Anita Mills (2 page)

The sun overhead was already oppressively hot, the air damp and heavy, but to Verena Howard, the Texas port was one of the truly welcome sights of her life. After her harrowing, storm-tossed crossing from New Orleans, she understood exactly how Christopher Columbus felt when he kissed the ground on Hispanola. She had to fight an unladylike urge to run down the gangplank to the pier. Instead, she tugged the pointed hem of her jacket down at the waist, then smoothed it over her wrinkled walking skirt. She probably looked a complete fright, but right now she was beyond caring.

In the nine and a half days since she’d left home, she’d traveled through Pennsylvania, Ohio, Kentucky, Tennessee, Mississippi, and Louisiana, stopping at an assortment of dingy, dirty train stations at the most inconvenient hours to choke down the greasiest, most indigestible food she’d ever eaten. It had taken almost a week to reach New Orleans and anything truly edible. During an overnight stay there, she’d purchased a large wicker hamper and stocked it with pastries, fruit, and sandwiches, then looked forward to a pleasant cruise across the Gulf of Mexico, she recalled wryly.

And as the boat got under way, she’d sat on the deck, watching the sparkling expanse of blue-green water, smugly eating a delectable French pastry for breakfast, thinking this must surely be the best part of her journey. She hadn’t had the slightest inkling then that four hours later, the sky’d be pitch-black at midday, the wind whipping the sea into a meringue of white-capped waves.

When the storm first hit, there’d been a general panic. Then as it wore on, the continuous roll of the ship sent seasick passengers and crew groping for every available washbasin. At first, she’d tried to help the frantic young mother and the two crying children sharing her cabin, but as her own nausea overwhelmed her, she’d abandoned them and crawled up to the deck, seeking air. Clinging to the railing with the storm raging around her, she’d alternated between heaving her insides up and praying for deliverance. By the time the awful sickness was over, she’d made herself a solemn promise to stay on land for the rest of her life.

Now that she dared think of it, her stomach was so empty that it hurt with hunger, making her first order of business on land a real meal. But until she debarked, she had to think of something else, she decided resolutely. Something like how foolish it had been to come to Texas.

In retrospect, she should have just written Mr. Hamer and told him to take care of everything for her. Instead, for reasons she herself didn’t completely understand, she was traveling to the ends of the earth to bury a man she despised. And she wouldn’t even get the chance to look him in the face, to ask him how he could abandon a wife and daughter, leaving them to depend upon parsimonious relations. Even now, she wanted to scream at him, asking why he’d disappeared, leaving no trace of his whereabouts until now. But he was dead, and now she’d probably never know the answer.

Maybe she ought to feel something, some small bit of gratitude for being remembered at the last, but she couldn’t. No, a small, almost worthless Texas farm could never erase those bitter, painful years of watching her mother wait and hope for something that never happened. It had been like seeing a blooming flower slowly wither, then die—only it had taken years, not days. The doctors had called it a wasting sickness, but she’d always believe it started when her mother realized her “dearest Jack” had not only deserted his country, but his family also.

“You aren’t quite as green around the gills as you were this morning,” a male voice behind her observed. “Last time I saw you, you were hanging over that rail, looking like death’d be a blessing.”

Startled, she half turned to look up into an arrestingly handsome face. Unlike the other men waiting, he was bareheaded, and unruly waves of coal-black hair strayed over his forehead, giving him a slightly reckless air. Below a straight nose that would have done a Roman god proud, a faintly amused smile lifted the corners of a sensuous mouth. Her mother’s bitter, oft-repeated words of warning came instantly to mind.

Always remember it’s the really handsome man of this world who is the most dangerous, for he has an instant advantage over a woman, and believe me, he is practiced in the art of using it. Having been cosseted and flattered by the female sex all of his life, he’s learned early on to take a woman’s heart lightly, worthy of little or nothing in exchange. You can never trust a handsome man.

And from the glint of the sun in his dark, almost black eyes to his easy, confident manner, this one definitely had to be dangerous. And the fact that he’d sought out the only unaccompanied female in sight certainly seemed proof of less than proper intentions.

“You have the advantage of me, sir,” she said stiffly. “I’m afraid I don’t recall the acquaintance.”

“There isn’t one—not yet, anyway,” he acknowledged, his smile broadening. “But since we were both occupying the same rail this morning, I figured we had a little something in common.”

“Really?” Lifting a disbelieving eyebrow, she fixed him with an icy stare. “Well, you were wrong, I’m afraid. Where I come from, no gentleman would ever accost a strange female.”

Instead of backing down, he continued to regard her lazily. “Well, half right’s better than all wrong, I guess.”

The lout was impervious to the setdown. “I beg your pardon?” she said, almost without thinking.

“I don’t claim to be a gentleman.”

“So I have noted.” To put a period to the unwanted conversation, she turned her attention to the dock.

“But to my way of thinking, you’re a strange female, all right,” he went on. “Where I come from, a woman takes a man’s interest as a compliment.”

“Even in the swamp, I doubt you’d find one who appreciated being described as ‘green around the gills,’ ” she snapped.

“There aren’t any swamps in Tennessee.”

“Well, I’m not from Tennessee.” Taking a step closer to the rail, she muttered under her breath, “I can’t imagine what’s taking so long.”

“The boat’s overloaded. When you’ve got Comanches, Kiowas, and Cheyennes on the warpath out west, almost everything gets shipped into Texas by water. Even people.”

This time, she wasn’t answering.

His gaze traveled over her, taking in the coil of rich chestnut hair, her finely sculpted profile, clear hazel eyes, faintly blushed porcelain skin. Then it dropped lower to the swell of well-rounded breasts demurely covered by the braid-trimmed basque jacket that nipped at her slender waist. When he’d first noticed her, he’d thought she was a pretty woman, and now he could see he hadn’t done her justice. She was more than just pretty—she was probably the best-looking female west of the Mississippi.

With everything from her words to her manner telling him she wasn’t interested in playing any flirting games, he knew he ought to back off, but she’d piqued his interest. He had the soul of a born gambler, and somewhere in the recesses of his mind, a perverse imp whispered,
The longer the odds, the bigger the payoff.

“East coast,” he guessed aloud. “Probably New York.”

“No.”

“Baltimore? Philadelphia? Boston?”

“Actually, it’s Philadelphia,” she said tersely.

She could have bit her tongue for taking the bait. Now he’d probably think that she was encouraging him, that she was just being coy. Well, it didn’t matter what he thought, she reflected grimly. If she ever got off this steamer, she was heading straight for San Angelo, where she intended to settle Jack Howard’s affairs as quickly as possible, and when that was done, she’d take the shortest way back to Pennsylvania.

“Philadelphia’s a long way from here—a real long way for a pretty woman to travel alone,” he observed. “They say Texas chews pretty women up and spits them out old and ugly. I guess that’s a way of saying the menfolk out here are pretty rough on their women.”

“Look, mister—”

His eye caught a stack of wooden crates stamped THOS. MCCREADY & SONS, AUSTIN, and the name seemed about as good as any. “McCready—Matthew McCready,” he supplied, smiling. “But my friends call me Mac.”

“All two of them?” she countered sweetly.

“Now that was uncalled for,” he chided. “That was downright sassy.”

“Mister
McCready—”

“All right. I guess you’re not much in the mood for funning,” he conceded, sobering. “Look, I’m just as tired of this boat as you are, and I was just trying to pass a little time talking to you. I guess I’m the sassy one.”

The new tack caught her by surprise. It sounded halfway like an apology. Verena cast a quick, suspicious glance upward, but the fellow’s expression seemed utterly guileless, making her almost ashamed of herself. Since she’d never see him again, anyway, he couldn’t possibly pose any danger to her peace of mind or to her person. She relaxed her guard.

“I’m too tired to talk sense to anyone, Mr. McCready. It seems like I’ve been traveling forever. I just don’t feel very civil right now, I’m afraid.”

“Uh-huh.”

She couldn’t tell if he was agreeing or disputing. “And I certainly wasn’t expecting the rough crossing.”

“It was kind of out of the ordinary,” he allowed.

“Well, in any event, we shall be on dry land soon.” There. She’d been civil enough to soothe her conscience. Feeling almost charitable now, she scanned the harbor, studying the other boats coming in. She’d had no idea anyplace named Galveston, Texas, could be this busy.

“Finishing school,” he hazarded behind her.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You have that high-toned air they give girls in those places. I’ve seen it often enough to recognize it.”

She half turned to face him again. “I’m afraid you’re wrong in this case, Mr. McCready. It was the Bancroft Normal School.”

“You’re a teacher?” he asked incredulously.

“I was. Unfortunately,” she admitted ruefully, “my first employment was in western Pennsylvania rather than in Philadelphia. It wasn’t anything like I’d been led to expect—it was rather remote.”

“I don’t know as you’re going to count Texas much of a gain—the state’s got more rattlesnakes than people.”

“Believe me, I don’t intend to stay.”

“Even so, it’s not any place for a woman traveling alone. Texas is a far cry from Philadelphia.”

“Yes, I’ve already noted a progressive decline of civilization since Cincinnati,” she murmured dryly. “But I’m capable of taking care of myself, so you needn’t worry for me.”

“Carry a gun?” he asked bluntly.

“Of course not.”

“Then you’d better get yourself one, and you’d better know how to use it.”

“I’m not going that far—just to San Angelo.”

“Just to San Angelo,” he repeated, shaking his head.

“Yes, and as I’ll just be settling my father’s estate, I hardly think a gun will be necessary.”

“Do you have any idea how far it is to San Angelo?” he asked curiously.

“No, but it doesn’t matter, anyway. I have to get there.”

“Well, it’s a helluva long way from here—hell, it’s further than San Antonio.”

“There’s no need to be vulgar about it, is there?” she countered stiffly.

“No.” He took a deep breath, then exhaled it fully. “Look—I’m sorry about your father.”

She looked down for a moment, then shook her head. “You don’t have to be. I didn’t know him very well.”

“Then I guess I’m sorry for that.”

“From all I’ve heard, I didn’t miss much.”

There was no mistaking the bitter edge in her voice. “But you came down, anyway,” he reminded her.

“Yes.”

“He left money.”

“No.” Annoyed again, she retorted, “As far as I know, he didn’t have any. There’s just a small farm near San Angelo, and I’ve already been told by the lawyer that it isn’t worth much.” She added almost defiantly, “However, I’m going to try selling it. Hopefully, the sale will cover at least part of the cost of the trip.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the first passengers going down the gangway, and he knew if he wanted to continue the game, he’d have to place his bet right now. “I don’t know about you, but I’m downright hungry. I don’t suppose you’d let me buy you a little breakfast on shore?” he asked casually.

“It wouldn’t be proper.” Then, realizing how ungrateful she sounded, she managed a smile. “I’m sorry, but it wouldn’t.”

“Galveston’s pretty rough—maybe I could see you to your hotel?”

“Thank you, but no.”

“Like I said, a lot can happen to a lone female out here.”

She knew now that she’d not been mistaken—he was exactly what she’d suspected in the beginning, and it was high time she deterred him once and for all. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. McCready. And I doubt Mr. Howard would appreciate it.”

“Mr. Howard?”

“My husband,” she lied. As his eyebrow quirked in disbelief, she threw herself into invention. “We would have traveled together, but I couldn’t leave home.” No, that sounded somewhat suspect. “Our daughter came down with the measles at the last minute, so it was agreed he’d go ahead,” she added baldly. “One of us needed to be with her just then.”

“Your husband. I see.” Just as he was about to throw in his cards, he glanced down at her fingers. Following his gaze, she hastily plunged her left hand into a pocket in the seam of her walking skirt, but not before he’d seen there was no ring. One corner of his mouth twitched as he suppressed a smile. “Well, I’d say he’s a damned lucky man. You can tell him I said so.”

“I hardly think it would be appropriate.” Relieved that the people in front of her were finally moving, she picked up her carpetbag. “Good day, Mr. McCready. Since I won’t be seeing you again, I do hope you’ll have a pleasant journey.”

The stifled smile broke free and broadened. “I’m sure I will, Mrs. Howard,” he murmured. “In fact; I’m looking forward to it.”

As she walked down the gangplank toward solid ground, she congratulated herself on finding a perfect deterrent. Instead of a gun, she was going to purchase a wedding ring.

He stood at the rail, watching her until she disappeared into the milling crowd on shore. She was a fine-looking woman, all right, a real fine-looking woman. But she was in for a rude awakening if she thought those haughty manners were a defense against the cowboys and desperados she’d encounter in Texas. It would almost be worth the price of the ticket just to see her try. He’d been headed for the gaming hells of Helena, but he guessed it’d be just as easy to hide out in San Angelo. Maybe easier. Helena already had more than its share of hardcases and outlaws, and everybody knew it. From what he’d heard, there wasn’t much of anything at San Angelo. As long as he could find himself a good poker game, he could stand a little peace and quiet.