The elder sister straightened. “We came west last summer and built the ranch.”
He raised his brows. “You brought the horses with you?” Maybe he was being nosy asking so many questions, but how could these three women have obtained so many animals? They must have come from the Indian. Perhaps that was how he’d become part of the business.
She shook her head, frown lines forming on her brow. “Some of them are descended from horses our father once bred. He owned a sizeable ranch in Virginia until a few years ago. The others we . . . acquired after we got here.”
One of the trappers spoke up. “She means they took ’em back from a yellow-bellied thief when he turned his gun on the wrong gal.”
He would have expected Miss Collins to aim her frown at the trapper and his impertinent comment, but insteadher expression softened to a slight curve of her mouth. “What he means, Mr. Mason, is that after we came west, we found the horses that had once belonged to our father and also discovered a host of other mounts the man had stolen. We’ve returned as many to their rightful owners as we could locate, and those remaining are now part of our herd.” She glanced to the brave. “White Horse has half ownership in everything. The two horses who produced part of the herd were gifts from our father to his mother.”
Tanner couldn’t help but stare as he took in the story. What a tale. Any women living and ranching in this mountain wilderness had to be tough, but these three appeared to possess a double portion of grit. They’d been through far more than he’d imagined.
Hopefully they wouldn’t mind one more question. “So what do you do with them all? Sell them to the Indians?”
She shrugged. “Some. And trappers. But mostly we have a contract with the cavalry to supply a number of mounts each year.”
Even more impressive. Grit and business savvy.
A noise from the calf drew his focus back to the animal as it gave a hard butt against Miss Lorelei’s hand. She chuckled and straightened, then lifted the milk container out of its reach. She turned that brilliant smile to the group behind her, making him wish he didn’t stand apart from the others. “I think he feels much better about life. Hopefully that will last him until we get more milk tomorrow.”
She looked to Tanner, and the richness of those warm brown eyes pressed through him. “Will you be milking tonight as well as in the morning?”
Steady, Mason. Youcan’t offer to ride the milk over in thedark. He swallowed to strengthen his defenses. “I milk her mornings and evenings. You’re welcome to come purchase milk anytime.”But I can’t deliver it again. Hopefully she understood the unspoken message.
And he’d slipped the wordpurchasein too, which should remind her he needed to be paid for this order. His father would be proud. Though that no longer mattered. He was simply being a good businessman. Ensuring his trading post would be a success.
He had to, for it was his last chance to make something of himself.
four
The sound of the trading post door opening made Tanner spin to face the newcomers. He needed a dog, or something to announce when people approached. This place was too remote.
His years as one of the Boston Day Police had taught him not to turn his back on strangers, but he couldn’t help that when he was here by himself. Since Wally and Kentucky had left with the wagon for St. Louis that morning, he was on his own now, at least until Wally returned in two months with George and another load of supplies.
A single man entered, removing his hat and blinking as he paused in the doorway and stared around the room. With the sun still streaming in behind him, the fellow’s face was mostly shadowed, making it hard to see more than the bushy hair around his head.
Tanner left the bead necklaces he’d been sorting by color and moved to the trade counter. “How can I help you, sir?” Perhaps he should find a less patronizing way to greet customers. He still sounded like a youth working the counterat Mason’s Mercantile. And he’d not been that for nearly a decade. Nor would he ever be again.
“Not sure yet.” The voice made the newcomer sound not much older than a store clerk himself. He left the door open as he meandered into the room, but at least Tanner could make out his features now. The overgrown lad wore the buckskin trousers every man in these parts sported and a cloth shirt that looked new enough to have been bought at last year’s rendezvous. Or more likely, this fellow had come west the summer before, just in time for winter trapping.
“Feel free to look around. Let me know if you have trade furs you want me to value.”
The man swiveled to face him, then took two lanky steps—the kind that would cover a lot of ground hiking up and down mountains—and slapped a hand on the counter. “I heard you was openin’ a trade shop. I told Skeet it couldn’t be true. We near caught the scurvy all winter long, and now you show up and say we can buy goods anytime we please. But here ye are. Wait till I tell the rest of them. You’ll have all o’ Johnson’s men here afore you can sneeze twice. Redding’s too. We passed those boys about a week back on the Yellowstone. Leastways Skeet said it was the Yellowstone. Thought it was the Jefferson myself.”
Keeping up with the man’s ramble wasn’t easy, especially with the sluggish way he drew out some of the words. But Tanner would need to pick up the skill quickly. A trading post centrally located like this one would be a hub of news.
And he would be the chief reporter. Somehow that hadn’t occurred to him when he’d chosen this venture for his final chance. They’d find him far better at keeping a confidence than spilling gossip.
But he gave the man a friendly nod. “Tell them all we pay a fair price for every fur. And we’re fully stocked with supplies and goods to trade with the Indians.” He’d done a great deal of research before purchasing his inventory. Even spoke to Etienne Provost, one of the partners from last year’s rendezvous.
The fellow turned and wandered to a row of shelves where Tanner had stacked clothing. As he looked his fill, he jabbered on about how long it had been since he’d seen red flannel. Not since coming west from Georgia last autumn, which fit the narrative Tanner had suspected.
Tanner kept himself behind the counter the entire time the fellow stayed, which allowed him to study the man. He’d spent the last decade developing his senses, making himself adept at reading people.
He would need a little more education in the nuances of these trappers. Though this fellow was young and probably still greener than most, the winter he’d survived in this harsh land showed in the lines around his eyes and the way he studied things. He was eager, but not foolhardy. Not much, anyway.
But he did love to talk. By the time the fellow had been there a quarter hour, Tanner had to work not to tune him out. Most of the trappers would likely be starved for conversation after going the winter with only a small group. Something else to prepare himself for.
“Did you hear about the white buffalo calf those women are raising north of here?”
