Something tickled her nose. A sneeze worked through her and exploded out, just as the wagon burst into action. The force of its movement rolled her into the wagon side. Sharp pain rocked through her scalp but she ignored it.
Focus, that’s what she needed.
A journalist couldn’t be a prissy socialite, but a daring adventurer who took risks others only dreamed of taking.
Besides, she needed something to take her mind off Trevor. Curiosity was no excuse for upsetting him the way she had.
She relaxed against the floor of the wagon bed. Perhaps this trip would be the only one she’d need to get the information she wanted. If she couldn’t get an interview, she’d settle for an article. She frowned, remembering Mother’s most recent letter. It had been a virtual tirade, accusing Gracie of being ridiculous for refusing marriage to an upstanding, socially appropriate man.
It didn’t matter what Mother said. Love would be the foundation of Gracie’s marriage someday. Not money or connections. This was the twentieth century, after all. The archaic system of arranged marriages was long dead, at least for Americans.
Closing her eyes, she waited for the wagon to reach its destination.
An hour or so later, judging by the position of the sun in the sky, the wagon rolled to a stop. Perspiration trickled down Gracie’s neck as she peeked from her wool cover.
“You want flour?” James’s voice crackled so close that Gracie almost shrieked. Instead she stiffened, holding perfectly still.
“Yep.” Uncle Lou’s voice floated over clear as a lake in summer. “I’ll go check the telegraphs.”
Sounds and smells inundated her, the pounding of feet against wooden sidewalks, the murmur of voices hurrying back and forth. Gracie tried to take deep, even breaths but her heart refused to quit knocking against her sternum and the blanket was about to suffocate her.
After minutes of dreadful heat, she could take no more. She flipped the blanket off and scooted up, carefully inching her way toward the edge of the wagon, hoping to slip off and question a few people before Uncle Lou or James came back.
Oh, this was a foolhardy plan. Spontaneity proved once again to be a foe. Stifling a groan, Gracie slid off the wagon and attempted to straighten her hair and skirts. She must look a fright, for a few people stared at her quite oddly.
She patted her pocket and felt the reassuring bulge of her notebook. If only she’d thought to bring some sort of disguise, a hat or a veil.
But no matter. She’d just avoid the dry goods store and the Post Office. It should be a simple feat.
She looked up, taking in her surroundings. There was more than she suspected. Buildings hugged each side of the road. Avoiding James and Uncle Lou might be harder than she’d thought. The mercantile stood directly across from her and the telegraph office appeared to be down the street.
Her shirt stuck to her skin and an itch crawled along her neck. She must hurry. She ducked to the other side of the wagon. Spotting a linen store, she dodged to the door frame. Surely the men wouldn’t visit a store dealing in lady’s clothing.
A little bell rang as she opened the door.
She stepped inside, observing the petite woman at the counter and a lone woman standing before daisy-bright bolts of cloth.
“Good morning,” she said, moving into the store and giving both women her friendliest smile. “I’m looking for Striker.”
Their brows went up in unison. Then a shuttered look seem to come over them. The woman at the counter turned her back and the lady at the bolt of cloth became preoccupied with a particular daisy.
So this was how it would be? Gracelyn set her shoulders. She would not back down from a challenge. Not when it came to her Striker.
* * *
“Went to Burns today,” Uncle Lou announced over supper.
Gracie paused in eating. “I really need to get to town, if possible.” Especially since today’s trip had proven so unfruitful. She’d narrowly managed to return to the wagon before Uncle Lou and James.
A risky business, journalism.
“I don’t know about a trip to town. Seems the influenza is all over the country. Military boys are dropping like flies, and the grippe’s spread to civilians.” He spooned mashed potatoes into his mouth, glancing around the table. His blue eyes weren’t sparkling with mirth tonight, Gracie noticed.
“How severe is it?” she asked.
“Oregon doesn’t have too many cases yet. It’s bad by your parents, Gracie. Real bad.” Uncle Lou looked at Trevor. “You’re leaving in the morning for that business deal?”
Trevor nodded.
“Wear your mask. Keep safe.”
He was leaving? A shiver of foreboding slithered down Gracie’s spine. “How long can the influenza last?”
“This one’s virulent, but I don’t know how long it lasts. I’ve never had it before.” Uncle Lou looked at Mary. “I want you to stay away from town for a while.” He paused. “Mendez has been spotted skulking around.”
Mary’s eyes lowered.
Very strange. Uncle Lou seemed proprietary, almost. As if he had feelings for Mary. But more interesting were his words. Mendez usually kidnapped very young, blonde women.
“Why would Mendez care about Mary?” Gracie shot Trevor a look. He kept eating, head down. He hadn’t spoken directly to her since he’d ordered her out of his truck the other day.
“Mendez is obsessed with her,” Uncle Lou said slowly. “Years ago, before she came here, he kidnapped her and tried taking her down to Mexico.”
Her attention shifted to Mary. “That’s horrible. However did you escape?”
“Striker saved her and brought her here,” Uncle Lou said.
“Striker,” Gracie breathed. “Oh, Mary, what is he like? The papers are wrong, aren’t they?”
Mary smiled a quiet smile. “He’s wonderful.”
“I knew it. A true hero.” Gracie sighed and propped her elbow on the table, her cheek on her hand.
“He ain’t a hero.” Trevor frowned. “Eat your food.”
Gracie flinched. His first words to her since their altercation in the truck sounded unbearably bossy.
James cackled around a mouth full of potatoes. “Don’t listen to Trevor. We all admire Striker around here, girl.”
“The point,” Uncle Lou said briskly, “is that you women keep an eye out and if you see anything suspicious, let someone know. Mendez will stop at nothing to get Mary back.”
“Why did Striker bring her here? Do you all know him? And how is it you’ve heard of Mendez being nearby?”
“Everyone knows about Striker.” Mary grabbed a biscuit and didn’t meet Gracie’s eye.
Interesting. They must know the true identity of Striker. They had to. Why else would he have brought Mary to this forsaken place? How would he have even known where to find it?
“So, the rumors are true. Striker’s in Oregon. Maybe even in Burns.” Gracie speared a broccoli stem and plopped it in her mouth, plans barreling through her mind. Hadn’t the women in the shop ignored her question? Looking almost afraid to answer for fear of repercussions?
“What do you know about Mendez?” Uncle Lou leveled his gaze at her.
Her thoughts rolled to a stop as familiar