Chapter 28 Colton

CHAPTER 28

Colton

"THESE PIONEER DRESSES are a health hazard," Riley says, shaking part of her skirt at me. "I almost tripped getting into the wagon. I had visions that I'll face-plant trying to climb down."

"We can't have that." I reach out a hand to help Riley step down the wagon ramp. "Although I'm pretty sure your bonnet would break your fall."

"Is that what this massive brim is for? It all makes sense now." Riley hoists her backpack over her shoulder and then takes my hand. I flash back to how it felt to hold her hand in mine during the lasso lesson—her soft skin against my rough and calloused palm. I wouldn't mind that sensation again. Her gaze meets mine and I swear she's thinking the same thing.

"Thanks," she says once her boots hit the ground.

Despite the chaos around us, an awkward silence settles between us.

"So," I say, feeling the need to fill the void, but not quite sure where to start. No one can accuse me of being much of a conversationalist.

"This place is bigger than I expected. Are you up for giving me a tour?" she asks.

"Sure." I grin at her. "As soon as I'm done unloading the wagons and getting the animals settled. That'll give you enough time to drop your stuff off in your room."

"I am so looking forward to sleeping in a real bed," she says wistfully.

"What if I told you I arranged for you and your brother to have separate rooms that adjoin your parents' suite?"

Her eyes go wide. "Are you serious? A room to myself?"

"I might have pulled some strings and got your family into the Claim Jumper Suite at the hotel."

"You're my hero," she says, grabbing on to my arm and pulling me close.

Her fingers wrap around my forearm, soft and warm on my skin. My pulse buzzes in my veins like a swarm of bumblebees that have discovered a field of fresh clover.

"I…um…have some work to do before I can give you a tour, so I'm going to need my arm back," I say. "Unless you want to carry suitcases for me?"

"Oh, right," she says, releasing her hold. I'm tempted to reach out and grab her hand, just to prolong the contact, but now isn't the time or place. Not to mention, I'm not entirely sure what's happening between us. It's definitely not one-sided, but Riley also wants to talk and she's heading back to California when the excursion is over. Even though it means going against company policy, I think I'm willing to see where this leads, but is she?

Jake's shoulder bumps hard against mine as he maneuvers between the wagon and our private conversation. He mumbles an apology, but he's about as sorry as a weasel in a chicken coop. It's a stupid attempt at a power move, a way to remind me that he's here and he's competition.

Riley lifts the brim of her bonnet and watches him cross the street, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Is there an outgoing mailbox anywhere around here? Someplace I can mail a postcard?" she asks.

"Right over there."

Her eyes follow the path my finger points until she spots it. "Post office or Pony Express?"

"Both."

"Explain," she says, turning her attention back to me.

The edges of her bonnet flutter in the breeze. There's a faint blush on her cheeks and an energetic glint in her bright brown eyes. When she lifts her eyebrows to prompt me to get on with it, I swear my heart does a front flip in my chest.

I clear my throat. Force a breath. What was the question?

"Um, the, uh, post office is what you think it is. The Pony Express part is more of a hands-on exhibit. There's some old-fashioned writing paper and pens and inkwells for tourists to write their own versions of pioneer letters to family back East."

"Dearest Mama and Papa," she says with a dramatic flourish. "We have just arrived at Fort Bellows, and from here, we will continue on to Chimney Rock. We've passed through the most beautiful rolling prairies and grasslands. Recent rains have kept everything verdant, though the mud and muck weights down my hems. Our provisions are holding out for now. Thank goodness for bacon."

"You know, you're pretty good at this whole pioneer thing. You look the part. You sound the part. I bet you could get a job here."

Riley's eyes sparkle. "You think?"

I nod. "Or at least write a convincing letter."

"The paper, pens, and inkwells do sound interesting. I wonder…," she says, chewing on her bottom lip in thought.

I know I should, but I can't force myself to look away.

A hearty laugh echoes across the street. Riley turns her head toward the tavern, where Jake and Carrie Mae—who works as a member of the waitstaff there—are having a conversation. Jake's propped against a thick wooden post that supports the slanted roof over the tavern's entrance. He leans into Carrie Mae, who's unable to scoot away because of the crowd of tourists around her, gawking at the wagons.

Jake laughs again and glances back in our direction, as if hoping his antics will inspire a bit of jealousy in Riley that might work in his favor.

As far as I can tell, the plan backfires. The line on Riley's brow softens and she looks away. She seems relieved that Jake's turned his attention elsewhere, at least for the moment. Still, I better strike while the iron's hot.

I tug on her bonnet's ribbons to get her attention. "Meet me outside your hotel in twenty minutes?"

She opens her mouth, as if she's about to say yes, but then she hesitates. "I want to say yes, but…"

Here it comes. My stomach starts to sink. The look on my face must give my thoughts away, because she reaches out and gives my arm a reassuring squeeze.

"Do you think we could make it thirty? I'd like to freshen up a bit."

"Sure, no problem," I say, relieved that she didn't turn me down.

Riley wanders off to locate her parents in the crowd and I get to work pulling suitcases down from the storage compartments. Jake saunters over with a big ol' smirk plastered on his face.

"Guess she doesn't want a private tour from you either?" he says.

I shrug and tug a hard-shell Samsonite from the wagon bed.

As usual, Jake crosses his arms and watches me. While unloading the baggage is technically not part of the Pony Express rider's duties, standing around doing nothing while the rest of the crew toil away is a jerk move. Not that I expect him to lift a finger, but he could at least put in an appearance at the post office and make his speech, like he's supposed to do on arrival.

"Well, you know what they say: the harder the chase, the sweeter the taste," he says.

"Who says that? Stalkers?"

Jake waves a dismissive hand. "Stop being a poor loser." His eyes brighten and a sleazy smile tugs at his lips. He straightens up and steps forward as Riley materializes beside me. She slides a folded piece of paper into my hand.

"See you in a few, Colton," she says with a smile.

"I'll see you soon, Riley," I say, calling after her.

I unfold the paper and glance down at the quick pen-and-ink sketch she's made of a monarch butterfly on a milkweed flower.

Who's the loser now, Jake?