Page 1 of Luna

Chapter One

May 1914

Eastern Oregon

“Oh, gracious!” Luna Campanelli pressed a hand to the top of her head to keep her hat from blowing away in the stout wind whipping around her as she dashed across the street. Her other hand clamped onto her ballooning skirts, hoping they wouldn’t turn into a sail and pull her back in the direction she’d come.

What had possessed her to surrender to her curiosity and step off the train an hour ago? She should have remained seated in the passenger car where she’d traveled all the way from Chicago instead of deciding to stretch her legs and explore.

“All aboard!” the conductor called as Luna hiked her skirts and raced across the platform at the train depot. She accepted a hand from the porter up the steps of the passenger car, hurried inside, and plopped into her seat with a relieved breath.

Disheveled from her hasty return to the depot after wandering around the town of Baker City, she maneuvered the basket she’d carried over her arm onto her lap, pushed in the hairpins slipping from her hair, and adjusted the pin holding her hat in place.

The realization that she hadn’t missed the train sank in, and Luna relaxed. Scooting back in the seat, she released another pent-up breath. It had felt so good to get out and walk in the fresh spring air. She’d planned to only be gone thirty minutes, forty at most, but she’d happened upon a dress shop full of marvelous gowns.

Luna had stepped inside to look around, interested in comparing the styles there to those her cousin’s wife crafted in her shop in Pendleton, located almost a hundred miles to the north. Then she’d stopped by a crystal shop selling beautiful pieces of glassware. She’d purchased a delicate bud vase etched with twining flowers and had it gift wrapped. Her final stop had been at the bakery, where a glance at the clock on the wall as she made her purchase had assured her she was in peril of missing the train lest she rush.

So, she had.

Luna had darted through town like a wild girl instead of a grown woman with a sensible head on her shoulders.

However, she doubted she was the first or the last female to sprint through Baker City toward the depot. If there hadn’t been so many charming shops distracting her, she wouldn’t have been so tardy making her way back to the train.

At least that was the excuse she told herself as she watched out the window, eager to be on her way. After days of travel, she was on the last leg of her journey that had taken her across the country from her home in New York City where she’d lived since she was seven.

“All aboard!” the conductor bellowed one last time. Only a moment passed before steam hissed, and the train creaked as it rocked into motion.

“Wait!” a voice yelled above the cacophony of steel and steam.

Luna watched as a dust-covered cowboy leaped onto the platform. His long legs quickly covered the distance to the last passenger car, the one where Luna was seated, in a few long strides. The spurs on his boots jingled, while the leather chaps he wore made a slapping noise as he ran. She craned her neck, watching as he reached out with a gloved hand and caught the metal bar by the steps, easily swinging himself up before the train pulled away from the platform.

Her gaze shifted to the door as he stepped into her car and stood looking around, no doubt searching for a seat. He wore a dark gray shirt with a bright blue neckerchief loosely knotted around his neck. The scruff growing on his cheeks and chin accented his square jaw. Dark hair stuck out from beneath the flat-topped cowboy hat worn low on his head, shadowing much of his face.

When he pushed up the hat brim with his thumb, she saw the cowboy’s eyes were gray and full of what she could only think of as mischief. His gaze landed on her and then flicked to the empty seat beside her.

Surely, he wouldn’t dare to occupy the seat. It wasn’t at all proper, was it? As a single woman traveling alone, Luna had to be particularly careful about her behavior, especially around men.

As the cowboy took one then another spur-jingling step toward her, she raised up slightly, glancing around the crowded, full car. It appeared the only empty seat available was the one next to her, which the porter had kindly saved for her.

Luna returned to a seated position, back as straight as a broom handle, hands folded primly on her lap, her gaze fastened forward. She refused, positively refused, for anyone to think she was encouraging the attentions of the cowboy who wedged his broad-shouldered frame into the seat, bumping her arm in the process.

“Howdy, miss,” he said, smiling at her as he settled deeper into the space he now occupied.

Watching him from the corner of her eye like one might spy on a disaster in the making, Luna did her best to ignore how amiable and friendly he appeared.

“Good afternoon,” she said after a pause in which she tried to determine if it would be worse to speak with him or ignore him. She concluded being rude was far more serious on the scale of social blunders than allowing a strange man to sit beside her.

“Where are you heading?” the cowboy asked, tugging off his gloves and draping them on one thigh, then removing his hat and forking his hands through his thick hair. It was longer than she deemed acceptable, but the ends of it curled around his neck and ears in a most becoming fashion. He yanked the knot free in the neckerchief he wore and wiped it over his face, then brushed it over the top of his head which appeared damp with sweat before he held two corners of the cloth and spun the material around and around until it made almost a tube that he again looped around his neck.

He glanced over at her, found her staring at him, and grinned in a manner that made something flutter in Luna’s midsection. It reminded her of the time she’d rapidly consumed a soda at the drugstore down the street from her aunt and uncle’s grocery store, and the effervescence had threatened to climb back up her throat.

Her stomach felt full of bubbles, although she couldn’t think of a single reason for the sensation to plague her when she’d not had a soda for weeks. There was a weightlessness in her midsection, and she found the sensation disconcerting.

The feeling had to be a result of the man beside her. The cowboy was, admittedly, quite handsome, even if he was in need of a bath, haircut, and shave.

Finally recalling she’d failed to answer his question, she cleared her throat, surprised to discover it suddenly felt parched, and forced herself to speak. “Pendleton.”

“Pendleton? You’re heading to Pendleton?” he asked. At her nod, his grin widened. “That’s also my destination. How about that?”

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