The Texan and the Lady

  THE TEXAN AND THE LADY

  Jodi Thomas

  To my sister

  Dean Price Paxton

  who, after college and a career,

  found her adventure in raising a houseful of boys

  Chapter 1

  Iowa, 1880

  Jennie Munday straightened the pleats on her serviceable navy blue dress. Without looking in the mirror, she covered her ebony hair with her old felt hat and lowered the thin veil over her face. “I’m leaving,” she whispered to the orderly little room. “I’m going to find out if there’s more beyond this town than the edge of the trees. I’m going to discover if there’s anything more for me than being an old maid.”

  Lifting a tattered carpetbag in one hand, she picked up a train ticket with the other and took one last look at the room that had been hers all her life. “If I stay here, all I’ll ever be is poor Jennie, oldest daughter of Reverend Munday. Poor Jennie who never had a fellow. Poor Jennie who never had her own life. I want to see the West and meet the men who are taming it.”

  For twenty of her twenty-eight years she’d taken care of her younger brothers and sisters during her mother’s “weak spells.” Now the others were all grown and married. Only she remained at home because everyone thought it proper that she should.

  “I may get lost out west, but I’m going,” she whispered as loud as she dared. With one final consideration, she removed from her bag the Bible her father insisted she read each night and switched it for a stack of dime novels she kept hidden under her bed. “I want to find a hero worth loving.”

  Jennie stepped into the hall and tiptoed past her parents’ room to the kitchen. Collecting the small lunch she’d packed for the trip, she hurried onto the back porch. Icy rain drizzled in the darkness, collecting in large enough drops to make noise tumbling off the roof. First light wouldn’t be for hours, and by then she’d be moving west. Come morning, no one in Iowa would have any idea where Jennie Munday had gone.

  She reached for an old barn lantern with her free hand. All she had to do was turn at the red ribbon tied to a fence post down the road and she’d find her way to the depot.

  Half an hour later she set the lantern down on the edge of the platform without bothering to blow out the light. As she moved toward the train, the tiny flicker of fire seemed to wave good-bye.

  Maybe someone would find the lantern and think she’d walked off somewhere near the train station and lost her way. After all, they’d remind themselves, poor Jennie can’t tell her right from her left, much less directions. They’d never guess she’d taken a train. Not Jennie. She’d never been more than a few miles from her home.

  “All aboard!”

  Jennie looked around, wondering who else the conductor was yelling at, as she was the only person standing on the platform. She’d purchased a ticket to Kansas City without giving her name and doubted the night agent knew her on sight. By dawn she’d have changed trains and be traveling on a Harvey Employee train pass. No one would be able to trace her progress.

  Climbing the metal steps, Jennie forced herself not to look back at the shadows of a town that had always been her home but had never welcomed her. She moved through the passenger car noticing only a few people who, like herself, were too poor to afford anything but a third-class ticket and who would spend the night sitting up.

  A few men in mercantile suits were playing cards near the front of the car, seemingly reluctant to allow anyone to catch them asleep. A woman in a wine-red coat was curled up alone on the last bench with her face tucked low into her collar. Several couples cuddled together trying to keep warm and comfortable in each other’s arms.

  Jennie took an empty bench and forced her heart to stop pounding. She’d made it this far; now all she needed was some sleep before she had to switch trains in Kansas City.

  But sleep was as elusive as a comfortable sitting position on the bench. She couldn’t ignore the laughter from the card game in the back or the steady snores of those few who managed to doze.

  When she disembarked in Kansas City, every muscle ached, but there was no time to complain or anyone to hear. She checked her watch and hurried to the platform where a train was already loading for Florence.

  A man in railroad blue was sitting behind a portable table at the top of the platform steps. “Harvey employees to the left, all others to the right.”

  Jennie hesitated a moment then moved toward the line containing almost all young ladies. When she passed the desk she said, “I’m an employee.” Jennie fished in her bag for the letter she’d been mailed instructing her to report January 3, 1880.

  The man handed her a ticket stamped “Employee” across the top. “Wait with the others, miss.” He glanced up and raised one eyebrow as though doubting her honesty, then shrugged as if reminding himself he wasn’t paid to think.

  Jennie smiled down at the ticket. Freedom felt wonderful in her hand. Moving out of the way, she noticed that the woman who’d been alone on the train from Iowa was now in the employee line as well. Her face was still deep into the collar of her wine-red coat.

  Jennie looked over the heads of the other women on the platform. Not only was she taller than most of them, she was also older. They chatted excitedly amid the train’s smoke while she silently watched, counting the minutes until she could head farther west.

  “Harvey employees!” a middle-aged conductor yelled. “Have your tickets ready.”

  The crowd of people pushed forward as the conductor continued, “Welcome to the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe.” He tipped his hat to the ladies. “I thought the Harvey girls in Topeka were the prettiest I’d ever seen, but you ladies rival them. Mr. Harvey’s going to single-handedly settle the West, if he keeps shipping such fine womenfolk into the frontier.”

  The other girls giggled and chattered in a nonstop fashion, but Jennie remained quiet. She’d answered the ad to go west, not to stand on a platform and be flirted with by a middle-aged conductor. Fred Harvey might consider himself a self-appointed civilizer, but Jennie wanted to see the land before civilization succeeded.

  Skirts rustled as everyone moved toward the doors of the train. One by one they climbed the metal steps. Jennie waited her turn, her mind whispering, I’m never going back home. I’ll starve or let the Indians get me before I run back to a life crammed full of nothingness.

  She moved with the flow of bodies onto the train and down the narrow aisle until she found an unoccupied bench. People talked and shouted all around her, but she looked no one in the eyes. There would be time to meet the other employees later; now was her first day of freedom. A gulf of silence must divide her two lives so her past couldn’t accidentally spill into her future.

  Looking out the window, Jennie smiled. She might not be the youngest or the prettiest woman ever hired to be a Harvey girl, but she’d be the best. She’d heard Mr. Harvey expected his waitresses to be spotless in dress and very proper. Well, if she’d been nothing else in her life Jennie Munday, oldest daughter of Reverend Matthias Munday, had been spotless and proper.

  Men began moving boxes into the aisle as the conductor shouted, “Sorry for the inconvenience, folks, but we don’t trust this china in the baggage car!” The conductor grinned as though he were the only one on the train who understood what fine china Fred Harvey always used in his restaurants. “Get your tickets ready. I’ll be back to check them as soon as we’re on our way.”

  Jennie’s head jerked backward against the seat as the train moved forward. Buildings from a city she’d never seen before slipped past her window like raindrops sliding sideways on the cold glass. She’d done it! She’d broken away.

  Forcing her fingers to relax around the handle of her bag, Jennie lowered it toward the space
under her seat. She shoved hard, yet the bag wouldn’t slide beneath her feet. She tried again, forcing action into tired muscles, then leaned over and looked under the bench.

  There, curled into a ball of rags, huddled a tiny person looking back at her. Huge blue eyes sparkled with tears inside the dirtiest face Jennie had ever seen. The child shoved hair the color of dried mud away from a tear-streaked face and looked directly at her.

  “Please,” a tiny voice begged. “Don’t tell ‘em I’m here.”

  Jennie bolted upright. She looked around, thinking half the car must be watching, but no one seemed even slightly interested in her or her discovery. They were all talking among themselves. She didn’t hesitate in her decision. Extending a Christian hand outweighed any knowledge that she would be cheating the railroad out of a fare. Jennie had never followed her father’s belief that a sin was a sin. “Lord,” she prayed beneath her breath as she had a hundred other times, “I’ll explain my actions when I get to Heaven.”

  She set her bag down in the seat beside her and moved her skirts to completely cover the child at her feet. Apparently she wasn’t the only one running away, and from the looks of the stowaway, the boy could be no worse off where he was going than where he’d been.

  The train picked up speed, and everyone around her settled into small groups. Everyone except Jennie. She’d never been much of a joiner. Her family had made sure there’d never been enough time for parties or teas for their Jennie. After all, someone needed to stay home.

  Jennie closed her eyes, thinking that when she got to Florence, Kansas, she’d probably be too busy to talk. Harvey girls were expected to work ten-hour days, six or seven days a week. But the work didn’t frighten her. She’d worked hard all her life, and the loneliness of being out in some little train station in the middle of nowhere seemed almost exciting after the life she’d led.

  By now her parents would be awake wondering where their breakfast was. At least one of her sisters would have stopped by to leave her children, while she did some shopping or had tea. It was always so handy to leave them with Jennie. She never seemed to mind, even if the house was already full with other nieces and nephews.

  A smile brushed Jennie’s lips. Well, today, she minded. Today, she wouldn’t be there. Today, she’d live a tiny part of the adventures she’d always read about in her hidden novels.

  “Pardon me, ma’am?” A low voice shattered Jennie’s thoughts. “Mind if I take this seat?”

  Glancing up, she stared at one of the tallest men she’d ever seen. His sandy hair almost brushed the top of the car as he removed a wide-brimmed hat and regarded her with tired eyes that seemed banked in anger.

  Jennie looked around, hoping there’d be another seat where she could direct him, but every bench was already occupied. Without smiling, she lifted her bag and set it in her lap. “Of course, you may.”

  The stranger raised his rifle to the rack above their heads and adjusted a long Colt pistol strapped to his leg so he could fold into the seat. His knees bumped the bench in front of them, and Jennie realized this man would probably be far more comfortable on a horse than in this train.

  “You with this herd of Harvey folks?”

  “Yes.” Jennie tried to guess what type of man felt the need to travel so well armed. Though clean, his clothes were not quite the cut of a gentleman’s. “I’m going to be a Harvey girl.”

  Surprise arched his eyebrows, and she felt her muscles tighten in response. Jennie could do nothing about her plain features, and though near the top, she was within the age range the ad had requested, so he might as well stop looking so surprised.

  Suddenly, she wanted to test her new wings and strike back. “Are you hoping for employment? I understand there are still a few dishwasher jobs open.”

  A smile touched his full lips but wasn’t mirrored in his tired eyes. “No.” He moved slightly, trying to make more leg room in front of him. “I’m just passing through to Texas. Left my horse in Florence. Soon as I get back to God’s country, I don’t ever plan on leaving the state again.”

  He pulled a thin cheroot from his pocket and rolled it slowly between his long fingers. “That is, if I still have a job when I get back.”

  Jennie didn’t really want to talk to him. He made her nervous, sitting so close they almost touched. She couldn’t remember ever being this near a man who wasn’t kin to her. “You’re a cow man?” Her words came out a bit too loud in an effort to prove she wasn’t nervous. She’d read in her books about the romantic cattle drives from Texas to Dodge City, Kansas.

  “No.” He paid more attention to his match than he did her statement. “I’m a federal marshal. Or at least I am until those damn Yankees in Washington make up their minds to fire me.”

  “Did you do something wrong?”

  He struck the match. “Just wasted too much lead, that’s all.” He touched the light to his cigar. “Problem was they kept having to dig it out of outlaws.”

  As smoke filled the air between them, Jennie had trouble making sense of what he said. He couldn’t be a hero marshal like the ones she’d read about. He wasn’t dashing enough. A real hero’s clothes wouldn’t need pressing, and his boots would be polished, not scuffed. As far as she could tell, the only thing polished about the man beside her was his worn Colt. And judging from what he said, the guns had been used too often to collect dust. “I really wish you wouldn’t smoke,” she whispered without being aware she spoke the words aloud.

  He studied her through the haze for a long minute before slowly lowering the cigar to the floor and crushing it with his boot. “Certainly, ma’am.”

  “It’s miss. Miss Jennie Munday,” Jennie answered, raising her chin slightly. “And thank you. I realize this is going to be a long journey, but I think you’d be wise to smoke on the platform between the cars and not in this crowded compartment.”

  She turned slightly to see if her lecture had made him aware he was in the presence of a lady and not the type of woman he was probably accustomed to in Texas. But, to her amazement, his eyes had closed in sleep.

  Jennie fought the urge to elbow him hard. How dare he sleep when she was in the middle of setting him in his place? To add to her insult, he folded his arms over his chest and slumped farther into the seat.

  She sat up straighter, afraid if she moved even an inch she’d touch this rude stranger. She tried to appreciate the country passing by, or consider the child hiding beneath her, but all she could think about was the man’s slow rhythmic breathing. When he awakened, she’d give him another lecture about politeness.

  “Ticket, miss.”

  Jennie jumped at the conductor’s words, then quickly handed the man her employee pass. “Aren’t you going to wake him?” She pointed a slender finger at the sleeping man at her side.

  “No, miss.” The conductor shook his head. “That’s Austin McCormick. I wouldn’t want to startle him. Value my life more than that. I’ll check his ticket later, when it’s safer.”

  Jennie tried not to look disappointed that the inconsiderate man wouldn’t be disturbed. But now at least she knew the marshal’s name. Austin McCormick. He might frighten the conductor, but no one would ever bully her into a corner again.

  Trying to relax, she let the morning slide by with the countryside. By noon, her body ached from holding herself upright and trying not to accidentally brush Mr. McCormick. When the train finally pulled to a stop, he moved, coming awake like a wild animal, all at once and with every muscle alert.

  “Twenty-minute stop!” someone yelled from the back of the train. “Food shack to your right, saloon to your left.”

  Everyone hurried to disembark. The marshal stood and stretched long powerful muscles. He glanced at her as she pulled her lunch from her bag. “If I were you, lady, I’d stretch my legs while I had the chance.”

  “I’m perfectly comfortable,” Jennie lied. She hadn’t forgotten the child beneath her seat and had no intention of leaving and taking the chance that someone else mi
ght discover the stowaway.

  The marshal crammed his hat low over his forehead and nodded. “Suit yourself.”

  Jennie watched him disappear before holding half her sandwich beneath the seat. “Would you like some?” she whispered.

  A thin, dirty hand hesitantly reached forward and took the sandwich.

  Jennie put the lunch bag at her feet and looked around to make sure the car was empty. Only the tiny woman in the wine-red coat remained. The dark wool almost covered her nearly colorless hair and face. She looked sound asleep on the last bench. Jennie could see a few people from her window picnicking beneath leafless trees several yards away. The cool fresh air looked inviting, but she couldn’t leave the child alone.

  She looked in both directions then leaned down until she could see the child’s face. “What’s your name?”

  “My momma called me True,” the stowaway mumbled between mouthfuls.

  “And your father? What did he call you?”

  “Never had no father. Momma died last year. Ain’t never had no name but True.”

  The muscles around Jennie’s heart tightened. “True is a nice name.” She offered the child the other half of her sandwich. “In fact, I think it may be about the best name I’ve ever heard.”

  The child became silent for several minutes then finally whispered back, “Why didn’t you turn me in, lady? All you’d’ve had to do was tell the conductor.”

  The question was so honest it had to be answered directly. “Maybe because I’m running also.” Jennie looked out the window at all the people talking and laughing. All the world seemed to come in groups, except her. Somehow she’d been left out. If life were a dance, she not only didn’t have a partner, she hadn’t even been invited. “Maybe,” Jennie whispered more to herself than to the boy, “I, too, have no place to go except away.”

  A thin hand reached from beneath the seat and touched Jennie’s gloved fingers. “Thanks,” True whispered before pulling back into safety. “I owe you, lady.”

  Jennie stared at the dirt on her always spotless glove. For once, the stain didn’t matter. The child had touched her as no one else ever had. She hadn’t been just convenient to lean on; she’d been genuinely needed.