Josie_Bride of New Mexico

by Kristin Holt

  Thank God Josie obeyed him without question.

  She’d heard him about shoes, already had her stockings on. He bent and guided her feet into her old, nearly useless shoes. They’d offer little protection, but it was all she had. He cinched the laces and tied a bow with trembling hands.

  “Adam— put your shoes on.” Josie’s voice shook. “I’ll tie mine.”

  Karl stood in their doorway. “Sir, what—?”

  “Karl, don’t argue, man.” The black man, his friend, stood in his union suit and trousers. Bare feet.

  What if— the fuse might be timed to blow before the gorge. If the monster respected innocent lives…

  A blow before, if the explosion separated the tail from the engine before…

  Adam shoved his arms into his vest, then his suit coat. Then to Karl, “You have forty-five seconds, tops. Layer your clothes. You need shoes. We jump before the bridge.”

  He searched his wife— his heart, his life— found her wide-eyed and obedient. She’d put on several layers of clothes though he doubted she understood why. Her laces weren’t dangling, so she must have tied her second shoe.

  Socks. The first pair of shoes he closed his hand around.

  Josie touched his arm even as he frantically knotted his laces. “What about other lives on this train?”

  The beauty of his private car was privacy.

  No vestibule entrance to the other cars.

  “I’d help if I could. I’d warn them, if I could.” He shared an agonizing moment with her, their gazes locked.

  He had no idea if the explosives were rigged to his undercarriage alone, but he wouldn’t put it past the traitors who’d tried to kill him once, to have lit them up and down the entire line.

  If they survived, he’d have to face the killers. Men who’d been at the depot one mile back.

  Weapons?

  None.

  Money.

  Money meant escape, power, options.

  He’d buy weapons if he lived long enough.

  “Josie,” he shoved the corner of the bed toward the outer wall, “Force Mrs. Bushnell into clothing. It’s now or never.”

  Already, he had the carpet edge thrown back and the trap door open.

  Grandfather’s strongbox waited in the recessed space.

  He opened it on the bed and pulled out all the greenbacks. He stuffed wads into pant pockets and coats pocket. Some bills slipped free and he let them fall.

  “Milton!” Adam hit the hallway running.

  “Here, sir.” Milt had one of Mrs. Bushnell’s arms and Josie the other, dragging her toward the rear of the car. The older woman had turned frantic. Her eyes rolled like a spooked horse. White showed all the way around the iris. The older woman babbled incoherently.

  “Everyone outside.”

  Milt and Karl took over, dragging Mrs. Bushnell.

  Adam took his wife by the upper arm.

  Ahead, the middle of the train was dead center of the bridge. The pack would blow in mere seconds.

  The men tried to take Mrs. Bushnell with them, but she screamed, fought, and sat down hard.

  Adam needed to save as many lives as possible.

  With one glance at the bridge, the mere feet separating them from the drop off, he screamed “go!”

  The men flung over the edge, likely rolled, and quickly whisked out of view by the train.

  The gate thumped open and shut, open and shut.

  He’d never get the older, plump woman over the rail.

  Maybe, if he had to carry just Josie.

  Twenty feet and rapidly closing.

  Adam grabbed Mrs. Bushnell around the middle, ignored her screams, looped an arm tightly about his wife, and when the rail gate thumped open, he pushed off on the edge, praying he had enough strength to throw the three of them far enough from the train.

  Every time Josie closed her eyes she saw and heard the explosion, a fantastic boom, flames, the screech of metal.

  Uncoupled cars bucked, flipped, crashed through the wooden bridge’s structure and tumbled to the river bottom.

  First, attempted murder by knife, then a train accident that would haunt her nightmares for years.

  Thank goodness the locomotive and most of the cars had made it across.

  She squeezed Adam’s hand, grateful they’d survived the fall.

  They’d survived because of him.

  He’d selflessly saved all five lives.

  If her heart hadn’t belonged to him before tonight, it certainly did now.

  She’d witnessed the core of her husband’s soul in those horrifying minutes, and everything she saw stole her heart.

  She loved him, perfectly, completely, forever.

  He picked up the pace and she nearly jogged to keep up with him.

  The moment they’d all gathered near the edge of the drop-off, the men and Mrs. Bushnell had all opted to walk back to town.

  Despite the fact that their appearance would immediately notify their would-be murderers that Adam and Josie had most likely survived he’d done nothing to persuade them to remain.

  No persuasion, no argument, no fights.

  Adam had peeled off huge sums of money from his rolls of cash and pushed it into the hands of all three. They had more than enough for hotel, food, transportation home, doctor’s fees, anything they needed. And payment for services rendered.

  He’d more than compensated them for their lost belongings, though Mrs. Bushnell had screamed over her lost fabrics, one-of-a-kind designs, her beautiful creations. Adam had pushed an obscene amount of money into her hands and asked the men to see her back to town. As if he’d not paid them enough already, he tipped them both an extra one hundred dollars for the favor.

  Then her husband had kissed her brow and watched his staff limp toward town. “Do you want to go with them?”

  “Adam Taylor.”

  “Ma’am.” He’d sounded resigned, pained.

  “You are my husband and my place is with you.”

  “This”— he gestured awkwardly— “Is more than ‘in sickness and in health’. Someone tried to kill us, and by the grace of God we evaded death by less than sixty seconds.”

  “I owe you my life.”

  “That’s no reason to stay.” He pulled out all the money from one pocket and forced it into her hands. “Go on. Catch up. Be safe.”

  “No. Adam Taylor, you listen to me. I love you. I love you so deep in my bones I can’t consider any other life than with you. If you push me away, I’ll follow you.”

  He’d kissed her hard. Then kissed her again.

  And taken her by the hand and with a quick look at the greater surroundings, grabbed her hand and taken off at the fastest clip she could sustain.

  As always, he did everything he could to take care of her.

  When she tired, he swept her into his arms, and continued the rapid pace.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Josie waited in the deep shadows beneath a tree she had no name for. More than fifty yards away, Adam prowled in the back yard of a residence. It had to be well after one-o’clock. Perhaps closer to two.

  Her heart pounded. Never in her life, had she stolen a single thing. Not when she and Josie had been restricted to one small meal a day in their last few weeks in Lawrence, not when her dress’s thin fabric had torn and she hadn’t anything to patch it with.

  They’d always made do with what they had. Stealing didn’t set well with her.

  Moving quietly, Adam gave the house a wide berth as he circled back around to meet up with her. He carried a wad of clothing that had apparently been forgotten overnight on the line. It’s owner would regret not carrying it in, sure as sunrise.

  “Stop looking at me like that.” Adam’s tone sounded downright cranky.

  “How can you possibly tell how I’m looking at you? It’s as dark as pitch out here.” Blasted new moon. She couldn’t see his expression so obviously he couldn’t see hers.

  “I know you. You don’t like the idea
of my making off with someone’s property, so I’ll tell you before you ask. I paid for these clothes. I paid triple their value.”

  Hunger made her cranky, too. “I suppose you found the market open and made our purchase?”

  “I clipped a five dollar bill to the clothesline. When the lady of the house comes out to see about her laundry, she’ll find the money.”

  Josie didn’t want to respect her husband’s so-called honest thieving. It still inconvenienced the family— what if everything they had was on the line and now draped over Adam’s arm?

  Money didn’t solve everything. They still had to buy the fabric, spend the hours and hours sewing the replacements. She’d not worked at Brown Textile Mill sewing ready-mades like Lessie had, but she’d heard plenty knew how much work it was to sew clothing… even with a sewing machine.

  “I even got you these.” Adam crooked his elbow and raised a dark blob which had to have been boots of some kind.

  “Do not steal that woman’s boots!” she hissed.

  “They’re not a woman’s. They’re a young man’s, but they’ll do. Your own are so worn out you might as well go barefoot.”

  “Put them back.”

  “I left ten dollars under a rock, right where these boots had been.”

  “What do you want from me, Adam Taylor? A sweet smile and a thank you? For thievery?

  The unmistakable clatter of a rifle hammer cocking back cut off anything Adam might have said.

  Lessie’s anger evaporated. It dried up and blew away in the desert wind.

  If she could, she’d take it all back.

  She and Adam were about to die at gunpoint, and if she had it to do all over again, she’d have kept quiet.

  The whole getting caught disaster was entirely her doing.

  Adam raised his hands, the pair of ‘purchased’ boots still clutched in one paw and an armload of clean laundry over the other arm.

  Josie followed suit. She raised both hands. And prayed real hard the property owner would go easy on Adam.

  He’d been knifed, bombed, and his home-away-from-home destroyed. He’d have died twice already if it weren’t for the grace of God.

  Perhaps God had one more miracle for Adam Taylor.

  “Turn around nice and slow.” A woman’s voice. Low, steady, with more than a pinch of west Texas in her drawl.

  Adam turned. Slow and sure. “I left a ten-dollar gold piece for the boots, ma’am, and—”

  “Did I ask a question?”

  Adam’s heart did a back-flip. No, no, no! This whole supposed wedding trip had turned into one unmitigated disaster. If they didn’t get out of their highly recognizable clothing that labeled them the targets— as far as the bad guys were concerned— he and Josie didn’t have a chance.

  But the lady with the rifle seemed to be in charge of this circus, so he turned. And doing so, made sure he put himself just a little more in between the fire arm and Josie.

  I’m your target, lady. Leave my wife out of this.

  What would he do if the woman got trigger-happy and shot Josie?

  “Drop the boots.” Gun lady’s voice was steady and fierce as the desert sun.

  He dropped the boots.

  “I don’t cotton to my clean laundry on the road, stranger, so you and I are going to walk nice and slow back to the house and like the gentleman I know your mama raised you to be, you’re going to set those freshly washed clothes on the rocking chair.”

  …but that put the woman’s back to Josie.

  Why would she do that?

  “And you, Mrs. Taylor, you’re going to come walk beside me.”

  Adam nearly swallowed his tongue. Mrs. Taylor? Mrs. Taylor! Who was this woman? She may have overheard some of their exchange— they hadn’t used names, had they? Had Josie called him Adam Taylor when this woman might have heard?

  Oh, yeah! He could have sworn and would have, to, if the woman with a rifle trained on his back hadn’t already shushed him. He remembered, clear as day, Josie calling him by name the second before the woman cocked her rifle and alerted them to her presence.

  With a man and woman their age, prowling around together under cover of darkness, one could assume they were man and wife… or not.

  Did it give Josie a better chance of survival if he denied a marriage relationship?

  She hadn’t been the thief. She’d argued to put their belongings back.

  What would the woman do if he asked her to go see, check out the money he’d left behind for herself… and also gave her back everything. Would she still insist on putting a bullet in him? Would she tie him up and send for the lawman?

  But they’d arrived under the even darker overhang of the porch of the woman’s adobe house. With care, he set the pile of pilfered clothing onto the rocking chair, just like she’d asked.

  “I changed my mind, Mr. Taylor. You’re going to hold that laundry— pick it up.”

  He scurried to obey.

  “And you, Mrs. Taylor, are gonna go get my boy’s boots.” A second passed and Josie didn’t move. “Go. And remember I have a gun trained on your man. You better hurry.”

  Josie did as she was told. She scampered off but it took her several long moments to locate the boots in the dark and bring them back.

  The whole time, Adam struggled to think it through, decide what would give Josie the best chance for survival.

  She had to survive this… and not just because he’d promised Josie he’d look out for her sister.

  Josie had given herself to him, had vowed to love him, live with him as his wife… she’d trusted him. And he was a man who didn’t fail nearly so easy as this.

  Really, how good of a shot could that woman be, in the absent light of a new moon?

  She gestured with the barrel of the rifle. “Both of you. Go on inside. Don’t forget I’m right behind you.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “We’re terribly sorry to inconvenience you, ma’am.” Josie’s raised hands trembled. Never in her life, not even when Adam’s body had convulsed with fever and the effects of poison had she felt this helpless.

  Not even that last week between the fire that destroyed Brown’s Textile Mill and the day she and Lessie had said goodbye to Lawrence and friends in Massachusetts and boarded the train.

  “Josie.”

  The single word was obviously her husband’s warning. He wanted her to remain silent. He thought that would give them the best chance for survival.

  Maybe.

  But maybe not.

  “Maybe you heard me chastising my husband for, ummm… buying your clothes and boots… without your permission?”

  “If you could just see it in your heart to let us go, I promise we’ll go. Far away. Never bother you again.”

  The woman struck a safety match. Bright light flared and the odor of sulfur burned Josie’s nose.

  The woman touched the match to a lamp’s wick, adjusted for best light, and replaced the chimney.

  The warm glow of lamplight told Josie plenty in one glance.

  She took pride in her belongings, took good care of them. She wasn’t rich— nothing like the opulence of the private rail car Adam’s family had owned, and nothing like the stark dormitory Josie had lived in with Lessie. And this woman wasn’t the feminine sort who decorated her home with needlework and crocheted doilies.

  The woman herself wore a man’s denims, a man’s plaid shirt, buttoned up but not all the way. A good bit of her throat showed at the open collar. Long, honey-golden hair hung down her back as if they’d awoken her from a dead sleep and brought her outside to investigate.

  Josie’s perusal made it all the to the woman’s bare toes. Little feet. Feminine feet.

  Just the right size to fit the boots Adam had pilfered from the back porch.

  “Done looking your fill?” the woman asked.

  Josie blanched. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Please— If my husband said he left fifteen dollars on the clothesline and back porch, I believe him.”
r />   “Josie—” Adam cut himself short with a growl of frustration. “You’re the worst possible vagrant I ever imagined.”

  “That’s because we’re not vagrants.”

  The woman looped two fingers into her mouth and whistled. Sharp and crisp.

  That’s when Josie noticed two dogs had been asleep in the corner, motionless, soundless— despite their entrance— until their mistress whistled.

  Josie flinched.

  She shook so desperately she nearly collapsed. She swayed on her feet.

  “Oh, for pity’s sake.” The woman yanked a chair out from beneath the table and pointed at it. “Sit.”

  In one surprising movement, she uncocked the gun and hung it on its bracket on the wall.

  What?

  Josie couldn’t believe her eyes— she watched the woman carefully for what felt like a very long moment or two, fully expecting her to wield her next weapon— a knife? A pistol? But all she did was approach on silent feet. “Give me the boots.”

  They fell out of Josie’s fingers and plunk-plunked onto the floorboards.

  Immediately, Josie bent to retrieve them. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to—”

  Her head connected sharply with the woman’s as they both grabbed for the boots.

  The woman growled. “Ouch.”

  Josie clutched her head, sat back with great care, sure at any moment the woman would draw back a fist and wallop her a good one. She’d heard several of the young women in the dormitory speak of working in service for wealthy families, and how quickly homeowners lost patience with the clumsy, any damage to their property.

  This woman, their… captor? Hostess? This person wasn’t wealthy, at least didn’t appear so on the surface, but she’d already been most proprietary about her clothing and boots.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

  “Call me ma’am one more time and I’m likely to do somethin’ we’ll both regret.”

  Josie glanced at the homey, clean living space, the open doorway that must lead to the second room in the house, probably a bedroom, but found no answers as to the woman’s name. Adam’s grim expression gave her no clues, either.