Untamed Journey

By Eden Carson

In the mood for a western romance with action, grit, and true romance? Do you crave an alpha male with a bit of charm, who is not afraid to pursue our heroine? A woman who is tough and never gives up when life throws her a few setbacks? Then sample Eden Carson’s debut novel, Untamed Journey.

Awards for this Novel:

1. Second place in the Silken Sands Readers’ Choice contest sponsored by the Gulf Coast Chapter of RWA (Romance Writers of America)

2. Quarterfinalist in the ABNA Romance Category for 2012

Here's what reviewers are saying:

Publisher’s Weekly:

“A daring young woman meets her match in this entertaining and sexy romance of the Old West...The romance is well plotted, with plenty of patient seduction to fan the growing flames, and Ruth's nature as a survivor makes her an appealing heroine...Populated by likable and well-developed secondary characters, with suitably evil villains, this romance is a satisfying Old West adventure.”

Mary J. Gramlich, blogger of the Reading Reviewer and Top 1000 Amazon reviewer:

"Do not worry about distractions bothering you while you read this book. Nothing can distract you from consuming every page until the read is over."

Elizabeth Lowell, Bestselling Author of Only His and Beautiful Sacrifice, wrote:

"Sexy and exciting! If you love western historical romances, there's a new writer waiting for your pleasure. With Eden Carson's debut novel, Untamed Journey, you'll get real history, wonderful side characters, and a hero and heroine to love."

4 Stars from SOS Aloha Book Blog:

"Carson delivers a no-holds-barred romantic suspense...She created a multi-dimensional world, ranging from the bandits hiding in the foothills, to the Marshalls tracking their movements, to the bullying tactics in land grabs, and to the train ride where Ruth finds the courage to break free. The transition is seamless as the plot moves from one scene to the other, waiting for the collision of the characters to a satisfactory ending. UNTAMED JOURNEY is Carson's debut ... and she has a long career ahead of her. Recommended read for those who enjoy historical Westerns with true grit."

4 Stars from Night Owl Reviews:

"This is a sweetly sensual story that gradually unfolds to give a glimpse of the hardships and complications of surviving in the relatively untamed West...an enjoyable read."

Orphaned by the Civil War and sold to the highest bidder by her last living relative, Ruth Jameson boards a train to untamed Colorado Territory to meet her new 'husband' - a man twice her age, pursuing money and power from the wrong side of the law. When the man sent to protect Ruth on her journey West turns out to be her biggest threat, Ruth decides to change her fate and sets off into a wild, unknown land to carve a place for herself.

Hired by the Union Pacific to protect their passengers from a rash of armed robberies, Marshal Beauregard Jackson dreams of hanging up his star and devoting himself to ranching and re-building the life and family he lost.

When fate crosses their paths, Jackson's dream takes physical form in Ruth, the bravest woman he has ever met. At first, he just wants to protect her. But that desire quickly turns to one more powerful, passionate, and personal. He will go to any lengths to make her his wife and embark on their own untamed journey of love, loyalty, and longing fulfilled.

Untamed Journey is a classic romance filled with fast-paced action. It's sexy, romantic, and fun with a guaranteed happy ending.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eden Carson
• Release date: Sep 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301275748

Eden Carson

Eden Carson writes action-packed historical westerns, as well as modern-day romantic comedies (under the pen name Zola Joyce). All her stories guarantee lots of action, a heroine and hero with a backbone, and a happy ending!In past lives, she's studied in Brazil, taught ESL in Budapest, and dabbled in hazmat cleanup. She currently develops software in the great state of Texas, with an amazing husband and two wonderful kids.Writing Awards1. (Untamed Journey) Second place in the Silken Sands Readers' Choice contest sponsored by the Gulf Coast Chapter of RWA2. (Untamed Journey) Quarterfinalist in the ABNA Romance Category3. (Widow, Spy, & Lover) Second place in the Laurie Award contest sponsored by the Smoky Mountain Chapter of RWA

Book preview

Chapter 1

Ruth stood motionless while her Aunt Kate did her best to pinch some life back into her pale cheeks. Ruth hadn’t been able to sleep or eat for three days. Not since her aunt had gleefully announced Ruth’s engagement, over afternoon tea, to a stranger twice her age. No wonder her aunt had splurged on sugar for their tea, Ruth thought, looking back to that dreary afternoon.

Kate had apparently fetched a good price for her niece’s virginity.

You‘re too thin by half, Ruthie, girl. And I look ten years older than my years, damn that fool’s War. Kate frowned at her own reflection in the hotel’s looking glass.

Ruth brushed her aunt’s manicured hands away, as mention of the war that took her family from her brought the color into her cheeks that her aunt’s rough fingers had failed to pull up. My father, your brother, fought for a just cause – to protect our way of life. How can you talk like that? Ruth snatched the blue bonnet out of her aunt’s hands and pretended interest in her reflection in the mirror. Ruth saw her Aunt Kate’s eyes narrow in warning.

That War was started to make a profit on bullets and guns and human misery, Kate retorted. "Every cotton mill owner from here to New York now owns the land and cotton with no middle man to reduce their profits. You need to grow up, Ruthie, and face reality. The War was about money and power and nothing else. Just like every war before it was and just like every war after will be. You should be exceedingly grateful to me for landing you a wealthy husband. Living through this War in poverty should have given you a better appreciation for living the next one in money."

Ruth turned her emerald green eyes on her only living relative and tried to curb her temper. She had no one left, after all, but she‘d never believe her father and brother had died for nothing. How can you say that? Papa believed in saving our way of life, our honor, our freedom. He didn’t fight for money, and neither did my brother. That was your way of life, too, before you moved up here.

Her aunt scoffed as she pulled a cracked horsehair brush roughly through Ruth’s rich brown hair. Being from the South never brought me anything but pain and hardship. Your father, God rest his soul, was a fool and an idealist when the men folk stirred themselves up over pride and anger. He chose to be blind to the truth because he didn’t have the strength to go against the town. He should have stayed behind and protected his women and our family farm. Instead that fool got himself killed before firing a shot. And then took your brother with him.

Ruth’s head whipped around at her aunt’s words. That’s a lie. Ruth pulled away from her aunt’s none too gentle ministrations and started braiding her own hair. My father fought bravely and died in battle.

Aunt Kate busied herself fussing with her own henna-dyed curls. No, you silly girl. Your father died of dysentery two days before a shot was fired, believing in his own foolishness as he lay dying in his own filth. Your mother coddled you and told you a sweet lie to spare you.

Ruth paled in the mirror, shutting out the sound of her aunt’s voice. She didn’t know if what her aunt said was truth or lie. Kate always told enough of both that Ruth was never sure of anything, except her aunt’s unswerving ambition and greed. The truth was, Ruth’s father and mother were too kind-hearted to cut off Papa’s only sister from family gatherings, but both struggled to muster any true affection for this woman. Having lived under her roof, under her control, Ruth now fully understood why.

Ruth was startled out of her reverie when a knock sounded on the door of the grand hotel room she and her aunt had shared for the last two nights. Aunt Kate had the door open and a smile on her face – probably the first genuine smile she‘d seen on her aunt’s too thin face since Kate reluctantly took her in two years ago.

Why, Mr. Smith. How nice to see you again. Please, come in. Or would it be bad luck for the proxy groom to see the bride before the wedding? Aunt Kate’s smile turned into a full-fledged laugh at her own cleverness. Jasper Smith joined her, two like-minded souls sharing a laugh at Ruth’s expense.

Ruth had managed to survive the death of her family, near starvation, and more nights hiding in the woods from marauding soldiers and thieves than she cared to remember – all before her sixteenth birthday, when she appeared on her aunt’s doorstep, skinny as a rail. She had endured all this with strength and fortitude and a spark of hope that life would turn around, someday, somehow. But being sold by her own flesh and blood to a perfect stranger smothered that bit of joy like the War between the States never had.

Ruth pretended indifference to the leers Jasper Smith was giving her, as if he‘d be sharing her body this night, instead of her unknown husband. Thank God they had a ten-day journey before that day came, she thought in near panic.

Jasper Smith finally had the decency to look at her face once he‘d stopped laughing. Well, Miss, are you ready yet? He scratched at his scraggly excuse for a beard. You’re not getting any younger or any prettier fussin’ in that there mirror. He grinned slyly. The only thing he loved more than getting under a young miss’s skirt was getting under her skin. And this proper little southern lady was just his type, in both departments. Too bad the boss man would have her first, he thought. He’d like to see that look of shock the first time a man rammed between her legs.

Smith knew Frank Masterson would hurt him bad if he laid a hand on her before getting permission. And although the boss had never before minded sharing women, he’d never had a wife before, either. Men could be funny about wives and Smith might not get to touch her after all, now that he put some thought to the matter.

We‘ll be down in a few minutes, Mr. Smith, Kate reassured him. A girl only gets married once, after all. Only once for the first time, that is, Kate smiled as she met Jasper’s gaze in the mirror. Now leave us be, so I can finish my niece’s hair.

Smith cracked a smile again, as his eyes slowly took in Ruth’s hair, lying half-braided down her back. Your hair looks just fine like that, to my way of thinking. When Ruth glared at him in the bedroom mirror, he pretended chagrin at his rudeness. No disrespect intended, Miss. I just meant that your husband would appreciate such a pretty sight. He’s a lucky man.

If my soon-to-be husband is so appreciative, why didn’t he come himself, instead of sending his hired hand? He’s never even met my aunt, much less me.

Don’t be impertinent, child, Kate interrupted, seeing Smith’s eyes narrow. Frank Masterson is an important and busy man. You can’t expect him to stop everything in hard times like these just to sit on a train for two weeks, making chit chat with you.

He’s too busy to protect me, even? Ruth retorted. You saw the headlines this morning. There’ve been three train robberies in as many weeks since they finished the transcontinental line. One of the passengers was killed!

Don’t you worry, none, little lady, Smith said, patting his holstered revolver. I’m all the protection you need.

But who would protect her from Jasper Smith, Ruth wondered, shivering before she could hide the weakness from his watchful gaze. She bit her tongue and lowered her green eyes as her aunt tugged forcefully on her half-formed braid.

You see? Kate said. You’ll be just fine with a strong man like Mr. Smith to guard you.

Smith tipped his hat at the compliment, wondering if he could scare the girl into silence if he took her before the wedding. But then the thought of Masterson’s reaction at the last man to cross him put enough fear into Smith’s tiny heart to make him content to find a whore tonight after he stood proxy. No skirt was worth a slow, painful death.

I’ll see you ladies downstairs at the altar, then. Smith tipped his hat to Ruth’s hostile stare before turning and leaving, pulling the hotel door shut firmly behind him and dangerous temptation.

Ruth started breathing again at the click of the door closing. She did not like or trust the man her future husband sent to protect her on the trip through the Colorado Territory. She didn’t like the excuse her aunt had made any better, claiming Masterson’s work was more important than picking the future mother of his children. If her fiancé were so concerned with Ruth’s well-being, why hadn’t he come himself? Ruth asked herself once again. Granted, he was nearing fifty, but no one had said anything about the man being in poor health. Ruth was sure her aunt would have pounced on that tidbit and offered to deliver Ruth to the man herself, Indians and outlaws be-damned, if a will reading were forthcoming. The opportunity to have a rich, widowed niece under her control would have Kate herself nailing the coffin lid shut just to hurry things along.

Ruth forced her gaze back to the cloudy mirror to finish her hair. Useless imaginings would get her nowhere.

She had one choice, and one choice only - to face her future and take things as they came, one day at a time. He might not be so bad after all. She had to hold onto that thought or lose what sanity she had left. There were no alternatives. She was educated, but not impressively so. There were hundreds of impoverished girls out there better suited to be someone’s governess. Her father had taught her practical things in the years before the War. She could splint a broken leg or stitch a man’s arm together, but couldn’t speak more than a handful of French. And she didn’t know the right families if she did. She was a Southerner, and no one would let her teach their Northern-born children.

Ruth knew her aunt would never take her back if Ruth brought them so close to their former lifestyle, then threw it all away on what her aunt would consider childish misgivings.

Only Ruth hadn’t been a child for many years now, and her instincts were screaming at her to leave, run far away, anywhere but into the arms of a perfect stranger.

Chapter 2

Beauregard Jackson’s instincts went from quiet to screaming in an instant, causing him to roll headlong down a six foot slope, desperate for cover. The rusty hatchet missed his scalp by a mere three inches, slicing clean through a prickly pear before embedding itself soundly in a dying Juniper. Jackson got two wild shots off with his pistol before rolling to his feet at the bottom of the sandy gulch. The owner of the hatchet took one bullet in the arm without flinching, and barreled into Jackson, knocking him to the ground again.

Jackson’s opponent was a bear of a man, and the lawman struggled against the greater weight, bucking as soon as he felt the man’s weight at his back. Jackson rolled just in time to maneuver on top, pinning the man to the ground by his wounded arm, bearing down with all two hundred pounds of his strength on the fresh bullet wound.

The man screamed his agony and outrage, then nearly dislodged Jackson by brute strength alone. Jackson regained his balance and shoved his left knee into his opponent’s thick neck, immobilizing him for the two precious seconds he needed to pull his hunting knife free and slit the man’s throat.

After meticulously cleaning the blood from his hunting knife, Jackson began riffling through the dead man’s clothing. Aside from a tin of dried out chewing tobacco and spare bullets, he found nothing to indicate where the outlaw and his friends were headed. Jackson recognized the dead man, though. His size alone narrowed his identity – there weren’t many men over six feet and two hundred and fifty pounds in Colorado Territory. Jackson rolled the man over onto his back and got a good look at his left wrist. The scar Jackson himself had given the man eighteen months past confirmed the lawman’s instincts were right. Roy Grafton - long-time child-slaver and whoremaster - had expanded his business into armed robbery.

Jackson shrugged out of his faded Confederate coat and replaced it with the dead man’s tattered vest. Wearing clothes with the familiar scent of its master allowed Jackson to approach the outlaw’s horse with little fuss and noise.

He silently stroked the piebald’s nose, out of habit, but the horse was calm and unimpressed with the stranger going through the saddlebags. Jackson figured the dead man was not the mare’s first owner, and gunshots were probably second nature to her with that brute riding her back.

After emptying the saddlebags, Jackson’s luck improved. Shoved in the very bottom was a carefully folded piece of paper with a crudely drawn map of the territory – with every train track for a hundred miles scratched in. There was no writing to be found, just scratch marks and dates at various points along the railroad tracks. He noted that there were none near any towns or depots, and, in fact, most were as far away from help as possible. He had an idea what this meant, but would wait until he met up with his long-time partner, Old Mike, before changing their plans.

Jackson left the stolen horse behind, but did loosen her tether. He couldn’t risk bringing her along and having her nicker in greeting to the horses of the other gang riders, giving his location away. He hated leaving her behind, but if she were smart, she’d back-track the way she had come. Or better yet, find herself a band of wild horses to join. At least it was autumn and the heat of the summer had passed. There was water in the mountains and the mare was well fed. Good luck, sweet thing, he thought, as he swatted her backside.

After back-tracking nearly a mile to his own mount, Jackson settled in for a long night of one-hour bouts of sleep. He learned during the War how to wake himself on any schedule he chose. He’d also learned sleep deprivation could bring a man down with less trouble than a bullet. When their scout didn’t return, the rest of the outlaws would get nervous, wondering if he’d been taken by Indians, wild animals, or the Law. Jackson had no intention of launching a frontal attack on a group that large. But he could wear them out a bit tonight, making certain they got less sleep than he did.

After circling the outlaws’ camp for nearly a quarter hour, Jackson settled in to take a few shots. After five minutes, he carefully backed away into the dark and found another spot to doze for his allotted hour. Sixty minutes later, Jackson effortlessly roused himself and took aim once more. He didn’t hit anyone, but he made sure not one man got a decent night’s sleep. Once he caught up with the rest of the lawmen the railroad had hired, the outlaws would be easy targets - careless and slow to react to the direct attack the posse’s larger numbers could support.

Chapter 3

After tucking her last piece of well-worn clothing into the satchel Jasper Smith had provided, Ruth hesitated to close the bag. She couldn’t breathe easy with the picture in her mind of Jasper Smith being her only companion and protector for the next two weeks – Then straight into the arms of a man she knew next to nothing about.

She sat on the edge of the bed, stroking the satin coverlet. She ached remembering the feel of her mother’s favorite cotton quilt – the one that had lain on her bed for as long as Ruth could remember. She missed her parents so much she could barely keep from crying. If only her mama were here to tell her what to do, she thought. Or Papa – he always saw the bright side of things, and could just as easily patch up a broken heart with a joke or tall tale as he could set a child’s broken arm.

Ruth wandered over to the window. She wondered if it would be pure suicide to try and shimmy down the vines alongside her window in petticoats and lace. She smiled – she’d no doubt just break her leg and have to set it herself. And then she’d really be trapped in the lone company of Jasper Smith.

An insistent pounding on the door startled her out of her reverie. Ruth set her shoulders back and grabbed her satchel off the bed. She was determined not to be a coward, not ever again. She’d lived in fear through the four long years since losing her parents. She’d promised Papa not to be afraid. It was time she lived up to that promise.

Chapter 4

Frank Masterson silently promised himself this would be the last – the absolute last - whore he’d take up with, as he lugged her lifeless but still warm body into the alley behind the saloon. He paused to catch his breath and wipe the sweat that was dripping into his light blue eyes. She sure was heavy for someone so young, he thought resentfully, as he carted her down another flight of rickety stairs.

He cursed as he stumbled and jammed his shoulder into the side of the clapboard building. Women were all greedy and clingy, to his way of thinking, but this one could cause him no end of trouble. He’d barely smacked her and the tiny bit of a girl went flying into the table edge. He hadn’t meant to kill her – just shut her whining mouth for five damned minutes. He hadn’t paid to hear her whine.

He’d soon have a wife for that purpose.

Masterson chuckled. He’d have to be more patient with the wife, he warned himself. He couldn’t stand a skittish woman ducking around corners every damned time he walked into the room. His mother had been just like that, which is why the weak bit of skirt hadn’t survived his father’s hand past Masterson’s eighth birthday. But he had survived his old man and outdone the bastard tenfold.

As he settled the rapidly-cooling corpse into the buckboard, Masterson fantasized about Pa turning in his grave at his only son’s success. He glanced over his shoulder, then quickly covered the back of the wagon with the piece of canvas he’d stolen from the blacksmith’s shop. He tied it down and prayed the wind didn’t kick up tonight. He tucked a last bit of lace under the canvas and pulled his hat down over his face. He wasn’t known in this town, but the West was smaller than most people knew, and he was always careful.

He climbed up on the buckboard and slowly rolled out of town. It wasn’t yet sunrise, and most of the lonely cowboys and miners had been carousing until three. There was no one about as Masterson drove around the back side of town, and turned the team toward the lone cemetery. If he were lucky, there’d be an open grave he could toss her in and cover her up just a bit. If he weren’t so lucky, he’d maybe have to dig up someone fresh and toss them in together.

Some lucky bastard just might get a whore to warm him up in Hell, he muttered under his breath, figuring he could do worse himself when his time was up.

Chapter 5

Time’s up Halper, Mike shouted to be heard over the rising wind. We’re coming in.

Mike cocked his well-oiled musket before whispering to his silent companion. Don’t suppose they’re gonna surprise me on my birthday and come out nicely?

Jackson cracked the barest hint of a smile. Twenty dollars says they’ve already left.

What the hell? Old Mike dribbled a mouthful of tobacco juice on his snakeskin boots as his toothless smile dropped open in surprise. He whispered right back at Jackson. We’ve been here all night. Them city lawmen ain’t much use tracking, but they can’t have missed three mounted men going out the back. You and me took the front. Ain’t nobody got past me on my watch, and the best Injun scout couldn’t crawl past you on a moonless night in the pourin’ down rain.

Relax, Old Man. I let them leave less than twenty minutes ago. We can’t arrest them yet, no matter what our city friends out back think. We don’t have enough proof to convict them of robbery much less murder. We need to catch them in the act. And now I know where they’re headed. Jackson pulled a scrap of paper out of his coat pocket and slid it through the dirt for Mike’s inspection.

Take a look at this, Jackson ordered. It’s a map showing the way to a crossroads with the Union Pacific rail line. I got it off the scout after he missed my scalp with a hatchet. It’s got tomorrow’s date on it.

Didn’t think any of them boys knew how to write, Old Mike mumbled under his breath. He examined the hastily scratched dates and realized they matched the string of robberies they’d been hired to stop.

They don’t, Jackson whispered back. Joshua Halper and Bear Standish both had to make their mark when they were arrested two years back. Then there’s the Mexican. His English is broken, so can’t see him as the author.

So your hunch was right. There’s someone else been planning these train robberies all along.

Seems so, Jackson replied.

You figure the head honcho’s gonna show his face this time? Mike quietly asked.

Maybe, he shrugged. It’s a lot of cash money to trust to outlaws, no matter how afraid they are of you.

Those tracks are pretty close to the territorial border, Mike observed. Be mighty tempting to just keep riding into Indian Territory and take your chances. If this boss man ain’t the type to get his hands dirty, can’t figure he’d follow them.

Could hire someone to do it, though, Jackson suggested, running his hands through his short black hair.

I suppose, Mike replied. But it’d cost a pretty penny to keep a band like that loyal. Good thing your mama brought you up right, my boy.

Jackson cracked the barest excuse for a smile. Let’s make sure I’m right and no one got left behind to slow us down.

Even Bear Standish ain’t dumb enough to leave just one man to stop us. He might get lucky and make your mama cry, but he’d need another two for me. Old Mike chuckled. He didn’t worry about keeping his voice down, knowing after ten years of following his partner that no one left in the night or stayed behind that Jackson didn’t know about. He’d bet his last night with a woman on it.

Old Mike grinned at that happy thought. Not wanting to miss out on any slim chances at the ripe old age of sixty-one, he whispered back to Jackson. You take the left, just in case.

Chapter 6

Ruth slid across the narrow passenger bench, as far to the left as she could manage without falling off the edge. She quickly wedged her carpet bag on her right side, effectively preventing Jasper Smith from coming in physical contact with her, even though he forced her to share the seat with him.

Every time she caught him ogling her, she tried her best to ignore the chill that ran down her spine. It’ll be over soon, she kept telling herself. This train ride was the last leg of her journey, and she could only cling to the frail hope that her husband would respect her wish to never again lay eyes on Smith.

Smith grinned slyly at the girl’s efforts, not fooled for a moment by her attempt at nonchalance. He could bide his time. Let the skittish miss take comfort in the presence of the other passengers, he thought, and it’d be that much easier when he caught her alone.

You know, Mrs. Masterson, I been your soon-to-be husband’s right hand man for goin’ on twenty years, now. Knew him as a kid. We lived on the streets, even. Survived all kinds of horrors I wouldn’t repeat to a sweet thing like you. But it kept us close. Goin’ that far back together – you can’t buy that kind of loyalty. And you can’t marry it, neither. He guffawed at his own chatter, not expecting a response from Ruth, and not getting one either.

A white-haired gentleman smiled in sympathy at Ruth’s obvious efforts to avoid any physical contact with Jasper Smith. At a subtle nudge from his wife, he leaned across the aisle and took Ruth’s hand. Don’t you pay any mind to your companion, my dear. We men can be purely uncivilized until we come across a real lady, and she reminds us of our proper place. With Ruth’s small hand held in his, he stared directly at Smith, as he spoke his warning.

Smith snorted in disgust, not the least bit intimidated by a dandified threat from an old man. Mister, let me tell you some stories of real men. Take Missy’s husband here. Darn near single-handedly killed a band of Arapaho back in ‘64, when them savages tried to stop good white folk from settling here.

The old woman visibly blanched at this news and quickly averted her eyes. Ruth knew when someone wasn’t telling her the entire story, and the old woman across from her had that look now. She’d seen that look growing up, as good Southern gentlemen tried to protect the ladies in their life from harm. Unfortunately, Ruth quickly learned that once a girl’s men were dead and gone in War, she found out about all the ugly things never spoken out loud in mixed company.

When the silence grew, Smith stood up in disgust at the weak company. He’d been expecting gratitude at Masterson’s bravery against the Indians. It was just like city folk to want a warrior when death was knocking, but turn their noses up when they were tucked safe and sound on a speeding train. How did they think the tracks below them got laid clean through Indian lands? he thought bitterly. Smith stormed off without saying another word.

Ruth leaned forward and gazed directly into the elderly woman’s eyes. What is it? I need to know what you’re not telling me. Ruth’s eyes silently begged for the truth. Once again, she had no one but herself to rely on, she thought tiredly, coming quickly to the conclusion that her unknown husband was not going to be the protector she had dreamed of.

The old woman exchanged glances with her companion, who quickly nodded his agreement. Tell her what you know, Betsy. She’ll find out soon enough. It’ll be better coming from you.

Betsy pursed her lips in distaste and quickly told the tale everyone in the Colorado Territory knew by heart. "That band of Arapaho Mr. Smith talked about was massacred in their sleep. The men were off hunting. When a group of whites arrived disappointed at no fight, they spilled blood just the same - old men, women, and even children. Everyone was killed. If it hadn’t been for the fact that the Army came across the camp before the Braves even returned from hunting, no one would know what really happened. The Army, fearing reprisal, then systematically tracked down the Indian hunters and killed or imprisoned them to prevent retaliation."

Ruth felt sick and defeated, fearing her husband had something to do with this. Didn’t the Army arrest the white men for murder?

The Army Colonel in charge claims he tried, but by the time his scouts had returned the Indian men to the reservation, the white men’s tracks were long-since washed away.

Betsy patted Ruth’s hand in comfort. I’m sure your companion was just telling tales, my dear. I know it’s hard to believe, but out here, there are some who think killing any Indian no matter the cause is just fine and good. He probably thought being from the East that you’d be terrified of any Indian, and you’d be impressed.

Ruth’s color didn’t return. She feared the woman’s words were false and said to comfort her, when there was no true comfort to be had. She politely excused herself and headed down the aisle, hoping some fresh air would clear the fear out and help her think.

As she stepped outside onto the tiny platform at the end of the car, she found her peace of mind once again destroyed by the presence of Jasper Smith. The man leaned against the iron rails, smoking a cigar not two feet to her right.

He attacked before she could turn and re-enter the car.

Missy, them weak ones don’t last long out here. They die young or turn tail and run back East to more civilized folk. Smith turned and spat out the side of the speeding train. He chuckled openly when Ruth cringed in disgust.

You, little wifey, had best grow a tougher hide, if you expect to keep your husband interested, he added, scratching his thinning brown hair.

Since I’m not your wife, Mr. Smith, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me that. These nice people might get the wrong idea about this proxy marriage. Ruth vowed to maintain her bravado at any cost in front of this man.

His eyes narrowed. "Well, ain’t you a delicate southern lady