Forever in Texas

by Jodi Thomas

  “That’s the fellow I was telling y’all about. The one looking for a schoolteacher for Saints Roost,” the old soldier beside her told his companions. “I knew he’d be heading back alone, probably with that teacher contract still in his pocket.”

  Hannah felt the folds of a single page of paper in the breast pocket of her stolen coat. It had been behind the ticket she’d found, but she hadn’t taken the time to read the paper.

  With only a moment’s hesitation, she jumped from her seat, grabbed her bag, and ran. Hannah could see the tiny window of escape she’d been hoping for opening, and the only thing that stood in her way was one man. If she could be brave enough to try the impossible, maybe she’d be safe.

  “Afternoon, Smith,” Ford said as he tossed his bag into the covered wagon and unstrapped his gun belt for a more comfortable ride home. “Good of you to meet the train. I’d hate waiting another day for the stage.”

  Smith was a little man with reddish hair and cheeks so full they seemed to saddlebag his face. “Welcome home, Brother Colston.” Smith wiped his nose with the back of his first finger. “I hope your trip proved fruitful.”

  Before Ford could answer, a woman stepped to his side and linked her hand through his arm. “I’m sorry I was late, Mr. Colston.” She’d removed the hat, and her hair hung in one long braid down her back.

  Her hesitation at pronouncing his name was so slight Ford knew Smith wouldn’t have noticed. The wind lost all chill as Ford realized the woman beside him was wearing his clothes. Her hair was liquid midnight, her eyes dark blue.

  She continued without giving him a chance to find his voice. “I had to talk with the conductor about having my trunk shipped.” She looked at Smith and smiled shyly. “Mr. Colston was kind enough to lend me his coat when mine was soaked in mud.”

  She looked so embarrassed Ford almost felt sorry for her. Her clothes had been soaked in mud, but he doubted that had much to do with why she’d robbed him.

  Handing Sanford Colston his own hat and her bag, she climbed onto the bench beside Smith. “And to make matters worse, my trunk was accidentally put on the southbound train this morning, so I have nothing to change into. If Mr. Colston hadn’t been with me, I don’t know what I’d have done.”

  Smith smiled at her, taking in every word she said as gospel.

  Staring at the ragged carpetbag, Ford could feel the cat twisting inside, trying to fight his way out. Maybe the lady was still playing games, but her pet seemed ready to call it quits. Carefully, he placed her bag behind the bench and opened the latch a few inches so the animal could breathe.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Smith.” She glanced at Ford still standing beside the wagon. He swore he saw her wink before adding, “Mr. Colston didn’t have a chance to introduce me.” She held out her hand to Smith. “I’m Hannah R—”

  Ford again noticed a hesitation so slight it wouldn’t even measure up to a pause.

  “—Wright. I’m the new schoolteacher. Got the contract tucked away in my pocket.”

  Smith bit off his right glove and took her fingers in his large, dirt-encrusted hand, as if he’d been bestowed a great privilege. “Just call me Smith, Miss Wright. Folks called me that for so long I’ve forgotten if it’s my first or last name. It’s a mighty great honor I have to be taking you to Saints Roost.”

  Never, never in Sanford’s life had anything like this happened! He forced himself to breathe. He couldn’t let this woman, this thief, just step in and lie about being the new teacher…but what should he say? For once, Smith looked sober. He might remember some of the story. Usually when Smith ventured to the depot, he drank all he could while waiting for the train, and whoever arrived would find him dead drunk atop the supplies in the back of the covered wagon.

  Judging from the way Smith stared at the woman, Ford didn’t want to even guess which one of them the redheaded farmer would believe if Ford tried to tell his side of the story. Plus, it was starting to snow heavily, and they couldn’t very well stand here and argue.

  Ford glanced at the carpetbag, hoping the cat might bolt and then she’d have to follow. But no such luck. The carpetbag didn’t even twitch.

  Reluctantly, Ford climbed onto the seat beside Hannah, feeling like a fool forced to act in a play for which he’d never seen a script. Not that Smith was behaving like himself, either. Without warning, the little man pulled out a quilt he’d never shared with anyone and offered it to Hannah. He even apologized for the weather, as if he would’ve personally tried for a better day if he’d known she was coming.

  She thanked him sweetly and insisted on spreading the quilt over all three of their laps.

  Smith slapped the horses into action without even commenting on why the woman wore pants. Even though she was dressed in a wool coat down to her ankles, Smith seemed to have realized she was a lady. His speech slowed, as though he were choosing every word carefully.

  Running a huge hand through his damp hair, Ford paused only a moment before silently offering her the hat. After all, it seemed to go with the coat, and if he was going to get snowed on, the little that missed his head wouldn’t make much difference.

  She accepted his offer, her fingers brushing the side of his hand during the exchange. The woman took his breath away with the slight touch, and he wondered how long it would be before all common sense failed him.

  Suddenly deciding he couldn’t allow this charade to continue any longer, Ford cleared his throat. Did this bandit think she could just jump in a wagon and claim to be the teacher he’d been sent to Dallas to find? Last night had been something that involved only him, but fooling an entire community was quite different and he wouldn’t allow it.

  Just as Ford opened his mouth to tell Smith they’d better stop by the sheriff’s office, Hannah’s hand found his beneath the blanket. She held on tightly with trembling fingers as she asked Smith how long it would take them to get to Saints Roost.

  Ford couldn’t remain indifferent. Though her voice was soft and conversational, her grip was a cry for help that touched his soul. Slowly, gently, he closed his massive hand around hers and stilled her icy fingers with his warmth. This lovely woman was in trouble and she’d reached out to him for help—something no one had ever done. What harm could a few hours’ protection do?

  Hannah felt his hand wrap around hers and knew he’d remain silent. She’d found his weakness: he was a good man. He couldn’t turn away from someone in need, no matter how wrong her actions. Her heart almost wished she’d be around long enough to understand him, but her mind knew she was somehow putting him in danger by asking for only a few more hours. The men who killed Jude seemed determined not to stop until they killed her also. She’d seen someone following her dozens of times since she’d left Fort Worth, but she’d somehow always managed to stay ahead of them.

  With each mile the storm grew worse, but Ford barely noticed the cold. At some point, he’d placed his arm around Hannah’s back to help brace her, and she’d cuddled against him. Smith was forced to concentrate on the driving while Ford held Hannah. The road was poor traveling on dry days, in snow it became treacherous.

  Finally, after endless hours, Smith pulled up the reins. “I better get off here, Brother Colston, as we pass my place. I’d planned on taking you all the way in and returning with the horses after I unloaded, but I think I’ll pick up the rig later if you’ll just leave it in the barn. My bones need warming and the missus will be looking for me.”

  Ford nodded. The snow had gotten so bad that he could hardly see the dugout Smith and his pack of six lived in. No wonder Smith and his family always looked like moles. Their home was more burrow than house.

  Taking the reins, Ford yelled above the wind, “Get inside and warm up!”

  “Good-bye, Smith.” Hannah waved. “Thanks for picking me up.”

  Smith smiled at her. The red stalks of his hair sticking out from beneath his hat were white with ice, but his smile was warm. “Mighty glad to have you here, Miss Hannah. It’s an hon
or, it is, to have a fine lady like you to teach our children.”

  Slapping the horses, Ford moved forward. He wanted to shout back that the farmer wouldn’t be seeing Hannah again because she’d be on the first train leaving after the storm. But he held his tongue, thinking of what he’d say to her as soon as they were out of the weather and face-to-face. In some unbalanced way he felt responsible.

  If he’d stopped the robbery, she wouldn’t have lied to Smith. It didn’t reason out, but somehow he owed her at least a chance.

  Hannah spread the blanket over them and kept her head low. The snow fell in huge patches now, blocking all scenery. They moved in silence through a blur of white.

  Several minutes later, Ford directed the team beneath an iron archway that joined with a circle C brand at center. He urged the horses up a short lane that led to a house with a barn in back.

  “I’ll take care of the horses!” he yelled above the wind. “You wait inside.”

  He climbed down from the wagon and swung her over the snow-packed steps and onto the porch. She was lighter than he’d thought she’d be. “Start a fire if one’s not already going,” he ordered as he handed her the wiggling carpetbag.

  Hannah didn’t say a word. She’d felt the power of his grip on her waist and, for the first time, feared what he might do when they were alone.

  She’d been nothing but a nuisance. Hickory Wilson used to say that Hannah was a blue-eyed Gypsy and born to trouble. She guessed Mr. Colston would probably agree with Hickory fully.

  Opening the unlocked door, she stepped inside and glanced from corner to corner as she’d seen her mother do a thousand times. The house smelled of fresh pine and lemon oil. Finely laced doilies sat atop polished tables and needlepoint seemed everywhere from rugs to pictures.

  For a long minute, Hannah remained stone still. She was almost afraid to venture into a room so perfect. A tall clock chimed against one wall, and a fine china tea service reflected the last light of day from a small bay window.

  Slowly, Hannah removed the overcoat and hung it beside another jacket in the hallway. She placed the hat on a peg of polished brass and removed her shoes before walking to the fireplace. Her socks were damp but she didn’t dare track anything into the house.

  When she opened Sneeze’s prison, he looked up at her as if she were bothering him and made no effort to climb out of the warm carpetbag. Hannah carefully placed the bag near the hearth.

  Though the room was bitter cold, fresh logs were already stacked in a fireplace that had been swept clean of past ashes. Polished mantel, spotless glass, shining hardwood floors—everything was in place, as if no one lived in this dwelling, but merely inspected it from time to time.

  Hannah had only seen houses like this through windows as her mother and she walked some summer evenings years ago. There was an order to everything, a beauty she’d never be able to afford. She remembered thinking when Jude asked her to marry him that she’d take the last of her wages and buy a checkered tablecloth and maybe curtains. Gingham would look pretty shabby in this room of lace and china.

  As she struck the match, she heard him come in from somewhere in the back. If she leaned away from the fireplace she could see both the back and front doors. She fought the urge to yell “Don’t track in snow!” and then felt like a fool. Just because she’d never been inside a house so neat didn’t mean he was foreign to it.

  She glanced over her shoulder at each piece of furniture, all stately, finely carved, almost delicate. This wasn’t his house! She’d bet on it. He was a big man, and this was a woman’s house. Either he’d allowed his wife to decorate it, or he’d brought her to someone else’s home.

  “You get the fire going?” he asked as he moved into the room. “I filled a kettle with water and thought we’d have tea while we try to figure out this mess.”

  She’d expected him to yell at her, call her names and threaten to beat her for all the trouble she’d caused him. But the man simply knelt and hung a small teapot on a hook over the logs.

  His shirt was wet from the snow, and his hair hung damp across his forehead. Absently, she moved closer and ran her hand across the width of his shoulders, as though she could dust the damp away. If ever God made a man to be touched it was this one, she thought as she whispered, “You’d better get into dry clothes.”

  Strong muscles tightened, but he didn’t move. There was a silence about this man, almost as if he’d spent his life completely alone.

  The fire was fully ablaze when he turned toward her. He didn’t look as though he’d ever been cold. His winter blue eyes watched her and she felt the sense of being really noticed by someone.

  “I’ll watch the tea while you change,” she added, more to slice the silence than offer help.

  Slowly he raised his gaze to her face, then glanced back at the garments she wore. “The only spare clothing I travel with is being used at the moment.”

  “But can’t you go upstairs? Isn’t this your house?”

  He straightened to his full height. “Well, yes and no. Yes, I own the house. It was my father’s before he and my stepmother died, and no, I don’t live here. My sister does. She’d planned to rent the spare bedroom out to the new schoolteacher.”

  “Your sister?” Hannah glanced around as if they’d somehow overlooked her in the shadows.

  Ford chuckled, a quick stilted sound that comes to men who have laughed little. “No, you didn’t miss her. She’s small, but never silent enough to be skipped. If you met her, you’d understand why I live several miles out of town.”

  “Does she mother you?” Hannah could only imagine how much a man like him might hate being mothered.

  “No one’s ever mothered me.” His words were simply said, without emotion. “Gavrila sees herself as the center of the universe, and since my birth a year after hers, I have no doubt she’s viewed me as a disturbance in her otherwise perfect world.”

  Hannah laughed. “I’d love to meet her. I could just introduce myself as the robber her brother brought home to live with her.”

  Ford didn’t laugh. “I’m sure she’s at a friend’s house, waiting for the storm to let up. She’s never been one to stay home in daylight, or be far from her own fire after dark. Which,” he hesitated, “doesn’t give us much time to talk, because believe me, you can miss the honor of meeting her. So we’d better think of something to do with you fast.”

  Hannah stiffened. Here it comes, she thought, the yelling, the anger. She doubted this Mr. Colston could think of any names she hadn’t already been called for years by Hickory Wilson. He’d been a fair employer, but fond of complaining and criticism.

  Ford watched her closely. She had a quiet kind of beauty that would glow if cherished or wither if unnoticed. Pain rippled in her eyes from a wound deep within. He guessed she’d suffered dearly, despite her loveliness. He remembered how hollow her voice had sounded when she’d told him that she was nobody’s woman.

  Somehow he’d thought only the homely suffered. It always seemed that way with him and his sister, Gavrila.

  He’d been barely out of the cradle when he’d realized that the rules that applied to him didn’t fit his year-older sibling. She’d been excused of any crime after only smiling, and he’d been whipped while his father swore to make a gentleman of Ford if he had to beat it into him. And Ford had learned. He’d learned to step back and not expect anything of anyone.

  Suddenly realizing he’d been staring at Hannah, Ford looked away and moved toward the kitchen. “I’ll get the cups.” He couldn’t raise his voice or his hand to this lovely creature, no matter what she’d done.

  Hannah watched him go, her muscles shaking from bracing for the blow that never came. He’s up to something, she thought. No man is so calm. I’ve robbed him and forced him to aid in a crime. He’s only hesitating while he plots his revenge. Maybe he’s planning to kill me? No. He’d have done that on the road and buried the body.

  Perhaps he’s going to attack me and have his way? Hann
ah had to smile. Not likely, she decided. In truth, she’d been the one advancing on him. His nearness brought her unexpected pleasure. Each time they’d touched it had been her doing.

  Maybe he’s going to blackmail me? For what? she thought. Even the clothes on her back already belonged to him.

  She was still arguing with herself about how he planned to punish her when he came back into the room. He carried a tray with cups and a tin of biscuits on it. He’d wrapped a towel around his neck to catch the water from his hair.

  “Mind if we sit by the fire? I haven’t felt like I could fit in a chair in this house since my stepmother redecorated when I was fifteen.” He knelt in front of the hearth and placed the tray on a stool. “If you’re agreeable, I thought we could have our tea in peace before we decide how I’m going to get you back to the depot. This may not be the sort of town you’re used to. Folks round here don’t take kindly to robbers dropping by to teach their children.”

  “How would you know what kind of town I’m from?” Hannah felt as if her Gypsy heritage was somehow showing, like a petticoat an inch longer than a skirt. What did he think she usually did, go from town to town robbing?

  “I don’t know anything about you,” he admitted.

  Hannah wasn’t about to sit down with a stranger and tell him her life story. Not the real one, anyway. The less he knew, the safer he’d be.

  “There’s nothing to tell. My name is Hannah and my cat is Sneeze. I have no family and no home.”

  He studied the firelight as it danced across her wild blue eyes. There was more to tell, he guessed, far more.

  Chapter 3

  SLOWLY, HANNAH LOWERED herself into the Victorian glider beside where he sat cross-legged on the floor. The dainty chair moved silently back and forth with her weight, while her tired body relaxed against the down-filled softness of the cushions. Watching this man called Colston carefully, she tried to make her muscles relax.