Chapter 22 Colton

CHAPTER 22

Colton

JAKE HARDING.

I didn't like him much before.

I like him a whole hell of a lot less now.

Riley's eyes pop open and go wide as she watches him ride up, all decked out in his fancy Pony Express uniform, the hero in his own period Western action-adventure movie, slowing his horse from a full-out gallop to a slow trot. I half expect him to pull his mount up into a rear, which can be dangerous for both the horse and rider, but thankfully he doesn't attempt the stunt. Instead, Jake guides the horse into a showy twirl before having him bow while he pulls off his hat and flourishes it in the air. He gives Riley a practiced wink-and-grin that charms almost everyone he uses it on.

She eases away from me and watches as he pulls the horse into another spin in front of her. My hands grasp nothing but air where her waist used to be and I drop them quickly to myside.

"Whoa," Jake says, but it's not quite clear if he's signaling his horse to stop or if his comment's directed at Riley. My knuckles pop from how tight my fists are at my sides. "Evening, miss." He plunks his cowboy hat back on his head. "Colt," he says dismissively.

With everything that's happened over the past few days, I totally forgot Jake was filling in for our usual Pony Express rider and was scheduled to meet the wagon train out on the trail. The memory of our conversation about Riley sinks through me like a lump of lead, settling heavy in my stomach.

"You're early," I say.

Jake's not scheduled to show up until tomorrow afternoon, just before we're scheduled to arrive at Fort Bellows for our overnight there. If he'd just stuck to the plan…

"No one ever complains that the mail's early, Colton. That's why we Pony Express riders have such a stellar reputation."

I snort. His reputation is anything but stellar.

By now, a few of the other passengers have noticed Jake's arrival. They make their way over as he dismounts. The younger kids stare in awe at his swagger and poise. The men look on as if reliving a boyhood dream.

Once he has everyone's attention, he sets his leather-gloved fist over his heart and says in a theatrical voice, "Neither rain, nor snow, nor gloom of night can keep us from our duty." He flashes another suave grin at Riley.

Give me a break. That's not even the Pony Express's motto; "The mail must go through" is. He isn't even carrying mail in the mochila slung over the horse's back.

Jake locks gazes with Riley and gives her his "I only have eyes for you" look that's totally slimy, but for some reason, girls our age seem to love it. "We should meet up later."

Jake lifts an eyebrow in what's supposed to be an enticing way, but really it just makes me cringe at how cliché it is. Jake might be playing a Pony Express rider today, but he would have been a great snake oil salesman in the 1850s.

All eyes are on him as he struts over to the gathered crowd, playing up his bow-legged swagger. Shoving his thumbs into the front pockets of his almost-too-tight replica sackcloth pantaloons, Jake puffs up his chest and dives right into the monologue he usually delivers in Ketcham's Tavern.

"Good evening, fine overlanders. I've been carrying mail for the Pony Express since May 1860…"

I've heard the same speech at least a hundred times—have recited it myself a time or two—and I'm in no mood to stand here and watch Jake dazzle the crowd and make eyes at Riley.

Causing a scene isn't my thing, but if I stay here much longer, all bets are off. Moving away from the group, I gather up the lassos and sawhorses, and when I pass by on my way to the supply wagon, I catch a glimpse of Riley chatting with Jake.

It shouldn't bother me as much as it does. After all, Riley is free to spend time with whoever she wants. I've always known my odds with her were slim if I chose to throw caution to the wind and take a chance…and for what? A four-day fling on the trail? As much as I hate it, it's better that we were interrupted before I had a chance to kiss her. If it's a fling she's looking for, Jake is the one for her.

Except he's not, dammit.

I toss the lassos onto a hook in the supply wagon and grunt.

Jake doesn't know her like I do. He only sees another pretty face to kiss and ditch, when, really, she's this incredible artist who's determined and smart, and full of surprises and enough witty comebacks to keep me on my toes.

Riley's too good for a player like Jake. I hope she realizes it before it's too late.

Dinner's cold by the time I finally sit down. Wild Wanda had set aside a plate for me, and while the food fills me up, it doesn't settle the hollow ache in my stomach.

Across the campsite, Riley, Jake, and a few of the older kids are seated around the fire. Jake is about as outgoing as they come, and he's telling some story that has everyone busting out laughing. Sometimes I wish I could be as extroverted as he is, but it seems way too exhausting. I'd rather be out under the stars, alone, than a source of nighttime entertainment along the trail.

Some of the adults wander over to gather their kids for bed. When Riley's parents pass by me, Mrs. Thomas turns to Mr. Thomas and says, "I'm glad she's finally starting to enjoy it out here. It's nice to see her smile."

I look over to find her beaming at Jake and I hate that he's the one who gets her dazzling smile tonight, not me.

A low rumble in the distance draws my attention away. So much for the weather forecast. Looks like a storm's rolling in tonight after all. I hurry to finish dinner, then head off to check on the animals. The horses, mules, and oxen are fine, though a bit leery of the incoming weather. Grumbling, I retie Jake's horse with a breakaway tether so it can get free if things go south. You'd think, after all his years working on a farm and riding horses, Jake would know how to safely secure his horse, but he's never quite cared enough about anything but himself to make the effort. He's already broken enough hearts; I'd hate to see an animal come to any harm from his carelessness.

With the rain coming in, I can't sleep under the stars like I usually do, and there aren't any spare tents now that Jake's claimed the extra. I grab a tarp, my bedroll, and a cot, and set up under the easternmost prairie schooner, hoping that the one parked beside it will provide a bit of a weather-break.

The rumbles grow louder, with flashes punctuating the sky in steady bursts. Suddenly, rain pelts down in buckets. Great for the prairie, which is experiencing record drought conditions, but bad for anyone caught unawares. A few surprised shrieks echo through the camp as people scramble for shelter.

I turn just in time to see Jake grab Riley's hand and pull her toward his tent. She tips her face up to the sky and laughs as the rain pours down. I hate that I've never made her laugh like that. I hate that she's sheltering in Jake's tent—the tent that should have been mine.

Most of all, I hate that she's with him, not me.