she was mortified that she was so disfigured. And it would only be worse if she scratched herself, because that would leave scars she didn’t want. She was utterly miserable, on top of being hideous.

The sheriff kept prodding her to turn around, but as much as she hated being in his presence, she was determined to fulfill her mission. Besides, if she was going to have to hide away until the rash disappeared, she might as well do it out in the wilderness, with the men who’d already seen her at her worst.

As it turned out, Sheriff Wilder’s deputies were all very kind, even the one who’d manhandled her. Each had tried to pass her food or water but she refused. She would do this on her own, just as the sheriff had told her to. Not
because
he told her to, of course, but because she wanted to prove to him — and herself — that she could.
 

When the other men had entered the cabin, she hung back, unsure if accepting the homesteader’s hospitality would go against her newfound independence. Deputy Merchant noticed her hesitation and sidled up to her as she watered Blaze.
 

“It’s one thing to stand on your own two feet, Miss Emmy, but it’s another to be ill-mannered,” he said.

When she blinked her confusion at him, he explained. “When someone invites you into their home, it’s disrespectful not to accept. ‘Sides, we all need help from time to time, and there ain’t no shame in it.”

His words rang in her ears as the woman, smiling from ear to ear, brought out a bundle of clothes. Emmy realized he was right. Lill was tickled to be helping someone in need. And right now, Emmy was as ‘in need’ as anyone could get.

“Sounds to me like you’re riding with the posse for a while yet, and I got a look at your horse out there. No side saddle. Skirts ain’t the easiest thing for long rides so I brought ya some of my son Alton’s old clothes. He’s off in the diggins now. That boy caught the fever bad but I guess ya can’t expect much more from a young man not even twenty. He don’t want to work on his ol’ daddy’s silly farm. He wants to strike it rich, ya know?”

Sadness infused her tale. Lill clearly missed her son and was disappointed that he didn’t stay home but knew enough to let him go. She shook her head and passed the bundle to Emmy. “These wouldn’t fit him no more anyway, but they’re clean. ‘Sides, it’d be a might safer for you to be dressed as a man so you don’t make no one suspicious. I weren’t sure
what
to think when I saw you riding with those men. Better to blend in, if you’re huntin’ a killer.”
 

She led Emmy into the barn, where she helped her change out of the dress and into patched overalls, a threadbare flannel shirt and worn leather coat. They were a little long but much more comfortable than her wedding dress. There was a bandana in the bundle and Emmy tied it up and around her head to keep her hair contained. Finally, Lill produced a tattered straw hat that had seen better days, but it would work nicely to keep the sun off Emmy’s ivory — well,
normally
ivory — skin.

“Now let’s get you fed before those boys in there leave you behind.”
 

Lill winked and dragged her toward the house, but not before Emmy got one last look at the sad remains of her wedding dress, lying in a jumbled heap on the packed-dirt floor of the barn. It was a delicate and frilly thing that had no business in the harsh new world that was California. Tough and practical was what was needed out here. She’d stubbornly dragged it thousands of miles, hoping to salvage one last vestige of her old life, of her old self. But it was time to put all that away. It was time to become a Californian.

~ * ~ * ~

Mason nearly choked on his coffee when Emmy walked through the door. The men’s clothes almost entirely hid her femininity and the oatmeal smeared all over her face completely disguised her identity. She looked like a frightening scarecrow from his childhood nightmares, and he couldn’t help laughing.

“What are you snortin’ at, Sheriff?” Lill gave him a sharp look that stilled his tongue.
 

“Uh, nothing at all, ma’am.”

“That’s what I thought. Now I’m gonna make sure this little wisp of a thing gets a proper meal before y’all set off again, so take your time with that coffee, y’hear? Those bad guys won’t get too much farther away in the next few minutes.”

As much as it grieved him to wait, he didn’t dare object. She looked like the kind of woman who wouldn’t hesitate to box his ears, even though he towered over her. Of course, she was right that five minutes wouldn’t make much difference one way or the other, but it was the fact they were waiting on Emmy that was so irksome. But he had to give her credit for not only tracking them yesterday but keeping up with them today, especially in her current state.

Fred didn’t seem at all bothered by the wait. He plopped his big old rear end across from Emmy and peppered her with questions while she ate. He was nosy as all get out but he had a way about him that made it endearing.

“So, Miss Emmy, do fellers have to pay extra to get a bride as pretty as you?”

She waved a dismissive hand at him. “Oh, go on, Deputy Merchant. I’m a monster.”

“Don’t be silly, girl. You got a rash is all. That’ll be gone in a few days and you’ll be pretty as ever. And call me Fred.”