Counterfeit Cowboy

by Lacy Williams

  A characteristic Jesse had thought he might exploit, and his time was running out.

  But when she sent him another of those pleading glances, he couldn’t ignore the protective instincts firing within him.

  “Weren’t you going to show Pete some more of your sketches this evening?” Jesse asked Erin. He shot the boy—who was starting to look a little green—a look, slanting his eyes back in Erin’s direction.

  “Why don’t you switch places with the boy?” he asked the newcomer, making it sound more like a command.

  The other man started to protest, but Pete was of the same mind as Jesse and quickly jumped up. “That’s right, Miss Erin, you promised you’d show me.”

  Thankfully, she caught on, and the other man had no choice but to move to Pete’s vacated seat. Erin pulled her sketchbook out, even though the outside light was starting to fade as the sky darkened.

  With Pete leaning over the book in her lap, she brushed against him, then paused and put a hand to his forehead.

  “Jesse, he’s burning up,” she said softly, concern filling her eyes.

  And at that moment, Pete tossed the contents of his stomach at their feet for the second time.

  “Aw, kid,” Jesse groaned.

  The newcomer scrambled up, attempting to lift his feet away from the mess as Pete continued to heave; Jesse saw his ribs expanding and contracting against the thin material of his shirt. Erin ushered the boy into the aisle hastily.

  “I’ll take him to the washroom,” she said.

  Jesse saw her open satchel, where she’d dug out her sketchbook, at the same time he saw the other man eyeing it. Her purse was visible right on top.

  The other man made a slight movement and Jesse stayed his reaching hand with a grip on the man’s wrist. “You’ll want to think twice about taking something that doesn’t belong to you.”

  The other man gaped at him wide-eyed for a long moment; he must’ve seen Jesse’s determination that he wouldn’t get Erin’s purse because his eyes narrowed but he brushed past Jesse and down the aisle, where he disappeared.

  Leaving Jesse alone with Erin’s cash.

  The attendant bustled up. Some other passenger must have notified him. Jesse moved his feet as the man began wiping up the mess.

  He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the purse. Right there was his fresh start. All he had to do was take it.

  The conductor passed through the car, yelling that Chicago was the next stop. Erin and Pete might not even be back by the time the train pulled in and out of the station.

  Jesse could get away with it, scot-free. Erin likely wouldn’t even know he’d taken her cash—he’d be long gone, lost in the crowd before she realized he’d got off with it.

  He was sure her father had plenty more where that had come from.

  But something held him fast in his seat until Erin returned with a white-faced Pete.

  “He’s not doing well,” she informed Jesse. “I think some others might be sick, as well. There were a few people clutching their stomachs and another man waiting for the lavatory when we exited.”

  The train’s momentum began to slow. Outside the windows lights from different buildings made weird patterns against the dark sky.

  What was Jesse supposed to do with a sick kid in a city he didn’t know?

  He really wished he’d never allowed the kid to sit with them in the first place. But the kid did look miserable, clutching his stomach.

  “It’s probably same thing as yesterday,” Jesse said, although he was beginning to have doubts of that. “He hadn’t eaten in a while, and now...”

  Erin shook her head, concern radiating from her. “It’s more than that, I think. He’s burning up with fever, and he can’t even sit up straight.”

  She was right. The boy was folded over nearly double in pain. She asked the attendant for a blanket, but the man shook his head and hurried away.

  “Well, what do you want me to do?” Jesse asked. The kid wasn’t really his responsibility, but he couldn’t just leave him in awful pain when they got off the train. “I’ve never been to Chicago before. Don’t even have a place to stay the night.”

  Pete moaned.

  “He may need a doctor,” Erin insisted. She began gathering her belongings, hefting her valise in one hand and gathering her packages.

  “Chicago!” the conductor shouted from the end of the rail car. The wheels began to squeal against the tracks.

  “What are you doing?” Jesse stood, bracing himself against the change in momentum, and donned his leather duster.

  “I’m getting off with you. I want to make sure Pete is taken care of.”

  “He’s not your responsibility.” He wasn’t Jesse’s, either, but Jesse wasn’t going to abandon the kid, no matter if he had been a pain the last day and a half.

  “My ticket will still be good to get me to Wyoming tomorrow. I’ll help you two get settled somewhere and make sure he’s going to be okay.”

  As the train screeched to a halt, Pete vomited again, this time hitting Jesse’s boots.

  “Aw, kid!”

  “Jesse.” The worried tone of Erin’s voice drew his gaze to where she pointed, and he saw the blood amid the boy’s mess. That was not a good sign.

  “Don’ feel so good,” Pete slurred, slumping onto the seat Jesse had just vacated.

  People began streaming inside the train car, bringing a flurry of snowflakes and cold air.

  With a grunt, Jesse lifted the boy into his arms, cradling him against his chest as if he were a much younger child. That’s what he felt like anyway, so light and skinny.

  “Let’s go,” Jesse said to Erin, nodding her to precede him. He figured once she got the idea into her head they weren’t getting off the train without her.

  She moved quickly, elbowing her way past the new passengers. “Excuse us. Can you move, please? We’ve a sick child here.”

  And to his amazement, they all moved aside to let the trio pass.

  Then he realized it probably wasn’t her words that were moving the people. It was the stench. Pete had messed all over his clothing—which meant Jesse’s only duds were now covered in vomit, as well.

  Stepping onto the platform, a burst of cold air hit Jesse in the face. The chill wind was bracing to him with his coat on—what did it feel like to the boy with his tattered clothing? Jesse held him a little closer to his chest, even though he could barely stand the smell.

  Pete moaned again. This close, Jesse could see the sweat beading his forehead. Pete began to shiver.

  “Hang on, kid. We’re gonna get you someplace warm.”

  He kept Erin’s dark head in sight as he followed her through the pressing crowd. Someone jostled him and for a moment he was back in the prison yard, trying to back away from a fight. He whipped around, prepared to blast the other prisoner who’d pushed him, but a man in a dark coat hurried away into the swirling snow. Jesse blinked, and was back in the Chicago depot.

  Four days out of the Boston prison, and he’d thought for a moment he was back there.

  He wheeled around and barely caught sight of Erin at the edge the crowd. She spoke to someone from the depot, and Jesse joined her. With the wind whistling in his ears, he couldn’t hear her words clearly, something about her luggage. When she set off again to the street outside the station, he followed.

  On the street, the situation seemed even worse than the jostling crowd inside. A line of hackney cabs waited, but a flock of other passengers had gotten there ahead of them.

  Jesse watched as Erin approached one of the cabs, waving a wad of money above her head. Coincidentally, a path opened between the other patrons and the cabdriver motioned Jesse ahead with Pete even as he helped Erin inside.

  It was difficult getting inside while holding Pete, but Je
sse didn’t want to dump the boy inside and possibly jostle his tender stomach.

  Inside, Erin alighted on the seat across from Jesse and Pete. The biting chill of the wind had gone, but the kid still shivered in Jesse’s arms as if he were still out in the elements.

  Pete groaned and tensed and Jesse closed his eyes; he was sure the boy was about to throw up all over him again.

  But nothing happened.

  Jesse peeked open his eyes to see Erin sitting forward, almost off her seat, one hand across the boy’s face. Comforting him.

  Jesse found a hard knot in the back of his throat; he couldn’t speak.

  The moment of consideration for someone so much less than she was caught Jesse off guard. He didn’t doubt Pete had had a hard childhood, similar to Jesse’s. But this merciful woman seemed to want to take care of the boy.

  Jesse wished there had been an Erin for Daniel all those years ago. He was glad for her presence now and not just for her money.

  Jesse wanted that kind of tender compassion for himself. But she would never offer it to him if she knew the real Jesse Baker. He had no doubt of that.

  And he couldn’t figure out why Erin would bother. She had no responsibility for the kid. She thought he was Jesse’s responsibility, but even then she’d got herself off the train, derailing her own travel plans, to make sure the two of them got taken care of.

  Why would she do something like that?

  Chapter Seven

  Erin noticed Jesse’s discomfort by the stiffening of his posture the moment they stepped out of the hackney cab, but she was too worried about Pete to take the time to reassure him she would foot the bill. He stood looking up at the austere awning of the Grand Atlantic Hotel, mouth half-open.

  “Erin—”

  She interrupted whatever argument he would give by shoving him gently toward where the doorman held the large portal open, light spilling out into the freezing dark.

  “Let’s get Pete inside.”

  Jesse stepped foot over the threshold, but wouldn’t go farther. “Erin, Pete and I can’t stay here—”

  She ignored him, relieved to be inside out of the bitter cold, and approached the massive front desk with its opulent ornamentation that matched the decor in the rest of the lobby area. She greeted the concierge and was quickly able to get two rooms next to each other, all the while Jesse sputtered in the background.

  She thought it was better to override his wishes in this case, else they’d never be settled for the night, and she was becoming more afraid as Pete got quieter and quieter. The boy had no extra flesh on him at all, and if he continued getting violently sick like he was, she worried he might not survive.

  She made arrangements for the hotel staff to take delivery of her luggage when it arrived from the train station, and for a doctor to be sent up to their rooms as soon as one could be fetched.

  Then she allowed a porter to attend her and her companions to elevator. It took several good tugs on Jesse’s elbow to get him moving. On the elevator, he was silent, only inhaling a soft gasp when the conveyance began lifting them toward their rooms.

  As they exited the elevator and followed behind the porter, Jesse hissed out the corner of his mouth. “I can’t afford this place. Not even for an hour, much less a whole night.”

  She shrugged. “We’ll worry about it in the morning. Right now, Pete needs help.”

  His jaw clenched and a muscle ticked in his cheek, but he didn’t argue further, just allowed her to precede him down the hallway.

  Inside the first of the rooms, she directed him to lay Pete out on the bed. Jesse took one look at the pristine bedcovers and turned back to her—she knew he intended to protest—but at her firm nod, he finally deposited the boy there.

  She dismissed the porter and requested some hot water be brought up. When she turned back to the room, Jesse was removing Pete’s worn sweater.

  “He’s still burning up,” he said grimly. “But at least he’s not vomiting anymore.”

  She wasn’t sure that was a good thing. The quieter the boy got, the more she worried.

  “I’ll send his clothes down to be laundered if you want to undress him. He should be warm enough under the blankets. And what about your clothes, as well?”

  Jesse looked down at himself, back up at her with a flush spreading up his neck. “To be honest, all I’ve got are the clothes on my back.”

  She opened her mouth, but no easy solution presented itself.

  The flush spread farther up his neck and into his cheeks. “Don’t need to worry about me, anyway. My coat got the worst of it. Maybe you could send that down.”

  She nodded and gathered his coat from the floor where he’d shed it before while he undressed Pete and got the boy under the blankets. With an armful of soiled fabric, she met a maid at the door, carrying a pitcher of hot water and accompanied by the doctor.

  “Oh, thank goodness you’ve come.” Erin traded her armful of dirty clothing for the hot water; the maid disappeared down the hall.

  The doctor didn’t look happy to have been called out from his home or office at this hour. But as he spent several minutes examining the boy, his face grew grave. He palpated Pete’s stomach, causing the boy to moan and thrash on the bed.

  Finally, the doctor drew Jesse and Erin toward the door, where Pete wouldn’t be able to overhear them.

  “It’s most likely a bad case of food poisoning. Has he eaten anything spoiled lately? Maybe something left out too long?”

  Erin and Jesse exchanged glances. And then she remembered the older couple on the train who’d clutched their stomachs as she’d passed them in the aisle with Pete. And another mother with a young girl who’d been the same color green as Pete had.

  “We’ve just arrived on the train from Boston. I think there were several others who had stomachaches, but I’m not sure if any of them got off the train.”

  “He had pork loin for dinner,” Jesse said.

  “It doesn’t matter much now what he ate,” the doctor said. “His body will try to expel whatever it was that upset his stomach.”

  The doctor paused, and Erin knew he wasn’t finished yet.

  “The problem is that he appears to be malnourished.”

  The doctor glared at both of them for a moment until Erin said, “Jesse is his older brother. He has recently taken Pete out of an untenable family situation.” She wouldn’t go into detail; it likely didn’t matter to the doctor at this point. “He’s only had Pete with him for a couple of days.”

  The doctor’s gaze turned considering.

  Jesse remained silent at her shoulder. Was it worry for his brother that kept him quiet?

  “I’m afraid that the boy’s body is weak, because he hasn’t had the proper nutrition. The fever is trying to fight the food poisoning but he’s just...not very strong in body. If he makes it through the night, it will be something but if he does then he’ll likely be all right.”

  * * *

  Jesse stared at the floor as Erin closed the door behind the doctor and then leaned back against it, her palms flush against her sides.

  In the soft lamplight, she looked worn and a bit bedraggled from their rush off the train and to get to the hotel. Nothing like that first vision of her after she’d changed from the drab housedress into her fancy traveling gown.

  But she still seemed to fit into her surroundings. The gilt lamps on the walls...the fancy bedspread...the wallpaper. Erin belonged here. He didn’t.

  She looked as hopeless as he felt. The doctor’s visit hadn’t been a comfort and the man hadn’t been able to help Pete at all.

  Jesse felt as helpless as he had when he’d watched Daniel’s sniffle turn into a racking cough then into a rattle in his chest that had grown worse and worse...and Daniel’s frail body had been much the same as
Pete’s. They had scrounged for food, but never had enough. Living on the streets with no one to turn to for help, there was no way Jesse could have afforded a doctor.

  Was Jesse bound to watch another boy die? Unable to help, unable to do anything other than sit there?

  Fury flashed through him like lightning. He hadn’t asked to become involved with this boy. Pete had insinuated himself in Jesse’s life, but Jesse had no real duty toward the boy. Why should he care if Pete lived or died? What Jesse should do was walk out that door and get on with his life. Find Jim’s brother, release his burden of guilt. Live his own life.

  Problem was, he did care. The little rascal had wormed his way past Jesse’s defenses. Oh, he didn’t think of Pete like a little brother—more like a pain, an ache in his tooth that wouldn’t go away—but he didn’t want the boy to die.

  The fury in Jesse’s veins changed direction. If the God Jim and Erin talked about really did care about people, why would He let kids like Daniel and Pete die? Why couldn’t He do something for them?

  Erin pushed off the door, looking up and finally meeting Jesse’s gaze. The look in her eye nearly made him take a step back. She was full of fire, too.

  But instead of snapping her arm back to hit something—him—as his stepfather might’ve done, she threw herself into an embrace, twining her arms around Jesse’s waist and burying her face in his chest. Jesse’s arms hung lax at his sides; he wasn’t sure if he should embrace her back.

  She let him go as quickly as she’d embraced him, wiping her face with the heels of her hands. Was she crying? Jesse felt discombobulated and tried to keep up with her swinging moods.

  She bustled into the small attached washroom and Jesse heard the splash of water from a pitcher into a bowl. When she returned, carrying a damp washcloth, face full of determination, Jesse’s chest expanded. He was starting to care about her. Too much.

  “We’re not giving up,” she said firmly. “Pete’s proven his strength by surviving long enough for you to come find him in Boston. He’ll get through this.”

  She moved to the bed and sat down next to the kid, arranging her skirts around her. “I rented two rooms. Why don’t you take a few hours and rest in the room next door. I’ll watch over Pete, try to get his fever down. Then you can spell me after you’ve had some time to rest.”