Anita Mills (5 page)

You can never trust a handsome man.

When he finally came back, he dropped down beside her, murmuring, “Like taking candy from a baby.” When she looked up, startled, he grinned. “Looks like your friend Billy’s paying for our honeymoon trip,” he added, tossing a wad of crumpled banknotes into her lap. “Ought to be just about a hundred dollars there.”

A hundred dollars.
It was enough to answer her prayers. But she couldn’t keep any of it. She forced herself to hand the money back to him.

“I can’t take your winnings, Mr. McCready.”

“Why not? The way I figure it, you’ve got a stake in that. Billy and Big A1 went out of their way to make amends to me.” His gaze met hers, and his expression sobered. “You’ve made up your mind.”

“Yes.”

She didn’t have to tell him—he could see the answer in her eyes. He sighed. “All right, but I can’t get off until we’re past Spanish Bend. Otherwise, our cowboy friends might get suspicious.”

“Thank you.”

Leaning back, he placed his hat on his head, then slid it forward to shade his eyes. “You might want to get a nap in,” he murmured. “After Eagle Lake, you’ll be sitting up with that hatpin in your hand.”

“Eagle Lake?”

“It’s the first stop after Spanish Bend.”

Discreetly fanning her damp legs with her petticoat, Verena silently envied McCready. Seemingly oblivious to the noise and the miserably hot, stifling air within the passenger car, he slept like a baby, while she kept shifting her position, trying to find any comfort at all in her cramped seat.

The door opened behind her, and a man lurched past her, leaving a steamy cloud of strong odor to follow him. The circles of sweat under the arms of his filthy shirt almost met the one on the back of it. The thought crossed her mind that if those dingy stations where the train stopped for food had bathhouses behind them, the journey would be considerably more bearable. But, she had to concede, those needing the service the most would probably be the least likely to make use of it. Apparently when they crossed the Texas border, men stopped washing and changing their clothes. The only exception she’d seen so far had been Mac McCready.

Ironically, that was another thing she was beginning to resent about the man. While she wilted like a dying flower, there wasn’t even a trickle of sweat coming from beneath that hat brim. Despite a few creases in his coat and trousers, he looked nearly as elegant as he had when he’d boarded, as if he could step down from the railroad coach and go directly on with his business. It just wasn’t fair.

In fact, there wasn’t anything about him that was fair. By some misplaced grace of God or inheritance, he’d been given all of the obvious advantages. The face and form of one of those Greek statues. That thick, slightly waving black hair and those dark, dark eyes. Looks, grace, intellect, and even a disarming amount of charm in one human package. Not to mention the veneer of a gentleman. But by his own admission, he wasn’t a gentleman—he was a gambler. He earned his living by preying on the folly of his fellow man.

And she didn’t doubt that he preyed on women. His manner was too engaging, too easy. Just looking at him she could see her father. It didn’t matter that Jack Howard’s hair had been lighter, his eyes hazel like hers, or even that he’d been considerably shorter than McCready. When it came to questionable character, both men were probably cut from the same cloth. Dangerous men. The kind only a fool would trust. Well, she wasn’t a fool—her mother had seen to that.

While he slept, she’d mulled it over in her mind a dozen times and more, trying to figure out why he’d decided to follow her. And no matter what her mirror told her, she was fairly certain his attempt at acquaintance went beyond her looks. A man like that didn’t put himself out unless he wanted something, she reasoned. In his case, he could have found a dozen pretty females ready, eager even, to fall under the spell of those dark, dark eyes. No, there was something else.

I was sort of hoping the advantage would be mutual. . . . I thought maybe we could help each other out. . . .

That was the puzzle. While she still thought his intention was seduction, she wasn’t entirely sure.
If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not spend the honeymoon defending your honor. . . . So which is it—are we calling ourselves the Howards or the McCreadys. . . ?

Then there was the other side of the coin.
All I’m asking for is the appearance of respectability, nothing more. . . . Look, there’s two kinds of women in this world, and believe me, I can tell the difference. . . . I’m not going to cross the line with you
. . . .
No, it didn’t make any sense.

If he hadn’t chosen cards for a living, he’d probably have made an accomplished actor. He was most likely toying with her, playing upon her fear of men like Thompson. That had to be it. It just had to.

At least the fighting and most of the cursing had died down. Some of the cowboys had left at the meal stop, while others had either made themselves sick or drunk themselves into a stupor. But the heat and the mingling odors of cigar smoke, tobacco juice, vomit, and sweat were unbearable.

She eyed an open space in the aisle, wishing she dared get up and ease her aching limbs and relieve the uncomfortable fullness in her nether parts. But McCready’s long legs were stretched out, effectively making her small corner a prison, bounded by him on one side and a window that wouldn’t open on the other. And there he sat, his head leaned back, his hat pushed forward, dead to the world.

She had to stand up, to move around, to pull her itchy, damp petticoat away from her legs. And whether she wanted to or not, she had to visit the lavatory. Leaning forward, she tried to push his feet toward the aisle. They wouldn’t budge. It was as though those boots of his were anchored beneath the seat in front of him.

“Mr. McCready,” she tried softly. He didn’t miss a breath. “Mr. McCready.” Nothing. Sitting on the edge of her seat, she considered using the hatpin again, then discarded the notion. Instead, she decided to discreetly shake his shoulder. Reaching out, she grasped his coat- sleeve and gave it a tug. That was a near-fatal mistake.

As he jerked away, one of his hands pushed his hat back, while the other dropped beneath his coat. In less than an instant, she was staring down the barrel of his gun. For an awful moment, her heart paused. There was nothing sleepy about his eyes or his manner now.

“What the hell—? Oh, it’s you,” he muttered, lowering the weapon.

“Well, I’m glad you noticed before you shot me,” she managed shakily.

“A man gets jumpy in a strange place,” he mumbled.

She could almost feel the color coming back into her face. “How on earth did you do that?”

“What?” Then he saw that her eyes were still on the Colt. “Oh,
that.”

“I thought it came out of nowhere.”

“No—it was under my coat. It’s too hard to draw sitting down.” He raised his hip, straightening his leg, and slid the gun into its holster. “What the devil did you think you were doing, anyway?”

“I was trying to wake you so I could get out.”

“Next time, just say so.”

“I did—twice. But maybe you were snoring so loudly that you couldn’t hear me.”

“I don’t snore—or if I do, you’re the first woman to notice it.”

“And I’m sure there have been many,” she said sweetly.
“Now
will you let me out, or do I have to resort to my hatpin?”

“If I thought Howard existed, I’d feel sorry for him,” he said, rising. Stepping out to let her by, he asked, “Want me to walk you back to the water closet?”

“No, of course not.”

“Suit yourself.” He waited until she’d taken several steps, then reminded her, “Better hold up your skirt and petticoat—there’ll be a lot of spit on the floor.”

“And I thought you were a gentleman,” she muttered.

“When you get back, I’m going to take a good look at your ears.”

She stopped and half turned to look back at him. “My ears?”

“Uh-huh. My mama always used to say lying would make a body’s ears grow.”

“Really?” She couldn’t help smiling. “Then I guess that explains why I have small ones, doesn’t it?”

The floor of the passenger compartment was so filthy that the sawdust spread over the tobacco spittle lay in clumps. She paused, trying to decide whether to use both hands to hold her clothes out of it or to risk just one so she could use the other to hold her nose. Saving her dress won out just barely. Disgusted, she eased her way the length of the car, sidestepping snoring drunks hanging into the narrow passageway.

One fellow roused enough to grab her skirt before she could get past him. He looked up, a silly grin on his face. “Nobod-nobody tole me they got angelsh on trainsh.”

His seat companion managed to get both bloodshot eyes open. “Not an angel,” he pronounced solemnly. “Ish a girl.”

Across the aisle, the Bill fellow sat up for a look, then shook his head. “Better leggo of ’er—shesh got a hushband.”

Pulling her dress free, she kept going. Behind her, the cowboy was explaining, “McCready’sh wife. Woulda kilt Al fer ’er. Bad man, McCready.”

“Ain’t never heard of ‘im.”

“Big Al’ll tell yuh.”

Just as she finally reached the narrow door, the porter stopped her. “Privy’s closed, ma’am—coming into the station.”

“But it can’t be—it just can’t be!”

“It’s the law, ma’am.”

Gritting her teeth, she hurried back through the gauntlet, then stumbled over McCready’s feet into her seat. “Trouble?” he asked.

“No,” she lied.

“You know, if you don’t watch out, you’re going to die with elephant ears.”

“We’re coming into a station.”

“Oh. Well, I guess that explains it.” Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, he took out his watch and looked at it. “Five-forty-three. I guess we must be eating here.” Putting it away, he added, “I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty hungry myself. I could sure use one of those thick Texas steaks right now.”

“I suppose it’s too much to hope that this is Eagle Lake, isn’t it?”

“Not until tomorrow morning. But we’ve got to change trains at Harrisburg sometime before nightfall. Here—I’ve got a copy of the timetable,” he said, offering her the folded sheet.

“It doesn’t list anything at five-forty-three,” she noted peevishly. “And I don’t remember coming through Richmond.”

“Looks like we’re running late.”

The train crawled to a creaky stop. Verena glanced out the window, then stared. There wasn’t any sign of a town. As far as she could see, there were only cattle. Hundreds and hundreds of them. Exasperated, she sat back.

“Something the matter?”

“Yes, Mr. McCready, there is,” she responded wearily. “It looks like your steak is still alive.”

“Huh?”

“There isn’t any station out here. All there are are cows as far as I can see.”

“Maybe it’s on the other side.”

“Cattle on the tracks, folks!” the conductor announced, coming down the aisle. “Soon’s they
’
re cleared off, we’ll be pulling in to eat. Twenty minutes!”

“I beg your pardon, sir,” she said, motioning for his attention. “Are you saying we won’t be therefor another twenty minutes?”

“No, ma’am, we’s there. But there ain’t but twenty minutes to spare for eatin’, if’n we’s to make Harrisburg t’night.”

The news didn’t seem to faze McCready, but she was already too miserable to sit still. “Excuse me,” she murmured to him, “but I’ve got to get out again.” Climbing over his feet, she managed to stand up. Squaring her shoulders for another walk down to the front of the car, she gathered up her skirt with both hands and got about twenty feet before the trainman stopped her. Not meeting her eyes, he said low, “Privy’s closed, ma’am.”

“But we aren’t anywhere,” she said desperately.

“Sorry, ma’am, but we’re stopped.”

There was nothing to do but go back: Taking her seat again, she tried not to think about her discomfort. Beside her, the gambler murmured, “I understand that since time is so short, there’ll be someone coming on to take supper orders.”

“I don’t care about that—I’m getting off this train if I have to climb over a cow to do it,” she told him through clenched teeth.

“Need to go that bad, huh?”

Under other circumstances, she would have taken offense, but just now she was beyond that. “Yes,” she admitted baldly.

“All right, let’s go.”

“Now?”

“Yeah. The way I figure it, if somebody can get on, we can get off.”

Swinging into the aisle, he wrenched the back door open and held it for her. Stepping past the sign that said
NO EXIT
, she found herself on a narrow platform, facing another car. On one side, two cowboys on horses were shouting and waving big hats, herding the animals away. On the other, there was nothing but flat grassland and several small buildings. Certainly nothing she would call a town.

McCready jumped down, landing on a bare patch of ground, and reached up to her. “Come on, I’ve got you.”

Once down, he grasped her elbow and struck out for what looked to be a house. Instead of going in, he guided her around back, then pointed to a lopsided, bare-board outhouse.

“Want me to wait for you?”

“I can’t just go in there—it belongs to somebody.”

He looked at her for a moment, then shrugged. “You can suit yourself, I guess, but once that car unloads, everything else’s going to be full.”

He had a point. She looked both ways, then ducked inside, pulling the door shut after her. It was dark, hot, and smelled as if it hadn’t been limed in years. Unable to see anything, she opened the door a crack to let in a slice of light and immediately wished she hadn’t. The seat was a rough, warped board with two holes cut in it. In front of it, bugs crawled over a box filled with dried corncobs. She needed at least three hands—two for her clothes and one for her nose, but unfortunately humans didn’t come equipped that way. Removing her embroidered lawn hanky from her purse, she started dusting off the seat.

When she came out, the gambler was nowhere in sight. But now that she could breathe again, she smelled the ominous odor of rancid grease burning, and it was coming from the house. In the yard that had been deserted five minutes ago, passengers milled, waiting to get inside. If her stomach hadn’t growled, she’d have been inclined to get back on the train and forgo supper entirely.

Before she could get in line, McCready came out with what looked like a rag wrapped around something. He was frowning.

“You don’t have any relations down here, do you?”

“No, of course not. Why?”

“I’ll tell you when we get back to our seats,” he said, taking her arm. “Come on, I’ve got supper.”

“In that rag?”

“Yeah.”

He was walking fast, making it difficult to keep up. “The train’s not leaving for twenty minutes,” she reminded him. “I’d rather eat out here where it’s cooler.”

“I wouldn’t.”

Instead of going to the front of their car, he climbed over the rail where they’d come out, then gave her a hand up. Inside, the car was deserted except for the conductor and porter, who were eating in separate seats at the other end, and several cowboys too drunk to get off.

McCready all but put her in her seat, then sat down to open the cloth. “Here,” he said, handing her a rolled tortilla. “As near as I could tell, they didn’t have much else.”