To Kiss a Texan

by Jodi Thomas

  Maybe therewassomething wrong with her brain. Her aunts had whispered often enough that Karlee was ‘‘perplexing, at best.’’ They always used the phrase as though talking of an incurable illness to be tolerated. The whole town seemed to agree, for gentlemen callers were as scarce as fleas on a catfish.

  Maybe her aunt hadn’t sent word of her arrival for fear the good reverend would turn her down.Announcing a ‘‘perplexing, at best’’ cousin-in-law might be rather like wiring ahead of a plague’s arrival.

  Since her parents’ deaths when she was eight, more than one relative had refused to take a turn at raising her. But the matronly aunts had taken precautions this time. They’d provided what they hoped to be enough money to make it to Jefferson, Texas, and not a dime more. No return passage. The reverend would have to take Karlee in.

  But she was no penniless child. She was grown, and she’d come to help. Surely, he’d understand and allow her to earn her keep. That is, if she were ever unpacked.

  Hometown headlines flashed through Karlee’s imagination: ‘‘Crazy old maid dies in box left in warehouse. No kin. No one to care.’’

  She pounded harder.

  Her plan had seemed so simple. She knew the codes used by the dock workers, thanks to her father, who’d been a captain. He had explained to her that most of the workers couldn’t read, so playing cards were placed on all unaccompanied freight to indicate destination.Jefferson was known all along the waterways as the King of Spades.

  Karlee had simply taken a card from the deck in her pocketbook and stuck it on the trunk already addressed to Daniel McLain. Then she climbed inside, planning to sleep the night away and wake at her destination.

  But the dockhand had slapped the latch closed when he’d loaded the trunk.

  Now, she might sleep forever! Karlee pounded again, then waited, hoping, praying.

  After a few seconds, something, or someone, pounded back!

  She let out a cry, expecting the lid to open, but nothing happened. The tiny sliver of light between the top boards was too small to see through. She felt like a jackinthe-box waiting for the tune to end.

  Karlee knocked again.

  A rapping echoed her cry.

  She tried once more with three sharp taps.

  Three answered, but nothing more.

  Karlee’s hopes began to fade as, again and again, the rapping came and she answered, but nothing happened. Whoever was on the other side was toying with her but allowing no freedom.

  Pulling into a tight ball, she tried to look at the bright side. If she died in this box, she wouldn’t have to worry about all the wild stories she heard of Jefferson. Rumors were told that a man could rape and kill without even going to jail in this town called the porthole to Texas. Riverboat trash, outlaws, thieves, carpetbaggers, and angry rebs populated the booming port.

  Oh, well, in this coffin she didn’t have to worry about the criminals. She’d simply starve to death in her warm, dark prison.

  She knocked again. She’d rather take her chances among the outlaws than die in silence.

  A devil knocked back without touching the latch.

  ‘‘Girls, stop knocking on the trunk,’’ Daniel ordered from the stove, where he was trying to make pancakes.The twins looked up at their father without the slightest hint of planning to follow such an order. They had his blond hair and their mother’s brown eyes. As soon as he returned to the cooking, they returned to knocking on the tattered old box he’d brought in.

  A few minutes passed before Daniel lifted one daughter off the ground with a single hand clamped onto the back of her overalls. She squealed and wiggled as if on a carnival ride, but showed no fear of her only parent.

  ‘‘I said’’—Dan couldn’t help but smile—‘‘stop knocking on your great-aunt’s trunk.’’

  ‘‘But, Daddy,’’ the child on the ground corrected. ‘‘It knocks back.’’

  Daniel raised an eyebrow as he lowered the other girl to the ground. ‘‘It does? Next you’ll be telling me it talks as well.’’

  Both girls nodded, sending their curly hair flying around their faces.

  Daniel pictured May’s plump little Aunt Rosy being stuffed into the trunk and shipped. Impossible.

  ‘‘Can we open it?’’ one twin asked as the other knocked once more on the lid.

  ‘‘No,’’ Daniel answered. ‘‘It belongs to—’’

  The faint sound of rapping froze his words.

  TWO

  DANIEL FLIPPED OPEN THE LATCH ON THE OLD TRUNK. An explosion of fabric rocked him backward. As he sat on the floor watching, a mass of red hair pushed through the dull-colored clothing, looking more like a huge ball of yarn than a woman’s head. Daniel forced his mouth closed as the boxed creature stretched and climbed, none too gracefully, from the trunk. Her arms and legs were long and grew stronger with each movement. The clothes she wore were wrinkled and threadbare.Bright green eyes glanced at him a moment before the woman yelled, ‘‘Clear the decks!’’ at the top of her lungs. In a mad dash, she ran across the room and out the back door as if her hem were on fire.

  Daniel raised to his knees and fought to keep his balance as the twins rushed toward him. He rocked his daughters in strong arms. They all three stared out into the night where she’d vanished. The low howl of the wind and the blackness beyond the door seemed to erase any hint of her passing. She could have been a mythical creature born to full life before them and disappeared just as quickly, if he believed in such things.

  ‘‘Who was that, Daddy?’’ the twin on his right knee whispered.

  ‘‘I’m not sure,’’ he answered honestly, feeling very much as though he’d just opened Pandora’s box. ‘‘I think it was a woman.’’Of course it was a woman, he corrected mentally. He might have been a widower for years, but he hadn’t yet gone blind. ‘‘One thing I know, that wasn’t your mother’s Aunt Rosy.’’

  ‘‘Lock the door before she comes back, Daddy!’’ The other twin stretched and clutched his neck. ‘‘I’m afraid.’’

  ‘‘No, let’s wait and see if she returns. You’ve nothing to fear.’’ He only hoped he spoke the truth. Women, even normal ones, tended to make him speechless. And he had a strong feeling this one was not within shouting distance of normal.

  He lowered his voice to a calming tone. ‘‘From the speed she left, she may be halfway to Shreveport by now.’’ He lifted the twins as he stood. ‘‘We might as well eat supper. If she’s not back by the time we finish, I’ll go outside and try to find her. It wouldn’t be right not to look after whoever, or whatever, Aunt Rosy shipped us.’’

  The twins dove into their pancakes with zest as Daniel poured himself a cup of coffee and watched the door. A hundred questions drifted through his mind. Answers were way outnumbered, which wasn’t all that unusual if May’s family was involved.

  Quirkiness seemed the only common batter in the mix where the Whitworths were concerned. Even Aunt Rosy, who’d offered to come help, was a woman who liked to do most of the talking and all the thinking in a conversation. She not only was free with telling you what she thought, but if given a moment, she’d tell you what you should think also. Her sister, Violet, hadn’t ended a sentence in years as far as Daniel could tell. Even when she paused, she began again as soon as possible by starting with an and or a but or, her favorite, furthermore.

  One thing he knew, whoever this woman was, she’d been sent by the aunts. But had they packed and shipped the fiery redhead to help him, or to sweep her off their doorstep? From the glance he’d had of her, he guessed her to be mature, midtwenties, maybe. She didn’t seem a bad-looking woman. He’d noticed no deformities. Except, of course, her hair. She seemed too thick of body to be stylish, no eighteen-inch waist, he guessed. He’d also noticed an ample chest packed into a properly tight bodice.

  Judging from the speed with which she ran, she must be healthy enough.

  ‘‘Reverend McLain?’’

  The woman was back, standing just inside the door
way, her dress and hair whirling in the night air.

  Daniel stood slowly, forcing himself not to look at the way her clothes clung about her like a second skin. ‘‘Yes, I’m Daniel McLain,’’ he answered in his most formal voice.

  The stranger leaned her head back and shook her hair as though enjoying the wind’s combing. ‘‘Good,’’ she said. ‘‘I’m in the right place. That’s something at least. Sorry about that sudden exit, but sometimes, it’s a ‘clear the decks,’ you know, no time to stop and chat.’’

  Daniel had no idea what she was talking about. Her chatter reminded him of years ago when he and the other seminary students were required to visit the insane wards. One poor man flashed to mind. Daniel had prayed to God with the ill soul for an hour before the man informed Daniel that hewasGod and had grown tired of listening.

  The stranger before him glanced at Daniel as if she thought him slow of mind and whispered, ‘‘You know, the privy?’’

  ‘‘Oh.’’ Daniel cleared his throat. Men and women weren’t supposed to address such subjects. May had made him blush when they first married by simply saying she needed to take a walk outside. He suddenly felt very much older than his twenty-four years.

  Changing the subject seemed the safest defense. ‘‘And who are you, madam?’’

  ‘‘It’s ‘miss,’ ’’ she answered as she moved into the room twisting her hair into one thick braid at her shoulder. ‘‘I’m the spinster Whitworth, your wife’s first cousin. I don’t mind being unmarried, but I do get tolerably tired of being called ‘miss.’ Everyone in town knows I’m an old maid, but they still seem to say the word miss a little louder when they introduce me.’’

  ‘‘Well, Miss . . . I mean . . .’’

  ‘‘Karlee,’’ she helped. ‘‘Call me Karlee. After all, we’re almost related.’’

  She walked past him and sat down across the table from the twins. ‘‘And these must be your daughters. They do look alike. What are their names?’’

  Daniel frowned. ‘‘I just call them Twin. When I want one, I usually want the other.’’

  The strange woman jumped from her chair once more, and Daniel wouldn’t have been surprised to hear her yell ‘‘Clear the decks!’’

  But this time she headed straight toward him like a warrior on the attack. ‘‘You mean you haven’t named your daughters? They’re almost four, by my count, and you still just call them Twin?’’

  ‘‘I’ve been busy.’’ Daniel forced himself not to step back with her advance.

  She was tall; half a head more, and she’d be his height. And she stared directly at him without any respectable fear or feminine shyness.

  ‘‘How busy does a man have to be to name his children?’’

  Before he could answer, gunshots rang from just outside, and the sound of horses’ hooves gave rhythm to the night.

  ‘‘Grab the blankets!’’ Daniel signaled with his head toward a pile of quilts as he tucked a twin beneath each arm. ‘‘And run, Spinster Karlee. Trouble’s riding in.’’

  She didn’t question, but followed as he hurried through the large house almost void of furniture. He not only didn’t have time to name his children, he obviously didn’t bother with shopping. No chairs, no rugs, no curtains.

  They entered the wide entry hall. With one mighty shove of his shoulder, Daniel slid a panel along one side of the foyer. A row of rifles lined the once-hidden wall and a hastily cut trapdoor scarred the floor. For a man of the cloth he seemed ready for anything.

  Daniel lifted the lid. ‘‘Climb inside! You and the twins will be safe. I made this hiding place yesterday, knowing trouble would come calling.’’

  Karlee glanced down at the hole that looked little more than four feet deep and a coffin’s-width across. She was in no hurry to be locked away again.

  ‘‘What about you?’’

  ‘‘I’ll face the men. If they’re not too liquored up, I should be able to send them on their way.’’

  ’ll face them with you, Reverend.’’

  ‘‘Get in there and be safe, Spinster Karlee!’’

  ‘‘I think not.’’

  As always when emotion rose within him, Daniel’s throat closed. He couldn’t force the angry words out.

  Karlee had no such problem. ‘‘I wouldn’t climb in there if it were the only way to heaven. And you’re not putting your no-name daughters in that hole while I’ve strength left to fight. We’ll face the drunks together, for I’ll not be boxed again. And that’s my final word.’’

  Daniel almost laughed in amazement. He might be a preacher by calling, but he’d spent most of his life being a blacksmith by necessity. He could easily send her to meet her Maker with one mighty blow, if he were a man given to violence. She might not be a thin woman, but he was well twice her size.

  ‘‘You have no idea what’s going on in this town.’’

  Karlee raised her chin. ‘‘Well, if they’ve come down to murdering women and children, I might as well go now and avoid the dread of dying.’’

  Daniel took a deep breath and reminded himself he was a man of peace as he handed over his daughters to a woman he felt sure could fight off a war party. ‘‘Stay out of sight,’’ he ordered.

  The spinster nodded once and was wise enough not to smile at her victory. She hurried back to the kitchen with the twins in tow as Daniel slid the panel closed once more and moved to the front door.

  Before Karlee reached the kitchen, she heard boots stomping across what had to be the front porch. She closed the hallway door, but angry shouts rattled it.

  She had to think of something fast without frightening the twins. With a forced laugh, she grabbed the corner of the quilt she carried and waved it across the clean end of the table. ‘‘Would you like to live in a tent?’’

  The twins forgot about anyone beyond the kitchen and rushed to crawl beneath the homemade tent.

  Karlee arranged the blankets around the table. ‘‘Now if you’ll both be real quiet, I’ll give you a surprise.’’

  She heard them laugh and knew she’d found a game. They’d be safe beneath the table.

  A sudden rattling at the back door reminded her that she might not be so secure. Frantically, Karlee searched for something to use as a weapon. She would not go quietly to her death in this nowhere town, and no one would hurt her little cousins as long as she breathed.

  Just as the door creaked open, Karlee grabbed a still warm skillet dotted with burned pancake dough. She stepped behind the door as an enormous, hairy man poked his head through the opening like some huge bear checking a new den.

  Karlee raised the iron pan and swung with all her might, figuring a skillet was like a gun. She wouldn’t have picked it up if she hadn’t planned on using it.

  The bearded man took the blow to the side of his head without even time for surprise to register on his face. For a moment, he just stood still, like a mighty oak unaware of a final ax cut.

  Karlee lifted the skillet, prepared to hit him again. But slowly, he crumbled, open-eyed and out cold.

  She moved around him, her weapon ready, pride straightening her shoulders.

  Two blond heads popped out from beneath the blanket, their eyes curious at the sound.

  ‘‘Our surprise!’’ they both shouted as they crawled from the blanket tent. ‘‘Uncle Wolf!’’

  ‘‘Uncle Wolf?’’ A sickness settled over Karlee thick as cold molasses.

  The girls jumped on what they thought was their sleeping uncle.

  A fine brew, Karlee thought, another great idea soured into a half-baked scheme. The curse of her life had followed her to Texas.

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