by Martha Hix
“Nekkid book?” That’s when he started laughing. Laughing his fool head off. He grabbed Patty into his arms and rolled her into the position where he could give her a love tap on her bottom. “You are one very naughty little tart, you are. Spying in a man’s private possessions.”
“I did.” She couldn’t help giggling.
“Look. We better get a few things straight between us. We are on this trip to find your father. There are two ways to go once you find him. Well, three. You can go with him. Or go back with me. Or he is welcome to return with us.”
Return with us? That sounded promising. “I don’t think he’d do that. He’s a miner. There’s nothing to mine in Lubbock.” She paused. “Is there?”
“To mine, per se? Not that I know of. Wes Alington thinks there may be oil or water beneath our feet. Water would be the better option.”
“Hmm. Interesting.” And it was. But Patty didn’t want to think about stuff like that. Not tonight.
Grant was saying, “Until you know which direction you’re going to take, the naked book better stay in the satchel. And you and I better keep our hands off each other.”
“Why?” she asked, hurt.
“Because you are not a strumpet. You are an innocent young lady, out in the harsh world with no mother or chaperone to keep you away from older rakes such as me.”
He pulled on one boot, then the other. And then he was gone. Just like Papa. Here one minute, gone the next. But this man wasn’t gone forever. Just for the moment. For her sake. For once in her life, she had a man looking out for Patience Eileen Sweet. A stick-to-it sort of man.
It certainly was odd, how life could turn on a dime.
Before Chet Merkel double-crossed her, he did save her from starving to death in Tulsa. He also kept a roof over her head and provided a way to leave Oklahoma. If not for Chet, she never would have met this wonderful man who treated her so kindly. Without Grant, she wouldn’t be on the brink of reaching El Paso, perhaps even to seeing her very own father.
Dear Lord in Heaven, what will tomorrow bring?
Chapter 5
“Allow me to help you, darling.”
The Alington Pullman had been unlinked and was now berthed with other private cars at Union Station. Grant took her gloved fingers, his free hand steadying her elbow as Patty stepped down to a platform in a place she had yearned to be—had longed to be!—for what seemed like ages and ages, in an international city more Mexican than Anglo. El Paso, Texas.
Patty glanced around. The terrain was that of a desert. Earlier, Grant mentioned the altitude being over thirty-seven hundred feet in the only natural pass in the Sierra Madre Mountains, with that break being punctuated by the great river separating Mexico from the United States. To the south, they called it the Bravo, with Texans calling it the Rio Grande, but the river didn’t interest Patty.
For long moments, she simply stared at the serrated peaks. “Mountains. They always call my father to them.”
“Men are like that,” Grant said.
“I guess I understand why. It’s their majesty. And mystery. Papa always says ‘from mountains and caverns and the underground, comes the world’s riches.’ But why do they have to be more important than family?”
Grant stepped away for a moment to speak with the porter who handled their baggage. When he returned, he said, “It’s a great responsibility, Sweetness, supporting a family. When a man does that while pursuing a line of work speaking to his soul, it’s powerful.”
She let that sink in. “You do have a point. I just pray it hasn’t killed Papa.”
“That’s what we’re here to find out.”
She almost put her hand in his again. “What about you, Grant? Are you pursuing the profession that speaks to your heart?”
“Politicians are expected to follow the law.”
“What do you love?”
“Your pretty brown eyes.”
“Oh, silly. I’m talking about work.”
“When I was a boy, I hankered to grow up and run the Lerand cotton farm.”
After disclosing his gubernatorial ambitions, Grant had told her more about his mother’s family and their political interests, and he’d added the Kincaid connection. His mother inherited her father’s property, and she’d placed her elder sons in charge of it, since Grant’s father practiced medicine. “You said you’re the third son. I guess that’s why.”
“You guess right.”
He’d also mentioned his three younger sisters. Whereas the brothers had treated Grant in an unkind manner, as if he were a punching bag and the object of all pranks and jokes, the girls looked up to him. He’d got his wonderful attentiveness from looking out for those sisters, for which Patty now benefited.
“Kitten, we can’t stand here all day. We should secure our hotel rooms.”
They could have stayed the night in the Pullman. No. Grant had already decided on a nice hotel near the Western Union office. He’d stayed there on a previous visit to this city.
She couldn’t help but chuckle when she saw the mode of transportation that she and Grant would be taking into the heart of downtown. A donkey cart. The barefoot driver wore white and a straw hat, while the donkey sported a coronet of colorful paper flowers around her head, held in place by her ears, as well as equally colorful blankets on her back. Sarapes, Patty learned as she and Grant bounced on a rear-facing perch, with their luggage between them and the driver.
He’d promised that the Robinson Arms had a courtyard with fragrant fall flowers, along with caged birds of many plumes, and he wasn’t a man for empty promises. The best part? The rooms not only had indoor plumbing, they offered heated showers. Who could’ve imagined!
Once her belongings were in her room, his in adjoining quarters, he met her in the courtyard. “It’s more than time to search for your father.”
Jethro Sweet’s daughter didn’t know whether to dread it, or to be excited, but they again perched on the donkey cart for the trip to Western Union headquarters.
It seemed as if everyone in El Paso was on the streets that morning. Patty heard as much Spanish as English. Many vendors had a lot to hawk, from food to curios to clothes. And more than one ragged child tried to entice Grant into crossing the Rio Grande for a visit with his sister.
She felt sorry for the urchins. There were so many, so much in need.
“There sure are a lot of sisters to visit over there,” she remarked as they turned into a quieter street. “Why would you want to meet their kinfolks?”
“They weren’t talking about their own sisters.” Grant winked at Patty. “They’re talking about visits to houses of ill repute.”
“Whorehouses?”
“Where did you learn that word?”
How would he look at her, if he knew she’d spent weeks in jail, sharing a cell with a streetwalker? If it were to happen, a future with him, he deserved the truth. She began with, “There was a lady in Tulsa named Dorinda. She—”
“Señor, señorita,” the driver announced, stopping the cart. “Western Union.”
Grant jumped down, offering his hand. But there was nothing to jump down for. The place was closed. Cerrado. A sign, handwritten in both English and Spanish, announced that the telegraph lines had been sliced “In the name of Pancho Villa, long live the people of Mexico!”
“Who is Pancho Villa?” she asked, once she got past her disappointment at the stumbling block.
“A fellow in Mexico unhappy with government on both sides of the border. I heard about him from Wes Alington. He keeps up with world news. I suspect we’ll hear a lot about Villa before it’s settled.”
She nodded. “Now what?”
Her companion turned back to read the notice. “The manager will return tomorrow. Let’s make the most of this city today. Shall we keep the donkey cart on hire, or…” He glanced toward the toes o
f his boots to lift the hems of his twill trousers. “Shall we put our feet to work?”
“Feet to work.”
Grinning and winking up at her, he asked, “How about lunch at the Harvey House?”
“You do know how to make me feel better.”
He snapped his fingers. “Looks like I have finally found my calling in life, my Sweetness. Making you feel better.”
“Oh, you silly!” She chuckled. He could be so much fun.
Hand in hand, Patty and Grant entered Union Station twenty minutes after leaving the telegraph office. Having arrived that morning via Pullman, they hadn’t entered the depot until now. She took delight in bustling travelers, all dressed to the nines. Wearing a round, furry hat and carrying a Pomeranian dog that yapped this way and that, a robust lady with sharp features hopped by, barking orders at the porter who toted her luggage and berating anyone who stepped too near.
Grant and Patty glanced at each other, sharing a snicker, just short of the entrance to the Harvey House.
“They resemble twins,” he remarked as the Pomeranian lady moved on. When Patty agreed, he switched the subject. “I don’t know about you, but I could eat the north end of a southbound sidewinder!”
“I could, too,” she agreed, then said, “Wait a second. Exactly what is a sidewinder?”
“A snake.”
“I suppose you’re going to tell me they bring those in on the train, too?”
He winked. “Could be.”
Whereas El Paso had a Mexican flavor, this restaurant was decidedly American. Waitresses wore crisp uniforms, with the tables set as elegantly as the Alington railcar. A hostess seated the couple. While they waited to be served, Patty admitted, “I’ve never been in a Harvey House before.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not. My father isn’t miserly, but he refused to pay eighty-five cents times three to feed his family elegantly. Are you sure you can afford for two?”
“Ye of little faith! I make more than a decent living with my law practice. And…” He winked. “I rarely lose at cards. Just look how lucky I got in my last game. I got you.”
She looked away, shy suddenly. “Wasn’t that lady with the dog funny?”
“She was. ‘Birds of a feather flock together,’ my mother always says. Speaking of birds, I’m going to try the flounder for my main course.”
Patty chuckled. “What does flounder have to do with birds?”
“Naught.”
“I’ve never tasted flounder. I’ve never even seen one.”
“I recommend it. They serve it whole. It’s almost as flat as a pancake, with two eyes on one side of its body.” He lifted his hands above his brow to wiggle them. “Quite delectable, broiled with butter. Best seasoned with salt, pepper, and a wedge of lemon. I understand they skein those fish in the Gulf of Mexico, then keep them alive on the train in the steam tank. Guarantees the freshness. They do have to be careful, though. Don’t want to boil those fishy things!”
“You’re joking.”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. Makes for a good story, doesn’t it?”
She kicked his ankle lightly. “You are so bad, sir.”
“That I am, miss.”
Of course he was joking. Along with all sorts of appetizers and accompaniments, he enjoyed lobster salad with mayonnaise and she loved the salmi of pork, and they both tried the cold
custard à la Chantilly for dessert served with French Market coffee from New Orleans. Beforehand and between courses, he finally did something she’d been yearning for him to do. He put his hand beneath the table and massaged the inside of her knee…to her utter delight.
* * * *
Once the Harvey House lunch was at end, Grant could have done with a hotel nap—including a rumble between the sheets with Patience—but his sweetheart mentioned the walk he’d promised earlier. He could handle it. And it would continue the day’s goal: keeping her mind off her father.
He suggested, “Ready for the street?”
“I’d like that.”
He enjoyed her enthusiasm for the stroll. She talked endlessly about how this person or that building would make a wonderful subject for her longed-for Brownie camera. If only he could have pulled one from thin air to make her the happiest girl in the Lone Star State!
Did she have a clue that no professional photographer would touch one of those new box cameras? Did she have the first idea how to develop film? These questions he would not pose. He would never squash her dream. In fact, he fully intended to order a camera, as soon as they arrived home in Lubbock.
For now, he’d simply enjoyed his Patience. She was like a child in the shops, especially when it came to things for the home. “Your house could use some sprucing up,” she pointed out, examining this onyx figurine and that obsidian doodad.
“Too true.” Then he inwardly groaned and bit his tongue, time and again, when she started picking out lacy items. Doilies, little doll-looking things. There was no way such junk was going in his house—not unless Miss Patience Sweet planned to make it her home, too.
It was a good thing, the gaggle of young entrepreneurs who made themselves available to carry packages back to the hotel. The easy part? They saved Grant from becoming a pack mule. The difficult part of visiting a place like El Paso was being surrounded by Juarez unfortunates. He couldn’t solve their problems. Would that he could.
He overpaid the kids and sent them on their way, hoping the goods made it to the Robinson Arms, yet silently saying a prayer that the junk would never be seen again.
Of course, his adorable doll loved the colorful, sugary raspas drinks that were sold on the streets, but so did he. And she couldn’t pass a tortilla stand without trying one of the flatbreads that were made with corn and served straight from the griddle. He couldn’t, either. Neither he nor she had an interest in a sit-down supper, so they ate bowls of fiery-hot chili with spoons, standing as they watched lean greyhound dogs racing in a makeshift hippodrome in the Chihuahuita district near the river. They washed chili down with tins of beer.
Once the sun started to set, he laced fingers with Patience’s; they wandered back to the central square, the zocalo. Strolling musicians played guitars with one fellow singing a love song, although to no one in particular, as the plaza seemed surprisingly calm, compared to the general hubbub of El Paso.
Grant caught sight of a shop on the square selling ladies clothing. He convinced her into trying on a peasant skirt of red cotton and an embroidered, scooped-neck blouse that was both gauzy and provocative, yet not at all outlandish for the place.
“You look very beautiful,” he said as she left the dressing stall.
“The sales lady said I should wear hoop earrings.”
The young salesgirl made her presence known. “We have a large selection.”
Nodding at the girl, he said to Patience, “I think you should.”
“My ears aren’t pierced. I’d best put these things back before they ask me to pay for them.”
“Good. We’re buying it all. Just like everything for the house. My treat.”
“You mustn’t buy me anything. I already owe you a stack of money.”
“I’ll take it all out in your hide.”
Things got very quiet between them, as he looked searchingly at his petite sweetheart, his titian-haired darling, his brown-eyed beloved. This innocent young lady who had much to learn, yet she’d seen way too much of the harder side of life. How she dreamed of being a photographer, yet she possessed a lawyer’s skills. What did she want from life? What would she settle for, and be happy with…for the rest of her life?
He decided to continue teasing her, hoping to speak to her heart. Praying for an answer that eased his own heart, he placed his hand on her cheek. “I’ll make you work from morning until night in my office, slaving over
legal documents, making certain they’re up to snuff. I will really crack the whip.”
She said nothing, did nothing. Moved not a muscle. From his experience with reading juries, Grant took this as not good.
“Legal work isn’t the same as taking pictures of colorful people and places, but little children are colorful people. I’ll bet you’d see your own children as especially colorful.”
“I haven’t been around many children. A few I watched out for in Tulsa. Their mother decided not to pay for my services. And my baby sister. Little Alice…”
Well, you stepped in that one, Kincaid. “Do you think you might have an interest in pursuing a career in the legal profession, either as an assistant or as an attorney?”
“You mean I could?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I never dreamed…”
“Your father never allowed you a dream?” Grant asked, astonished, even outraged. His sisters were all educated. Every Kincaid achieved a degree in higher education, wanted or not.
“My mother expected me to marry.” The smile gone, her shoulders wilting, Patience stared downward. “My father—I don’t know what he expected. He taught me much, but prepared me for nothing. He made no plans.”
They stood in an overstocked clothing store. Grant turned to the hovering sales girl. “Could we have a moment, please?”
“Sí, señor.”
“On second thought, please gather the señorita’s things and send them to the Hotel Robinson, in care of Grant Kincaid.”
He led Patience toward the exit. On the way out, he plunked money on the proprietor’s counter to pay for the garments she wore. On the square, the musicians continued to strum their guitars, with one singing a song that drew applause from the small crowd near the fountain. La Paloma.
They found a quiet rock seat. There, he hunkered back on booted heels and held her hand. “We don’t know what tomorrow will bring.”
“True.”
“What I do know, Miss Patience Sweet, is that I am very much in love with you.”
