The Five Dollar Mail Book 3: The Road Home

48: Hell and Back

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of Rosie by Laura Hollingsworth. All graphics by me.

Book 1: The Green, Book 2: Lynch's Boys, Book 3: The Road Home, and the Riders & Kickers Anthology are available on Amazon under the name Regina Shelley. So if you hate waiting for chapter posts and/or want a more polished read, the finished product is available now.

Rosie had heard all about Miss Lily from Wash, Luis and Tommy. She had heard about how kind and gentle Jesse Hanson’s sister was, and how the quality of the food here at the station had improved since she’d been hired on as a cook. Rosie now knew that Miss Lily had been the bespectacled, brown-haired woman she’d seen in Abigail’s the night Lynch’s crew had shown up for supper. And she’d heard even more about Mister Bari...Saint...the dark, handsome driver that drove the stagecoach, who was Wash’s best friend and trail partner. She’d heard all about the fights he’d been in and the crazy close calls he and Wash had survived out on the stagecoach. In her mind, he, like everyone else here, seemed to Rosie like a folk hero in a dime novel.

So she was unprepared for the sight of the bedraggled couple that had ridden up into the yard on a pair of equally bedraggled horses. She had thought quite a bit about what they would be like when they’d returned to the station. She had been nervous at what they would think of her, or if they’d like her. Her idol-worship for anyone connected to the station had painted them as returning heroes, and she had found herself hoping more than once that she wouldn’t be tongue-tied or appear foolish, particularly in front of the lady or the famously handsome Jesse Hanson. A few scenarios had played out in her head about their return, but none of  them looked quite like...this.

She’d hurried out the door behind Wash and the boys, frightened by the expression of fear etched onto Wash’s face. Jesse Hanson and the stock tender, Mr. Hungerford, were supposed to be back, but they aren’t. And these two look neither happy nor well. From the way they carried themselves, both riders were overwhelmed with exhaustion. And she was pretty certain that the man, Saint, was injured by the way he sat stiffly in the saddle, his shoulders hunched and his head down.

“Jaysus! What the devil happened?” Wash reached Miss Lily’s silver horse first, and he reached to help her dismount. He gently helped her ease from the saddle, supporting her as easily as if she were a child.

She clutched at him, hugging him in a desperate, relieved embrace, before pulling him towards the man Rosie knew had to be Saint. “Help him down, Wash,” Miss Lily said, her voice breaking with exhaustion and stress. He’s in a bad way.”

Luis had grabbed hold of Saint’s gray mare, stroking her face and holding her still. “‘S’ alright, Jersey, be still, senorita. Madre de Dios, amigo, what happened out there?”

“Easy, lad...” Wash grabbed Saint’s arm, steadying him as he dismounted and holding him upright in case he fell. “You two look like shite, so you do. What the devil...where is...”

“We got separated,” Lily said, her voice thin and strained. Luis threw his arms around her, hugging her tightly. She held onto him as though she was fearful of falling off the earth. “Bender has to bring Jesse back,” she explained, seemingly unwilling to let Luis go. “Oh, Luis! Oh, honey, I’m so glad to be home.” She was pale and gaunt, her eyes bright behind damaged silver spectacles. The temples were bent and broken off, and what was left of the eyepiece was held on by a crudely tied length of rawhide. Fading bruises marred her pale face. She let of of Luis and threw her arms around Tommy, hugging him tightly, her watering eyes squeezed shut. “I don’t even know where they are.” Her face broke and she shoved her fingers under her glasses and rubbed her eyes. Rosie was pretty sure she’d started to cry as the woman let go of Tommy and hurried to Saint’s side. “He needs to drink some coffee and lie down,” she said, her words giddy and nearly frantic as she slid an arm around Saint’s waist and helped Wash support him. “Bender took some bullets out of him...he’s still weak from it, and we’ve been on the trail and out of coffee.”

Miss McMillian had started to babble, and Rosie gently took her arm, letting the exhausted woman lean on her. She’s half out of her mind over him. He’s breathing easier just from her arm around him. Nobody told me they were sweethearts, but I sure can tell that they are. What on earth happened out there?

Saint leaned heavily on Wash.. He was clearly exhausted and in pain. “Yeah, it wasn’t a great trip,” he wheezed hoarsely, looking very much like he’d be perfectly happy to fall down right there in the yard and sleep where he fell. His handsome face was paper white, and nearly gray, feral with unshaven whiskers. Deep blue shadows lurked under his dark eyes. “Remember when we got robbed, Ginger? That was more fun.” He was breathing hard, as if he’d run a race. “The horses....”

“I’ll take care of them, amigo, just go with Wash, eh?” Luis’ eyes were huge, and Rosie could tell that his calm tone conveyed a reassurance he did not feel. He was clearly worried for his friend. “You need me to ride for the Doc?”

“No, I’ll be alright,” Saint muttered unconvincingly. A thin sheen of sweat sparkled on his skin, and he grimaced. “Just tell me there’s coffee.”

“Aye, lad. Jaysus...” Wash hauled his friend’s arm across his strong shoulders, taking most of his weight and guiding him towards the house. “Let’s get you off your feet. Tommy, lad!” he barked over his shoulder. “He needs coffee, so he does. Bring the pot!”

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