What if Kevin had nightmares?
“Thinking about letting him sleep with you tonight?” Clint asked.
Amazed he’d accurately gauged her thoughts, she replied, “How did you know?”
“I had a younger sister and a…” He stopped himself and shook his head. He shrugged. “I know how these things go.”
She felt a sudden chill when he said had and then stopped. What did he mean by had? She remembered the day when he’d mentioned the river at his ranch. He'd reacted the same way, as if he didn't want to think about some awful memory.
What tragedies had he suffered and endured? Not that it was any of her business. If he wanted her to know, he would tell her.
As if restless, he rose and dusted his Stetson against his leg. Leaning over the rail of the porch, he said, “It’s a beautiful night. The stars are out and the hunter’s moon is bright as day.”
She found herself rising, too, to stand beside him. Glancing up, she agreed, “Yes, it’s a beautiful night. Thanks for keeping us company and telling Kevin stories.”
“My pleasure, ma’am,” he drawled. Turning abruptly, he faced her. “You didn’t ask what the meetings were about that kept me from one of your delicious suppers. Aren’t you curious?”
“Yes, ah, no,” she sputtered, caught off guard by his unexpected question. “It’s really none of my business, Sheriff Graham.” But even as she denied her interest, she felt gratified he wanted to tell her.
He hitched his shoulder toward Kevin. “He’s sleeping, Abby, please call me Clint.”
“All right, Clint.” She laced her fingers together.
“I was late because the word came down from the Southern Pacific today. It’s official. The railroad decided to raise its rates, just before the fall shipment of wool.” He glanced at her, as if trying to assess her reaction. “Is your father out on a run?”
“Yes.”
“He probably doesn’t know yet. Not that it matters.”
A strange prickly sensation ran down her spine, almost a presentiment of trouble to come. Her first loyalty was to the railroad, but she wished the Southern Pacific hadn’t picked this time or place to raise its rates.
“Did the railroad give a reason?” she asked.
“Yes, and we ranchers knew it was coming. The new Interstate Commerce Commission has mandated the use of safety equipment for the railroad, such as mechanical brakes. And I know the safety equipment is necessary. But to pay for the equipment, the railroad is raising their freight rates across the board.”
“My eldest brother is a brakeman in St. Louis. He lost three fingers working with manual brakes. And Mr. Weaver—”
“Mr. Weaver, who has one hand,” Clint interjected.
“Yes, he lost his hand, using the manual coupler.”
“So you know about the innovations?”
“Know of them?” She retorted. “We’ve been praying for them for years.”
“I can’t say I blame you. I’m sorry for your brother.”
“Thank you,” she replied stiffly. “You know, my father is a legend among railroaders,” she added. “He started in the switching yards, over twenty-five years ago, and worked his way up to brakeman, then fireman, and finally, engineer. And he's never been seriously injured.”
She shook her head. “But my father is the exception. Most men are maimed or killed if they work for the railroad long enough.”
“What you say is true, Abby. I won’t argue with you. The new equipment is necessary, but it’s only one side of the story.”
“What do you mean?” Was he finally going to show his true colors and side with the ranchers? After all, the rate increase would hurt him financially.
“The railroads could safeguard their employees and take a smaller operating profit. Financiers and investors have become millionaires overnight from the profits they make on the railroads.”
“I didn’t know that,” she admitted, relieved he wasn't blaming the railroad men.
What he was saying was the railroad owners were abusing their power with both their employees and customers. She shouldn’t be surprised; she was well acquainted with greed and the tactics that went with it.
“And it couldn’t come at a worse time.” He put one foot on the bottom railing of the porch and leaned over the top railing, staring into the night. “A year ago, the government lifted protective tariffs on our wool, making us compete with wool from Australia and South America. None of us ranchers made a profit last year due to foreign competition. Then this year, I lost half of my sheep to bluetongue, as did most of the other ranchers. I don’t know how much longer some of us can hang on.” He lifted his head and gazed at the stars again. “It’s one of the reasons I took this job, to make money for my ranch.”
She wanted to ask him what the other reasons were, to find out if they had anything to do with his sister or the river or whatever it was that was bothering him. It wasn’t her place, though, so she remained silent. But she couldn’t help leaning into him, instinctively moving closer, as if her presence might give him comfort.
“It doesn’t sound good. What will you do?”
“I’ve some ideas. That’s why the meetings tonight.” He turned his head and looked at her. “Things will work out, you’ll see.”
“I hope so.”
***
The headless horseman galloped through her dreams, his mount’s hooves pounding in her head…pounding…pounding…
Groggy with sleep, Abigail rose to a sitting position. The pounding wasn’t in her dreams. Someone was pounding on her door. Glancing out the window, she saw it was still dark, not even a whisper of dawn. Why would anyone want to rouse her now?
Half asleep, she groped for Kevin’s unfamiliar form in her bed. Touching him, she found her son lying quietly on his side, deep in sleep. The pounding hadn’t awakened him.
Pitching her voice to a stage whisper, she called out, “I’m coming. Just a minute.”
Whoever was at her door must have heard because the pounding stopped.
She grabbed her wrapper from the bottom of the bed and pushed back the covers, swinging her legs over the side. Rising, she threw on the wrapper and belted it tightly at the waist.
In the dark, she fumbled to unlock the door and when she opened it, she found Clint standing there, holding an oil lamp. In the half-shadow from the lamp, his features looked drawn and deep hollows underscored his eyes, frightening her with his grave intensity.
She wrapped her arms around her waist and shivered. “What are you doing?” she asked. “It’s not even dawn yet. What’s wrong?”
“I hope I didn’t wake Kevin.” He'd ignored her questions.
“No, he’s fine. What’s wrong, Clint?”
He ran one long-fingered hand through his tousled hair. “There’s no easy way to say this, Abby. Brace yourself.”
Fear shot through her, a shaft of pure ice, piercing her heart. But Kevin was fine, sleeping peacefully in her bed. Then it could only be…
And she’d bragged tonight about what a legend her father was.
“It’s your father. He was killed in a train wreck. They think the old manual braking system and some twisted rails are to blame. The engine jumped the tracks.”
The world started to spin, slowly at first and then with increasing speed. Clint’s face, his voice, everything receded into the background. She felt so cold, so very cold and there was a roaring in her ears, like the rushing of the wind. Her body was heavy and her limbs were like blocks of granite.
Slowly, she slumped down, feeling herself crumpling but unable to stop herself from falling.
Then two strong arms came around her, cradling her like a baby, holding her close.
Chapter Five
Abigail sat at the long mahogany dining room table. Sniffling and fighting back fresh tears, she blew her nose into her sodden handkerchief. Father had been hard and exacting, but she'd loved him despite his mean ways. And without his protection, she was suddenly adrift in a
big and frightening world.
At least, for the first time in years, she was surrounded by family. All four of her brothers and sisters and their spouses had come for Father's funeral. And then there was Mr. Samuels, the only attorney in town, who'd joined them after the funeral to read her father's will.
The boarders had been dispatched to the kitchen with Kevin, Elisa, and Juan.
The past week had passed in a blur of telegrams, funeral arrangements, and then each of her siblings arriving with their wife or husband.
At the end of the long table sat Will Junior, her eldest brother and his wife, all the way from St. Louis, riding on his railroad pass to Del Rio. To his left and across the table was her eldest sister, Viola, and her traveling salesman husband, come from Dallas. Her younger brother, Paul with his tiny, child-like bride, Sarah, sat next to Viola. They'd come from Arkansas where Paul worked in a lumber mill.
To Kevin's disappointment, none of her siblings had brought their children, preferring to leave the young'uns at home during this time of sorrow.
Sitting next to Abigail was her youngest sister, Leanna, and her husband, Jim, who owned a mercantile in El Paso. Leanna didn't have children, but they still hoped. She and her husband had taken the Southern Pacific east from El Paso to arrive in time for the funeral.
In fact, all her siblings had taken the train to be here in time.
Trains were marvelous things, crossing hundreds of miles in a matter of days. But it had been a train that had killed her father and his crew. No passengers had died because her father's train had been carrying boxcars filled with freight.
Abigail twisted the wet handkerchief in her hands and tried to concentrate on the sonorous voice of the lawyer as he went down a list of modest cash bequests, along with some personal items, such as her father's pocket watch, to various members of her family.
There was a pause as Mr. Samuels turned a page and took a sip from his cup of tea. The room was hushed and tense. All of her sibling's eyes were fixed on the portly Mr. Samuels with his mutton chop whiskers. Abigail averted her gaze and looked down at her lap, twisting her hankie until it was shredded.
Mr. Samuels started again. “I do bequeath and assign to Abigail Kerr Sanford, deed and fee title for the boardinghouse located at 108 Main Street in Del Rio, Texas, along with the sum of five hundred dollars in cash for the upbringing and education of my grandson, Kevin Luke Sanford.”
The attorney cleared his throat. “And finally, the remainder and bulk of my estate, in cash and bonds, held in deposit at the Del Rio National Bank, are to be donated to the Texas Presbyterian Diocese in memory of my faith and service to the church. Executed this day, August the…”
A loud buzzing in Abigail's ears drowned the attorney's final words. She was stunned by her father's bequest. She hadn't expected anything from him. He'd never loved her and soon grew to despise her when she'd married poorly and then her husband had stolen his money and deserted her.
Kevin…the bequest must be for father's favorite grandson. She was merely the caretaker of Kevin, and as such, Father had left her the means to raise him. Her eyes filled with tears again at her father's unusual generosity.
With a rattle of papers, Mr. Samuels' looked up and asked, “Any questions?”
Abigail raised her head and glimpsed her eldest brother's face. He scowled and worked his jaw back and forth. Viola was frowning, too, and biting her lip. Paul thrust out his lower lip and cast his gaze upward, as if there was a bug crawling across the ceiling.
The tension in the room was a palpable thing, almost like a living creature, crouched in the corner of the room, waiting to pounce.
Will leapt to his feet and pounded the table, shouting, “Questions, no, Mr. Samuels, I have no questions. I shouldn't have expected more from the old miser! Leaving almost everything to the blessed church when I've a family of five to feed. Leaving me next to nothing after I slaved and sweated for the old skinflint from the time I was eight years old until I was twenty.” He shook his head and lowered his voice, “No, I should have known better than to—”
“Mr. Kerr, you forget yourself,” the attorney cut in, “speaking of your dead Father in such—”
“And you forget yourself, Mr. Samuels,” Viola interjected, pointing her finger at the attorney. “You shouldn't castigate my brother, not knowing what he suffered at our dead father's hands.” She rose and fisted her hands on her hips. “This is a family matter, and you're done here. I'm certain Father already paid your fee. You may leave now.”
The attorney got to his feet and looked around the table. “I'm sorry to have distressed you in your time of grief.” He grabbed his bowler hat and put it on. “I'll leave the document for you and bid you good evening.”
Abigail sucked in her breath and got to her feet, feeling awful for Mr. Samuels and wanting to apologize. After all, he was a guest.
Viola rounded the table and thrust her face into Abigail's. “And you, you ungrateful baggage. After all we did for you as a child—for you to turn Father against us and make the most of his passing. Especially after your criminal husband stole thousands of dollars from Father and deserted you.”
Abigail gasped and her chin trembled. How could her eldest sister say such a thing? She'd done nothing but slave for her father since her wicked husband had run away with his money. She'd tried to repay her father, making certain the boardinghouse ran smoothly and turned a profit each month. Viola couldn't know what she'd suffered these last six years.
She slumped and a wave of bile rose in her throat. Clutching her stomach, she needed to get away before she threw up on the pristine linen tablecloth she'd laundered and ironed.
Leanna touched her arm and pushed Viola back. “How can you say such to our little sister? You know she had nothing to do with her husband's thievery. And she suffered at his hands, too, she…” Leanna bit her lip.
When Lucas had beaten her and run with the money, Leanna had come home to take care of her. Of all her siblings, only her youngest sister knew what a nightmare her married life had been. And she'd wanted it that way, swearing Leanna to secrecy.
She glanced at Leanna and managed, “Thank you.”
With her arms crossed over her roiling stomach, she faced the remainder of her siblings. Their lips were pursed and their eyes hooded and sullen. And they refused to meet her gaze. Avarice and jealousy shone on their faces.
She nodded and fled from the room through the swinging door to the kitchen. The boarders and Kevin were sitting down to supper with Juan and Elisa. They had a huge spread of food to choose from. Everyone in Del Rio and particularly all the Presbyterian ladies had outdone themselves, bringing covered dishes for the grieving family.
The grieving family—more like the grasping family—except Leanna.
Not that she could blame them. Living under her father's dominion hadn't been easy. She could understand their rage and frustration. But didn't they realize she was a woman alone with no husband to help raise Kevin? Even her father, miser that he was, had understood how dependent she was.
Elisa stood over the table, dishing out food to the men and her son. As Abigail stormed into the kitchen, all eyes turned to her.
She gritted her teeth and nodded again. “Good evening to y'all.” Joining Elisa at the stove, she said, “Please, offer my family supper, too.” She touched Elisa's arm. “I would help, but I just need a minute.”
Elisa hugged her and said, “Yo entiendo, I understand. My sister, Rosa, could come over and help for a few days—if you can afford—”
“Yes, get Rosa, please. I can afford the extra help now.” And she could, thanks to her father's bequest. But after her siblings were gone, she'd take up her duties and pay the money back.
The cash bequest was for Kevin's future, not hers.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Clint. He'd gotten to his feet when she came into the room, like the other men, but he hadn't sat down again. His gaze was fixed on her.
But she couldn't face him
. Didn't want to face him. All she wanted was a little peace and some air.
She grabbed a kerosene lantern and opened the back door, stepping onto the porch. Glancing back, she realized the kitchen lamp light spilled outside, lighting her in silhouette. She hurried down the steps and went to the barn. She needed privacy.
The barn smelled of mustiness and horse and hay and…fresh manure. She went to Clint's mare, Jezebel, and held out her hand.
The mare hung her head over the stall door and nosed her open hand, searching for a carrot or a bite of apple. But she had nothing for the horse. Jezebel snuffled and tossed her head.
Abigail cradled the horse's velvety nose and laid her head against Jezebel's thick neck. And then the tears came again, scalding and boiling from her. Not for her father this time—but for her family—or what was left of her family.
***
Clint wanted to go to Abby, needed to go to her. But when he looked at Elisa, the sturdy housekeeper shook her head.
He understood and reluctantly sank into his chair. He'd stayed in the background during the week, after breaking the news to Abby. He'd done what he could and tried to keep Kevin entertained when his duties allowed. But it wasn't enough.
Since All Hallows Eve when she'd collapsed in his arms, he couldn't forget the feel of her body cuddled against him. Couldn't get rid of the smell of vanilla in her hair—the plain and honest scent of her baking. He'd wanted to comfort her then and needed to comfort her now.
He picked at his food and sipped his coffee until the other men finished. This time, he followed them to the front porch and idly listened to the latest gossip. Gossip he'd have to investigate or he'd have an all-out war on his hands.
Tom Weaver wasn't there, and the other men were friendly enough, accepting him because he was the sheriff. They talked openly around him, muttering about sheep ranchers near Langtry, where the train derailment had happened, saying the ranchers had torn up the track in retaliation for the railroad raising its rates.
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