The Smith Hotel, in Troy, Kansas, appeared ahead. Myles rode straight to its large barn and jumped to the ground. One man held the reins of his next horse, while another yanked the mochila from the saddle to throw it over the new one. “I need a second horse,” Myles explained as Delsie stopped her mare beside them. The two men gaped openly at her. The man holding the new horse’s reins recovered first. “What’s wrong with this one, Patton?” Myles hurried over to help Delsie dismount. “Nothing. But I need another horse—for the lady here.” When the man shot Myles a bewildered look, he added, “I’ll explain later, Rogers. Just get us another horse. She’ll pay to ride it.” Thankfully, the man brooked no more complaint and raced into the barn to collect the second horse. Myles climbed into the saddle again, turning an expectant gaze on the hotel. Right on cue, a young lady exited the building and ran toward him. In each hand she held one of the fried pastries the Troy station was known for. “Thank you,” Myles said, accepting the treats. He immediately handed one down to Delsie, then bit off a bite of the chewy, sweet dough. “Delicious,” he murmured. Delsie sniffed at the pastry, then took a delicate bite. Myles rolled his eyes at her prim manners. Did she honestly think she could make it across half the country when she couldn’t even— The unfinished question died within his mind as he watched the fried treat disappear between her lips in less than a minute. A startled laugh escaped his mouth. If Delsie heard it, she didn’t react. She simply stood there waiting for Rogers, looking as imperial and composed as a duchess, as if she hadn’t just devoured her pastry in two bites. Well, I’ll be, Myles thought with a rueful shake of his head. She’d clearly been starving, though she hadn’t let on one bit. He glanced at his own half-eaten pastry and extended it toward her. “No, thank you,” she responded politely, though she wouldn’t quite meet his gaze as she sipped water from the canteen one of the riders had found for her. At that moment, Rogers led her new horse out of the barn. Delsie handed him a few dollars before he helped her into the saddle. Myles kneed his horse forward and they were off again. The next four relay stations brought more of the same routine, minus the pastries. He’d ride in first, tell the men he needed a second horse, then he’d wait while they gawked a few seconds at Delsie before scrambling to collect and saddle another mount. Delsie seemed to take it all in stride, paying for the horses and climbing back into the saddle each time without hesitation and even offering courteous smiles to the other Express workers. When they reached their fifth station, though, Myles could see she was beginning to wilt like a flower in the height of summer. Once astride her new horse, she paused and squeezed her eyes shut. He knew from his first few Express runs the discomfort of being in a saddle for so long. But it couldn’t be helped—not if he was to deliver the mail on time and not if she planned to ride this way from here to California. Elijah left his shoulder to go hunt for a mouse or a smaller bird, reminding Myles of the hardtack he kept in his jacket. The Troy pastries and the promise of a full meal at Guittard’s was sufficient food for himself, but he imagined Delsie wasn’t used to such a long day with so little to eat. With the ease of practice, he managed to remove the hardtack without slowing his horse. “Hungry?” Delsie took a long moment to answer, her hand rubbing at the back of her neck. She’d been doing that more and more the past two hours. “Yes...thank you.” She took the piece of hardtack he handed her, and without hesitation or inquiry as to what it was, she bit into it. After she’d finished off that piece, he extended the other to her. “Aren’t you hungry?” she asked, her gaze moving from his hand to his face. He couldn’t recall ever seeing another woman with such dark blue eyes. They were nearly black, like her hair, but still blue enough to add contrast. “I don’t usually eat much till I get to Guittard’s. This is just for emergencies.” “If you’re sure...” When he nodded, she took the rest of the biscuit from him. Again, she lifted her hand to rub at her neck as she ate. She had to be sweating bullets in the thick fabric of her high-collared dress, and her silly hat barely shaded her eyes. Myles reached for his canteen, an idea forming. “You got a handkerchief with you?” Delsie reached into one sleeve and removed a white piece of cloth. “Yes, why?” “Can I see it?” She studied him quizzically, then handed him the handkerchief. Leaning slightly to the side, Myles poured a little water from the canteen onto the cloth and squeezed out some of the excess. “Try putting this around your neck. It oughta help keep you cool.” He pressed the damp cloth into her gloved hand. Delsie obeyed, draping the wet handkerchief against the exposed skin at the base of her neck. An audible sigh of contentment reached his ears and her eyes fell shut. “That feels...wonderful.” Myles allowed himself a smile at her obvious relief, especially since she couldn’t see him. “You’re welcome.” She opened her eyes to look at him. “Thank you.” The words were quiet and genuine, reminding him of the woman herself. At least when she wasn’t talking a mile a minute. To her credit, though, she’d spoken very little the past few hours, only breaking the silence between them with an occasional question about the landscape or the next relay station. “How far have we come?” she asked, looking around them at the rolling prairie. The sunshine had held and the blue sky arched bright and cloudless overhead. “When we reach Seneca in a few more hours, we’ll have come eighty miles from Saint Joseph.” “So we’ll have forty-five more to go after that?” He tipped his head in agreement, impressed with her quick figuring. “Does that mean you aren’t going to leave me behind, then?” Her words were coated with as much teasing as they were challenge. Myles cut her a look before facing forward again with a grin. “We’ll see, Miss Radford. We’ll see.” * * * “That’s Guittard’s Station there.” Myles’s words took a moment to penetrate past the fog inside Delsie’s mind caused by the endless riding and movement and pain. She lifted her chin from where it drooped nearly to her chest. Ahead of them in the evening sun, past the woods and creek, she spied a two-story wooden structure with a front porch and plenty of windows flanking its sides. A large barn was also visible. While the place might appear rustic standing beside the ornate hotels back East or her own brick house back in Pennsylvania, Delsie couldn’t recall a more welcomed sight. Her first day on the trail was finally at an end. They rode to the stable, where Myles dismounted first before coming to assist her. She was too exhausted in mind and body to pay much heed to the open stares from the other Express workers who’d come to collect the horses. She’d grown accustomed to the surprised looks or words exchanged at each station along the route when the men discovered her riding beside Myles and on a Pony Express horse, no less. Myles lifted her to the ground, but when he released her waist, Delsie found her legs would no longer support her. Her knees crumbled beneath her riding habit, and she would have fallen onto the hard-packed dirt if Myles hadn’t gripped her arm. “Careful,” he murmured, his voice surprisingly gentle. “You’re likely a little stiff by now.” Stiff?
