Forgiven Read Free Page A

wait, but did I dare, with my second-class ticket? With me being so obviously not a true lady? I squared my shoulders and stared at the wall.
    Men prowled the station, catlike.
    Cougars came into the camp on a rare occasion, and I knew well what to do when facing down a cougar. Stand tall, do not run, show no fear—that’s best. Cats do not like to be challenged, but they love a chase. I straightened my shoulders and made sure my thick hair was still pinned well up. Everything about me, still tucked in tight.
    One man took a turn around the long room and came and sat next to me on the bench and cleared his throat. He was outfitted in an old, out-of-fashion frock coat. His shoes were scuffed. I twisted my head away and leaned my arm against the rest.
    “Know yer way around Bozeman, then?”
    I glanced; a mistake. For one instant, with his hungry expression, he looked like Snake-eyes. In that instant the fear must’ve been plain as day on my face. I drew up, but not before a sly smile played on his lips.
    “You traveling alone? Course you are.”
    “I have friends in Bozeman.”
    “Whereabouts?”
    My heart hammered. I had no idea whereabouts. Pa said Mrs. Gale would fetch me at the station in Bozeman.
    “Pretty gal like you, traveling alone. Darn shame.” His voice dropped. “You maybe a Crow? Or Sioux?”
    “No.”
    “Sure,” he said. “Sure thing.” He slid down the bench right up next to me. “I know gals like you. Can’t fool me.”
    My hands tightened around the drawstring of my reticule. “I’ve got a knife handy, right here. You don’t move away, I’ll stick you.” I kept my voice low and even, hoping he wouldn’t hear the tremor hiding behind it.
    He clicked his tongue, but slid back to the far corner of the bench. After a minute he moved off, and I let the air out of my lungs.
    This was not my dream, where I was treated so. My gentleman would treat me decent.
    On the train as it climbed up and over the Bozeman pass through snow-covered hills and under gray skies threatening new snow, a knot grew in my stomach, tighter than a burr in sheep’s wool. I touched the key again, felt it beneath my shirt.
    The train eased into the station in a cloud of steam. I made my way down the steps and found my trunk. The porter who pulled it off the train for me took in my meager offering of pennies and frowned. I frowned right back, knowing from experience, from my years of service, just what he was thinking. Those pennies would have to do. I had no more to give him.
    From behind me came, “Miss Kula?”
    The voice was so unexpected that I turned sharp as glass. I looked down into the anxious face of a boy who stood twisting his cap. “I’m Caleb, Miss Kula. I do for Mrs. Gale from time to time, and she sent me to fetch you.”
    I relaxed. He seemed more nervous than I was. “I see. How did you know . . .”
    “It was you?” He smiled. He was pleasant enough, maybe three or four years younger than me. “She told me. She said you were pretty. Dark-haired. Native-looking.” At this last he blushed.
    As well he should have.
    I narrowed my eyes. “My trunk.” I pointed, leaned toward him. “Don’t go getting any ideas,” I said low.
    “No, miss, I sure wouldn’t. Never. No.” He stared at me, abashed, and I realized with a shock that it was the first time anyone had ever called me “miss.” The very first time, in all my years. I forgave him right then.
    I stood straight and mustered up a smile. “Then I’m sure we’ll be friends.” I stuck my hand out. “Friends?”
    He pulled back from my hand as if it would bite. He nodded. Then he took my trunk and dragged it out across the platform and through the station to a small carriage waiting by the curb.
    As I made to get into the carriage he stuck out his hand to help me up. “Friends,” he said, soft and shy, as our hands met.
    Caleb drove down Bozeman’s main street. I’d never seen so many shops in one place. This was nothing like