by P. Creeden
“Are you all right, Miss?”
Penelope’s heart raced as she peered up at him. “I... I’m fine.”
A smile lit the man’s features, and for the first time dimples appeared in the man’s cheeks making him seem younger than she’d though he was at first. She blurted, “How old are you?”
First, he looked at her, confused, then he helped her back to her feet entirely and out of his arms before chuckling with a fist over his mouth. A bit of color rose to his cheeks as he answered, “I’m thirty-two, Miss.”
Only five years her elder. Suddenly, curiosity took hold of Penelope. She wanted to know more about him. Was he married? Did he have children? How did he become a lawman? How did he get so dark—was it really from spending a great deal of time in the sun, as she suspected? So many questions sat upon the tip of her tongue, but she pulled her lips tight to keep from making a fool of herself and turned about to face the steps boarding the train once more. She gripped his hand tighter as she mounted the steps this time and started toward her private compartment on the train, hoping that she’d be able to comport herself better than this over the next three days.
Chapter 8
After boarding the train, the two of them sat in the close quarters of Miss Warner’s private compartment. Although there were only the two of them, compared to the three or four that Jeremiah had suffered on the way to Yuma, the air in the small space seemed thinner, the area—tighter. How did it suddenly feel so cramped? He fingered his collar and unbuttoned the top button when his charge had her attention in another direction.
When she’d fallen on the steps of the train, his heart had skipped a beat. She was so small and frail and porcelain, he feared that she would break like a doll if she actually hit the ground, falling from such a height. He’d never seen skin so light and pale. Her ringlets of gold were perfectly formed, even though he wasn’t used to seeing such fine hair except on a child... or a doll. She’d felt light in his arms, and he’d been tempted to pull her closer to his chest, to protect her. Even though her eyes seemed to tell him that she had a fiery spirit inside her doll-like features, Jeremiah only found that to give her a more appealing character. He wanted to find out the source of that fire. The source of the sadness he’d seen earlier, too.
He held his hand to his lips to keep the chuckle that bubbled up from escaping. She’d bluntly asked him how old he was. It made him wonder what she’d thought of him, or what had made her curious to know. The woman had many facets to her, like a jewel. He wanted to ask her questions, too. How old was she? Even though she had many child-like features, when she frowned or worried, the lines in her face fell into familiar grooves. Miss Warner wore no makeup that he could tell, and didn’t seem to need it either. Her eyes, which were a window to her soul, told him that she was older than she appeared. Was she truly unmarried, too? A delicate beauty like her? How had she escaped her suitors?
Then she sat down heavily on her seat and met eyes with him. Those fiery blue eyes seemed to take in everything about her, and she had nothing to hide in herself. Honesty was the only thing that allowed her to meet anyone’s gaze. Because she was an open book, she seemed to expect others to be just as open. He wondered if she’d been to many places outside of Yuma? Perhaps she didn’t go to town often? Without question, she’d not spent much time out in the sun.
She cleared her throat. “Please forgive me, Deputy Marshal, for my outburst earlier. When I fell, I must have been shaken enough that I lost control of my faculties for a moment. I didn’t mean to put you in an uncomfortable position.”
Jeremiah shrugged. “It didn’t make me uncomfortable. If you wanted to ask me more questions, I’d be happy to answer. We have a lot of time to fill on this journey and silence will only make it stretch out further.”
That frown appeared again, and along with it, the wrinkles on her brow. An urge to reach forward and straighten those wrinkles with his thumb struck him for a moment. He fisted his hands to keep from acting on the urge. She tilted her head at him. “Ask you questions?”
He nodded. “Certainly. Provided that you’re willing to answer the same questions, or my own, too.”
She sat up straighter, a hand fluttering to her chest. “Certainly not. Wouldn’t that be bad decorum? A lady answering a strange man’s questions about her private life. I may not have ever had a conversation with a stranger before, but that can’t be how it’s done. I cannot imagine what my grandfather would think if he were here to witness it.”
Jeremiah leaned back on his bench seat. “Where is your grandfather?”
That sadness behind her eyes returned again, and she only held his gaze a moment longer before pushing it out the window. The train car jolted slightly, making her grip her seat with her hands as she leaned forward against it. Then the train began to move. “He passed away—three weeks ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Do you have any other family?” he asked in a soft voice.
Her eyes didn’t leave the window, but they darted back and forth for a moment as though looking for the answer somewhere out there. Then she shook her head. “No, I’m alone in the world now.”
“You don’t have someone waiting for you in Creede?”
Tears welled in her eyes, but she swiped them away before they had a chance to fall and sniffed. “I don’t. My grandfather provided me with a house in town, fully furnished and paid for along with a savings in the bank. But I’m to see about finding a career of my own... or some way to make a living and support myself there. I’m not sure how, but my grandfather’s lawyer assures me that there are more opportunities for women in Creede than there were in Yuma.”
“You see how this works?” Jeremiah asked with a small smile.
Miss Warner turned toward him with a furrowed brow, but no frown this time. Confusion filled her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I just asked you three questions, and you answered them naturally. That is how a conversation with a stranger goes. Do you understand?” he said to her softly, hoping to teach her without provoking her.
Her eyes went wide for a moment, though the confusion in them still remained. She nodded. “Where are you from Mr. Washington? Why were you willing to go all the way to Colorado, just to escort a stranger like me?”
His smile widened. “I’m actually from Colorado. Originally, I was trail boss at the Wilson Ranch out in Manassa, but the ranch fell on hard times, and was no longer able to support the workers. I moved to Creede a couple of months ago and was living on my last wages from the final job I had moving horses up to the livery there. I was searching for a job when I ran into Marshal Keeley.”
“So, you spent a lot of time outdoors then when you worked on the ranch?”
He nodded and huffed a laugh. “That much is for certain.”
“How did you end up in Yuma?”
“The marshal was transporting prisoners from Canon City to Yuma and needed an extra deputy.”
Her eyes lit up. “So you applied for the job then?”
“Not quite,” he said with another laugh and shook his head. Then he began to tell her the tale of what happened weeks ago when he’d first met the marshal.
Two hours passed faster than Penelope could hold her breath. The conversation between her and the deputy marshal was effortless. They both asked each other questions and each told stories in turn. He was a kind man who seemed genuinely interested in everything she said, laughing at the appropriate times and asking follow-up questions that made her talk more. Somehow he seemed to have a knack for drawing out things from her that she’d never told anyone.
When the conductor knocked gently at their door, she’d started in surprise. The thin, older gentleman stepped in with a smile. “Tickets, please.”
Penelope felt her cheeks flush as she searched her carpet bag for her ticket. Deputy Marshal Washington pulled his from his duster’s pocket and offered it to the man.
The conductor clucked his tongue. “This is for the public car, not the
private compartment.”
After finally finding her ticket, Penelope offered it to the conductor. “Actually, this is my compartment, as you can see. And he is my companion... my guest for the trip.”
Then suddenly she wondered about sleeping arrangements and grew even more flustered. The conductor raised a brow.
“Yes,” the deputy marshal answered. “When it grows later, I’m happy to move back to the public car to give Miss Warner some time alone. Could you please tell me the time?”
The conductor nodded, his face softening as he pulled a watch on a chain from his breast pocket. “It’s one in the afternoon, sir. The dining car will be continuing to serve lunch for the next half hour. Have you eaten yet?”
The deputy marshal shot a questioning glance toward her. “Would you like to get something to eat?”
Just as she opened her mouth to answer, her stomach grumbled loud enough to attract both gentlemen’s attention. Her eyes went wide as she wrapped her arms around herself. Heat rose to her cheeks.
A smile played on Mr. Washington’s lips as he nodded toward her and stood in the car, offering her a hand. “I’m quite famished myself. Would you accompany me?”
Without hesitation, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her from the seat. He hooked her hand in his arm as the train conductor stepped out of the compartment with a smile. What a difference a couple hours had made. Mr. Washington was no longer feeling like a stranger to her. He made her feel safe, protected, and not just physically. She was learning that she could tell him everything about herself. Her fears, her hopes. And somehow, she knew deep inside that those things were safe with him too. But then she remembered that this budding relationship she was developing with the man who was to be her companion on the train was only to last three days. And her heart squeezed at the thought.
The two of them sat in the dining car, enjoying a pleasant meal and picking up the conversation pretty much where they’d left off. Jeremiah swallowed the bite of food he had in his mouth and then took a sip of his water. Then he tilted his head toward her. “If you don’t mind my asking, how old are you?”
Inside Penelope’s mouth, the bite of biscuit she had there suddenly felt unbearably dry. She almost coughed and let it spew across the table, but held it in while she took a sip of her own water. While she chewed and swallowed, she considered how to answer. It was very forward of a gentleman to ask a woman her age... at least that was what she’d been told. Honestly, she’d never had a man ask her a question anyone would consider forward. Part of her didn’t want to answer the question. She could dismiss it with a joke. She could tell him that a woman had to keep some secrets a mystery. Would he think of her differently if he were to find out that she was still an unmarried spinster at her age? Once she swallowed down the bite she had in her mouth, she took another sip of her drink before meeting her eyes and answering, “I’m twenty-seven.”
He lifted a brow. “I would have thought you much younger.”
She’d heard that before. Her stomach twisted a bit as she studied his expression. “I’ve not had the chance to experience much in life. I had to care for my grandfather who had consumption as well as a rare intolerance to the sun.”
He nodded, his brow furrowing a bit. “So you’ve not spent much time outside because you had to care for him?”
Her lips thinned. It would have been easy to take the man’s offer of an excuse. She didn’t have to tell him all the rest of the story when he was willing to latch onto a portion of it as an explanation so easily. But she felt that it was dishonest to do so. And they’d both been so honest with each other thus far, that she didn’t want to taint it now. She shook her head. “No, it wasn’t just that. When I was eleven years old, I spent a great deal of time out in the sun while my mother cared for my grandfather. Then one day, the sun hurt me. My skin burned and itched and I felt sick to my stomach. For days I couldn’t even sleep well because I’d had such an intense reaction to the sun, and then my skin began peeling off.”
He tilted his head to the side. “Itching and burning? It sounds like you had a sunburn.”
She frowned and shook her head. “I don’t know what that is.”
“Whenever anyone spends too much time out in intense sunlight, they have the possibility of getting a burn. Usually, if someone spends a great deal of time in the sun, like I do, you’ll build up a tolerance to it and burn less frequently. But if someone is as pale as you are and spends even an hour in the sun, you might have an intense reaction.”
“You mean to say that it’s normal?” she swallowed hard, her heart squeezing in her chest. “I wasn’t cursed with a rare disease?”
Slowly he shook his head. “I can’t say that you weren’t, as I’m no doctor, but from my experience, getting burned by the sun isn’t uncommon.”
She sat back in her chair a bit, feeling stunned and hurt. “My grandfather and his doctor told me that I needed to avoid the sunlight. So I stayed inside all the time. I never went out.”
“Since you were eleven years old?” he asked with his frown deepening. “Didn’t your mother say something? Or your maidservant?”
It was Penelope’s turn to shake her head. “My mother never went against what my grandfather said. And the servants wouldn’t dare contradict him, either. After that day, I spent a great deal more time with my grandfather—reading to him, playing chess and checkers and various card games. I spent every waking hour indoors and my grandfather became my closest companion. A few months later, my mother passed on due to consumption as well.” Tears stung her eyes at the memory. “I didn’t even go to her graveside for the funeral.”
Mr. Washington reached across the table and took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze, a pat, and then withdrew it. The rough portions of his palm felt like leather on her delicate skin and fingers, since she’d removed her gloves to eat. Hadn’t she thought earlier how she’d loathe to be touched by the man? And now she found comfort in the very thing that had repulsed her before. She swiped at her eyes. Had she really been lied to all those years? Had her grandfather truly manipulated a common occurrence for his own benefit? Was the reason he suddenly wanted her to get out of the house she grew up in and move to Creede to assuage the guilt he felt about keeping her to himself all those years?
She swiped at her eyes just as the tears spilled over. Then she blinked, took a deep breath and worked to get control over her emotions, and smiled up at Mr. Washington.
Chapter 9
Jeremiah tried to smile back at Miss Warner as she put on a brave face. She was trying on a mask that didn’t suit her. The one thing that made Miss Warner so very appealing to him was her complete lack of guile. And this false smile that she plastered on her face didn’t sit well with Jeremiah. But he understood. He understood that sadness that he’d seen flicker in her eyes that first moment when they’d met. She’d been lonely for a long time and now she’d just realized that she didn’t have to be. Her grandfather appeared to have manipulated her all this time, and his doctor had helped him do it. No one stopped them. He swallowed hard before picking up a biscuit as though he still had an appetite. “But you’re out in the sun now, right? You must have come to realize that your intolerance wasn’t as bad as you originally thought.”
She nodded while drawing in a slow breath. “That’s true. When my grandfather passed away, he made it clear in his last will and testament that he wanted me to go outside and make a life beyond the dark curtains of our home.”
He lifted his brows as he took a bite of the biscuit and thought a moment. Then he swallowed and offered, “So you braved it, even though you believed that the sun might hurt you?”
“I don’t know if I would call it brave,” she sad, looking down at her plate. “I was terrified when I first stepped out the door and into the muted sunlight of a cloudy day.”
He offered her a genuine smile, this time. “That is the very definition of bravery, Miss Warner. If you continue forward, regardless of your fear
, you are brave. Bravery isn’t the absence of fear, but the will to overcome it.”
A small, shy smile tugged her lip as she met eyes with him again. “I only was able to persevere with the Lord’s help.”
“The LORD is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in him, and I am helped. I often cling to Psalm 28:7 in times of trouble. There is no shame in relying upon the Lord,” Jeremiah said, taking another bite of biscuit afterward.
Her eyes went wide and then twinkled a bit as her smile broadened. She nodded, and took another bite of her own biscuit. The rest of the lunch went peaceably. Jeremiah had never felt so comfortable with a lady before as he did with Miss Warner. He’d had a close relationship with Angel Wilson, whose father had owned the Wilson Ranch, but she was more like a niece—family, not a perfect stranger, like Miss Warner. He couldn’t help but feel a bit lighter in his step as he escorted her back toward her private compartment. Once they reached it, he patted her hand on his elbow. “Why don’t you get a bit of rest this afternoon? I don’t want you to feel as though you need to keep up a conversation with an old man like me in order to bide the time.”
“Old?” she asked with a shake of her head. “You’re barely five years my senior.”
He smiled down at her and patted her hand again. “Thank you. But still, I don’t want you to feel that you need to constantly entertain company. I’ll spend a bit of time in the public car, which is where my ticket allows me to ride, and give you a moment to refresh yourself, whether through reading, taking a nap, or spending a quiet time on your own.”
She nodded. “All right then. Thank you. When will you return?”
He pulled his pocket watch out of his vest pocket. “It’s just now two o’clock. How about I return at four-thirty? Will that be enough time for you to rest?”
“Yes, I believe that will do just fine.” She released his arm as he reached for her compartment door and slid it open.
