Cheyenne Wife. Judith Stacy

      Fredericks paused, and he and Sykes looked at each other as if considering the point she’d just made.

      “Somebody get Sam over here,” Sykes called over Lily’s head, then said to her, “Sam Becker. He’s the blacksmith that took care of your horses and wagon.”

      She glanced behind her and saw one of the men lean out the door and yell.

      “Let’s see now, what else?” Fredericks squinted at the page. “Oh, yeah. There’s the funeral. Making the casket, digging the grave, of course, carving your pa’s name into the cross.”

      “I did the carving myself,” Sykes said to Lily and grinned proudly. “Thought it was a nice touch, if I do say so myself.”

      “Well, I guess that’s about it. So there you have it. That’s everything,” Fredericks announced, closing the ledger with a snap. “As soon as you pay up, Miss St. Claire, you’re free to be on your way.”

      Lily’s breath came in quick little heaves, making her heart pounded harder in her chest. She owed these men money? A lot of money? And they wouldn’t let her leave this retched place until she paid them?

      “But—but I don’t have any money,” Lily said, spreading her hands.

      The two men exchanged a troubled look, then both shook their heads.

      “Well, now,” Sykes said. “I guess we got ourselves a problem.”

      “I guess we do,” Fredericks agreed.

      A little murmur went through the gathering of men situated behind Lily. They’d overheard every word spoken in the room, knew it was a private conversation, yet they’d stayed as if she and her plight were their morning entertainment. Lily’s embarrassment deepened.

      Fredericks looked up suddenly and smiled broadly. “Morning, Sam. Come on in here.”

      Sam Becker, the blacksmith, murmured a greeting to the men in the room, then shouldered his way past Lily to stand beside Fredericks and Sykes. She’d seen him around the fort, but had never been introduced. He was young, short, thick chested, with muscular arms and meaty hands. He was always sweating.

      Fredericks opened the ledger once more, then gave Becker a rundown on Lily’s situation. Becker looked over the older man’s shoulder and nodded.

      “I don’t think it’s fair that I be charged for boarding my horses when they were stolen while in your care,” Lily said, trying to remain calm.

      Becker looked up at Lily and dragged the back of his hand across his damp brow, leaving a smudged trail of dirt all the way across. He shrugged. “Knock a dollar off my bill,” he said to Fredericks.

      “A dollar?” Lily gasped.

      Fredericks made a notation in the ledger, then presented it to Lily. “There’s your total, Miss St. Claire.”

      Her eyes widened. She felt light-headed. It was a fortune. An absolute fortune. How would she ever manage to pay it?

      “I—I have the wagon,” she said and heard the desperation in her own voice. “Would you take that in trade?”

      Fredericks and Sykes turned to Becker. He shook his head.

      “That wagon of yours ain’t worth what it’d take to roll it off a cliff,” he said to Lily, shaking his head sadly. “Whoever stole your stuff ripped the canvas all to hell— Pardon me for saying so, ma’am. It’s tore up real bad on the inside, too. Running gear’s not much better.”

      “But what about my belongings?” Lily offered hopefully. “Surely the vandals left something of value I could trade with.”

      Becker shrugged. “All that’s left inside is a bunch of fancy dresses, some dishes, books—nothing that’s worth nothing.”

      “Those dresses were designed and sewn by the finest seamstress in the East,” Lily insisted. “And the china is a pattern designed specifically for my family, sent all the way from—”

      “You got anything of real value?” Fredericks asked her, cutting her off. “Tools? Whiskey?”

      “Well…no,” Lily admitted.

      “Huh…” Fredericks stroked his chin and looked back and forth between Sykes and Becker. “What you reckon we ought to do with her?” he asked them.

      The three men gazed at Lily and it took all her willpower not to blush.

      “How’s your cooking?” Sykes asked.

      “Well, I don’t actually cook,” Lily said, then forced a hopeful smile. “I supervise cooks.”

      Fredericks shook his head. “You got any sort of a trade?”

      “No, not exactly,” Lily admitted.

      “Well, what can you do?” Becker asked, looking her up and down.

      “I can paint—I’m especially gifted with watercolors—and I embroider,” Lily announced. She drew herself up straighter. “I can plan a party for a hundred people, supervise a large domestic staff—”

      “We’re not planning to have no parties any time soon,” Sykes said.

      “And our domestic staff?” Becker said. “We gave them the summer off.”

      A round of chuckles erupted from the men gathered in the trade room behind Lily. She blushed red, the heat burning her cheeks.

      The laughter was followed by a long, uncomfortable silence as the three men continued to look at Lily, assessing her value.

      “She can’t do anything,” Fredericks proclaimed, sounding the death kneel on Lily’s worth. “She’s too small to do any real work, she’s got no trade, no skills.”

      Becker and Sykes nodded in agreement.

      Lily’s embarrassment deepened because they were right. She really was of no value here in the West.

      Yet might that work in her favor? Hope sprang in Lily’s thoughts. Since she was so obviously of no value to anyone here at the fort, would they simply let her leave, let her go on her way, knowing they couldn’t possibly recoup their money?

      “I know people—wealthy people—in Saint Louis,” Lily said, her spirits lifting. “If you’ll just let me leave here, I’ll send your money back—every penny—as soon as I set foot in the city. I swear I will.”

      “Naw,” Fredericks said, shaking his head. “That’s not a good idea.”

      “How do we know you’d really send it?” Sykes proposed, then added, “No offense, Miss St. Claire.”

      “We need the money before you leave,” Fredericks said, announcing it with a finality that caused Lily’s stomach to jerk into a tighter knot.

      Lily’s mind spun. Her father’s business associates, friends in Saint Louis would send the money to her here at the fort. Aunt Maribel would gladly do the same. But it would take weeks—months, even—for her message requesting the money to be delivered and the funds sent to her here at the fort.

      Revulsion tightened around her heart. She couldn’t—absolutely could not—stay at this fort for that length of time.

      Mr. Sykes looked at her one more time, then sighed heavily and said, “Well, I guess there’s only one thing we can do.”

      Lily’s hopes soared. She leaned forward trying to hear the three men as they crowded together and whispered. She prayed—desperately—that the men would take pity on her and simply let her leave.

      “All right, then, it’s settled,” Sykes said when the huddle broke up. “Here’s what we’ve decided to do for you, Miss St. Claire. We’ve decided to set you up in business, right here at the fort.”

      “Business?” Lily asked, stunned.