Crossings by Stef Ann Holm Read Free Book Online

returned to the store with a drawstring purse on her wrist and bundled in a hooded cloak. “I’m ready. I’ll be back in an hour, Ignacia. When Emilie returns, tell her I’ve gone on an errand.”
    â€œYes, Miss Lena,” the woman replied in a light accent.
    Pushing himself away from the counter, Carrigan felt the strongest urge to throw himself into a vat of booze and wallow in it until he was pickled. His muscles were hard and bunched underneath his coat, and no amount of stiff breaths could unlock the tension.
    He had to remind himself that his new living arrangements were only temporary, and after today, he’d only have one hundred and seventy-nine days left.
    Helena opened the door and a gust of chill air slapped him across the face. But it wasn’t enough to bring him to his senses. He was on his way to wedlock lane, and there was no turning back.

Chapter
3
    H elena drove the buckboard to Van Sickle’s station, Carrigan sitting next to her on the narrow bench seat. A thin layer of white from the fresh storm dusted the three-mile mountain trail leading to the justice of the peace. With each bump and rut, she and Carrigan were jarred into one another. She tried to give him room, but keeping the reins threaded through her gloved fingers and minding the whereabouts of her skirts wasn’t feasible at the same time. Inevitably the fullness spilled onto his knee and thigh in a drape of dark calico. Not once did he make a move to shove the fabric off him.
    He hadn’t said a word since they left Genoa, frittering away the miles with one cigarette after another. His right foot was braced on the rim of the driver’s box, and his left arm settled on the backrest, while a smoke was caught between his lips. The chore of rolling cigarettes in succession was complicated by the motion of the buckboard, but he managed without losing a single leaf of paper or spilling a clipping of tobacco.
    A mile out, the wind rolled up like a tapestry rug. The sun came out to soak in the gray haze, promptly melting the snow. Carrigan’s eyes narrowed against the dazzling sunlight, and he lowered his head a bit. The road quickly turned into a quagmire under the animals’ hooves, and the iron-strapped wheels churned the ground to muck half as high as the hubs.
    Helena’s hood covered her head, and she snuggled deep into her wrap to ward off the severe spring air. The monotonous jangle of harness tack, and the intermittent snorts of the buckskins, Daisy and Lucy, wore out Helena’s thin nerves. Strangers marrying solely for advantageous gain and fixed conditions was bad enough. To have her intended ignore her made her feel snubbed without just cause.
    â€œWhere’s your hat?” she asked, unwilling to endure the shortage of conversation a moment longer.
    â€œDon’t have one.”
    She waited for him to elaborate, but he kept quiet. Seeing as every man she knew owned a hat, Carrigan being minus one made her idly curious. “Why not?”
    â€œIt got swept away in the Carson River last year. I haven’t felt like replacing it.” His voice had a rasp of embitterment. “Prices are too high to swap good pelts for one.”
    And yet, Helena thought, he had enough money to support his vices. How he managed to get by without an income other than what he made off the furs he traded, and the payment her father had given him for the mustangs, stymied her. Trying to decide what was worth spending money on, and what wasn’t, was something she’d just recently been faced with. She wasn’t doing a very bang-up job of robbing the balance in one account to pay the bill for another.
    The path became rough and rocky, meeting a steep pitch slathered with mud. Bitterbrush and sage overtook most of the lofty pines. She eased back on the reins and hoped the horses would check their gait. ForHelena, sitting astride a horse was simpler than a first grade primer. Commanding a