back over his shoulder, he made sure Delsie guided her mount behind his. The only telltale sign of her embarrassment at straddling the mare could be seen in the pink blush that stained her cheeks. But she kept her ridiculously flowered hat tilted high, even as they rode down the street past the few people out and about at this hour.
“Wait here,” he told her when they reached the office. He swung down and went inside to collect the mail. “Morning,” he called to the man at the counter.
“Morning, Patton. Here’s the mail from back East.” The man handed over the leather mochila or knapsack, which fit over the horse’s saddle and contained the mail inside four padlocked boxes.
Myles grunted in response. If he hurried out, maybe the other fellow wouldn’t notice Delsie outside. He figured the less he had to explain about his tagalong passenger, the better. He exited the office, the mochila in hand, but the other man followed him outside.
“Looks like a nice day for a—” The man’s friendly remark died the moment his eyes caught sight of Delsie. “Morning, ma’am.” He removed his hat. “Are you in need of directions?”
The color in her face increased as she shook her head. “No. I’m waiting for Mr. Patton.”
Myles felt the man’s gaze boring into his back as he placed the knapsack over his horse’s saddle.
“Didn’t know you had yourself a new girl, Patton...”
Myles scowled and mounted his horse again. “I don’t,” he bit off the words. “Let’s go, Miss Radford.” He swung the animal around. “We ride full out down the hill to the river. The ferry will be waiting.”
Not stopping to see if she followed or not, he charged his horse forward. They tore through the street at a full gallop. The boom of the cannon sounded behind him, signaling to the ferry that he was coming. He and his mount raced down the hill. The wind tore at his face and hat, and he had to keep a hand on the brim to keep from losing it. A few passersby cheered as he rode past and he lifted his chin in greeting.
At the river, he jerked his horse to a stop. The beast danced with energy from the spirited ride. Myles twisted in the saddle to see Delsie gallop toward him. Just when he thought her mare would ram into him, she yanked back on the reins and stopped the animal. Her hat had slipped off her hair to hang down her back by its ribbons, but her blue eyes, the color of deep twilight, glittered.
“Do you always ride this fast?” she asked, her voice breathless.
“No. Only when we’re being pursued by Indians.” Myles climbed out of the saddle. “It’s mostly for show—like my outfit here.”
He went to help her dismount. As he placed his hands on her trim waist and assisted her to the ground, Delsie frowned, her eyebrows dipping toward her pert nose. Did she look down on him and his lowly station in life as Cynthia had? Myles pulled his hands away and practically dropped her onto her feet.
“I know you’re trying to scare me, Mr. Patton,” she said, bracing herself against the saddle.
He tipped his hat up. “Come again?”
“With your remark about Indians.” She righted her own hat and tucked a few strands of hair back into the elaborate coil at the back of her neck. “I told you I am aware of the dangers, but I’m still intent on reaching my sister for her wedding on the twenty-second.”
She knew of the dangers? Myles resisted the impulse to laugh at her naïveté. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you.” He took the reins of his horse and started toward the waiting boat. “Come on. It’s time to board the ferry.”
Once the mounts were situated on the boat and it had pulled away from the bank, Myles excused himself.
“Where are you going?” Delsie asked, a note of alarm in her voice.
“I’m not up and leaving. Like I said, this uniform is only for show. We always change on the boat.”
Her face relaxed, though he noticed lines of worry still pinched her eyes.
“You ever been on a boat before?”
She shook her head. If a short ferry crossing made her this nervous, how in the world did she expect to survive the next eighteen days? Myles battled the urge to ask the captain to take Delsie back to the Saint Joseph shore. He’d given his word to accompany her all the way to Guittard’s, though, and he’d do it. Not only because his stepfather had ingrained in him the importance of integrity, but Myles had also sworn an oath as a rider to conduct himself honestly.
He ducked into the room the Express riders used for changing and traded the fancy uniform and scabbard for a trail-worn shirt and a buckskin jacket and trousers, though he kept his Colt revolvers. Despite loving Cynthia, he’d always loathed the idea of having to dress up if they married. He much preferred the ease and comfort of his riding clothes, and the absence of stiff collars and scratchy fabrics.
When he emerged from the changing room, he was surprised to find Delsie standing at the railing. Her gloved hands held the metal rail in a vise-like grip, but she stood there nonetheless, her face turned toward the western horizon.
“Is trying new things a first for you?” he couldn’t help asking.
She glanced at him, without loosening her hold on the railing. “Is it that obvious?” Her lips curved into a crooked smile. “Lillian, my sister, was the adventurous one. I was more content to stay near the house or our governess. But eventually she would coax me to join her in some harebrained scheme, in which one or both of us ended up dirty or in tears.”
A feeling of loneliness cut through Myles at the familial picture she presented. His parents had both died of illness before he turned five. He’d been taken in by his stepfather after that. Charles Patton had lost his wife and new baby a few months earlier. The man soon became the only father Myles could remember—so much so that he’d taken on Charles’s last name as his own. His stepfather had taught him everything he knew about horses and had encouraged Myles’s dream of owning a horse ranch one day. Even five years after his death, Myles still mourned the man and the loss of the only family he’d ever known.
He cleared his throat to ward off the emotion collecting there. “Does your sister know you’re coming to her wedding?”
Delsie shook herself as though she’d been caught up in memories, as well. “No...she doesn’t. I considered writing, but when I heard the mail wasn’t necessarily getting through out West, I decided to go in person instead. I didn’t want to risk a letter not reaching her in time.”
“Suppose that makes sense.”
The ferry bumped against the shoreline. Myles led his horse down the gangplank, Delsie and her mare following behind. “Welcome to Kansas,” he said drily.
“What do we do now?” Delsie asked as he assisted her into the saddle again.
“We ride.”
Myles climbed onto his horse and urged it forward, whistling for his sparrow hawk, Elijah. He’d let the bird fly off earlier, as was his custom, to collect some breakfast of its own. A few seconds later, the brown-and-blue hawk swooped over the wharf and landed on Myles’s shoulder. The bird would remain there most of the trip, except when Myles changed horses at the different swing stations or when it felt more inclined
