by Jodi Thomas
She nodded. “That’s what I’m going to do, only I don’t never want anything to do with another man for as long as I live.”
“We’re not all like that,” he said. “You’ll see when you’re older.”
For once she didn’t try to remind him that she was grown; she just looked at him and said, “I think it hurts too much to get older.”
They walked the last few houses in silence. Beth was the only one home, so Madie told her about how Micah must have moved on. Colby couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He paced the empty rooms of the house. For a time he thought of going back to the train yard and waiting for the short man to start home. Halfway there, he could easily pull him aside and beat him up.
Only Colby didn’t have all his strength back yet, and he might be the one who ended up being beat up. Even if he won the fight and Micah was broken, it would only mean he couldn’t work, and his wife and children would probably suffer.
Colby teetered between avenging Madie and maybe causing extra sorrow for some woman he didn’t know. He finally decided that doing nothing was his only option. He had worries of his own.
After lunch he walked the few blocks to the telegraph office and sent his pa a note. The old man would be furious that he hadn’t come straight home. He’d taught Colby how to run a ranch, how to work cattle, even how to handle himself in a fight, but he’d never taught him how to be kind. As he walked back from the telegraph office, he resolved he didn’t want to be like his pa.
No one, including him, meant anything to the old man. When his mother left one night, all his father did was burn everything in the house that belonged to her and make Colby swear he’d never speak of her again. He’d kept his promise, but at night, when all was dark and quiet, he’d think of her, remember what she’d been like. He’d remember how his pa never talked to her or touched her or even seemed to notice she was around. He never said hello when he walked in the house, or good-bye when he left to work. Maybe she couldn’t stand being invisible any longer and she had to run.
Colby walked back into Andrew’s house and saw the two women at the makeshift table shelling peas. “Hello,” he said, then cleared his throat. “I’m back.”
“Good.” Beth motioned him toward the empty stool. “Have a seat. I’ll pour you some coffee and you can keep us company.”
Colby hung his hat on the peg near the door. “I can get my own coffee, but thanks for the offer.” His attempt not to be like his old man would start right now. He’d talk to folks. He’d even keep the ladies company, whatever that meant.
At first, he couldn’t think of much to say as he sat at the table. The women were talking of how it wouldn’t cost much to fix Andrew’s place up. Colby listened.
When they finally changed the subject to horses, Colby joined in but noticed Madie didn’t have much to say. The only topic of conversation they all jumped on was Andrew. He’d left the house dressed in a black suit and tie, and all three agreed he looked far better in his western clothes.
The day aged and Colby felt himself getting more and more restless. Finally, he guessed his telegram had had plenty of time to travel the lines to the small town near his ranch. The operator would have to ride two miles out of town to his pa, and then his pa would have to hitch up a team and drive to town, before he could send an answer.
Colby took the two boys with him and went back to the telegraph office, hoping there would be news waiting but realizing he might have to make more than one trip before his pa’s answer came.
Levi talked most of the way, and they slowed him down some by stopping to look in every store window. They barely made it to the office before it closed.
“No answer from your father,” the operator said, “but if you’ll leave an address I’ll run it over if it comes in late.”
Colby wasn’t sure what to say. “Two streets south, second town house on the left.”
The operator jotted it down. “I think I know where that is. About a block down is a whole row of new houses going in.”
“Right.” Colby had never lived anywhere that might have a real address. When he left the telegraph office, he took the boys by the construction. It was exciting watching men building more than one house at a time.
The boys loved watching, but all the way home Colby thought that maybe his pa had been in the field and the runner had left the telegram on the door. Or maybe he was out hunting or down by the smokehouse slaughtering a hog. There were a dozen reasons his pa hadn’t had time to answer, but one kept sticking in his mind.
What if his pa was out back burning his clothes?
CHAPTER 12
ANDREW SEARCHED EVERY BAR IN HELL’S HALF ACRE looking for Levi and Leonard’s father.
No one seemed to have heard of him, but everyone tried to sell him a drink or a night of fun.
He’d known it was a long shot, but he had to give it his best try. Gamblers tended to move on to the next town, but if Hawthorne had been here for a while, someone might know which way he went next. Every town in Texas that claimed three buildings seemed to have a saloon, and in every saloon a gambler would be waiting to take a little of a cowboy’s money.
It didn’t help matters that Levi mentioned that his father made them all remember that they were Hawthornes now, not Smiths. He’d told his son that he picked his name because it sounded like the man wearing it would belong on a stage. Levi’s father swore everyone who heard it would remember Theodore B. Hawthorne, and he might as well use it for his gambling career also.
This whole state seemed awash in nicknames and shortened handles, Andrew reflected. Some cowhands were called by where they came from or how tall they were. For all he knew the boys’ father could be going by Ted Brown or Jay Wilson by now.
In the haze of blowing dust, Andrew walked back toward the little town house he now called home. He’d talked to so many sleazy drunks and gamblers today, he felt like he needed a bath. He wondered how such good people like the McMurrays could thrive in a place where the good guys seemed so outnumbered. Until he’d met Beth, he was beginning to think there was no such thing as the “code of the West” that so many dime novelists wrote about. The state was poor in everything but cattle, and trouble seemed to ride the wind. Beth might be living in a world of her own making, but she loved her family and she cared about other people. That kind of goodness had to have been bred into her.
He grinned. If he were counting her gifts, he’d have to add that she kissed like most men dream their whole life of being kissed. Just brushing her lips made him forget to breathe. He knew his Hannah was dead. He’d mourned her a long time. Maybe it took someone like Beth to remind him he was still alive.
Because, like it or not, he was still alive.
When he turned the corner, Andrew saw two men standing a few houses down from his place staring up at his windows. It was dark enough that they could probably see people moving around inside. They weren’t walking, or even talking, they were just watching.
When Andrew drew closer, with his head low into his upturned collar, they both melted into the shadows. He crossed the street, not wanting to get too close. The streetlights offered circles of light surrounded by a blackness so deep it would be hard to see where the road stopped and the narrow boardwalks began. But this was his territory and he knew it well.
He found his front door unlocked and hurried in, throwing the bolt immediately. Who were those men watching for?
Taking a deep breath, he forced worry from his features so he wouldn’t frighten the boys. He was home. From the laughter around him, he knew they were safe.
When he turned around, Andrew couldn’t believe the changes in the place. A huge crate had been turned on its side to serve as a table in the kitchen area. Stools made from barrels were now chairs. Candles were lit on top of a tablecloth as if they were having a fancy meal.
“It’s about time you’re home, dear,” Beth said in her best almost-wife voice. “We’re all ready to eat.”
He smile
d, loving the pretend game. Loving the idea that he might have someone to come home to again, if only for a few days.
Crossing the room, he politely kissed her cheek. Beth smelled of cinnamon. For a moment he wished they had the house to themselves. He hungered to kiss her again, softly this time, tenderly, as if there were a possibility they might become lovers.
He didn’t want one night of passion and need, but a slow burn that had to be stoked like a long winter fire, building to white-hot and smoldering low even when they were a room apart, but always, always burning.
The sudden realization of how much he wanted her shook him. She wasn’t the kind of woman to take pieces of a man’s love. She’d want it all. She deserved it all, and he was a man who could never love that way again.
He was only telling himself a story . . . as though he could weave fiction into the real world and live there.
The boys thundered down from the attic, reminding him to stop daydreaming and deal with reality.
They were full of questions, but he had few answers. He’d met a man who remembered their father from Dallas but said he hadn’t seen him in Fort Worth. Andrew said he’d also talked with a boardinghouse owner who said he thought he remembered the name but couldn’t put a face to it. He said he thought a man named Hawthorne had rented a bedroom for a week or so three months back.
Andrew didn’t add that the owner mentioned the man had left with a painted-up lady who said she was a singer at one of the gaming houses in the polished part of town.
“Did you ask if the man was dark-headed?” Levi asked. “Maybe he had a mustache. My father likes to wear a mustache when the weather turns cold, or a beard cut short.”
“I asked,” Andrew promised. “The man said he couldn’t remember anything except for the name.”
By the time Andrew described everywhere he’d looked, Levi hung his head in disappointment. Leonard had stopped listening and decided to watch the food being brought to the table instead. Regular meals were too new not to be exciting.
Everyone except Colby gathered round the table. Andrew took off his jacket and didn’t miss Beth’s frown. For a moment he thought she might consider him too informal, but surely shirtsleeves were all right for supper on a crate.
“You don’t like these clothes, do you?” He found it hard to believe that the style he’d worn and thought looked very proper all his life was somehow offensive to her.
“There’s nothing wrong with them. I don’t like suspenders,” she whispered so the others wouldn’t hear. “The clothes don’t seem you. I feel like you’re wearing someone else’s clothes. You look like a banker or a city lawyer. Was there something wrong with the clothes I bought you in Dallas?”
He frowned, thinking he should dig his dirty outdoor clothes from his saddlebags and wear them. That might make her happy. The shirt and jeans she’d bought him were far too informal for his liking and the belt not nearly as comfortable as his suspenders. “I’ve been a banker or at least a teller, and one year in Chicago I worked with a lawyer for a while.”
Somehow he wasn’t measuring up to Beth’s image of him, which was very frustrating, since they’d met at a train robbery when he’d been wearing black. “I’m not a rancher, Beth. I know nothing of cattle. I don’t carry a gun, and even if I did, I’m only a fair shot. I can ride, but not half as well as you do. My fingers have ink stains, not calluses from hard work.” He didn’t give her time to say anything before he added, “I guess in your eyes, I’m a total failure as a man.”
“Not completely—there are a few things I’ve discovered you’re good at—but we simply must talk about the clothes.”
“I doubt that discussion will ever happen,” he answered, wondering what kind of fool would allow a woman to pick out his clothing.
The others gathered around the table, talking of all they’d done to his house. He might not be willing to change one piece of clothing, but he wouldn’t have minded at all if they’d painted the house red if it brought them joy.
There were obvious improvements. She’d put out little things that a woman would think made the house look like a home. But there was nothing expensive . . . nothing that he wouldn’t leave behind when he moved on. He offered his thanks and she nodded, accepting the compliment.
“Where’s our cowboy?” Andrew asked as he stood waiting until Beth scooted onto the stool. “Is he already on his way back to the ranch?” They’d been in Fort Worth a full day. It was probably time that one or two of his migrant flock flew away.
Beth and Madie both shook their heads. “He didn’t hear back from his pa today,” Beth said. “I told him I’d loan him the money for a ticket home, but he said no. I think he fears his father will be mad because he’s late, and he wants to know he’ll be welcome when he gets there.”
“So where is he?” Andrew knew from the silence that followed that anything they said would be a guess.
“Out walking, I think,” Beth tried. “He checked at the telegraph office and came back to tell us there would be no answer today, and then he walked out the door. If we were at the ranch, my papa would say he was riding the wind, which is what McMurrays seem to do when they need to clear their minds and think.”
“Maybe he’s tired of our food and went out for a meal,” Madie chimed in. “We had men stop by the café all the time who wanted to eat someone else’s cooking for a change. One man stopped by almost every day on the way home from work for a piece of pie. He told me if it wasn’t for the pie first he’d never be able to face his wife’s cooking.”
“Colby’s not tired of your cooking,” Andrew answered. “I can almost see him fattening up on your biscuits.” He wanted to ask about Madie’s man, but since she’d stopped talking about him, he decided to leave it alone.
Andrew was surprised at how much he was learning by what the women were not saying. They talked around subjects, never filling him in on anything important. Madie had cut both the boys’ hair, but Leonard wouldn’t stay still, so his was shorter on one side. Beth had rigged up a line out back and planned to wash tomorrow.
When the dishes were done, Andrew pulled down an old book of stories he’d written one summer in North Carolina. He pulled a stool close to the fire and the boys spread out on a blanket as he began to read aloud.
Levi and Leonard seemed to love hearing about a group of children who ran the streets of a sleepy town solving mysteries for a dime. “The Case of the Stolen Garden.” “The Mystery of the Disappearing Boathouse.” “Crime on Cemetery Road.”
When he finished the third story, he looked up to find that not only the boys, but Beth and Madie were listening.
“One more,” Levi begged.
“Tomorrow night. I promise. It’s bedtime now.” Andrew couldn’t hide his grin. He’d never read his stories aloud. In truth, he’d never much thought about people enjoying them; he only thought of someday selling them.
Everyone, including Beth, protested, wanting him to continue reading, but he held firm. While Beth banked the fire in the stove, Madie took the boys upstairs.
The past two days the house had seemed alive, and right now it was settling, grumbling, shifting into sleep. . . .
He wanted to write his thoughts down, but first he had one more thing to do before turning in.
Andrew waited until he knew the children wouldn’t hear him leave. He crossed to the back door, pulling on his coat as he went.
“I think I’ll go for a walk. Maybe I’ll find Colby.” When he saw the concern on Beth’s face, he added, “It seems odd that he’d miss a meal, but then I don’t know the boy well. If he went out in this town looking for trouble, I’ve no doubt he’ll find it. The country is his territory, but the streets are mine.” He could see by her eyes that she’d been worried too. “If I find him, I’ll watch over him.”
“Why not go out the front door?”
Andrew didn’t want to alarm her, but he wanted her prepared. “I noticed two men watching the house when I came in. If I go out the back
they won’t know I’ve left. I’d like to get closer to them and find out why they’re near as well as check on Colby. Stay here and keep the doors locked until I return, would you, dear?”
She nodded, and he was gone before she asked more questions.
He circled two blocks over before doubling back in the shadows. Over the months he’d often walked at night and knew these quiet streets well. A kind of off-key orchestra seemed to always play this time of night. A dog barking, a couple fighting, the sound of horses moving along the dirt-packed streets. A church bell chiming as if greeting the whistle of a train. All were the sounds Andrew knew from towns he’d crossed through. None were quite his home, but all were familiar.
He enjoyed being in the country, but the smells and noises of towns pumped in his blood. One more reason he’d never belong with Beth. As if he needed another reason.
The two men were still in the same spot. One was smoking, the other leaning against the building. Both looked tired and ready to leave. They were watching his house, not invading. He had a feeling they wouldn’t be too friendly if he walked up and asked why.
After a few minutes, Andrew disappeared between two houses and crossed to a back street. If Colby Dixon was looking for a drink, he might pick one of the quiet little hotel coffee shops a few blocks over. Surely he was smart enough not to go alone all the way to Hell’s Half Acre after dark, and he wasn’t dressed to blend in at the hotel restaurants.
Most of the little hotel bars and coffee shops were closed already, but on the third block he checked Andrew found Colby sitting at the counter of a place that served a late supper and beer to merchants and travelers alike.
Andrew simply sat down beside the kid as if he’d happened by.