by Jodi Thomas
Abe came back wounded before the year was out. Killian had met up with his older brother at Vicksburg and stayed to the end, then walked home alone and half-starved but without a wound. Folks talked, saying they’d heard tell of Killian and his brother, Shawn, facing a huge battle a few months after they got together. The Rebs were outnumbered when the O’Toole boys manned a cannon. Folks said Shawn held the line for two hours before he fell, his face so bloody not even his family could have claimed the body. The gossips said that Killian ran when commanded to take his place and spent the rest of the war driving a hospital wagon without a weapon at his side.
No one had proof. The story of O’Toole was just hearsay, but behind his back, some of the veterans called Killian O’Toole a coward. Others said he was simply mad, driven there by a war he was too young to understand. Folks claimed after twelve years he still talked to his brother as if Shawn O’Toole walked by his side, and Abe Henderson knew enough not to argue.
Abe didn’t care about gossip. Killian O’Toole was his friend and that was all that mattered. The war had been over for a long time and neither of them ever mentioned it. Both were terribly scarred, Abe with a limp and Killian with rumors that never ended.
When Abe saw him sit down on the bench outside his store, he poured two cups of coffee and moved slowly to the door. At five past seven they’d see few people on the street. They could talk. If one of Abe’s regulars did come in, he could get what he needed and leave the money on the counter. For both men, this hour once a week was all they had in the way of true companionship.
“Morning.” Abe smiled at the long-legged man in black. “I swear you look more like an undertaker than a circuit judge.”
“Jobs are about the same,” Killian answered, without meeting Abe’s gaze. “I’m guessing I put about as many men in the ground as most of them do. Difference is, no one yells at an undertaker for just doing his job.”
“Plus, don’t forget you get to go down to Austin once in a while,” Abe said, remembering how his friend always seemed happier and maybe a little more at peace when he took a few days off and made the trip. Maybe in getting away from his home and people who knew him, he somehow slipped away from his memories.
“I may not be going as much from now on. Things seem to have changed.”
The shop owner knew his friend was still hung over from the night before. Killian, if nothing else, was predictable. He worked hard all week riding from town to town, sometimes holding court all day, then sleeping in the saddle so he could make the next town by morning. Every Thursday or Friday night he’d circle through Fort Worth and collect his mail. Then he’d rent a room in a good hotel, take a bath, have a shave, and stay drunk for two days before heading out again.
“How’s Shawn?” Abe decided to change the subject. A ghost was all the family either of them had, so they always made polite conversation about him.
“He’s fine. Says I’m getting too old to live on the road.” Killian downed a swallow of hot coffee. “Thinks I should settle down and get married to some fat woman who’ll keep me warm at night.”
Both men laughed. They’d had the discussion before about marriage and decided no woman would want either one of them.
Killian lit a thin cigar and took a deep draw before adding, “This morning, I bumped into a pretty woman having trouble getting out of a carriage. Little bit of a thing with midnight hair and fiery eyes. I offered help, but she wouldn’t take it. Looked at me like I was a devil for even talking to her.”
“Were you sober?”
“More or less. I had to come in early this week. A newspaperman I got drunk with a few times when I was in Austin is getting married and I’ve agreed to be the best man. When I got the telegram asking me if I’d stand up with him, I was surprised he even remembered my name. All I can figure out is I must be the only person he knew in Fort Worth.”
He didn’t say more, but his frown left Abe wondering just how much of a friend the guy could be. Killian looked more like he planned to be a pallbearer than a best man.
Killian shrugged. “I got to wondering if I haven’t reached the age where I frighten women and children. Every time I do meet a woman she tells me I’d make a good friend. Maybe I’m getting too old to even make attempts at being social. Remember Old Mr. Daily who lived at the edge of town? He scared a year’s worth of growth out of me more than once.”
Abe nodded. “He chased us out of his pumpkin patch with a shotgun. I thought that was a little much.”
Killian nodded. “I used to think he was older than dirt. Last week, on the road, I got to thinking that he couldn’t have been more than thirty-five or forty when we were kids. Hell, I’ll be his age before I turn around.”
“Maybe you should buy a place and start planting pumpkins?” Abe fought not to smile.
The judge just swore and smoked. “You and my brother are ganging up on me. He keeps telling me to forget about women all together. He thinks I should hang a shingle up here and go to work behind a desk.” Killian laughed. “The last time he picked me up in the gutter, Shawn told me he felt like knocking some sense into me. Before I passed out, I thought of daring him to, but hell, I’d probably be beaten up by a ghost with my luck.”
In the quiet dawn both men watched the schoolteacher walk across the street. She minded her steps, avoiding mud until she reached the steps of the little schoolhouse. She moved like a willow, Abe thought, and never offered a smile to anyone but her students.
“How old is she?” Killian asked as if just making conversation.
“I don’t know. She looked almost too young to be a teacher when she came here eight years ago, but they said she’d already taught at a school up north for a year. I’m guessing now she’s twenty-seven or -eight.”
“Well on the way to being an old maid,” Killian said. “She ever had any suitors come calling?”
Abe shrugged. “I’ve never noticed any man dropping by. She walks past my place heading back to the boardinghouse every evening. I’ve never seen anyone with her.”
“Kind of a shame. She’s not exactly pretty, but she’s not homely either.”
“She’s far too thin for you.” Abe lowered his voice.
“I know. Plus she’s the proper type. Probably wouldn’t let my brother hang around. Some women start acting funny when I tell them he died a dozen years ago. They seem to be of the opinion that he shouldn’t still be waiting around before passing on to the hereafter. I’ve told him a hundred times that he should go, but he says he’s got to stay around and keep me company.”
Abe continued to watch the schoolhouse door even though the teacher had disappeared. “If you ever do find one who doesn’t mind Shawn, marry her no matter how thick or thin she is. She’d be one in a million, I’d guess.” He almost added that he’d do exactly that if he ever found a woman who didn’t mind his limp.
They were both silent as they watched the teacher open the windows. The winter day promised to be warm and Abe guessed she wanted to air the place out.
“She’s more your type, Abe.” Killian held the cup almost to his mouth when he spoke.
“Not likely, but I will say she’s a worker.” Abe shook his head. “It’s a week before school starts back and she’s already getting everything ready. For what they pay her she should only work a few hours a day, but she’s in that room from dawn to dusk.”
Killian tossed his cigar in the mud. “You ever talk to her?”
Abe shook his head. “Only when she orders supplies. You’d think in the eight years I’ve been watching her go back and forth to work I would have thought of something to say besides ‘How many do you want, Miss Norman’ or ‘I’ll have it in a week.’”
Killian refilled his half-empty cup of coffee with whiskey from a flask. “Maybe you should grab her and kiss her. If she likes you, she’ll kiss you back. If she doesn’t, she’ll slap you. Either way, you’ll know how she feels.”
“Where’d you get that advice?”
Kill
ian winked. “Shawn told me. I haven’t had a chance to test it. Most of the women I meet are defendants.”
Abe ordered in a low voice, “Tell your dead brother to stay out of my love life.”
“You don’t have a love life,” Killian corrected.
“Neither do you, and bathing only when you hit town isn’t a good plan if you ever want one.”
Both men laughed, something either rarely did. They talked on about the weather and work, but both knew the importance of this hour they spent had little to do with what they said. It was the one time they both could almost believe their world was normal and they were just like everyone else.
Chapter 4
Main Street
Rose shifted and tried to pull up nonexistent covers. Slowly she awoke as she became aware she wasn’t in her room in the new wing of the ranch headquarters.
She realized immediately that Duncan had disappeared—as usual. Part of her wondered if he’d come to pester her or help. With him, she was never sure. He might be a lawyer, but he still loved riding with the Texas Rangers. Though tall and broad in the shoulders, he sometimes seemed more boy than man. Most of the time she felt a hundred years older than Duncan. They were playing a game they’d played since meeting. Because he was wild and did whatever he pleased, she had to be the sensible one who kept everything in order, everything grounded. He had all the adventures and she listened to his tales.
Rose stood and shook the dust from her skirt before putting it back on. There was something improper about two adults taking a nap together, but it didn’t seem to bother either one of them. From the time they were small, she and Duncan had taken naps together under the big trees behind the house. As they’d grown older they’d sometimes met in the same spot, both with a book to read. Often they didn’t even talk; they just didn’t seem to want to be alone.
As she began unpacking, a knock startled her. It couldn’t be past midmorning, far too early for Victoria to be back from her fitting. If Duncan came back, he probably wouldn’t bother to knock.
Rose opened the door to the maid Tori had employed since they were in school. Betty Ann was ten years older than Rose and Victoria, but she followed around after Victoria, picking up like a mother hen, and never saw her job as one of guidance to the young girls. If Tori wanted to jump off a bridge, Betty Ann’s responsibility was simply to make sure she was dressed properly.
“Hello, Betty Ann.” Rose stepped back so the maid could enter. “Good to see you again.”
“Morning, Miss McMurray. I brought your dress for the wedding.”
Rose grinned. That was about as friendly as Betty Ann had ever been and Rose learned a long time ago that she’d only fluster the maid if she tried to engage her in any conversation.
Betty Ann carried a bright yellow dress, with white roses of lace curled along the sleeves. Without a word, she crossed the sitting room and laid the gown on the bed. “I was told to bring this over as soon as I knew you were here.”
Rose stared. She guessed Betty Ann thought her overwhelmed by the bridesmaid dress, and she was, though not by its beauty but by the message it delivered.
Betty Ann marched to the door. “I got things to do. If you need anything else, you might want to hire your own maid. I ain’t hired to pick up after no one but Miss Chamberlain.” She looked pointedly at Rose’s open trunk. “You’ll be needing someone to help you once the wedding party starts. The major doesn’t let his daughter show up less than perfect and I don’t think he’ll be too happy with you all wrinkled. He told Miss Victoria that he plans to dine in style every night until the wedding.”
“I understand.” When Tori and Rose had shared a room in school, Betty Ann would pick up Victoria’s dresses even if she had to step on Rose’s to get to them.
Rose stepped closer to the yellow dress, fighting to slow her breathing. Her friend was in trouble. Deep trouble. Though she had no idea what was going on in Tori’s life, she knew one fact: Victoria Chamberlain did not want to get married.
As young girls going to their first parties and dances, they laughed and swore against two things. Rose promised she’d never wear yellow, not even to her own funeral, and admitted she hated roses. Any kind of roses from fresh real ones delivered with notes that read, A rose for my Rose, to paper ones in cards or even lace curled to look like the flower. Tori had said she’d never wear purple or shoes taller than one inch. She loved being petite and said purple was a color sensible women wore when they weren’t brave enough to wear red.
“Does Miss Chamberlain know of this dress?” Rose asked the maid.
“Of course, miss, she picked it out yesterday. Her father wanted another one with less lace, but she insisted.” Betty Ann made a face. “He gives in to her more than he should. I imagine that will stop after the wedding.”
Rose ran her hand over the yards of yellow material, barely listening to the maid. Tori hadn’t confided in Betty Ann and so Rose would say nothing.
The maid didn’t seem to notice her silence. “It will still be a few hours before Miss Chamberlain gets back. The groom was expected yesterday, but he didn’t show up. He’s an important newspaperman and probably has more important things to attend to than holding the bride’s hand.” The maid huffed. “I’m guessing that’s your job now, Miss McMurray.”
“Fine,” Rose answered. “I’ve a bit of shopping to do before the fitting. Let the bride and groom have some time alone.” She opened the door, leaving Betty Ann no choice but to exit. “And I think you’re right—I do need a maid.”
Betty Ann walked out mumbling to herself. “If they spend time alone waiting for you, it’ll probably be the first time they’ve spent without the major around. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear them two were getting married and Miss Victoria is just decoration for the cake. The way she’s been buying clothes you’d think she was stocking up for years and not just leaving for Galveston after the wedding.”
Rose didn’t ask questions. She had a feeling if Betty Ann thought she wanted any information about August Myers or the major, the maid would take great pleasure in hiding it.
As Rose hurried down the stairs, she planned. Whatever the trouble, it wasn’t something she could discuss with anyone. She needed to know the good guys from the bad ones as fast as possible, and for that she’d need an expert. Too bad Duncan hadn’t stayed around to help, but she’d manage. For once her fear had to take the backseat to helping a friend, and she needed to know what was going on as soon as possible.
At the desk, she asked the chatty clerk, “I understand Ranger McMurray hired a coach for me if I needed to move about town. Has anyone reported in?”
“Yes, miss, about a half hour ago. He said he’d be waiting whenever you needed him at the north door.” The clerk pointed down a long hallway toward a back door, then hesitated and added, “The man the ranger sent, miss, he’s not an easy man to look at, but he’s honest. We use him mostly for hauling because our guests have trouble looking—”
“I’m not interested.” She found people who judged others by looks far more difficult to face than any scar or deformity she’d ever seen.
“Yes, miss.” The clerk’s eyes met hers and she knew his opinion of her had just risen. “If you need anything, Miss McMurray, just ask for me, Hanson Rogers.”
She nodded. “I will. Thank you, Mr. Rogers.”
A few minutes later she stepped out of the north door and onto the side street where one worn buggy waited. Fort Worth had been a sleepy little town with its share of saloons and troublemakers, but with the railroad coming and cattle drives passing through, it had grown not only larger but rougher. The town fathers didn’t try to clean up the bars and gambling houses but simply restricted the worst of it to one area everyone called Hell’s Half Acre.
That was exactly where Rose knew she’d find the help she’d need.
The driver was tall, three, maybe four, inches over six feet. With his wide shoulders and thick legs, he seemed powerful more than overweight. He d
idn’t offer to help her up when Rose approached the old wagon with benches tied into the bed. Duncan was wise to pick nothing fancy, nothing that would draw attention.
Rose walked to the front of the wagon and swung up easily on the bench beside the driver.
He turned his face away as he mumbled, “Where to, Miss McMurray?”
“Before we start out, turn around.” At least he knew her name, but she’d look at him directly before she decided to go anywhere with him no matter what Duncan thought of the man.
He swiveled slowly as if bracing himself for her reaction.
Rose stared straight into his eyes, barely making note of the scars crossing his face like a crowded road map. “I understand you are a man to be trusted.”
A bit of the anger left his eyes. “I am.”
“Good. I need more than a driver. I don’t know what I’m stepping into here, maybe nothing, but if there is trouble, I need to have someone I can depend on.”
He studied her for a minute and she expected him to ask details, but all he finally said was, “Wherever we go, I’ll not come out without you. I’ll see you safe back to this door, miss. You have my word.” He lifted a corner of his mouth in almost a smile. “Duncan McMurray is one of the few men I call friend and you matter to him. That’s all I need to know.”
“Fair enough. I’ll expect you at this door when I need you.”
He smiled. “I sleep in my wagon anyway. Might as well do it here. They call me Stitch, miss. That’s the only name I got.”
“Were you in the war, Stitch?” If he was, the surgeons had done a poor job. She couldn’t help but notice that his hands revealed the same white scars that crossed his face. It was hard to guess his age, but by the lack of lines around his smoky blue-gray eyes she thought him under forty.
