Frontier Courtship Read Online Free Page A

because he took off like a long-eared jackrabbit running from a pack of coyotes.
    Crossing to the trading post, Connell and his frail burden solicited few inquisitive glances. He looked down at the sweet face of the girl. Her cheeks were smudged and her hair nearly undone. The bonnet hung loosely by its ribbons. Her doe eyes were closed, but he could still picture them clearly.
    She stirred. Long, dark lashes fluttered against her fair skin like feathers on the breeze. She was so lovely, so innocent looking, lying there, the sight of her made his heart thump worse than the time he’d fought with Fremont against the Mexicans in San Jose in ’45.
    The quick lurch of his gut took him totally by surprise. He stared down at the girl. She was all-fired young. Much younger than Irene. Couldn’t be more than eighteen or nineteen if she was a day. That made her ten or so years younger than he was; about the same distance apart in age as his mother and father had been.
    Clenching his jaw, he tried unsuccessfully to set aside the bitter memories of his childhood, the mental image of his mother’s funeral and the cruel way his father had behaved afterward. If it hadn’t been for Irene and her family taking him in and showing him what a loving home was supposed to be like, no telling what would have become of him back then.
    Connell took a deep breath and started across the street, his purpose redefined, his goal once again in focus. It didn’t matter how attracted he might be to this woman. Or to any other. It was Irene he had to think about, Irene he had sworn to find. To marry. If he had to spend the rest of his life looking for the truest friend he had ever had, then he would. Without ceasing.
    The unconscious girl moaned as Connell mounted the walkway in front of the trading post. Several Indians edged out of his path.
    As he made his way into the store, all conversation ceased. He headed straight for the proprietress.
    Anna Morse clapped a hand to her chest. “Land sakes! The boy was tellin’ the truth.”
    “Obviously.” The plainsman reached her in six quick strides, his tall cavalry boots thumping hollowly on the floor. “Where can I put her?”
    “Let’s take her upstairs,” Anna said. “Her sister’s right over…” Pointing, she snorted derisively. Charity had fainted dead away. The girl lay draped across a stack of flour sacks while two other women and a child patted her hands and fanned her cheeks. “Never mind. We’ll see to her, later. Bring Miss Faith this way.”
    Faith. Connell turned that name over in his mind. He’d have guessed she might be called after a flower or some famous woman from the Bible, like Sarah or Esther. Hearing that she was, instead, Faith, gave him pause. Yet it fit. A strong trait, a gift necessary for survival especially when crossing the plains, Faith was appropriate. How was it the scripture went? Something about…“if you have faith as a grain of mustard seed, you can say to a mountain, move, and the mountain will move.” This tiny woman was going to need that kind of unwavering faith if she was to survive the many rigors that would face her on the trail.
    The upstairs room Anna led him to was small but clean. An absence of personal items led Connell to believe Mrs. Morse probably rented it out whenever she could. Careful not to jostle his limp burden, he lowered Faith gently onto the bed.
    As he straightened and slipped his arm from beneath her shoulders, he reached up to gently smooth the damp wisps of hair from her forehead. The act was totally instinctive. Until the older woman cautioned him, he didn’t think about how improper his actions must look.
    “That’ll do, mister. We’re beholden to you for totin’ her here.” Anna wedged between him and the prone figure, which was beginning to stir. “I’ll take good care of her.”
    Connell nodded and touched the brim of his hat. “Yes, ma’am. It doesn’t appear the sister’ll be much help, that’s a fact.”