Leave? Not a chance. As soon as he cleared the grit from his throat, he wanted to meet the town head-on, let it know he’d returned and intended to stay.
Behind him, the pride of the Union Pacific hissed and growled like an angry tomcat, poised for flight but statue still. Heat from the iron horse blistered the air. Thomas blinked a few times, getting his bearings. Train travel might save time and energy, but he’d take a horse any day.
Horses meant freedom. When he’d turned sixteen, he’d jumped on the back of his father’s best gelding and galloped away from his father and a memory that threatened to suck the very breath from his chest.
Horses also meant money.
Thomas took a coin from his pocket and danced it between his fingers. Spotting a young man lounging uselessly against what might be called an excuse for a depot, he called, “Hey, boy.” Time to unload five prime mares, and Thomas could use some help. If bloodlines and spirit could be turned into a profit, he intended to make yet another fortune here in the mire of his childhood nightmares.
Horses also took a lot of time.
“Boy,” Thomas called again, raising an eyebrow. Either times had changed or the young man sitting on the rickety depot step had a hearing problem. Money in Lickwind had never been so plentiful—except for the landowners—that a boy didn’t keep an eye out for a way to make a little extra.
“Bo—”
“I ain’t a boy.”
No, she wasn’t. Thomas could see that now that she glanced up. Freckles spotted high cheekbones. A hint of strawberry blond hair framed a face protected from the sun by an old, ugly, brown hat. A giant gray-and-black-striped cat indignantly climbed off the girl’s lap; and belatedly, Thomas noted the brown skirt that graced the top of scuffed, brown leather boots.
“Roberta Suzanne Craig!” A brunette hurried across a dirt street. This one, from the tips of her high-top laced boots to the lacy bonnet covering her head, was not of the type to be mistaken for a boy.
Before he could move, the boy impersonator jumped up and hid behind him. Peeking over his shoulder, she asked, “How can I earn that money?”
Surprised, he answered, “I wanted help moving my horses.”
“Sure, I can help, but you need to convince my sister.”
He stepped aside as the pretty one skidded to a stop. She looked like a schoolmistress ready to dress down a truant pupil. He didn’t want to get in her way. On the other hand, the tomboy one, Roberta, bobbed up and down like a cork in water. Truthfully, he didn’t know which sister posed the bigger threat. He had the feeling that to side with the pretty one would earn him the ire of the other one.
Women.
He preferred horses.
“Bertie, you come around him now!”
To her credit, the girl—she looked like a Bertie—stepped to the side and met her sister’s gaze head-on. Her lips pursed together, and Thomas decided that he’d like to see these two take on his two top hands, Rex and Mikey. Rex could shoot a mosquito at twenty paces. Mikey used a bullwhip to slice bread.
The pretty girl’s words came out in a rush. “I’ve been looking for you all morning. You were supposed to make Butter Buds this morning. You know train days are always busy. Also, I checked your sewing basket, and there’s enough dust on it to plant a garden. And you left dirty clothes on the floor again.”
Before Thomas had an inkling what she was about to do, Bertie grabbed his arm and yanked him closer to the scolding sister.
“I’m helping with his horses. He’s paying me. He’s new to town. You always tell me we have to be neighborly.”
Two pairs of eyes focused all their attention on him. He stammered, “Wh–wh–whoa, now. I j–ju–just …”
“Just what?” Hands went to her hips as Mrs. Bossy frowned at him.
“I th–thought she w–was a boy,” Thomas admitted. He wished his tongue would return to normal size and that he’d never noticed the urchin sitting on the stoop.
Masculine laughter rang out behind him. At the sound, Thomas felt his teeth clamp together viselike. Mrs. Bossy smiled a halfhearted greeting. It was Bertie who caught Thomas’s attention, and his opinion of her increased. She looked like a foul smell accosted her, and Thomas easily identified the source. Unless he was mistaken, Josiah Temple stood behind him.
This was not how Thomas wanted to face Temple.
Thomas wanted his wealth and power to counter Temple’s local prestige. Instead, Temple not only heard Thomas stutter, but also witnessed him mistake a girl for a boy.
Lickwind may have grown, what with the railroad and all—and where had all these women come from?—but in other ways, it stayed small or at least small-minded. No one escaped the scrutiny of Josiah Temple. Thomas likened the man to a burr of a cholla cactus. He’d discovered the stubborn pricklies in the Arizona Territory. About the time he cleared a squatter from his right pant leg, three more settled on his left boot. They seemed to know when he wasn’t looking, and here they came, clinging and pestering. Rex said he’d seen one jump more than a mile just to annoy a man.
“Mrs. Riker.” Josiah took off his hat. “Good afternoon.” With a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, he turned to Bertie and said, “Boy.”
Bertie stuck her tongue out.
Although it annoyed him to ape Temple, Thomas swept the hat from his head. He plain wasn’t expecting womenfolk in Lickwind. Mrs. Riker didn’t seem to notice, but the homely girl grinned and did the same. Thomas shook his head. Nothing about this day was turning out as he wanted. At least Bertie kept her tongue in her mouth as she smirked at him.
Mrs. Riker grasped Bertie by the arm. “Roberta Suzanne—”
“Bertie!” the urchin insisted.
“Roberta Suzanne, you are too old to be sticking out your tongue. Now march right—”
Bertie dug in her heels. “I’m helping him with the horses.”
“That might mean you’re assisting a horse thief.” Temple’s mustache barely moved, yet the words sounded as loud as thunder.
Thomas’s fingers itched. Just one minute, no, two—that’s all it would take to toss this depraved fool to the ground and pound his face to pulp.
But he couldn’t. It looked like Lickwind had turned respectable. It had ladies, one who might swoon and another who might join the fight. Neither circumstance appealed to him. A lifetime of hate wouldn’t let him walk away from Temple, but common sense warned that Thomas not act so rash as to find himself facing the end of a rope during his first day in town.
“You look just like your father,” Temple said.
At age fifteen, Thomas had looked up to all the cowboys and few landowners. Not any longer. Now, he pretty much expected them to look up to him. “And you look like a man who’d pound a nail into the casket before the doctor filled out the death certificate.”
“Tommy,” Temple advised, “the best thing for you to do is hop back on that train and leave.”
Thomas grinned. “Not a chance.” Temple said nothing.
“You got a problem with me?” Thomas didn’t stutter now.
“That a threat?” Temple noted the gun and stepped in front of the ladies.
No doubt they—or at least the pretty one—thought he was being a gentleman. Yellow-livered. Just the thought made Thomas smile. “You’re not worth my time.” Thomas put his hat on and winked at Bertie before walking away.
Bertie felt the hair at the back of her neck prickle. Usually Josiah Temple couldn’t round a corner without her knowing. He’d snuck up on her today. She’d thought Rhubarb took off because of the man on the train, but now Bertie blamed Josiah for the cat’s desertion. Cats were great judges of character, and Rhubarb never erred. The cat adored James, Luke, and Gideon. As for Josiah, Rhubarb wouldn’t stay in the same room.
The man on the train obviously felt the same way. Bertie could almost forgive him for mistaking her for a boy.
“Nothing good ever came from a Hardin.” Josiah looked bright, but Bertie didn’t think it ran deep. No
t if he didn’t recognize the expression on Bess’s face. Of course, Josiah wasn’t even looking at Bess; he watched the man he called Hardin walk toward Donald Potter’s law office.
Hardin. Bertie liked the sound of it. If Rhubarb had kittens again, Bertie would name the biggest, toughest one Hardin.
Bess’s nose twitched just a bit. A true sign she’d been offended. “You know the man enough to judge?” she asked Josiah.
When Bess used her “teacher” voice, grown men cowered. Even Corrie’s little girls, Brianne and Madeline, quieted. Bertie practiced the tone, but she never got it right. Matty said it had something to do with maturing.
Yup, Josiah was for true a fool. He rambled on, still watching Hardin. “I knew his father well enough to judge. We ran Tommy and his old man out of town when it barely rated as a town. Weren’t but four or five settling families hereabouts. The Smits, when the boys were younger and before Rachel died.” His voice dropped; and if Bertie hadn’t known better, she’d think he was being reverent. “Then the Webbers moved on; they didn’t squat but a few months and claimed it got too crowded. As I recall, I think the missus died right before they left. The Collingswoods, but I don’t need to tell you about them.” Josiah was too much the politician to leer, but Bertie wished she were a man so she could wipe that look off his face.
Josiah was a talker, always, but seldom did he concentrate on anything but himself. Tommy Hardin’s arrival really must have shaken him. He barely took a breath before continuing, “The Kincaid brothers were among the first settlers. They beat me here. Cyrus, he was a smart one, not like his brother. Then, there was me. The cowboys were a lot rougher back then—’twasn’t anything like it is today. Tommy Hardin’s pa was the worst of them. Worked at the Kincaid spread.”
Josiah finally turned to face Bess, and Bertie thought he took a step back. But he still wasn’t smart enough to stop talking. “Caught Tommy Hardin’s daddy rustling my cattle. I wanted to string him up.”
Bertie waited to hear more, but Josiah stopped talking as the land office door closed behind Hardin.
Was Tommy Hardin a cowboy? He didn’t dress like one or smell like one. Or was he a rustler like his father?
“It was just a surprise, seeing Tommy.” Josiah had the good grace to look sheepish. “Excuse me, ladies, I said too much. Fact is, Scotty stuck up for the Hardins and so most of the men were willing to go easy on his dad.”
It was a good thing Bess was just as mesmerized with today’s events as Josiah, because it not only saved Josiah from the tongue-lashing he deserved, but it allowed Bertie to slink away unnoticed. Standing behind the railroad depot, she waited until Bess was safely inside their restaurant, The Back Porch, before hurrying in the opposite direction.
Oh, Grandmother’s bloomers! Bertie couldn’t remember anything so exciting as Thomas Hardin, unless you counted her sisters’ weddings. And watching Josiah Temple puff up and then deflate just made Bertie’s day.
Bertie peeked around the corner of the train. Any minute now Bess would realize she had neglected to retrieve her student. Escape now meant retribution later, but it would be worth it. Who could she get to accompany her to Matty’s and Corrie’s place so she could find Scotty? He’d saved Tommy Hardin’s father from death. Scotty was a master storyteller. Bertie couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t already divulged this exciting tale.
Bertie pivoted but didn’t manage even one step. In front of her stood the smallest man she’d ever seen. He smiled as Rhubarb wove between his ankles. The cat’s tail stood straight up, a true sign of feline contentment. After a moment, Rhubarb deserted her bandy-legged quarry and investigated a cart so loaded with trunks that Bertie couldn’t imagine this man pulling it. Bertie got the distinct impression he approved of her. Not a notion she gleaned from most of the adult population in Lickwind.
“Hello,” Bertie said.
The man bowed, easily maneuvered the cart, and headed for the middle of the street. Not even the thought of Bess could keep Bertie from following.
Bertie figured that this day packed about as much excitement—at least for her—as had the day the sisters arrived in Lickwind.
The Chinaman positioned his cart out of the way in front of Donald Potter’s office. He stood as still as Bertie had ever seen a man be and waited. A handful of people made it to town on Thursdays, but those who did were just as fascinated as Bertie. The Chinaman ignored the stares, and his stoic face didn’t acknowledge the few rude words that were thrown his way.
Bertie grew uncomfortable. If Bess found out Bertie had spent an hour standing in the middle of town just staring at a stranger, there’d be a price. Most likely an essay on China’s history!
A low whistle saved Bertie. Ramon barked and ran for Jones’s store.
Scotty!
Bertie skidded to a stop before the cowboy had time to tie his horse to the post. “There’s a man from China, and he’s standing on the stoop in from of the land office. I think he came with a man named Tommy Hardin.”
Ramon’s head nudged Scotty’s hand until the old cowboy chuckled. “If that dog herded cattle the way he herds you, he’d be worth something.” Bertie gave her favorite cowboy a quick hug.
Scotty’s eyes lit up. “Little Tommy Hardin. Now there’s a name I ain’t heard in a while. I taught him to read from the Bible. Not sure it did him any good.” Scotty grinned, his mouth cracking open in a toothless display of glee. “Spit and vinegar on two legs and some to spare.”
“I’m taller than the Chinaman,” Bertie announced.
“They do be skimpy fellas. The railroad employs scores of them.”
“I followed him. He’s definitely with Tommy Hardin, not the railroad.”
Scotty cackled. “That boy could find trouble blindfolded.”
“Mr. Temple said he was a thief.”
“Well, now, there’s some that think that and others who don’t.”
“What do you think, Scotty?”
Scotty frowned. “I think Tommy’s father made some unfortunate choices, but that doesn’t mean—”
“They call me Thomas now, and I see you’re still sticking up for me.” Thomas Hardin took the horse’s reins from Scotty’s hand and secured them to the post.
Bertie couldn’t remember ever seeing a man so handsome.
“Hello, Miss Bertie, and good-bye, Miss Bertie.” Thomas Hardin quickly dismissed her presence and slapped Scotty on the back.
Even as Scotty shooed her away, Bertie was wishing, for the first time, that she looked and acted like a woman.
Chapter 2
Bess Riker’s kitchen floor shone like the bald spot on Amos Freeling’s head. Bertie carried the water bucket out to the garden and emptied it. Her fingers were red and rough from the lye soap Bess favored. Scotty said the Indians lived on dirt floors; and when the floors got dirty, the Indians covered their trash with more dirt, thus creating a new, slightly higher floor.
For true, she loved July in Wyoming. Green as far as you could see and trees so tall they looked like climbing posts to heaven. The bucket banged against her leg as she headed back home, whistling for Rhubarb. The cat always managed to disappear. Today Bertie didn’t have a hope for escape. Any minute now it would be time to head to school, and Bess remained thin-lipped from last week’s spectacle.
Apparently the whole town had watched Roberta Suzanne Craig follow a Chinaman from one end of the street to the other. Albert Smit had even come to town special to warn Gideon and Bess that Chinamen were not to be trusted. Albert admitted he personally hadn’t dealt with any, but he’d heard and thought that both Hardin and his friends should be run out of town.
Four hours later, with chores and schoolwork behind her, Bertie stood and headed for the door. Her first chance at escape in five days.
She’d barely made two steps before Bess asked, “Bertie, can you recite the nine rules for the use of capital letters?”
Bertie recited, and Regina Bently echoed the rules in a whisper. “Bertie, you haven’
t done any piecework all week, and—”
“I need to look for Rhubarb. She hasn’t been around all morning.” Bess looked up from the spelling words on Leonard Smit’s slate. Her eyes surveyed the room where she held school five days a week. Usually the cat curled up on the floor near where Bertie sat.
Leonard always sat closest to Bess, not only because he needed the most help, but because he was smitten with her. His younger brother Jethro used to sit by the door, escape as much on his mind as Bertie’s, but then Harry—Gideon’s former barkeep—halfheartedly started attending, and Jethro lost his favorite perch. Walter, more family than student, liked to sit on the floor in front of the piano bench. His sister Regina usually sat next to him.
“Did you look in the shed?” Bess handed Leonard his slate to correct.
“During recess and before spelling.”
“He wasn’t at our house this morning,” Walter offered.
“It’s not our house,” Regina reminded. They were staying in Frank Llewellyn’s house while the banker was out of town. “Do you want some help?” asked Bess.
A wave of longing washed over Bertie, and she almost said yes. The soft tone of her sister’s voice reminded her of their mother—a memory fading faster than Bertie thought possible. Her sisters tried to make up for the loss. She went from having one mother to having four. Even Adele, for a brief time, tried to assume the role. In some ways, their smothering had obliterated any recollection she had of the sweet-voiced woman who called her Baby.
Baby.
The sisters had tried calling Bertie “Baby,” but she’d put a stop to that. A neighbor boy back in Rhode Island taught her how to hold her breath until she turned blue. Matty scolded, Corrie cried, and Bess pounded her on the back until she hiccupped, but the sisters got the idea. For true, she hated being the baby of the family. It meant doing everything last, and it meant that the others could always do things better. Bertie didn’t even want to try if it meant an older sister was going to judge. She learned to be a baby who didn’t cry and who didn’t come when called, except sometimes for Bess.
Bartered Bride Romance Collection Page 39
