Song of My Heart

by Barbara Baldwin

  The hotel at First View offered a good beefsteak and soon all three were silently eating. Max enjoyed the meal, but he delighted in watching Abby more. She laughed at a comment Crede made. She looked at the world with an unjaundiced eye, enjoying even the slope of the prairie and the tall grass. And through her, Max was coming to appreciate a different side of life.

  He finished his meal, pushing his plate away and signaling the waitress for more coffee. He’d left orders for the Pullman to be coupled with the westbound in the morning and wondered who was working the new train westward. He’d certainly gotten used to Connors on this last leg, and although the Kansas Pacific prided itself on their crew, there weren’t many as reliable as that young man. Perhaps—his thoughts were interrupted when Crede reached into his pocket and withdrew a roll of bills.

  Max held up a hand. “I’ll pay for supper.”

  Crede grinned and winked at Abby. “Well, I figured you would, since you’re in charge of this operation. Besides, this isn’t even my money.”

  Max watched Abby return Crede’s smile with a trusting look. His fist tightened. Why did women respond to the half-breed so easily? It had never been that effortless for Max.

  “The sheriff gave me this when I turned in Joe Morgan. Seems there’s a reward for him.” He handed the money to her. “I figure since you’re the one who caused the commotion that got him caught, you deserve the reward.”

  Abby gasped. “I can’t take that. He’s not the man we’re looking for.”

  “That’s not the point,” Crede replied. “This fifty dollars is reward for another outlaw, Joe Morgan.”

  Max nodded. “He’s right, Abby. Take the money.”

  This time when Crede reached out, she tentatively accepted the bills, her eyes wide. Max didn’t think fifty dollars was much for an outlaw, but then Morgan hadn’t been wanted for many crimes.

  “Oh, my,” she breathed, staring at the cash. She then looked quickly around the hotel dining room. “Whatever am I supposed to do?” she whispered. “It’ll probably only cause more trouble if anyone sees me with this much money.”

  Max, who was used to much larger sums, held out his hand. “Would you like me to take it for you?”

  She snatched it back. “No.” Then, apparently embarrassed at her reaction, said, “I’m sorry, that sounded rude. I just meant—”

  He interrupted. “In the morning, I’ll escort you to the bank. You can exchange your windfall for a bank draft. When we reach Denver, you can deposit it in an account in your name.”

  When she relaxed, Max realized she’d thought he intended to keep the reward. It seemed incredibly important to her to earn money and maintain her independence. He understood, for he’d felt the same way when he refused to go into business with his father. Every man, and he supposed some women, needed to earn their own way.

  * * *

  They had just enough time in the morning to conduct Abby’s bank business before they heard the train in the distance. She looked around the small station at First View. She had enjoyed the freedom of their days here, for though the town was small, it certainly was larger than the Pullman car. Max had assured her that this last leg of their journey to Denver would take less than a day, even with several stops along the way.

  She glanced to where Max and Crede walked. They’d stopped to visit with the sheriff one more time, apparently to get assurance Joe Morgan would remain behind bars. Max also wanted to leave a message in case his brother came this way.

  “Miss.” Crede nodded politely when they reached her. She barely heard him over the train as it whistled into the station, brakes grinding and steam hissing.

  Max leaned close to be heard over the noise. “Need to see Wesley…make sure the coupling is done right…be back to get you.” She watched him shake hands with Crede, the two men gazing steadily into each other’s eyes.

  Max turned and began to climb between train cars. Crede took her arm and led her around the corner of the depot to a bench, away from the noise of the station.

  “You’ve recovered from your wound, Miss O’Brien?”

  Abby replied in the same formal tone but with a smile. “I have, Mr. Crede.”

  “Just Crede,” he said with a shrug.

  She mimicked his manner. “Just Abby.”

  He laughed. “Grant sure knows how to pick ’em.”

  Abby frowned. “What do you mean?”

  The man shook his head. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter, for many things are already spoken of in the stars.” He held out a miniature carving of a horse not more than two inches in size, nestled in his palm. “This is for you—a medicine horse. I go no farther on this journey of Grant’s, so I give you this.”

  “That’s the second time you’ve said you can go no farther. What do you mean?”

  “My people and their people before them have always been part of the plains. I was born here. I live now on this land, and I will die here and return to the land. Only then will my spirit be free to roam beyond earthly boundaries.”

  Abby had never heard such strange philosophy. She fingered the intricate woodcarving. It was painted in bright colors of red and yellow and had little beads tied on with sinew to embellish it. Abby rubbed her thumb along the tiny horse’s side, from neck to tail. A strange calm entered her.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “The medicine horse will watch over you and protect you when you leave these borders.”

  She curled her hand around the tiny gift. “I have Max to do that.”

  “I thought you said he needed you?”

  “He does. He just doesn’t want to believe it.”

  Crede laughed. “I hope to see you again, Abby O’Brien, once the spirits have made their presence known.”

  She would have liked to ask him more, for there were so many questions about his way of thinking and his people that she didn’t understand. But Max was there and the train whistle blasted a final warning.

  “You know where to find me,” Crede said to Max, then turned and left.

  Max took her elbow and guided her to the Pullman, which was now attached to the rest of the train. She climbed from the small portable step to the back platform. Max followed, reaching around her to open the door to the observation portion of the car.

  Abby felt like she had come home, then wondered at the strange feeling. She tried to keep her balance when the train began to rock from side to side as it moved from the station. It would take a short while for her to find her “train legs” again.

  She laid her reticule on the table and unbuttoned her jacket, depositing it on the settee. She looked again at the carving of the tiny horse that she kept tight in her hand.

  “Max, when you and your friend parted, you simply shook hands and looked in his eyes. Why didn’t either of you say anything?”

  “You mean unlike women who can take an hour, endless chatter and usually a bucket of tears to say good-bye?”

  She made a face at him, even though she knew he teased. “You can judge the measure of a man in his eyes,” he said. “It doesn’t take words to know a man’s worth.”

  She understood what he was saying. Over the course of their time together, she’d found him to be a man of responsibility and integrity; one who valued family and honor. And she’d come to that conclusion not so much by what he said but by his actions.

  Beyond all the characteristics that made a man worth his salt, her father would say, Max was tall of stature and straight backed. She regarded his profile, strong hands clasped behind him and lips pursed. She licked her own lips, remembering the taste of him when they kissed.

  Why did he cause such confusing feelings inside her, making her heart ache just thinking about him? The teachings of her role models hummed through her consciousness. She didn’t want to be dependent on any man. With money in her bag, not counting what Max owed her, she had a tidy sum to start fresh in Denver. She would have time to write and compose, play her music and lead an independent life. That was why
she’d left Boston.

  So why did the medicine horse feel like it burned some secret into her palm? Crede had said some things were already spoken of in the stars. Was the medicine horse truly magic, and would she understand when the time came?

  * * *

  The train rolled out of First View right on time, and Max hoped there would be no problems between there and Denver. He needed to get Abby to his Aunt Elizabeth’s, for her own protection and for his peace of mind. He stood at the window, watching the scenery flash by. Instead of the prairie, he saw her face and her bare shoulder when he had ministered to her gunshot wound. He heard her voice instead of the rumble of the train across the tracks. She spoke with the sweet cadence of music and never had a bad word for anyone. She’d even accepted Crede without question, and Max had found himself consumed with jealousy at the easy way the man had made her laugh.

  From their first kiss in the middle of the night, he’d fallen for her—hard—but it just wasn’t right. She needed a man to love her the way he knew she would love—with her whole heart, body and soul. Though Max ached for her in ways physically impossible to ignore, he didn’t think it was love. Then again, how would he know? He’d never had feelings for a woman like he had for her.

  Yes, it would be best for all concerned if he deposited her at his aunt’s until he finished his business, whereupon he would take her back to Boston. He inwardly groaned. Only a few days ago he was sending her back, not thinking of personally escorting her.

  “Abby.” He cleared his throat, for her name sounded like an endearment to his ears. Damn, he wouldn’t make it to Kit Carson much less Denver if he didn’t get his mind off her and onto business. Unfortunately, the two were closely tied. “We should have telegraphed your father before we left First View.”

  “Oh, dear. In all the excitement, I completely forgot.” She bit her bottom lip, frowning at him. “Since you were the one to telegraph him in the first place, I should make you tell him why I’m not coming home.”

  Max winced. “Let’s hope Aunt Elizabeth knows your parents, even if she hasn’t lived in Boston for years. It would be far better for your reputation if your parents know you are staying with her.”

  She waved away the mention of her reputation as though it were of little consequence. “Tell me about your Aunt Elizabeth.”

  Max wondered what it was that made him so willing to reveal himself. Then he looked her way and knew that with one smile, she could coax just about anything from him.

  “When mother died, Aunt Libby comforted us with her gentle voice and spirit. I missed her terribly when she moved to Denver and I make a point of seeing her whenever I come west.” What Max couldn’t tell her was how Libby had been there when he had cried in the middle of the night. His father always said men don’t cry, but he had only been thirteen years old and his aunt had kept his secret.

  He moved across the room and sat next to Abby on the settee. “Aunt Elizabeth is my mother’s sister, her twin sister actually. She used to live in Boston.”

  “You speak of her with great affection.”

  “Aunt Elizabeth was already married when mother died, and later settled in Denver where her husband had business. But she did spend time with us.” He smiled. “And you’re right, I am quite fond of her.”

  He reached for a lock of her hair that curled lazily along her cheek. He twined it around his index finger, his hand brushing her cheek. “You remind me of her.”

  “In what way?” Her voice softened and she turned toward him.

  He dropped his hand, the touch too intimate, arousing feelings in him he longed to pursue. He cleared his throat, embarrassed at his sentimental thoughts. It was extremely difficult to acknowledge, much less vocalize, his emotions—a lesson his father had instilled in him from a very early age.

  “Max?”

  “Hmmm?” He brought his mind back to the present. “She’s just…Aunt Libby. You’ll understand when you meet her. I know for certain she’ll welcome you and offer us a plausible explanation to give your father.”

  * * *

  Abby thought of Max as she brushed her hair before bed. He always seemed so hesitant to share information about himself. She would like to meet his father someday, for she wondered what kind of man had produced a son so somber and tightly controlled.

  Unsettled, she put her brush on the bureau. She rubbed her thumb along the satin smooth surface of the medicine horse. Some of her restlessness subsided. At the same time, other questions surfaced for which she had no answers. How was Crede so sure their paths would cross again, and what had his cryptic remarks meant?

  A cup of tea was definitely in order. She pulled on her robe and belted it tightly. Picking up the tiny horse, she left the bedroom and walked the short distance to the kitchen. She cocked her head to the side, noticing the light spilling from the main room, which meant Max was still awake.

  It took only a few minutes for the teakettle to begin whistling. She spooned loose tea into the pot and poured in the boiling water.

  The sway of the train as it entered a curve reminded her of the necessity of being careful, so she set the teapot within the small railing that prevented it from sliding. She then emptied the rest of the hot water into the small sink.

  Suddenly the train lurched. Abby flew against the counter, the sharp corner jabbing her hip. The delicate porcelain cup and saucer she’d set on the counter slid to the floor with a crash.

  “Are you all right?” Max’s shape filled the doorway, and she flew to him. The train lurched crazily from side to side as it slowed. His strong arms tightened around her. He braced himself in the corner, his left foot raised and pushing against the counter, his leg blocking the doorway. He pulled her snugly against his hips.

  “We’ve never stopped this way before.”

  “There must be something wrong,” he replied, his lips brushing her hair. “It’ll take a few more minutes for the train to come to a complete stop, but the worst is over.” He kissed her forehead. Then kisses landed on the bridge of her nose, her eyelids, her cheek.

  Abby became aware of sensations not at all associated with the locomotive’s movement.

  Several sharp whistle blasts reverberated through the night. Max set her aside, rushing from the room. She followed, stretching her hands out to both walls to keep upright, for the train still swayed erratically. She entered the bedroom just as he shoved his pistol into the back of his waistband.

  “Where are you going?” She watched him grab extra cartridges from a drawer. He reached into the back of the clothes press and pulled out a rifle.

  She grabbed his arm to get his attention. “Max, what’s going on?”

  Instead of answering, he took her hand and led her quickly through the corridor to the front room. He laid the rifle on the table and put both hands on her shoulders, forcing her to face him.

  “Stay in this car and lock the door behind me. And this time I mean it, Abby. Stay put! Those whistle blasts signal trouble on the train, and I do not want you in the middle of it.”

  “But you’ll be in the middle of it.” She wanted him to stay here, away from danger.

  “You’ll be safe here, and I can’t do my job if I’m distracted thinking about you.” He let go of her shoulders and grabbed the rifle.

  “Since when is protecting the train your job?”

  He turned at the door, and Abby was caught by the intensity of his gaze. His blue eyes appeared dark as midnight and a haunted expression crossed his face. In two strides he was back. He grabbed her around the waist with one arm and pulled her roughly against him. His lips sealed hers in a kiss so hot she felt seared down to her toes.

  He ended the kiss but didn’t release her. His fierce expression made her tremble. “Stay here. Don’t let anyone in except me. If I don’t come—”

  “Hush.” She put a hand to his mouth.

  She locked the door behind him and stood staring into the night. She pressed a trembling hand against the cool glass pane. God, kee
p him safe, she prayed.

  Then she turned on her heel and went in search of a weapon.

  * * *

  Max ran through the train as fast as the darkness would allow. He prayed Abby would stay put this time. There was real danger. Billy Hamilton, the train’s engineer, wouldn’t pull the brakes and put passengers, stock and freight at risk otherwise.

  Shots from up ahead spurred him on. His mind focused on the unknown threat. The darkness blocked his vision, so he concentrated on sounds. He stepped onto the narrow platform between cars, listening to the voices from the left side of the train not more than a car away.

  He climbed onto the ladder that ran up to the roof and hung far enough to the outside to see past the corner. A lantern glowed, casting shadows that moved rapidly from the train to freight wagons pulled alongside the tracks. He swung back on the ladder, out of sight. He couldn’t tell whether railroad personnel were being coerced into helping. Random firing into the group below wasn’t an option. He couldn’t go farther inside the train before running into the freight car and whoever was robbing it. He decided the best way was up.

  Keeping his rifle tight in one hand, he climbed the ladder and cautiously peered over the roof of the car. Seeing no one, he inched over the top, staying close to the roof to prevent his silhouette from attracting attention.

  He crept silently along the roof. When he grew even with the voices, he lay on his belly and inched toward the edge. He was close enough to be seen if someone happened to look up.

  He counted five men moving freight from the train onto a wagon. Another held a gun on Brinkenhoff and Hamilton, who stood close to the train with their hands in the air. Damn, how was he to take down the robbers without the train’s crew getting caught in the crossfire?

  He cocked his rifle and sighted down the barrel at the man guarding the engineer and conductor. He hoped those two had the good sense to hide under the train when the shooting started. He squeezed the trigger.