Capture the Sun (Cheyenne Series) by Shirl Henke Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Shirl Henke
their hotel room, overlooking the rushing currents of the mighty river she had just left. She wanted desperately to float back south to St. Louis—but to what? Home was lost to her now. Really it had been lost when Naomi and Josiah had died five years earlier. She must continue her rocky journey with Noah Sinclair to his distant kingdom. He concluded his business the following day and finally deigned to take her out for dinner.
The next morning they boarded a Northern Pacific Railroad car for Dakota Territory. It was noisy, jarring, and unbelievably dirty. After a scant few hours of inhaling thick, sooty coal smoke, Carrie knew she'd never be clean again. The windows of the passenger cars had to be opened for ventilation, but the soot from the train's engine whipped inside and enveloped everyone, allowing little freedom to breathe.
The physical misery of her passage west was compounded by psychological pain inflicted by her husband. Whenever they were permitted the privacy of a night's rest in a stopover hotel or roadhouse, Noah insisted on bedding her, coldly and perfunctorily, almost as if it was an onerous task. She endured his attentions woodenly, in aching exhaustion. It seemed to Carrie that he derived more satisfaction from breaking her spirit than he did from his sexual release in her flesh. Whatever his motivation, she was being defeated.
After a grinding five days on the train, they were forced to resort to a stagecoach for the last days of the journey into Montana. The rails had not been laid that far yet. Baths in wayside inns were crude, skimpy affairs at best. The beds were lumpy and frequently inhabited by lice and other even less appealing creatures. After two weeks on the road, her body was abused and sore, her mind numb.
In the past few weeks Carrie had taken in more than her sheltered eighteen years allowed her to assimilate. The vast distances of the Dakotas awed, and cowed her secure Midwestern sensibilities. At the far western edge of the territory the jagged peaks of the Black Hills stood like` sentinels defying invaders. This was the sacred medicine land of Sioux and Cheyenne, Mandan and Blackfoot. Its wild stark beauty both frightened her and called to her, as if from some strange, long-forgotten dream. She shivered uneasily as she looked out the window, wishing they were safely at the Circle S. At least I'll be safe from savage red Indians there, she thought, trying to find some consolation in her plight.
* * * *
The night they arrived in Miles City, Carrie was too exhausted to even notice the bustling little cow town. Noah helped her from the coach and headed straight for the Excelsior Hotel, where he'd wired ahead for rooms. The young clerk's eyes widened in surprise at Mr. Sinclair's beautiful wife, obviously an easterner and obviously much younger than the cattle baron. No one in town had been told that Mr. Sinclair was getting married while he was in St. Louis. Respectfully the clerk, Jubal Akin, led them to the best room in the house, holding his curiosity at bay. Noah was too tired to take her that night. Carrie was grateful, and they both slept soundly.
The next morning, while Noah and Carrie were finishing breakfast in the hotel dining room, a tall, lanky man with leathery, dark skin and a startling shock of snowy-white hair ambled gracefully toward their table. He was dressed in range gear, expensive but well worn, and carried a lethal-looking gun on his hip. When Noah saw him, he motioned curtly for the stranger to approach their table. “Frank, figured you'd be here right on the dime.”
The thin man's long, callused hand grasped Noah's outstretched one, and his bright blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “I had ta ride out afore th' nighthawks come in ta git here on th' dime.” He let out a chuckle, and the toothy smile he gave Carrie made a startling white slash in his dark,
The next morning they boarded a Northern Pacific Railroad car for Dakota Territory. It was noisy, jarring, and unbelievably dirty. After a scant few hours of inhaling thick, sooty coal smoke, Carrie knew she'd never be clean again. The windows of the passenger cars had to be opened for ventilation, but the soot from the train's engine whipped inside and enveloped everyone, allowing little freedom to breathe.
The physical misery of her passage west was compounded by psychological pain inflicted by her husband. Whenever they were permitted the privacy of a night's rest in a stopover hotel or roadhouse, Noah insisted on bedding her, coldly and perfunctorily, almost as if it was an onerous task. She endured his attentions woodenly, in aching exhaustion. It seemed to Carrie that he derived more satisfaction from breaking her spirit than he did from his sexual release in her flesh. Whatever his motivation, she was being defeated.
After a grinding five days on the train, they were forced to resort to a stagecoach for the last days of the journey into Montana. The rails had not been laid that far yet. Baths in wayside inns were crude, skimpy affairs at best. The beds were lumpy and frequently inhabited by lice and other even less appealing creatures. After two weeks on the road, her body was abused and sore, her mind numb.
In the past few weeks Carrie had taken in more than her sheltered eighteen years allowed her to assimilate. The vast distances of the Dakotas awed, and cowed her secure Midwestern sensibilities. At the far western edge of the territory the jagged peaks of the Black Hills stood like` sentinels defying invaders. This was the sacred medicine land of Sioux and Cheyenne, Mandan and Blackfoot. Its wild stark beauty both frightened her and called to her, as if from some strange, long-forgotten dream. She shivered uneasily as she looked out the window, wishing they were safely at the Circle S. At least I'll be safe from savage red Indians there, she thought, trying to find some consolation in her plight.
* * * *
The night they arrived in Miles City, Carrie was too exhausted to even notice the bustling little cow town. Noah helped her from the coach and headed straight for the Excelsior Hotel, where he'd wired ahead for rooms. The young clerk's eyes widened in surprise at Mr. Sinclair's beautiful wife, obviously an easterner and obviously much younger than the cattle baron. No one in town had been told that Mr. Sinclair was getting married while he was in St. Louis. Respectfully the clerk, Jubal Akin, led them to the best room in the house, holding his curiosity at bay. Noah was too tired to take her that night. Carrie was grateful, and they both slept soundly.
The next morning, while Noah and Carrie were finishing breakfast in the hotel dining room, a tall, lanky man with leathery, dark skin and a startling shock of snowy-white hair ambled gracefully toward their table. He was dressed in range gear, expensive but well worn, and carried a lethal-looking gun on his hip. When Noah saw him, he motioned curtly for the stranger to approach their table. “Frank, figured you'd be here right on the dime.”
The thin man's long, callused hand grasped Noah's outstretched one, and his bright blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “I had ta ride out afore th' nighthawks come in ta git here on th' dime.” He let out a chuckle, and the toothy smile he gave Carrie made a startling white slash in his dark,