Page 8 of A Groom for Heather
“Then let’s get our coats and head to town.”
Chapter Three
May 1879
Dalton inhaled deeply. The scent of something delicious wafted through the air and caused his stomach to growl. Apart from an apple to tide over his hunger, he hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before.
Finally, after a four-month search and nearly a month on horseback, he was crossing into a small town situated along the river.
The New Mexico Marshal found a small advertisement in April’s newspaper announcing a farm for sale in Last Chance, Nebraska
The name of the town might be peculiar, but the farm sounded perfect. Dalton immediately sent a telegram to Mr. Cairns asking to purchase the property.
The farm was small enough for him to manage on his own, came with goats, a milking cow, chickens, and a large barn. The house, per the attorney, was small, but comfortable.
Dalton was told that there was an established business associated with the property, which suited him simply fine. It meant that he would be able to make a living without having to chase bandits and outlaws.
Now, he just had to get something to eat, find a place for the night, and seek out Mr. Cairn to complete the purchase on the farm.Last Chance wasn’t the easiest town to get into, Dalton thought. Once you arrived at the Platte River, you had to take a hand-ferry across the rocky waters. Thankfully, a few other people were crossing, so they took turns pulling the wet ropes to arrive at the other side.
The town wasn’t too small, but it wasn’t too large either. It would be perfect for him. He walked into the cool of the livery, leading his horse behind him.
“Hello?” he called into the darkness.
“Back here,” a voice replied. “Be right out.” Dalton allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He could see several stalls, only a few with horses. After a few minutes, a man appeared, wiping his hands with a rag. “Howdy, stranger.” He shoved the rag in his pants and stuck out his hand. “Dave McFarland. I own the livery. Can I help you?”
Dalton took the hand, shaking it a few times before releasing it. “Dalton James. Just got to town. I need a place to keep my horse for a few days.”
“James, you say?” Dave scratched his chin. “You aren’t…” He waved the thought away with both hands. “Naw… never mind. You can’t be him.” He walked over to one of the empty stalls and pulled open the gate. “You can put him in here.”
Dalton nodded. “Much obliged. Can I keep my saddle here just until I find a place to stay for the night?”
“There are saddle horses over there,” Dave said, pointing into the dark corner. “And the hotel is two blocks down and on the right.”
“Perfect.” Dalton led his horse into the stall. There were clean straw and two buckets. One with water, the other with oats. “Shouldn’t be more than a few days.” He took off his saddlebags and placed them in the straw. “How much do I owe you?”
“I charge by the week.” Dave named a price, accepting the bills that Dalton handed him. “Includes food and water and cleaning out the stall. I can put your horse in the pasture during the day.”
“Sounds good.” Dalton found a curry brush on the side of the stall and brushed down his horse while the animal munched happily on the oats and hay. When he was done, he returned the brush and carried his saddle over to the wooden horses in the corner. There were several worn saddles already there. He wondered what stories those saddles would tell about their riders if they could talk.
After securing his saddle, he picked up his bags and flung them over his shoulder. Priority one – find where that delicious smell was coming from. Dalton’s stomach growled.
“Hollie’s is right past the hotel. Best vittles in town.”
“Much obliged,” Dalton said heading back out into the sunlight. As he strolled away from the ferry depot and livery, he took a moment to peruse the town. Businesses were lined up along the river. Many were closed and several others stood empty. The post office appeared busy as did the mercantile further up the road. Keeping his eye on the mercantile, Dalton lost sight of where he was walking.
“Ooof!” a feminine voice called. “You should watch where you are going.” The voice sounded angry.
Dalton looked down to see a woman in a blue dress lifting herself from the ground. “That goes both ways, ma’am.” He shifted his saddlebags to the other shoulder and reached down his hand.
The woman looked at his hand and ignored it, choosing to roll herself over before standing in the middle of the road. “Look at my dress,” she cried, trying to brush the dirt from the fabric.
“I’m sorry ma’am. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“That’s apparent.” The woman stood at her full height, which was only part of the way up Dalton’s chest. At well over six feet, most women barely reached his chin. She reached up to the top of her head and adjusted the small hat that had moved during her fall. “Stuff and nonsense,” she said pulling the pins out to fix her hat.
Dalton laughed. “Stuff and nonsense?”
The woman pulled out another pin and her hair came tumbling down from the chignon on the back of her head. She turned to look at him and Dalton felt his breath leave his body. His pulse quickened and he could hear a roaring in his ears.
