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He chuckled and pulled back on the reins to halt the team. “This isn’t a discussion, girl.” He reached beside him and brought out a knife. The large shiny blade glittered in the sun. “I’d hate to scar that pretty face.” He beckoned with his free hand. “Give me your money.”
Shaking with reaction and terrified about what he might do if she continued denying him, she reached into her handbag.
“All of it honey. Benjy and I have to eat.”
“And I don’t?” she snapped.
“Lift that skirt and I’ll let you keep half.”
“No.”
“The money then. We’re wasting time.”
She handed him all she had, and he smiled. “Now, hop down and start walking. This is where we part ways.”
“What!”
“You don’t want to bedded, I don’t want you riding.”
She scanned the bleakness surrounding her. How could he do this? She picked up her brazier and carpetbag and climbed down. He tossed her a canteen. “If you ration it, you might make it to somewhere. Watch out for scorpions. They give a nasty bite.”
He drove off without a word.
Eddy was horrified. She knew she was at least two hours from the train depot, but if there was a town or settlement closer, she didn’t know. Vowing never to be so trusting again, she shaded her eyes to see the sun and started walking north back to the depot, hoping Nash—which was probably not his true name—burned in hell.
Eddy made good headway at first and sipped sparingly from the half-filled canteen. However, as time passed her progress slowed. After a while the stifling desert heat and the relentless blinding sun conspired with the vast open stretches of rock and sand to sap her strength so badly, it made her want to fall to her knees and surrender to whatever fate would bring, but she forced herself to keep walking. She could barely breathe. Her throat was raw from thirst. She’d taken the last precious sips of water from the canteen hours ago, or had it been days? Her brain was so fuzzy she couldn’t remember. She did know that crossing the desert on foot was still better than offering herself to that snake Nash, but she also knew she’d probably die. Soon. The skin on her hands and face were blistered. She’d stumbled and fallen more times than she could count. Her skirt was torn and filthy. She’d given up trying to determine the time of day by the angle of the sun. All she wanted was water and shade, but there was none. Trying to keep the cookstove on her head took more energy than she possessed so she dropped it and stopped. Only sheer will had kept her moving until then and now it was gone, too. Black spots swam across her swollen eyes. She sensed herself swaying. When she dropped to her knees on the hot rocky ground, she barely felt it. It was the last thing she remembered.
“Is that someone walking?” Rhine Fontaine asked from his wagon seat. He pulled back on the reins.
His business partner, James Dade, shaded his eyes. “Looks like it.”
Rhine picked up his spyglass for a closer look. “A Colored woman. What in the hell is she doing out here alone?” A person had to be feeble-minded to be walking across desert under the full day sun. Crossings were best done at night. A dozen questions filled Rhine’s head. Had her horse run off? Had her wagon lost a wheel? He handed Jim the glass and quickly turned the team.
“Looks to be in pretty bad shape,” Jim said, still eyeing her through the glass. “She just dropped to her knees.”
By the time they reached her, she was sprawled on the ground and didn’t appear to be breathing. Rhine grabbed the extra canteen and jumped down while Jim pulled a tarp from the bed and then joined him.
The first thing Rhine noted were her blistered cracked lips. He could only imagine how long she’d been walking. He placed his ear on her hot chest. She was breathing, but barely. “Miss?” No response. He tried rousing her gently. “Miss!” he called louder. Uncapping the canteen, he poured a trickle of water over her lips while Jim held the tarp above them to provide some shade. Finally, her eyes sluggishly opened. Even though she looked disoriented, relief washed over him. “Here, drink. Slowly.”
An urgent moan escaped her as she eagerly clutched the canteen and began drinking. He knew she wanted to gulp it down, but nausea and vomiting would be the end result, so he said again, “Slow. Drink slow.”
He let her drink as much as he dared, and all the while scanned the area for a companion or clues as to how she’d come to be there. When he thought she’d had enough, he told Jim, “Let’s get her to the wagon.”
Rhine gently scooped her up and she began to fight. She had all the power of a gnat but she was flailing and twisting and crying out hoarsely. He backed out of reach of the ineffectual blows. “No one’s going to hurt you, darlin’, I promise. We’re just trying to save your life.” She continued to fight. Rhine, carrying her as best he could, looked over at Jim with disbelief.
Jim cracked, “Pretty feisty for a half-dead woman. Probably a hellion at full strength.”
When they reached the wagon, Rhine laid her down in the bed. Jim placed the carpetbag and the cookstove they’d found near her. “You drive. I’ll tend,” Rhine said.
While Jim turned the team towards Virginia City, Rhine worked on their patient. The first thing needed was to cool her down. With that in mind, he began undoing the buttons of her shabby blouse, and she began flailing and crying out again.
Barely missing being punched in his eye, he told her, “I need to open your clothing so you can cool off. Stop fighting me now. Please.”
But she kept it up. He ended up tearing the blouse in two, and she instinctively covered herself. A damp and much mended shift lay under the shredded blouse. Guilt rose within him but soon dissolved beneath what he knew to be necessity, so he poured water on the clean handkerchief he pulled from his coat and began sponging it against her bare shoulders and arms. He bathed her face, and in the process cleared away the mask of salt left behind by the desert heat. He removed the patterned head wrap covering her matted, sweat-wet hair and once again wondered how she’d wound up in the middle of the desert. Repeatedly soothing her with the damp handkerchief and his voice, he decided that once they reached town, he’d hand her over to boardinghouse owner Sylvia Stewart. She’d take things from there.
It was dark by the time they reached Virginia City, and Rhine looked upon that as a blessing. He didn’t need gossip hounding him for playing the Good Samaritan. To avoid prying eyes, they drove through the city’s alleys to Sylvia’s place. Jim ran in and seconds later returned to say, “She’s not home. Whitman Brown said she’d be back within the hour.”
Rhine cursed. “Okay. Let’s take her to our place. One of us can come back for Sylvia later. Hopefully she has room to take her in.” Even though there was something about the fretfully tossing young woman that made him want to hold onto her until she was well enough to take care of herself again, he knew she needed to be cared for by a woman.
Once they reached his saloon, he told Jim, “Let me get her upstairs, and you go and see if you can find Doc Randolph.”
“Will do. Do you need my help?” There was concern on Jim’s broad face, too.
Rhine jumped down from the bed then reached in and gently eased her into his arms. The tossing and soft moans of protest started up again. “No, she weighs less than a baby rabbit. You go on ahead. I should be all right.”
So while Rhine entered the silent saloon through the back door and climbed the stairs to his apartments, Jim drove away.
