Page 45 of Charlotte's Reckoning
“Why did you speak to a land agent?”
“Because the government is practically giving away land, and I’m not one to pass up a good deal.”
“Yes,”she agreed. “But aren’t you required to improve and live on the land?”
“Details,”he said flippantly. “A few years from now, when Laramie is the boomtown I expect it will be, I’ll sell my acres to a rancher looking to expand for a considerable profit.”
Eyeing the dusty, unimpressive view out the window, she had her doubts. “That’s quite a gamble.”
“Look who you’re talking to,”he said with a disarming grin. “Besides, at $18 to file, it was a steal. And the town is well on its way to making my prediction come true. The agent said the population has more than doubled since the time of that article you read. They’ve got a bank, dress shops, a tailor, a telegraph office, and he claimed construction on the second church finished a few months back.”
“That’s something, I suppose,”she muttered.
“Why? Have you got plans to go to services?”
The suggestion wasn’t as outrageous as he made it sound. She used to go every Sunday when her papa was alive. Even though she knew Fen was teasing, she didn’t like him pointing out how much she had changed from that girl and shot him a withering look. “If I ever darkened its doors, the lightning strike would send it up in flames, so I’d better pass. It would be a shame if the congregation had to rebuild so soon.”
His hoot of laughter turned several heads.
“That’s what I love about you, Lottie. You’re more than a split tail. You’ve got wit and are always good for a laugh. When you’re not nagging me, that is.”
She wrinkled her nose at the offensive term and his backhanded compliment.
He got the hint because his tone softened. “We’re on the cusp of something big. Trust me on this.”
Fen raised her hand to his lips just as the whistle blew announcing their arrival. Her trust in him had limits. His claims of love were old news; she had heard his sweet talk and endearments countless times and dismissed them as just that—talk. The trip revealed a different side of him others had warned about. His moods were unpredictable; sometimes, he was downright cruel, and his cutting remarks could be incredibly hurtful.
Between Fen the charmer, and the volatile man with a mean streak, her preference for the former came as no surprise. His kindness and declarations of affection reminded her of all she had lost and would never have again. His surliness helped her guard her heart, as Elise had advised.
She could have easily stayed on and ridden clear through to the Pacific Ocean. It had been possible for over a year, but when Fenton stood and pulled her up with him, she didn’t resist. This was her lot in life. Maybe someday she would discover why it had taken such a sudden and dark turn. If this was all she had, and Fen was the only one she could count on, she was determined to make the best of the hand she was dealt—even if it killed her.
When theystepped off thetrain and she got her first glimpse of her new hometown—and a good whiff when the wind suddenly shifted— she worried it very well might.
Chapter 11
Slings and Arrows
Laramie 1880
Tired before the night started, Charlotte sat at her dressing table gazing at her reflection. Instead of putting the final touches on her hair and makeup, her mind wandered back to her childhood and her father’s study—a favorite retreat. Tales of adventure in far-off, exotic places filled the shelves. Back then, she planned to accomplish everything on the pages she read. The sky was the limit for a wide-eyed dreamer, and her doting parents never suggested otherwise.
“I didn’t get everything wrong, Mama and Papa,”she said, a soft, humorless laugh escaping. “Although Laramie’s not exactly exotic, I got the far-off part right.”
An insistent knock interrupted the quiet moment. “Mr. Sneed is looking for you, Charlotte. Best hurry,”one of the girls called through the door. “He’s being his usual impatient self.”
“I’ll be right down,”she replied, trying to keep the annoyance from her voice. Couldn’t she take a few moments for herself—ever?
As the footsteps in the hall faded, Charlotte stared at the woman in the mirror. Any signs of the dreamer were long gone. Leaning close, she traced the delicate skin beneath her eyes and along her temples. Although she’d turned thirty-two this year, there wasn’t a hint of a wrinkle, her complexion as creamy white during the sunniest days of July as it was in the dead of winter. The explanation was simple. She rarely ventured outside, avoiding the harsh glare of the Wyoming sun.
Her fingers traced the skin around her mouth. Fine lines, often from laughing, betrayed a woman’s age. She didn’t have that concern. With no reason to, she rarely smiled. Life certainly hadn’t turned out the way she planned it. She’d seen more hardships than she could have ever imagined and learned the hard way that dreams were for children and fools.
With a heavy sigh, she told herself as she picked up her rouge pot, “No sense dwelling on what can’t be changed. Focus on what you can control. Likegetting downstairs before you’re late, and Fenton gets his suspenders in a twist.”
The sweet scent of strawberries and beetroot filled the air as she swirled her pinkie in the thick, pink concoction then lightly dotted a hint along each cheekbone.
“Charlotte! Get your ass down here!”
Fenton’s bellow carried up the stairs,down the hall, and through her closed door. Her impatient partner, not known for subtly or manners, was never shy about making his displeasure known.
