She unwrapped the cloth. The bleeding had already stopped. She handed him the soiled handkerchief.
“Thank you, sir.”
He flashed a smile at her. “Happy to be of service. Withers is the name. Riley Withers.”
“Then I thank you, Mr. Withers.”
“And your name?”
She sensed herself turning pink at his question. Surely he didn’t expect a young lady traveling alone to divulge her name?
“Miss McShanahan, is it?”
She followed his eyes to her sewing box, where a tag prominently displayed her name. She blushed again.
“Don’t mind, Miss McShanahan. If you are headed to the West, things are a bit more informal there.”
She was on a train headed away from the East Coast. Surely she could admit that much.
“Yes, I am.”
“Well, then, I hope you’re going to Texas. It’s the place to be. God’s country—that’s what we call it.” He smiled at her again.
A cold shiver swam through her. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Withers, I would like to catch up on my reading.” She’d been polite enough. She was ready to end this unwanted conversation.
At first she struggled as she tried to read Mr. Dickens, but her eyes simply glazed over the page. She turned them at periodic intervals. This man made her more than nervous.
Instead, she picked up Milton Mulholland’s Guidebook to the American West. Just the feel of it in her hands gave her confidence. She opened to a random page in the well-worn book and began reading—
Western woman are more outspoken than their counterparts in the East. Though polite, a Western woman knows her mind and isn’t afraid to speak it.
She smiled at the passage. She’d underlined it as a personal favorite. At the beginning of her time at The Thompson School, she’d been in constant trouble. Miss Thompson, in particular, accused her of being impudent toward her elders. Her parents raised her to be frank. She’d always spoken her mind, which delighted Papa.
The Thompson School’s staff had been less enamored with her ways. She found herself punished severely until she’d learned to curb her tongue, as should befit a child of ten. She may have learned to exercise caution when speaking in public, but her candor still simmered just below the surface. As far as she was concerned, she was about to become a Western woman. She might as well start practicing now. The rude stranger before her would be the first recipient of her new manners.
She didn’t wait long. The next time he tried to draw her into conversation, Jenny stared at him intently. No dropping of her eyes, no simpering or apologizing, as an Eastern woman would do.
“Excuse me, sir. I do not know you, nor do I have any intentions of making your acquaintance. If you would be so kind as to leave me to my peace, I would be much obliged.”
She tacked on the last phrase so as to perhaps soften her tone, but she continued to look him boldly in the face.
Mr. Withers stood. “Forgive me for intruding on your privacy, ma’am.” He tipped his hat, a snarl on his face, and exited the car.
She leaned her head back, a triumphant smile playing along her mouth. She’d done it! Without mincing words, she’d graciously, yet firmly, let the gentleman know how she felt. She couldn’t wait to reach Texas. Maybe she’d been a Westerner in spirit all along. She knew that she would fit right in.
She settled back, Mulholland’s guidebook in hand, and reopened it to continue reading the now-familiar pages.
Mr. Withers continued to be her shadow for the next few days. He poked and prodded for tidbits of information, even eavesdropping when she asked the conductor questions, but she had been firm. She sensed his frustration but had no sympathy for him. She was proud to have put distance between them. Conversing with him without an introduction wasn’t proper.
And even if it were, something in his manner warned her not to do so.
They both disembarked at the same stop—along with three other passengers—and he tried to assist her with her luggage. She put him off so completely that he abandoned further attempts to speak with her.
Now she was tired, dusty, and irritable. A stagecoach had to be the most uncomfortable place ever invented. Her bottom was sore after two solid days of bumpy trails into Texas. Thank goodness the driver asked Mr. Withers to ride on top so an expectant mother could ride inside in his stead.
Although why anyone would want to be inside the compartment was beyond her. The windows were kept open, despite the cold weather, and dust poured into them. She constantly kept her handkerchief over her mouth, trading one hand for the other when her arm became too weary to hold up the cloth. The driver provided his passengers with dusters, which wrapped around them as a kind of protection over their clothing. Still, she seemed dirtier than a little boy who’d jumped headfirst into his first mud puddle. At least he could claim to be wet. She found it hard to swallow because she was so parched.
They began slowing. Jenny looked out the open window and saw a few scattered buildings. She spied a general store, a blacksmith, and a hotel as the stagecoach came to a halt.
“Apple Blossom!” called out the driver.
Jenny’s heart jumped. Apple Blossom was her destination. She stood with the others, throwing off the messy duster, clutching her reticule and sewing basket. Although her gloves were filthy, she was glad she wore them. Her palms were damp. She was horrified because ladies did not perspire.
Her sweating palms told her, as if she didn’t already know, just how nervous she was. Without realizing it, she began to hum “Lanigan’s Ball” under her breath.
The driver helped her down. Unsteady on her feet after being cramped in the stagecoach, she gripped a wheel with one hand as she motioned to which valise was hers. She turned as the driver went to fetch it. Her eyes skimmed over the few gathered around, greeting those as they left the confines of the stagecoach.
Slowly, one by one, the crowd melted away. Jenny found herself standing alone. The song died in her throat.
He wasn’t coming.
Somehow she’d known it all along. Despite his letter, the telegram, the money for tickets, the directions on which trains to take and where to transfer to the stage, she’d understood he wouldn’t meet her. Not that she blamed him. Who wanted to be saddled with a daughter he wouldn’t even recognize?
No, that was too harsh. He’d simply been delayed. He wouldn’t have gone to such trouble to get her to Texas if he didn’t really want them to be together. And he always had run late. She remembered the times her mother was fit to be tied because he’d been tardy. He claimed it was part of his Irish nature, and he’d usually been able to cajole her mother out of her foul mood with his charm and sunny smile.
What should she do? She thought of where she could wait for him. Or perhaps he’d left a message for her. Anything was possible with Samuel McShanahan.
Jenny glanced around the town of Apple Blossom. It didn’t seem like much of a town to her. Lying southwest of Fort Worth, it was flat, dusty, and she could swear it had never seen an apple blossom since before Noah’s Flood. If then.
The most likely place to wait seemed to be the hotel. She squared her shoulders, held her head high, and began walking back up the street.
CHAPTER 3
Noah watched Jenny McShanahan turn and walk up the street toward him, a determined look set on her lovely features. He’d been slumped against a hitching post for an hour, waiting for the two o’clock stage to arrive. He’d been wary, too, sure that Sam McShan would meet his only daughter when she arrived in Apple Blossom.
Thank God for his connections at the telegraph company. It had been his most solid lead up till now. Everything else sure dried up.
Just then she passed him, still walking down the middle of the street. He wondered where she was going. He also wondered if she r
ealized she’d left her case.
Noah tipped his hat and called out to her. “Ma’am?”
She turned, a puzzled look on her face.
“You left your valise.” He pointed to the lone satchel sitting in the middle of the road.
It surprised him when the corners of her mouth turned up slightly. “So I did.” She looked him up and down, and he almost blushed. “Thank you, sir. Perhaps I’ll retrieve it . . . and what’s left of my brain, as well.”
She started back toward the case. He moved quickly and stepped in front of her. “I’ll get it, ma’am.” He ambled along and picked it up and returned it to her.
“If you’ll tell me where you’re headed, I’ll make sure you and your bag get there.”
He watched her think this over, and then she nodded. “Thank you, sir. I’m headed to the local hotel.”
She took off in long strides despite her tight skirt. He studied her carefully from the back as he followed her to her destination. She was tall and thin, with the tiniest waist he’d ever seen. He was sure his hands could easily span it with room to spare. Her hat was slightly askew, revealing thick, honey blond hair twisted up in some womanly way.
But he longed for a glimpse from the front again. She had the most enticing eyes he’d ever seen on a woman, a striking moss green, with long, thick lashes surrounding them. A man could get lost in those eyes. Or her mouth. Her lips were a soft rose and looked good enough to lick.
Now where had that come from?
He smiled to himself and shook his head. She sure didn’t favor Sam in the least, except for being tall. Must take after her mama. He remembered Sam going on for hours about his dearest Suzannah from County Kerry. Even though she was dead, Sam talked about his wife as if she were alive. He seemed to have loved her a great deal.
He wondered how much this daughter resembled her dead mama. Why had it taken Sam so many years to send for such a looker? And why now? Of course, it had to be the big score he’d pulled off. The thought of it left a sour taste in Noah’s mouth. Although he had no lost love for Pete, he was still angry at both Sam and Pete for getting Pete killed. You think the two of them would’ve known better by now. After all, they had enough experience between them.
“Thank you again, sir.”
He looked up, confused for a moment. He’d been so lost in his thoughts that they’d arrived at the hotel without his realizing it.
“Any time, ma’am.” He gave her a sheepish smile. He took her valise to the desk and rang the bell. When a portly attendant appeared, he said, “This lady needs to speak with you.”
He turned, tipped his hat to her, and then strode away. Not too far, though. He needed to hear what Jenny McShanahan had to say.
Jenny calmed herself, not wanting to appear flustered. She’d already been foolish enough to leave her belongings in the middle of Apple Blossom’s main thoroughfare. She took a deep breath.
“Good afternoon, sir. I am Miss McShanahan, and I’ve just arrived–”
“Oh, yes, ma’am, on the two o’clock stage, that’s for sure. He said you’d be on it.” The desk clerk beamed at her through yellowed teeth.
Her heart skipped a beat. “You would be referring to my–”
“Your daddy, pure and simple. He left a letter for you a few days ago. Paid for you to have a room, too, that he did.”
She had been right. Obviously, his plans changed, but her papa took the time to prepare for her arrival. Maybe she was to stay here the night, and then they would travel to the ranch he always mentioned. It was possible he’d even purchased it by now, and that was what caused his delay.
The clerk reached under the counter and pulled out a letter. She saw her name scrawled on the envelope. “Mr. McShanahan left this for you. Said to open it immediately upon your arrival.”
She hesitated a moment.
“Go on, now. You wouldn’t want to disappoint your daddy.” The rotund clerk smiled encouragingly.
She tore open the envelope and took out a single sheaf of paper.
My dearest Jenny –
My plans have changed somewhat unexpectedly, and I have had to alter our arrangements. I have left Texas for a small town called Prairie Dell. It is in the state of Nevada, near the southern part. I fear it’s quite a ways for you to travel, but I so look forward to you joining me soon. My sister lives there, and she longs to meet you.
You can’t reach it by stage—it’s simply too small—and the train that way is unreliable and truly comes nowhere near the Dell. I’ve hired a guide, Slim Patterson, to take you there. I know this seems odd, but you’ll understand everything once we’ve had a chance to visit in person.
There’s money in the bank down the street to pay your escort. If you leave tomorrow, it will take about two and half weeks on horseback. Please hurry, sweetest Jenny. We have so much to catch up on, especially our goodnight songs.
Your loving Papa,
Samuel McShanahan
Noah watched different expressions flit across her face in rapid succession. He saw joy, surprise, anger, and bewilderment come and go as quickly as mosquito bites. He also wondered about the man that followed them to the hotel. He spotted him atop the stage that brought Jenny McShanahan to Apple Blossom. He knew the gentleman hadn’t gotten off at the same time as the other passengers who had disembarked.
So why was he here now? And were they both interested in the same lady for the same reason?
“Would you be so kind as to send my things up to my room?”
He turned his attention back to the desk.
“Yes, ma’am. Consider it done.”
Jenny thanked the clerk. “And one more thing. Do you know how I would go about locating a Mr. Slim Patterson?”
The desk clerk visibly blanched. “Mr. Patterson, you say?”
She smiled sweetly. “Yes. My father would like me to get in touch with Mr. Patterson. He is to escort me to Nevada.”
The man laughed uncomfortably, his giggle high and girlish for one so rotund. “I’m sorry, Miss McShanahan. It won’t be possible for you to speak with him.” He paused and swallowed hard. “Mr. Patterson died in a knife fight last night. Something about debts he owed was the story I heard from the barkeep.”
Noah watched Jenny grow still, her green eyes dominating her face, which drained of color. She gripped the counter a long moment in order to steady herself. She seemed to come to some decision as she focused on the clerk.
“Would you recommend taking the train to Nevada, sir?”
Laughter filled the small lobby. “From Apple Blossom?” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “You could probably walk faster from here to there. No,” he shook his head, “overland route’s the only way to get there ‘fore Jesus returns.”
Jenny walked away, an odd look on her face. She moved toward the exit. Just before she reached the doorway, she looked over her shoulder.
Noah nearly dropped his teeth when she asked the clerk, “Would you please direct me to the nearest saloon?”
CHAPTER 4
Jenny walked quickly to the town’s lone saloon. She’d missed seeing it as the stagecoach entered Apple Blossom since it was beyond the point where she disembarked. She moved fast before she lost her courage. She figured a saloon would be the best place to start in trying to find a new guide to see her to Prairie Dell. Wherever that was.
She wondered what Miss Thompson would say about a former pupil and teacher entering the confines of a saloon. That brought a low chuckle, and she relaxed some. She wished for a moment that Miss Thompson could see her. It would probably bring on an immediate stroke, and then that sweet Miss Vines could take over running The Thompson School in the correct manner.
Oh, she must be tired and irritable for wishing strokes upon people, even if that included the likes of
the horrible Miss Thompson. She was almost glad this Prairie Dell couldn’t be reached by stage. Anything had to be better on her bottom than what she’d suffered through the last two days.
As she reached the entrance to the saloon, she looked around. Not that she knew anyone in Apple Blossom, but she was a respectable young lady. She hated for anyone, even the residents of this pitiful excuse for a town, to receive the wrong impression of her—despite the fact she was now a forthright Western woman.
Mustering her courage, she pushed open the door and entered. At once, her vision went dark. No, that was just the inside of the saloon. What a contrast to the bright day outside.
Ballad Beauty Page 3
