They set out, Miss Riley quiet and still behind him.
Was she thinking about Striker? Making plans to find him for that outlandish interview?
Trevor’s jaw clenched. As long as things remained in his control, Striker would never be found.
Chapter Two
Oregon might not be so awful. As the wagon lurched forward, the deep sea of stars speckling the night sky filled Gracie with awe.
Gracie grabbed a thick blanket and draped it over her shoulders, making sure it bunched behind her back to protect her from the rickety wagon sides. This was the oldest Studebaker she’d ever seen.
Mr. Riley and James sat at the front in silence. For a while the only sound was the occasional snort of a horse, the clop of their hooves and James spitting.
As James drove, Gracie wondered about Uncle Lou. She hoped he was interesting. She and her best friend Connie had discussed all the qualities he might have—humor, irony, mischievousness. Gracie liked to think of him as a funny old man, a little on the heavy side with tufts of hair sprouting from unlikely places. But he couldn’t be too old as he was her father’s little brother and Father was only forty.
Mother didn’t like Uncle Lou, and Father had nothing good to say about him. In fact, now that she thought about it, the reasons for their dislike had never been made clear. She had only heard Uncle Lou was unfitting, a rascal and irresponsible. He must be poor, also. Why else would he pick her up in some outdated wagon when he could send a motor vehicle?
His quirks, however, might very well work in her favor when she unveiled her plan to him.
After five minutes of interminable boredom, she decided to initiate a conversation. “Mr. Cruz, it is coincidental we’re heading the same way. Don’t you find it strange?”
“What I find strange, Miss Riley, is that you were able to keep your mouth closed for more than a minute.”
An odd gargled sound came from James’s direction, and Gracie frowned into the darkness.
“I don’t think it necessary to be so obtuse. Besides, you don’t need to address me as ‘Miss.’ You may use my Christian name. People call me Gracie.” She took a breath. “Do you live near Uncle Lou?”
More noises came from James and his shoulders began shaking uncontrollably. The sound of his hoarse wheezing filled the night air.
Alarm spiked through her, tingling to her fingertips. Was James suffering heart palpitations? She leaped to her feet, despite the bouncing floor, and grabbed the reins from his slack hands. The horses tensed and, sensing a strange driver, began to gallop. A miraculously recovered James jerked the reins from her hands.
“What’re you doing, woman? Are you mad?” His angry voice snapped at her.
Ears burning, she pulled the blanket over herself and huddled on the floor of the wagon. James hadn’t been having a heart attack, only a laughing fit. At her expense. What a rude man. And Mr. Cruz let her stand there and make a fool of herself.
Men from the West had bad manners.
Gracie shifted. Just because no one had taught these two how to act in front of a lady didn’t mean she would forsake her polite upbringing.
The temptation to pout passed. A few moments later she felt brave enough to pop her head out from beneath the heavy blanket. “My apologies, James, for stealing your reins. As I was asking earlier, are you my uncle’s neighbor, Mr. Cruz?”
“I manage things for him. My own home is half a mile from the main house.”
“You said nothing of your relationship at the station.” Silence greeted her comment. Frowning, she studied Mr. Cruz’s profile. He evidently didn’t wish to speak of his personal life.
Well, people were entitled to their secrets. She’d have to take care not to pry. Ignoring the curiosity that made her tongue itch, she forced a jovial tone. “My parents have called Uncle Lou a rascal.”
“Oh, he had his day, missy. He had his day,” James put in.
“I’m surprised he hasn’t provided a female escort. I feel perfectly safe with you but if this happened in Boston, my reputation would suffer.”
“This from the morning wanderer.”
“I didn’t say my reputation was perfect, Mr. Cruz.” Gracie smiled at the thought. Her torch-carrying for Striker had set tongues wagging. Her former beau Hugh disapproved immensely.
“Some say Striker lives out West, despite what you told me, Mr. Cruz. Others hypothesize the villain Mendez roams the Western deserts, too.” She gazed up at the star-studded sky. “Do you suppose I might meet Striker while I’m here?”
“Doubt it,” James said.
Gracie set her chin. Perseverance would be the key. So would the coordinates Connie planned to send.
“You’ll like your uncle, Gracelyn. He doesn’t follow all the rules of society but he’s a good man.” Mr. Cruz turned and looked down at her, his profile outlined by moonlight.
Heart thumping a strange, uneven rhythm, she met his shadowed gaze. For a moment their connection held before he broke it by facing forward. A relief. She could breathe again. He incited such oddness in her.
Thank goodness she’d ended her relationship with Hugh. She’d had none of this attraction for him. In truth, their relationship was based on nothing more than the mutual machinations of their parents. They’d hardly courted before she spotted a betrothal announcement in the local newspaper. Aghast, she’d confronted her parents but they’d waved away her protests in favor of their own agenda.
Just thinking about how Hugh and her parents tried to swindle her into an engagement heated her blood. William and Edith Riley thought Hugh the perfect social match for their sole child, and Hugh’s parents were probably eager for all the money they imagined would come into the family.
Gracie sighed. She hadn’t benefitted by having an on-paper fiancé. Not even a real kiss. He pecked her cheek once before she’d seen the announcement. A most boring experience. She wanted a kiss like Connie had experienced. Connie said kissing was terribly exciting, but risky, and Gracie should wait until she was married to try it out.
But she didn’t want to wait. She wanted to grab life by the steering wheel and drive until she ran out of road. Connie was most likely right, however.
Gracie also wanted to please God. Pleasing Him was of the utmost importance.
“Are you still alive down there?”
“Yes, James. But just barely with all this bouncing around.”
“You almost made five minutes again.”
“The fact that I did not is your fault, you know,” she teased. “I’d really like to hear more about Uncle Lou.”
“Look, missy, ya gotta meet him to know him.” James cackled. “His stories rival a good Tom Swift tale.”
“How intriguing.” She smiled. “I enjoy Twain myself. He’s swell.”
“Silly women,” James muttered.
She waited for Mr. Cruz to speak, curious. But he didn’t say a word. “Mr. Cruz?”
“Gracie, I’ve been traveling all day. You’re a nice girl, but I’m tired and I don’t feel like talking.”
“Oh.” She swallowed. “My apologies.” She arranged the blanket to make a pillow out of it and laid her head down. A nice girl indeed.
She was more than a girl—she was a woman. A capable, independent woman who didn’t need to rely on her parents or some unwanted fiancé for survival.