for a fee until successful homesteaders could return for them, but could they be trusted? Alice reasoned it would be better to make friends with other settlers who were leaving their possessions in Boomer Town with family members and barter with them to watch over hers, too.
Before heading to the corral, Alice walked back to her tent and changed from her calico dress into a dark-colored blouse and the divided skirt she’d packed for riding, for she’d want to try out a horse’s paces and manners before laying down any of her precious cash.
“Yes, ma’am,” the horse trader said, when she arrived at the corral and told him that she wanted to buy a horse for the run. “I can give you your pick of this corral for four hundred dollars.”
Shock rendered Alice momentarily speechless. “Four hundred dollars? B-But these look like mustangs!” she sputtered. The handsome bay and the sweet chestnut mare no longer paced the pen with the others. Four hundred dollars would be a considerable dent in the cash she had left that had to last until she had a dwelling built and crops in.
She closed her eyes for a moment in an attempt to stay calm. “I was told to expect a price more in the range of two hundred, and that was for a saddle-broken horse.” These horses looked as if they’d been captured only yesterday after a lifetime of running loose over the prairie. If only she’d come yesterday, maybe she could have bought the bay or the chestnut...
“Horseflesh’s in great demand, what with the Land Rush approachin’,” he told her, his face smug. “Price is only goin’ up in the future, so you’d be wise t’ buy today.”
“I assume that includes a saddle and bridle?” she asked stiffly, knowing the answer even as she asked.
The trader shook his head. “Bridle an’ saddle are a hundred dollars extra,” the man said with a smirk, nodding toward a pile of used cavalry saddles that looked much the worse for wear, with frayed stirrup leathers and girths, many with cracks and holes in the leather between the pommel and cantle. He seemed to be enjoying her distress, the scoundrel.
“Guess you could always use shank’s mare,” he added, with a meaningful glance toward her legs.
Alice willed herself not to take offense. Though she’d heard several were planning to do just that—walk—such a plan was the purest folly, a sure way to end up with nothing. She suspected the horse trader was trying to use her ignorance to sell her a nag at an exorbitant fee, but it was useless to accuse him of that. He’d likely only raise the price.
“Sir, you are no gentleman to try to take advantage of a lady like that,” said a man’s voice in a pronounced Southern drawl. “And with such inferior stock fit only for carrion.”
“Who asked you?” the horse trader demanded angrily.
Alice ignored the trader, whirling to see a tall, distinguished-looking man who appeared to be in his forties, dressed in the dark blue uniform of a soldier.
“Private Bryson Reeves, ma’am,” the man said, sweeping off a forage cap as he gave her a courtly bow. “I’m part of the Security Patrol tasked with assisting and protecting homesteaders before and after the Land Rush.” He had ginger-colored hair, with eyes that might have been green or blue-green, she wasn’t sure, for he squinted against the sun as he straightened again.
His manner was as charming as his face was well-favored, and she certainly welcomed his intervention. She hadn’t heard anything about a Security Patrol, but maybe the officer could persuade the greedy horse trader to be more reasonable.
“Private Reeves, I am Miss Hawthorne,” Alice said. “Am I correct in thinking that the price this man’s asking for his stock is outrageous?”
“You are, Miss Hawthorne, ma’am,” he agreed, flashing her a broad smile. “I’m honored to meet you. If you will allow me, I will show you a selection of much superior mounts, fit for a lady and fleet of foot. If you will follow me just a little ways?”
He offered her his arm, but since they’d only just met, she pretended not to see it and said, “Lead on, Private Reeves.”
He took her to another pen at the other end of Boomer Town, one in which half a dozen tall, long-legged horses paced restlessly, snorting and showing the whites of their eyes. “Kentucky Thoroughbreds, ma’am, brought here especially for their speed. They will have no equal on the day of the run and will leave poorer specimens, such as the ones in the corral we just left, eating their dust. Am I not right, gentlemen?”
A trio of soldiers—dressed just as Private Reeves was, of about the same age and also bearing the insignia of privates—and a fourth man—dressed in denim trousers and a striped shirt and leather vest—separated themselves from the fence they had been leaning on at the far side of the corral and came toward her.
“My comrades-in-arms, Miss Hawthorne, Privates McGraw, Strafford and Wellington, and our friend, Lemuel Harkinson. It is he who had the brilliant idea of bringing Thoroughbreds from Kentucky to sell for the Land Rush to those smart enough to seize the advantage their proven speed can afford.”
“Ma’am, I am enchanted to meet you,” Harkinson said. “I would be delighted to put you in possession of one of my excellent Thoroughbreds.”
Having a mount bred to race would give her an advantage, Alice thought, but her experience with the other trader had made her wary. “They’re handsome animals,” she agreed, for it was certainly the truth. “And what are you asking for one of your horses?”
“Five hundred dollars,” he said, sinking her hopes with those three words. “And worth every penny, when you consider the excellent homestead you’ll be able to claim by riding one of them. Why, it’ll be like riding the winged Pegasus of ancient mythology.”
“No doubt,” she agreed. Her body felt heavy with disappointment. “But I’m afraid it’s beyond my means, sir. Good day. And thank you, Private Reeves.”
She started to turn away, but Reeves put a gentle hand on her wrist, detaining her. “Miss Hawthorne, it would be my very great honor to buy one of Mr. Harkinson’s horses for you,” he said, bowing again.
She felt her jaw drop open. “Private Reeves, that’s quite chivalrous of you, but it’s out of the question. I could not possibly accept such an off—”
“Please, ma’am,” he said, interrupting her with such a winning smile that she could not be offended. “Where my fellow soldiers and I come from,” he said, his drawl thick as Georgia clay, “we were raised to protect ladies, especially ladies such as yourself who are...on your own, I take it? Please, let me know if I have mistaken the situation, but if you are without the protection of a husband or father or brother, my mother would have wanted me to assist you in any way I could. If you won’t let me give the horse to you, consider it a loan. We can settle up later, once you’re turning a profit on the land I’m sure one of these mounts can gain for you.”
There was no way she could accept, even when the man invoked his mother and an atmosphere of Southern courtliness. The more sensible part of her questioned how a mere soldier could afford a gift such as the one he proposed, even if he was taken with Alice, as his expression suggested.
“As I said—”
“But just consider, dear lady—”
“You heard the lady,” a firmly spoken masculine voice said behind her, a voice she’d heard before. A voice that was very welcome right at this moment. “She’s not interested. Good day, gentlemen. Miss Hawthorne, I’ll have Gideon find you the proper mount,” Elijah Thornton said, “and at a reasonable price, too.”
* * *
The other men’s gazes felt like four sharp daggers between Elijah’s shoulder blades as he escorted Alice away from them. Deciding to focus on Alice rather than worry that he’d just made enemies, he watched the lady beside him pull herself together.
“Thank you for coming along when you did,” Alice said once they’d put more distance between themselves