Abby met Tess’s objection with a glare. Her friend turned and left.
While she was gone, Abby finished packing. Her money was safely hidden in the lining of her carpetbag, except for what she would need for train fare.
“He says he has something that belongs to you, and he won’t leave until you see him.” Tess relayed the message, breathlessly dashing back into the room.
“Oh, Faith, he looks so forlorn, hat in hand and a brown wrapped package under his arm. I swear, I think he’s smitten!”
So that was where her paper ended up. She recalled rushing away from the pasture last evening, her package lying by the fence rail. She mentally weighed the cost of buying more paper against facing Mr. O’Flagherty. Regardless of what he’d said about not being sent by her parents, she decided not to take any chances. She checked her watch—five-fifteen. The train came through at six. All she need do was hide for the next forty-five minutes and get on the train heading west.
“He might be rich, you know,” Tess said. “Enough to take care of you, buy you a home and everything.”
Abby shook her head.
“We’ve talked about that before. A man with money doesn’t necessarily make a good husband. Kate Nye-Starr made it quite plain that it is not the amount of wages that a man receives that makes the home happy—”
“Forget your wonderful suffragists, Faith, you’re desperate.”
“I most certainly am not! There are any number of things I can do.”
This time Tess raised a brow in question. “You can’t be thinking of dealing poker again? That’s got to be a sin.”
Abby learned to play poker years ago when she went to the docks where her father ran his shipping business. The sailors always looked after her, telling her stories, teaching her to read the wind and weather and showing her how to play cards. She didn’t consider it a sin, although until she dealt for Mr. Faro she’d never played for money.
“I can always continue my musical composition. Or perhaps I can get a job with a newspaper. I’m sure other young women would like to know what I’ve learned from great leaders like Susan B. Anthony and Margaret Fuller. Perhaps I’ll concentrate on my book of lessons for independent women.”
Tess shook her head sadly. “I know you’re convinced what those women say is truth, but I seriously doubt you can find a newspaperman willing to publish articles that discuss giving women the vote.”
“Wyoming has already done it.”
She felt an unreasonable need to defend herself and her beliefs. “It’s—”
“It’s not the way the real world works.” Tess once again spoke with that down-to-earth logic that Abby envied. She closed her bag and latched it. A train whistled in the distance and she knew she must leave. By the time she got to the station and purchased a ticket, all the passengers would have been fed and ready to board again.
“You have to do me this one last favor, Tess. Go downstairs and keep Mr. O’Flagherty entertained, but please don’t tell him I’m gone. Try to keep him here until after you hear the departure whistle.”
“Oh, Faith, I wish you’d reconsider.” Tess’s eyes watered again. “If you leave, will I ever see you again?”
Abby gave her friend a hug. “I promise to write. Now go keep that fine specimen of man busy so I can slip out the back way.”
“I shall miss you, Faith.”
Tess turned at the door, and Abby knew she must do one more thing before they parted. “Tess? My name’s not Faith. I mean it is, but it’s really Abigail Faith O’Brien. I like to think we’re friends, and I should never have lied to you.”
Tess rushed back across the room, smothering her in a fierce hug. “We are friends, silly, and always will be. I understand, for my real name is Matilda.” She pulled a face. “Can you imagine—Matilda Marie Maguire? Is it any wonder I use the name Tess?” She blew Abby a kiss from the door and was gone.
* * *
“Where the devil is she?” Max asked when Abby’s friend entered the parlor—for the second time. He heard the train whistle; there was less than thirty minutes before departure.
“Why, Mr. O’Flagherty, you know how ladies are. It takes time to get ready for a gentleman caller.”
The girl was smiling, but she didn’t look him directly in the eye.
“She won’t see me, will she?”
Max wondered how Tess survived in a rough and tumble town like Topeka. She was far too honest. The minute he questioned her, she fell apart.
“You know Mr. Harvey fired her, all on account of that horse.” Tears sprang to her brown eyes. Max shook his head in consternation. Many times his youngest sister, Jillian, cried buckets just to get an extra dessert. He handed over his handkerchief. It wasn’t until she’d wiped her eyes and nose and attempted to give him back the wet linen that her words actually registered.
“She got fired?”
“Oh, yes, and so she can’t stay here any longer. I pleaded with her to come talk to you; that you would take care of her. But she is prideful.”
Max moved toward the door.
“Which room is hers?”
Tess grabbed his arm. “You can’t go upstairs. Why, Miss Parker would probably shoot you on the spot.”
At his look of disbelief, Tess amended her claim.
“Well, I’ve actually never seen anyone get shot, but I’m sure the rules would be enforced if any man breached the stairway.”
The train whistled again.
“Damn it, Tess, go get her.”
“I can’t.” She stared at the floor, refusing to look at him.
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Even when I told her you had a package for her, she wouldn’t stay and see what it was.”
The younger woman shook her head.
“She’s gone.”
“Hell’s bells,” Max swore, racing from the house. It was a lucky fact that Fred Harvey built his women’s dormitory close to the train station. Max raced down the street, dodging people out for an early evening stroll. He reached the edge of the station platform as the final warning blasted and steam hissed from beneath the giant wheels, moving the mass of iron and wood down the tracks. He saw Wells at the far end, signaling with his lantern to the conductor. The stationmaster grinned when Max slowed to a trot alongside him, bending slightly to catch his breath.
“Thought that big ol’ Pullman was heading for Denver all empty.”
“You know I’d have your hide if I had to ride a horse to catch up with my accommodations,” Max countered. He watched the passenger cars rumble slowly by. He’d hop aboard toward the end, since he’d have to go through all the cars, anyway, looking for his quarry.
“Miss O’Brien aboard?” he asked casually.
“Yep. Appeared in a real hurry, she did.”
A single nod, his eyes never leaving the line of track, empty now that the last car was even with them. Grabbing the rail and hopping onto the step, Max turned and flipped the stationmaster a gold coin.
“Thanks for taking care of things. Tell the missus I said hello.”
“Will do. See ya next time through.”
Max remained at the back of the train as it quit the Topeka station. Throughout his travels he’d made it a point to get to know people—the local law, businessmen, telegraph operators and stationmasters. They were a necessary part of his travel and his job. Besides, they knew the lowdown on everything happening in town. For the most part, they didn’t question his work or his disguises. Wells hadn’t been surprised when Max asked after Abby. Of course, asking was only a formality. Since she lost her job and thought he was after her, she would naturally take flight on the first available train. It didn’t take an investigator of his caliber to figure that out. Fortunately for him, it was the train heading west. What did the pretty little idiot think she would do with little money and fewer connections? It was one of his great failings to feel responsible for the less fortunate in the world, or for women in general, like he did with his sisters. The tho
ught of Abby fending for herself scared him, which in turn made him mad. He only hoped his temper abated before he caught up with her. He was liable to paddle her fanny like he always threatened to do to his sisters.
Chapter Three
“Has anyone ever told you it is impolite to run away from callers, especially gentlemen who come bearing gifts?”
Abby caught herself just before she let out a screech. She turned, her gaze captured in Mr. O’Flagherty’s frosty blue glare. How on earth had he found her? He sat down quite close to her.
“I really prefer not to share company with you, sir.”
She tried to stand, but her skirt was pinned under his leg. She tugged mightily before he seemed inclined to move enough for her to free the material. In the process, her hand brushed his thigh, and a jolt went through her. He exuded warmth and power, his leg hard with muscle. The touch created funny little flutters in her stomach. She told herself it was due to the man’s annoying presence, not his attractiveness.
She tried to ignore him, turning to stare out the window, but the scenery left something to be desired. The endless prairie grass rolled past with only a slight change in color indicating where the horizon began. Even the buffalo she’d heard so much about didn’t appear as the train sped westward.
Her gaze dropped when the weight of a package landed in her lap. The brown wrapping looked a little the worse for wear, and the string appeared to have been retied, but Abby knew it was her missing paper. It seemed a small thing to feel so glad to reclaim a few cents worth of blank paper, but she must make every penny count for two until she found another position.
“Thank you, sir.”
“I’m not an ogre, Abby.”
The words were softly spoken, and whatever anger had been in his initial gaze was gone.
“I just need to ask you some questions.”
“If not for you and your questions, I wouldn’t have gotten fired from the Harvey House.”
“Now, just how do you figure that?” His tone implied he wouldn’t willingly accept blame.
“You detained me with your questions. If you had allowed me to go about my business, I wouldn’t have been in a position to receive that…that cowboy’s ridiculous proposal.”
“You cannot possibly blame me if some besotted cowhand finds you irresistible.”
“You say that as though you heartily disagree with him.”
“Nonsense, I don’t disagree at all.”
“There, you see? You’re one of them—impossible to reason with.”
“Your logic rivals any one of my sisters’,” he muttered.
Abby didn’t think his comment sounded at all like a compliment. She glared at him to cover her confusion. Thoughts of him kept popping into her head like unwanted bugs buzzing her ears at a summer picnic, yet she easily recalled his rumbling laughter and the way she forgot her troubles when he smiled. Most of all, though she wouldn’t admit it for the world, she dreamed about his hard chest pressed so intimately against hers when he’d rescued her. Abby’s stomach growled. She wondered how long before they stopped and she could get something to eat. She squelched the thought, for her funds were limited and if she ate supper, there would be no money for breakfast. Her thoughts circled right back to the man still sitting beside her. She doubted he would have to forgo any meals and that made her feel woefully sorry for herself, which wasn’t her normal state of mind. Regardless, at the moment, she wanted only to be left alone before she dissolved into tears.
“You have interfered in my life quite enough. I beg you to leave me alone.” She clutched the wrapped pad of paper to keep her hands from shaking. She turned to the window, intent on ignoring the man sitting so close beside her. Unfortunately, night had fallen and the window reflected the interior of the train, lit dimly by a lantern hanging from the wall. His shape loomed large in the reflection. Though she couldn’t read his expression, she had the impression she wouldn’t get rid of him simply by turning her back.
* * *
Abby actually fell asleep until the train rounded a bend and her head banged against the window. A warm chuckle greeted her most unladylike snort upon waking. She scooted upright, realizing her knees bumped against a fellow passenger who sat across from her. She checked to see that her reticule was still safely tucked beneath the folds of her skirt and nudged her carpetbag with her foot. Only then did she raise her gaze, ready to once again do battle with the daunting Mr. O’Flagherty. Instead of a bold plaid jacket, she stared at the buttoned front of a black frock coat.
The cuffs and hem were somewhat frayed, the white cuffs of his shirt revealed as though the coat were a size too small. Her gaze passed over a starched white collar, then quickly dropped back to his hands, folded gently over a well-worn Bible. Surprised, she surveyed his face. The reverend wore a flat-crowned black hat, which he politely touched when her gaze finally met his. Twinkling blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses inspected her in return. Blue eyes. Did every man in this part of the country have sky blue eyes that crinkled so gently at the corners when he smiled? But no, it wasn’t Donal O’Flagherty who stared back at her from across the distance of the train benches. This man was also handsome with short black hair and a clean-shaven jaw. He did have a similar cleft in his chin, she mused.
“Jonas Fishbone,” he introduced himself. “I hope that my sitting here wasn’t what awakened you, miss.”
Regardless of his peculiar name, his soft, gentle voice, made Abby feel safe. Besides, there were other passengers in the car.
“I believe the train had more to do with disturbing my rest, Reverend.”
“Please, call me Jonas. In this wild country, titles mean little.”
He smiled, nodding in request of her name.
“Fa—” she started, then stopped. She couldn’t lie to a preacher. “Abigail Faith O’Brien.”
“You appear to be traveling alone, Miss O’Brien. With night coming, that didn’t seem at all safe for a young woman. Where are your parents?”
She supposed it was natural for a minister to be concerned for people, but his questions put her defenses up.
“I am perfectly of age to travel alone, sir.”
“Your parents don’t know where you are, do they?”
He shook his head, tapping a finger to the Bible in his lap. “‘Honor thy father and mother’, the good book says.”
“Sometimes that’s easier to say than to do. Did you always do so growing up?”
A strange look passed over the man’s face.
“I thought not.”
“Are your sins so bad that you cannot go home?”
She should have thought their conversation strange, given they’d just met and were being jostled along on a train. Yet the dim light from a single lantern, the intimacy of the facing seats and this man’s gentle smile made it easy to talk to him about things she wouldn’t normally say.
“I haven’t murdered anyone, if that’s what you ask. But I do have secrets.”
She fingered the watch around her neck, a nervous habit of late. The reverend watched her fingers for a minute, his dark brows coming together.
“If you don’t mind my saying so, that appears to be a man’s pocket watch. Perhaps your father’s?”
Abby glanced at the watch, the ship etched on the cover barely discernible in the growing darkness.
“’Tis not my father’s, though he is in shipping.” She hesitated, recalling what Tess had said about gambling being a sin. Still, if so many men did it, it couldn’t be a very large sin.
“It did belong to a man, but I won it fair and square.”
His eyes widened.
“Won it?”
“Yes.”
She looked him straight in the eyes.
“In a poker game.”
Reverend Fishbone burst out laughing, and the sound of it sent a chill down Abby’s back. Why did his deep, velvety chuckle sound so familiar? She glanced around, expecting to see that rogue Irishman pop up from behind another of t
he train benches. When the man gained control of his amusement, he said, “My dear Miss O’Brien, would you care to accompany me to a late supper? I find myself starved, and I believe you have a most amusing story I would love to hear.”
Her stomach growled at that moment, for breakfast was a long time ago. She didn’t know this man, but he was a preacher and they would be dining in a public car. When she nodded, Mr. Fishbone grinned, picked up her carpetbag and motioned for her to accompany him into the aisle. After moving between several cars toward the rear of the train, Abby hesitated, beginning to doubt the wisdom of her decision.
“Just a few more, Abigail.”
He touched the small of her back to propel her forward. “You don’t mind if I call you Abigail, do you?”
She turned slightly to look at him, reading nothing threatening in either his words or his demeanor. But when they came to the last passenger car and had yet to pass through the dining car, she became panicky.
“I really think I should return to my seat.” She hesitated, for the man clutched her carpetbag, which contained all of her money.
“Nonsense, here we are.” He stepped in front of her to take a key from his coat and unlock the door to what must be a private coach. Abby’s uneasiness increased. What kind of minister in frayed frock coat afforded such luxurious travel? She turned back, but the reverend circled her elbow with his hand. The train shifted on the tracks and she swayed against him. The sudden contact caused her to suck in a breath.
“Oh, dear.”
What had she gotten herself into?
* * *
Max sagged with relief when he dropped Abby’s bag inside the door to the Pullman car. When she’d negated the charm of good old Donal, he resorted to yet another disguise. He refused to leave her alone and defenseless in a train filled mostly with men. Of the costumes in his wardrobe, he knew Jonas Fishbone was the most likely candidate to inspire confidences from her.
Connors, a Kansas Pacific porter with whom he was familiar, was laying out their meal when they arrived. The Pullman was equipped with a kitchen, but Max used the railroad chef and personnel whenever possible. Again, familiarity with the railroad always insured him the best service when he traveled. Connors left and he quietly locked the door. He turned to the sound of Abby’s gasp. She stood across the room, clutching his ugly plaid jacket to her bosom.
Love in Disguise Page 4