There’d be no sleeping for Sloan. He meant to keep the red-bearded stranger in his crosshairs. Sloan took a seat at the rear of the car and got comfortable. With the stove at the front of the long row of seats, it was a little nippy where he was, so he left his coat on.
Deacon dropped into a seat a few rows up. The conductor had stretched out on a bench seat and was snoring. Rollins was fast asleep, his head lolled back against the velvet cushion of his chair. No wonder Deacon had been able to slip past the two men.
In fact, there was no one awake except him and Deacon.
Sloan’s thoughts turned to the irritating, exciting woman he’d just left.
Lord give him strength to keep from strangling her!
After all, it was Christmas, he reminded himself, a season of glad tidings, peace on earth, and goodwill to men.
But he wasn’t feeling that charitable at the moment.
Bright and early the next morning Sloan felt eyes watching him. His glance swept the rows of seats but he didn’t see anything amiss. All of a sudden he caught a furtive movement in the seat in front of him. Then four sets of eyes popped up over the back of the seat.
“Hi, mister,” the children chimed in unison.
“Hey there. Did you sleep okay?” Sloan gently touched the back of the little girl’s hand. She giggled.
All four nodded.
“Milk,” said the small two-year-old.
“Oh, you want me to milk the cow. I see.” Sloan stretched and yawned. “I’ll have to get busy doing that. Are you hungry?”
“Uh-huh.” The second oldest boy was quick to answer.
“We’ll have to see what we can do about that.” Sloan ruffled the top of the towheaded boy’s hair.
The door to the passenger car opened then. Tess entered carrying a steaming pot. Sloan jumped to his feet to take the heavy pan from her. Their hands touched in the process of transferring it and Sloan felt a jolt run up his arm.
“I found some oatmeal and added some dried apples to it.” She met his gaze unflinching. “I think it’ll be quite filling.”
Sloan opened his mouth to apologize for last night, but the maddening woman swung away from him before he could get a single word out. He ground his teeth.
“Hello, children. How are you this fine day?”
“We’re good, Miss Whitgrove,” said the oldest boy. “Mr. Sullivan’s going to milk the cow so we can have some milk.”
“That’s excellent. That’ll fill those empty bellies. I hope you like oatmeal and apples.”
“We do.”
“Okay, we’ll have everything ready before you can shake a stick twice.” Tess winked at them and returned to the caboose for the pot of coffee and the tin plates and silverware she’d washed up early that morning.
Omie Powell entered as she was gathering everything up. “How’s my Ira?”
“He had a passable night. I managed to get his fever lowered and he took some sips of water. I’m going to thin the oatmeal down until it’s soupy and see if we can get some of that into him. I think if we can get him to eat he’ll do better.”
“You shouldn’t have left me asleep last night. I intended to help you with him.” Omie smoothed back a worrisome strand of white hair that had escaped from her bun.
Tess kissed the woman on the cheek. “You were exhausted. I didn’t have the heart to wake you. I did just fine by myself.”
Fine if you didn’t count the kicks she’d given herself over the turn of events last evening. Not for the kiss though. That had definitely set her head awhirl and her pulse racing.
What she regretted with all her heart was the words she’d had with Sloan afterward. And every bit of it was her fault. If she hadn’t gotten her nose out of joint so easily, the cattleman would’ve spent the night with her in the caboose.
Not that anything would’ve happened.
But having him near, listening to his soft breaths would’ve been glorious. The thought of such intimacy should’ve scandalized her, but it didn’t. She was getting quite long in the tooth at twenty-two and would soon be considered an old maid if she wasn’t already. She longed for a husband and children of her own before that day came.
Suitors had come calling over the years, but Tess always had the feeling they were more enamored with her money than with her. It was different with Sloan. He saw her money as a stumbling block rather than an asset. She got the feeling he’d be more interested in her if she’d been a penniless pauper.
Omie leaned to touch her lips to Ira’s. “Good morning, you old fool. I’d sure like it if you’d wake up and chat a spell. I’ve missed our talks. Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, and here you are sleeping the day away.”
Tess watched the tender way in which Omie caressed her husband’s face. Tears filled her eyes. Omie and Ira were so much in love. It wasn’t fair, what was happening to them.
With her vision blurred, Tess gathered up the coffee and the eating utensils and left the caboose. Taking it slow to keep from slipping on the ice that coated the platforms separating the two cars, she glanced at the overcast sky. White flakes were still coming down, but not as hard as the previous day. At least the wind had let up, even though everything was buried under a mountain of snow.
Rollins had estimated that they were probably ten miles outside of Kasota Springs. Perhaps folks from town would be able to get to them by tomorrow. She said another prayer that Doc Mitchell would be with the rescuers.
A short while later, everyone gathered around in the warm passenger car and shared oatmeal, milk, and coffee. It was just a simple meal but one that everyone seemed to appreciate, even the waspish Mrs. Abner.
Tess happened to glance up and fell headlong into Sloan’s brooding gray stare. She quickly found something to ask the oldest orphan girl. When she next looked up, he was involved in a conversation with Roe Rollins.
She rose to gather up the dishes and silverware, enlisting the help of two of the children. They seemed delighted to be of assistance, probably glad to have something to do for a few minutes. She thanked her little helpers. But when she turned to head to the caboose, Sloan blocked her path. Without saying a word, he took the box of dirty dishes from her.
“You’re avoiding me.” he stated softly.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” Tess pulled her coat closed as they stepped onto the platform.
“Just listening to me would be a start. I want to apologize. I made you angry and for the life of me, I can’t figure out how. I never said or meant to imply that you’re a loose woman.”
Tess sighed. “It wasn’t your fault, it’s mine. I’ve been so accustomed to defending my every move that I reacted before I thought. I regret that such a pleasant evening ended on a sour note.”
“Then you don’t mind if I kiss you again?” His deep, smooth rumble caused her breath to catch.
“I would be most happy to have you kiss me.” Breathless, she tilted her face.
“Pretend that a big clump of mistletoe is hanging over your head,” Sloan whispered close, fluttering the wisps of hair at her ear. He nuzzled the curve of her neck before capturing her mouth.
Had the searing kiss landed on the platform instead of her lips, it would’ve melted the ice.
Chapter 7
Hours had passed and yet Tess couldn’t keep the silly grin off her face as she went the length of the train to the baggage car. She’d determined to take some time that morning to get the little orphans some toys from the boxes of things she’d bought for the orphanage.
They were wonderful children and needed something to play with since it appeared they’d celebrate Christmas right where they were.
Inside the baggage car, she lit a lantern and opened a nearby box. She set aside a pretty doll with a porcelain face for the oldest girl and a soft rag doll with yarn hair for the baby. The dolls weren’t awfully fancy but they’d give the girls hours of enjoyment.
For the boys she selected spinning tops and carved wooden horses. She added n
ew scarves and gloves for all four to replace their threadbare ones.
Gathering up the loot, she placed it in a burlap sack. Then she extinguished the lantern and headed for the warmth of the passenger car. And Sloan Sullivan’s company.
Her stomach fluttered at the thought.
Sloan admired the gentle sway of Tess’s hips beneath the soft gray dress as she came down the aisle. She held something behind her back and acted mysterious.
Taking the seat beside him, she leaned close to whisper. “Will you do me a favor?”
“Name it.”
“I want you to play Santa,” she said, thrusting a burlap sack into his hands. “They’re for the children.”
“Why don’t you hand them out?”
“I’d prefer they don’t know who they came from. Go out like you’re going to get coffee from the caboose. When you come in with the toys, pretend you found them in a snowdrift outside.”
He didn’t know why the secrecy. Couldn’t she just give them the toys without making a big fuss over them? Those kids were smart. Surely they wouldn’t buy a flimsy story like that. Would they? But then it’d been quite a few years since he was a child.
“Go on now. I’ll wait here.” She shooed him with her hands.
Her amber gaze followed him to the door. Her bright smile lit up everything that was dead inside him. If she asked him to walk on water, that’s what he’d do, or die trying.
Sloan stood for a minute outside on the landing. Then he stomped his feet and made all kinds of racket coming back through the door.
“Ho, ho, ho! Look what I found.”
The children, who’d been sitting quietly on the floor in front of the black railroad stove, jumped to their feet and ran to meet him. Their enthusiasm did his heart good to see. They’d been extraordinarily subdued and quiet. Being stuck on the train had been no fun for the little tykes.
“What’s in there, Mr. Sullivan?” asked the oldest boy.
“Well, I don’t rightly know. Let’s take a look.” He opened the sack and peered inside. “I can’t believe this!”
“What, Mr. Sullivan?” They danced around him.
He pulled out the soft rag doll first and handed it to the youngest of the bunch, the two-year-old.
Her eyes lit up as she clasped it tightly. “Baby.”
The doll with the porcelain head, hands, and feet came out next. He extended it to the oldest girl, who looked to be around five or six years old.
“Oh boy!” The girl held it, seeming in awe of the pretty doll. “It’s beautiful.”
The oldest boy looked worried. “Is there anything for boys in there, Mr. Sullivan?” he asked quietly as if he didn’t dare hope.
“You mean like this?” Sloan hauled out a shiny red top and one of the wooden horses.
Excitement glittered in the boy’s eyes, replacing the resigned look. He immediately plopped down on the floor to play with them.
Not wasting a second, Sloan handed a black top to the boy’s little brother, followed by another carved wooden horse.
“Look what we got.” The youngster waved the toys in the air.
Emptying the burlap sack, Sloan passed out a soft wool scarf and knitted gloves to each child. He never thought the gifts would make such a difference. Looking at the children, he suddenly remembered one long-ago Christmas when he was about six years old. His father had given him a small bag of marbles. It must’ve taken all year for his pa to save up enough to buy them. It was the only thing that he’d ever gotten as a boy that hadn’t been handmade. His eyes misted and a lump filled his throat as he remembered what that little bag of marbles had meant to him.
His father had died two Christmases later.
How had he forgotten that?
Sloan’s gaze found happiness shining in Tess’s amber eyes. “Thank you,” he mouthed over the children’s heads.
It wouldn’t have been possible if not for Tess’s generous heart. Beautiful, sensitive Tess. It’d taken getting snowbound on the train with her to see how wrong he and the rest of Kasota Springs had been about the banker’s daughter. She was quite something.
He didn’t want to care about her, didn’t want to see that she was no different from the next person.
But he did, and that would most likely be his downfall.
Had she always been this giving and no one had ever seen because she’d hidden it?
That didn’t make any sense, though. She didn’t have to go all the way to Boston for the bell in order to change people’s opinion of her. She just had to be herself.
Tess rose and headed toward the caboose, probably to check on her patient, if he could hazard a guess. Sloan intercepted her before she reached the door.
He put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re an amazing woman, Tess Whitgrove. What you did put joy on four little faces.”
“I’m glad I could do it. Sometimes having money does have its benefits.”
Sloan winced at her words. “That it does.”
But it was more than having money. The way she’d taken on Ira Powell’s care. The concern for Maryellen Langtry. And the way she’d shouldered getting tasty food into the travelers’ stomachs. Not to mention going all the way to Boston for the Christmas bell. Those were the marks of a woman with a big heart.
He’d longed for a woman like Tess. Sometimes the loneliness pressed against him so hard it strangled the breath right out of him. He thought he’d accepted his lot, but when Tess looked at him with her heart in her eyes and a soft smile on her rosy lips, he was far from satisfied.
“I’m sorry for the way I acted before. And the misunderstanding last night.” He wanted to kiss her in the worst way. But with such limited space a moment of privacy was hard to come by.
“It’s in the past. Let’s let it stay there.” She took the empty burlap bag from him. “I have to check on Ira first, but I’ll make a pot of coffee. I have a feeling you can use some.”
“I’m a rancher. I can always use coffee.” But that wasn’t all he could use. He’d be happy to demonstrate at the next opportunity. Until then, he might as well sit down and curb his impatience.
He took a seat and watched Rollins, the conductor, and the brakeman. They’d dug out a deck of cards from somewhere and had a lively game going.
Maryellen Langtry was playing with the children, and Mrs. Abner was asleep.
Charles Flynn and Deacon Brown had their heads together. Seeing that made his hackles rise. He’d give anything to know what they were talking about. While he watched, Deacon rose and ambled a short distance away and sat down. Sloan’s eyes narrowed.
What were the two up to?
He was contemplating confronting the man when the oldest orphan girl started down the aisle with her arm tightly around her pretty doll. Sloan wondered if she was coming to talk to him.
But she wasn’t. The girl stopped directly beside a glaring Deacon Brown and climbed into the seat beside the man.
“What’cha doing, mister?” she asked.
Sloan held his breath for a long second. He’d gladly throw the man into the snow if he as much as looked at the girl the wrong way. If Deacon knew what was best for him, he’d show the little girl some manners.
And if he made the girl cry . . . Sloan would wallop him within an inch of his life.
“I’m just sitting here wondering when this snow is gonna quit,” Deacon finally answered. Sloan let the air out from his lungs. Looked like Deacon might be in the mood to pretend to be nice.
“Why are you so sad?”
“Just missing my family, I reckon.”
“I’m real sad too.”
“Why’s that?”
“My mama and daddy died. They’re in heaven. We don’t have no one to take care of us.”
Deacon put his hand on the girl’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
The girl squirmed around until she was almost sitting in Deacon’s lap. “Do you have a little girl like me?”
“As a matter of fact, I guess you could s
ay I do. I’m raising my sister’s three young’uns, a girl and two boys.”
There was another mention of that mysterious sister. Deacon’s statement that he’d come to take care of some business for his sister came back. So the woman had three children. Why on earth was Deacon raising them, Sloan wondered.
Why wasn’t the sister raising her own kids?
And why would Deacon leave the children right here at Christmas to traipse across the country in a blizzard?
“My name’s Martha. What’s your name?”
“You can call me Deacon.”
Martha got on her knees and patted Deacon’s red beard. The girl wasn’t afraid of the man in the least. “Mr. Deacon, do you wanna play dolls?”
Again Sloan tensed. Deacon better give the right answer or he’d need God and all his angels to help him.
“I’d be right honored, Miss Martha.”
Sloan couldn’t hide the grin. He’d have to see this burly man playing dolls.
Martha’s blue eyes twinkled. “I’ll be the mama and you’ll be the daddy and this is our baby.”
Sloan settled back in his chair and watched Deacon play dolls with a lonely little girl. Her brothers were involved with spinning their tops, and the baby was too young to be an interesting playmate. Martha just wanted some attention. And she’d singled out the most unlikely man.
Tess returned as promised with a fresh pot of coffee for those who wanted it and a nice cup of hot tea for Maryellen, who seemed extremely grateful for the kindness. Sloan straightened his leg to get the kinks out and got painfully to his feet to help her with the welcome refreshments.
As he poured himself a cup of coffee he noticed the wrinkles on Tess’s brow. “What’s worrying you? Is it Powell?”
She captured her bottom lip between her teeth before she answered. “No, he’s holding his own. I’m probably fretting for nothing, but I’ve caught Maryellen wincing and rubbing her stomach. I’m afraid it’s her time.”
“Have you asked her about it?”
“She assures me she’s fine.”
“Then I guess she should know, Miss Worrywart.” He longed to smooth her brow and draw her into his arms, even if for a few minutes. But he couldn’t.
A Texas Christmas Page 21
