Page 3 of Wrangling Her Heart
“Hmmm. Cousins.” Mrs. Richards sat with her arms crossed, a stern expression on her face. Tillie could feel the weight of her disapproval, and she hastily stuffed another cracker in her mouth to avoid having to explain herself. Thankfully, Mrs. Richards didn’t press any further, sparing Tillie from an uncomfortable conversation.
The last crumbs of cracker and cheese fell onto her skirt as she finished the snack. She shook out the handkerchief that had held the food, wiping the apple with it before taking a juicy bite. The tangy sweetness dripped down her chin, but she didn’t mind as she devoured the fruit, leaving only a small core behind.
She returned the handkerchief to Ma Richards, before pulling another from her pocket to clean her sticky fingers and face, before neatly wrapping up the core and tucking it into her reticule. As the stagecoach jostled along the uneven road, Tillie’s eyelids grew heavy. The gentle rocking and the warmth from theapple she had devoured combined to lull her into a drowsy state. She leaned her head against the hard wall of the carriage and caught glimpses of the prairie passing by.
The land was mostly flat, with gentle slips and occasional hills. Watching the passing scenery of barren trees and rocky outcrops, Tillie shivered, pulling her legs up next to her on the bench. She wrapped her arms around her middle, using her legs as protection from the cold air.
She heard George say something to her, but she was too drowsy to make out his words. The rhythmic sound of the horses’ hooves on the dirt road acted as a lullaby, lulling her further into sleep.
Her eyelids fluttered closed, the rhythmic sound of the coach wheels on the rugged terrain fading into the background. Tillie’s breathing slowed, deepening as she succumbed to exhaustion.
As she drifted in and out of consciousness, fleeting images of her childhood home flashed through her mind. The grand estate, now a distant memory, echoed with laughter and warmth. She saw her mother’s gentle smile, felt the rough texture of her father’s work-worn hands. But loss tinged each memory, reminding her of everything that had been taken from her.
A sudden jolt and the rattle of the stagecoach snapped Tillie awake, her heart pounding as she glanced around in confusion. George was staring at her, annoyance clear in his eyes.
“We’re here,” he snarled.
She groggily stretched her legs, feeling the stiffness from sitting in the same position for hours. “How long was I out?” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes before looking around to assess her surroundings.
The stagecoach had come to a halt in front of a small, dusty building. Mrs. Richards had already exited the stagecoach, so itwas just Tillie and George in the carriage.
“We will get off here and stretch our legs.”
“Do you think Sawyer is here?”
“I don’t know. We can find someone to ask.” George quickly disembarked and reached for her hand to help Tillie from the coach.
The cold quickly seeped into her bones. She tucked her hands underneath her armpits and hopped from one foot to the next. As George talked to the driver, Tillie blinked at the sight of Flat River. There was nothing remarkable about the town.
It was a small, dusty settlement with buildings that looked weathered from years of exposure to the harsh elements. Tillie’s eyes flitted from the ramshackle structures to the few people milling about the street.
The atmosphere felt heavy and damp, like it could snow at any moment. A faint aroma of dust and manure tickled her nostrils, causing her to wrinkle her nose.
George returned to her side; his expression was grim. “The marshal’s office is across the street. I can ask over there.” Tillie snorted; she knew George wouldn’t ask anything from a lawman. “They need to change the team on the stage. We can wait here.”
“What about the mercantile?” The building with the large, worn wooden walls and welcoming sign stood in the twilight. Warm lamplight glowed from within, casting a golden hue into the sky. “Over there,” she nodded towards the store, her voice hoarse. “We could use some warmth.”
George hesitated, his eyes narrowed as they darted back and forth, scouring for unseen threats. But the bite of the wind urged him forward, and with a grunt of acknowledgment, he started toward the mercantile, Tillie trailing behind.
They approached the door, the wooden sign above creakingon its hinges, the word ‘Mercantile’ etched in faded paint. Hand on the handle, Tillie paused, a prayer fluttering silently from her heart to the heavens. She wasn’t asking for miracles—just enough grace to carry them through another night.
“Touch nothing. We’ll just go inside and get warm for a bit.”
She nodded and sent a silent prayer that they would soon find Sawyer and she could get away from George.
Chapter Two
Flat River, Nebraska
Rexford Hartman shook off the chill as he followed his brother, Baxter, and six of the eight Beale children into the mercantile. The bell above the door jingled softly above Rex as the door closed behind him. Every time he stepped into the shop, the aroma of tobacco blended with spices and beeswax captivated him. Today, they were mixed with notes of fresh brewed coffee.
The Beale children scattered to different corners of the shop and Rex watched his brother try to gather them together. Chuckling, Rex was pleased to see his brother so bonded to the group of youngsters.
Baxter had fallen in love with Midge Beale, the young woman down the road. She had been trying to take care of hereight siblings alone and resorted to stealing chickens from the Hartman farm. He followed her home one night and after seeing the condition of the house and the starving faces of the children, Baxter made it his personal mission to provide for them.
Rex wondered what it would be like to have someone look at him, the same way Midge looked at Baxter. Whit, the youngest of his brothers, sat near the pot-belly stove just inside the entrance. He was sipping on a cup of coffee and appeared to be having an intense conversation with a young woman. Rex greeted Whit with a wave and made his way towards the counter where Dillon Arden stood, meticulously cleaning a pair of spectacles.
“Morning, Rex,” Dillon greeted with a smile, wrapping the spectacles back around his ears. “What can I do for you today?”
