by Jodi Thomas
“Good riddance.” Miles’s comment blended with the door’s closing.
Mary moved from the shadows. “We don’t have any reason to hate the man, Miles. He doesn’t have any grudge against you.”
“You can’t trust these people, Mary. Any of them. They don’t care about us, even if a few of them act like they do. I’ve told you that a thousand times. It will take a generation, maybe more, for the bitterness between North and South to die. Our moving here doesn’t change that.”
Mary nodded. They’d left Virginia with nothing six years ago. Miles’s leg kept him from working most places and the few desk jobs he’d been qualified for had a hundred other veterans apply. Running the mercantile for their uncle seemed the only option. But by the time they got to Texas, their uncle Luther had died, leaving them the dilapidated remains of a once thriving business and no extra money to repair or restock. Slowly, Miles had built the business, hating every minute, trapped and resenting fate’s twist. No one had offered to help him at first and he had not bothered to ask.
Miles’s smile was sad when he added, “How about we close early tonight? I could take the empty apple crates and a load of supplies out to the Kiley place. You could read.” He sounded like he truly wanted to make her feel better. “You know Mrs. Kiley will insist I bring home one of her pies. We could eat it with a late supper when I get back.”
Mary smiled, silently agreeing to the truce. “Sounds like a good plan. I found an old reader in a chest you traded for the other day. I’ll send it out to their youngest boy. Remind them he should be starting his lessons this year. Unless you want me to go along and talk to them?”
Miles shook his head. “With all the empty boxes I’ll be carrying and the bad road, the wagon will rattle all the way. No use in both of us having to listen to that. But I’ll be sure to pass along the advice and the book.”
Mary put away items left on the counter as she talked. “I did promise I’d work with the Andrews children on math for a few hours tonight. Not one of them can add.”
Mr. Andrews owned the livery and had a child every fall like clockwork. He couldn’t pay Mary anything for her lessons, but loaned them a wagon or buggy anytime they were in need. “If I don’t work fast, there will be more kids in that family than any of the Andrews can count.”
Miles pulled down the paper blind over the door’s glass. “I’d rather listen to the rattling of the boxes than those brats. You’re not bringing them all in here, are you?”
“No. I’ve learned my lesson. Half a pound of candy disappeared last time. We’ll work in the loft over the livery tonight.”
Two hours later Mary wished she’d gone with Miles. The Andrews kids might not be able to add, but they could all talk. In fact, none of them seemed to know how to stop. Her head pounded as she crossed the road and headed back to the apartment above the store.
It didn’t matter which side of the street she walked, she had to pass a saloon either way. Mary kept her head down and hurried as fast as she dared along the poorly lit walkway.
She made it past the door of the saloon before she noticed two men sitting in the wicker chairs between the saloon’s windows. Light shone on either side, but they were in shadow.
“Evenin’, miss.” One man stood as she neared. Tall and thin, his mustache hung below his jawline.
“Evenin’, miss,” the other echoed in a slurred voice. “Nice night for a walk.” He tried to stand, but fell over the arm of the chair and almost tumbled off the porch. “Wanta join us?”
Fear contracted Mary’s muscles. Her lungs refused to pull in air, her hands clutched the books she carried as if they somehow could hold her afloat. She heard the jingle of their spurs as the two cowboys moved on either side of her. Their shadows crossed over her, landing invisible blows, stirring terror into her blood.
“How about we walk you home, Miss Woodburn?” The first cowboy took her arm as her name rolled too freely off his tongue. “Whatta you say, Frank? We should walk the Yankee’s sister home?”
She attempted to pull away. The music from the saloon door was so loud no one would hear her if she screamed. “No,” she tried to say without sounding frightened. “I can make it home fine. I’ve only a short way.”
“Yeah.” Frank moved closer, almost falling into her as he tried to take her arm. His breath polluted the air with the smell of bad whiskey. “We’ll walk you home, girl.”
“N-no,” Mary managed to say. “Leave me alone.” She fought to free her arm, but the tall cowboy held tightly. “I have to go. My brother is waiting for me.”
Frank snickered. “No, he ain’t. We seen him driving out of here with a load of apple crates.” He snorted a laugh as if Mary were simply playing a game with him. “Only one place your brother would be taking them: Kiley’s farm. He won’t be back for an hour, maybe more.”
The hold on her arm tightened as the other drunk leaned closer. “We’ll have time to get to know one another real well by then. We heard tell you like getting to know cowboys.”
“No!” Mary dropped the books and tried to free herself. “Leave me alone!”
As panic and fear strangled her, she heard the jingle of a third man’s spurs coming up from behind her in quick, pounding strides.
Suddenly the thin cowboy turned loose her arm as he flew across the porch and hit against the saloon’s wall with the thud of a ripe pumpkin. Frank stumbled away, mumbling that he wanted no part of a fight.
Mary felt his nearness even before the man behind her stepped into the light.
“Miss Woodburn, are you all right?”
He stood so close she could feel the warmth of his words against her cheek. She was so relieved to see Cooper Adams she almost hugged him. He bent and picked up the books she’d dropped. When he stood, he whispered, “Would you allow me to see you safely home?”
Shyly, she took his arm, unsure she trusted him, but knowing she didn’t trust the two men watching them.
He placed his hand over her fingers as they rested on his sleeve. “It’s all right, Mary,” he added as soon as they were far enough away that the two drunks couldn’t hear. “You’re safe now.”
They moved between the shadows of the stores, strolling as if they were no more than a courting couple out for a walk. She couldn’t stop shaking and hated herself for being so weak. This was a country where bravery was highly valued and she must be proving herself the greatest coward in the state.
Cooper slowed to a stop. “Mary, are you really all right?”
“No.” Panic still darted through her veins like tadpoles swimming in warm water. “I-I’m sorry.” It made no sense. The unpleasantness with the cowboys was over. But she couldn’t relax, her body wouldn’t stop shaking.
At the steps between porches, Cooper faced her. He stood one stair below so that their eyes met. “Mary?” he asked as he opened his arms.
If he’d tried to hold her, if he’d made a move toward her, she would have run. But he didn’t. He just stood there and waited.
Mary closed the space between them. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she let her entire body melt against him. Needing the comfort he offered. Wanting, for once, not to be afraid.
Cooper gently closed her into the circle of his arms. He held her tightly, protectively. “You’re all right now, Mary,” he whispered against her hair. “No one is going to hurt you.”
The shaking stopped; she breathed. For the first time in years she relaxed, feeling shielded from all harm. This man she’d watched for so long, wondering what he thought, had somehow read her mind tonight and offered the one thing she needed, shelter from fear.
Cooper Adams, a man she hardly knew, took no advantage, made no improper move. He held her safe in his solid arms. The warmth of his body pressed into hers like a soothing, healing balm.
For a long while, she rested her head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat. Finally, he lifted her up as if she were no more than a sleeping child and carried her to the mercantile.
Mary nodded. She thought of asking him in but knew Miles would be furious if he came home and found Cooper Adams inside the store. “Thank you,” she said as she unlocked the door.
“You’re welcome.” He stepped away without another word.
She climbed the stairs to the apartment. Once locked inside, she crossed to the window before she turned on any lights. There, across the street, hidden in shadows, she saw Cooper’s outline leaning against a wall. He watched, waiting to make sure she was safe.
Mary smiled. She had her own private guardian angel.
An hour later when Miles pulled the wagon to the side entrance, she looked out the window again. As Miles climbed down from his wagon, she saw Cooper move away, unnoticed by anyone but her.
“Thank you,” she whispered, wishing he could hear her.
He glanced up at her window as if he caught her words on the wind, then disappeared into the night.
Chapter Eight
COOPER COULDN’T GET Mary Woodburn out of his mind. The woman was a plague worse than yellow fever. For the next few days she managed to creep into his every thought. It was just a matter of time before he talked about her the way Winnie talked about Woodburn, relating every topic of conversation to him. His sister hardly knew the man, yet somehow he’d become her center.
Johanna and Emma convinced Cooper they needed to schedule the shindig before the weather turned cold. By the end of the week they had half his men doing odd jobs for them and running errands as though the cowhands were part of the social committee.
Cooper worked longer hours rounding up cattle for the season’s last drive to market and trying to stay out of his sisters’ way. After a day of branding, he returned just before sundown covered in mud. He brushed and fed his horse, then walked toward the house, musing that it would take more than one tub of bathwater to get him clean.
He’d almost reached the porch when he spotted Miles Woodburn’s delivery wagon pulled up by the front gate. The man sat there as if unsure whether he wanted to come onto Cooper’s land.
Removing his hat, Cooper waved the mercantile owner forward. Maybe Woodburn had had trouble on the road while making a delivery. Maybe he needed help. Not liking the man wouldn’t keep Cooper from being neighborly.
Woodburn pulled the rig forward, but stopped short of the front porch, and well out of sight of anyone inside the house.
Cooper walked up to the side of the wagon, wishing Mary were here with her brother. “Evenin’,” he said without smiling. “Having trouble, or is this a social call?” If Woodburn had stopped by to warn him to stay away from Mary one more time, Cooper might have to knock some sense into the man.
“It’s not a social call. In fact, I’d just as soon your sisters not know I’m here.” Woodburn appeared hesitant, uncertain.
“All right. What’s on your mind?” Cooper wasn’t sure why, but he had a feeling this wasn’t about Mary. He would bet his best cutting horse Mary hadn’t told her brother about the night he’d walked her home. Cooper wondered if she felt him against her the way he swore he still felt her body against his.
Woodburn climbed down from the rickety old wagon and faced Cooper. “I don’t know how to say this other than straight out.” He looked like he swallowed poison with each word. “I think your sister stole my luggage.”
“What?” Of all the things Cooper thought might be on the Yankee’s mind, this wasn’t even on the list. “That’s impossible.” None of his sisters ever stole anything in their lives.
Woodburn seemed embarrassed to say more, which was all that kept Cooper from swinging at him. “The stage line only has one unclaimed bag and it’s mostly filled with sewing notions. They keep saying it’s the bag that I shipped from Sherman. I traveled by horseback from there the same day your sisters arrived by stage. I remember them climbing into the coach at Sherman as the driver tossed my bag up top and said he’d see me in Minnow Springs. All I can figure out is that one of them took my luggage and left her own unclaimed.”
Cooper swore. “Impossible!”
“I thought so too, at first. My case was new, brown. The one at the station is black, but it looks brand new and made about the same as mine. Your sisters were the only ones who could have taken it unless it fell off the stage somewhere along the trail. That still wouldn’t explain the extra unclaimed piece. If one of them took mine, why wouldn’t she claim her own?”
“You’ve got some nerve, Woodburn, accusing one of them of such a thing,” Cooper shouted as he remembered the morning Winnie arrived. She hadn’t remembered the color of her bag, or how to get it open. She’d worn her traveling clothes until he’d taken her to town to shop. “My sisters are not thieves!” He yelled the words as if ordering them to be true.
Woodburn looked as miserable as Cooper felt. “Then why didn’t they return my luggage? Theft is the only reason I can come up with and that doesn’t make much sense since my bag only contained clothes and the journal I’ve kept since the war.”
Cooper wanted to flatten Woodburn. The man had been asking for it for years. The way he talked, reminding everyone he was not a Southerner. The way he looked down on folks in town. The way he wormed his way into every conversation Cooper had with Winnie lately. Anyone would think she’d known him for years, knew his every thought, the way she talked about him.
Grabbing the front of Woodburn’s jacket, Cooper pulled him forward as his right fist connected with Woodburn’s jaw in a powerful pop.
The Yankee made no move to defend himself.
Cooper seized the other side of his jacket and hauled Woodburn to within an inch of his nose. “No man insults my sisters.”
He shoved the Yankee hard against the wagon and delivered a blow to his midsection. Just as his fist connected, Winnie’s scream shattered the air.
“Stop!” She ran toward them. “Stop!”
Cooper backed away, letting Woodburn crumple to the ground like a broken toy. He held his arms open to Winnie, planning to assure her he was all right, the Yankee hadn’t landed a single blow.
But Winnie ran right past him and knelt beside Woodburn. “Miles! Miles! Are you all right?”
Hooking his hand under Winnie’s arm, Cooper tried to pull her to her feet. The shock of seeing her brother fighting must have pushed her over the edge. Woodburn was also trying to push the crazy woman away from him, but Winnie would have none of it. She felt Woodburn’s face and patted on him as though trying to fluff a pillow, while she searched for any breaks or blood.
“Winnie.” Cooper pulled harder, but lifting her was like trying to shovel quicksand. “You don’t know what this is about. Stay out of it.”
“No! You don’t know.” She leaned over the shop owner, wiping her tears off his lapel. “Miles won’t fight you. He swore he would never lift a hand against another man after the war. He’s never told anyone, not even his sister, but he’d let someone beat him to death before he fought again.”
She continued patting on the man. Cooper stepped back, trying to clear his mind. He’d caught his sister’s insanity. She worried over Woodburn and, in Cooper’s opinion, Woodburn wasn’t making near enough protest.
“Winnie? If he’s never told anyone, how do you know?”
The Yankee slowly stood and helped Winnie to her feet. She didn’t even come to his shoulder now so she had to content her smothering to dusting his jacket.
“She knows”—Woodburn stared at Cooper—“because she’s read my journal.” He let the words sink in before adding, “. . . that was in my bag.”
Cooper looked at Winnie. She didn’t have to say a word; he read the truth on her face. If she’d traveled with the James brothers, they would have never had a career long enough to fill a column, much less a dime novel.
Johanna’s voice snapped or
ders from somewhere behind them. “Come inside, all of you. What would the neighbors think if we lived close enough for them to hear you? We will sort this problem out over coffee. I’m sure it is just a misunderstanding.”
To his oldest sister, the War Between the States had been “just a misunderstanding.” Why should Cooper be surprised Johanna viewed Winnie’s theft and his beating an innocent man any differently?
They all sat down at the table while Winnie went to get the luggage she’d lifted the day she arrived. Cooper knew he was going to have to apologize to a man he didn’t like. That fact bothered him more than the sudden revelation that his sister had sticky fingers.
Emma poured everyone a cup of coffee, but no one drank. “I knew something was amiss,” she said to anyone at the table who would listen. “I just knew it. I have a feeling for these things, you know, always have.”
Cooper felt like counting “one,” for he knew Emma’s statement would be repeated at least a hundred times.
Johanna excused herself, saying someone must attend to dinner. On her way to the kitchen, she paused to invite Mr. Woodburn to join them as if he were here on a social call and hadn’t been being slugged by her brother only moments before.
When Woodburn declined, she smiled and said, “Maybe another time,” before disappearing into the kitchen.
Johanna might be a ball of fire when fighting for the date of a party, but trouble was like dust to her way of thinking. It should be swept under the rug and never spoken about.
Winnie brought in the brown bag she’d carried home the day she arrived in Minnow Springs and handed it to Miles. “I mended all your clothes. Most were in need of a stitch or two.”
Miles lifted a shirt from the bag. Winnie’s fine stitches could barely be seen. “I’ve been wearing this shirt with the collar torn loose for some time.” He nodded a silent thank-you to Winnie. “I should have replaced it, but the rip didn’t show if I kept my jacket on. I try not to ask my sister to take care of me and my sewing skills are nonexistent.”
He pulled his dress coat from the bag and ran his hand along all the buttons. “I thank you for this. It was no small task.”