Straight to My Heart

by Davalynn Spencer

  She looked down at her pale hands clutched against the gloomy skirt, as white as Joseph’s still face. The memory seared through her chest, scorching what little vibrancy remained. All her hopes and promise of a future lay buried in a pine coffin.

  Her father climbed to the seat, gathered the reins, and tapped old Dolly’s rump.

  A shudder rippled through Martha. Cramped as they were, her mother leaned even closer with concern. “Are you ill, Marti?”

  The old name rang foreign in Martha’s ears. No one had called her Marti since she graduated and married Joseph three years ago. She checked over her shoulder as if the name belonged to someone else. The stranger’s eyes caught hers.

  Foolishness flooded her cheeks, a convincing enough sign for her mother to think she was feverish.

  “No, Mama, I am fine. Just—just noticing all the changes in Cañon City.” A flimsy excuse, one sure to wither beneath her mother’s scalding scrutiny.

  But the woman had pity on her only daughter and simply patted Martha’s folded hands.

  “Yes, a lot has changed since last you were here.”

  ~

  Everyone looked the same to Haskell Tillman Jacobs—road-weary, dusty, and glad to be off the train. Everyone but the red-haired beauty in black.

  Anonymity suited him and he preferred to blend in with whatever background presented itself. But she had stared straight at him as if she knew the man he sought and could tell him the varmint’s whereabouts.

  Obscurity returned when the parson drove them from the depot and turned east onto Main Street toward his home at the opposite end. Knowing what people did and where they lived was one of the better aspects of Haskell’s job.

  He just hadn’t known about her.

  He pushed from the wall, left the wooden platform, and stopped at the second car. When the porter leaned down for the step,. Haskell pulled back one side of his coat, revealing the star on his vest.

  The man straightened. “Yes, sir?”

  “Anyone else on the train?”

  “No, sir. This our last stop.”

  “I’d like to see for myself.”

  The porter stepped aside. “Yes, sir.”

  The interior smelled of sweaty clothing, coal smoke, and sour lunches. Haskell walked the narrow aisle, checking the seats for any telltale sign or forgotten belonging.

  The porter followed.

  “There ain’t nothin’ left behind, sir. I done checked it all.”

  The man obviously took his job as seriously as Haskell took his, but continued on, pausing at each bench.

  Something lay on the floor half-way back. He bent and snatched up the dark netting, and wadding it into his coat pocket. Continuing on to the next car, and repeated his inspection, then turned to his dogged follower.

  “And a fine job you’ve done.”

  “You lookin’ for somethin’ special?”

  The man’s voice carried more than the cursory question. He saw more than most.

  “Where did the woman in black board the train?”

  “You mean the widow Stanton? Kansas City, sir.”

  Haskell fingered the netting. “You pick up anyone in Pueblo today?”

  “Just a mother and her two youngin’s. If’n somebody else jumped on the back, I couldn’t say.” Coal black eyes lifted to the low ceiling. “We carried a body or two without knowin’ it at the time.” He regarded Haskell with a near smile. “But not in a long time.” His thick brown fingers flexed open and closed.

  Haskell nodded and stepped outside. “I’ll have a look.”

  When the train arrived, he’d seen no movement on top of the cars, saw no one jump. At least not on the depot side.

  He climbed up to view the length of the train and found what he expected—nothing. Squinting back along the rail bed, he noted the few houses huddled near the track with small fenced yards hedging the narrow road between the gravel and their gates.

  Working his way down, he jumped clear and walked downtown.

  Word had it that the man he sought was last seen in La Junta and headed this way by train. Obviously, the speed and comfort of such travel balanced out the risk, especially for one so gifted at slipping into a crowd unseen.

  But Haskell could have missed his prey once the widow stepped down. She’d drawn Haskell’s eye like a prospector’s nose to a nugget. The hazards of a solitary life, he figured, though he had no intention of being turned from his purpose.

  The black netting snagged his calloused fingers as he pulled it from his pocket. Intricate needlework hung from one side, torn thread from the other. Crumpling the ripped piece, he dropped it in a wire basket just inside the front doors of the McClure House.

  Across the lobby, the dining room beckoned, and he took his usual table in the farthest corner. A seat against the wall offered a clear view of the guests who dotted the room. He set his hat on an empty chair.

  The Yale University professor with more hair on his face than his head dined with his entourage, each member intent upon impressing the Easterner with some tidbit of knowledge.

  A serving girl interrupted Haskell’s observation with her coffee and inviting smiling.

  “Good evening Mr. Tillman.” She righted the cup on his saucer and filled it to just beneath the brim.

  “Evening.”

  “Did you enjoy your day?”

  She waited expectantly for him to answer, but he didn’t chit-chat with girls young enough to be his daughter and obviously baiting for a beau.

  “And what’s on the board tonight.”

  Her smile slid away and she pulled the coffee pot to her waist. “Roast beef, mashed potatoes with gravy, green beans, and peach pie. Will you be dining alone again?”

  She didn’t give up easily, he’d give her that.

  “Yes.” He reached for the coffee, dismissing her.

  She huffed away in a swirl of skirts and stopped at the Bentons’ table, her smile back in place, her coffee at the ready.

  If the food wasn’t so good, he’d fill himself in his room on canned peaches and jerked beef. But it wasn’t often he found fare like the hotel offered. Cañon City had more to recommend it than its bath house and hanging train bridge in the canyon.

  Which were a couple of the reasons he’d given thought to staying a while. Maybe even settling down.

  The young widow’s bold gaze rose before him, framed by her black hat and coppery hair.

  Her image nettled him. Irritated him. He had business to tend to and could not be distracted by a beautiful, aloof woman.

  “I tell you, the second quarry will be as forthcoming as the first.”

  Drawn by the professor’s insistent tone, Haskell raised his cup and tuned his ear to the conversation at the far wall. An animated man, the Easterner waved his fork like a band leader’s baton.

  “Finch has made further discovery across the gully and has been digging there for several weeks now with great success.”

  The listeners murmured over their plates, and from the gleam of fortune in the speaker’s eye, Haskell guessed the man and his absentee companion—Finch—had uncovered an oil bed or a rich ore vein.

  “I am confident that these bones will rival the Allosaurus and Diplodocus unearthed here a decade ago. Perhaps another Stegosaurus will be discovered, even more complete that the first.”

  Haskell coughed as the hot coffee slid down his wind pipe. He set the china cup in its saucer and wiped his mouth on the linen napkin.

  If he recalled his school days accurately, the bald professor in the fine jacket was talking about dinosaurs.

  ~

  Thank you for being an Inspirational Western Romance reader!

  Order Book 3, Romancing the Widow here.

  Order the complete Cañon City Chronicles collection in e-book or print format here.

 

 

  reading books on Archive.