by Rue Allyn
He watched her drop her carpet bags beside the dray wagon loaded with her trunk, shake hands with Marcus and Trey, then hug Eileen, Tsung, and Lijun in quick succession. Tsung moved back dabbing at her eyes with a corner of her apron. Edith stepped up onto the wagon seat, her posture stiff and straight.
Dutch couldn’t see her face, and he wondered, did she hurt as much as he did? With every moment that separated them, were the pieces of her shredded heart shriveling and turning to granite shards?
The driver tossed the bags into the bed of the buckboard then swung up beside her.
As he gathered the reins, she lifted her face, almost as if she were searching the upper windows of the house for something. Dutch knew she couldn’t see him. So what was she looking at?
He studied her expression. Even from this distance, her beautiful eyes filled his sight. They shone like the green bay waters under a noonday sun. But she didn’t smile. She gave a tiny wave, and her shoulders hitched. The sunlight struck a gleam, off of a single droplet of water trailing down her cheek.
Edith was crying?
The driver set the wagon in motion.
Edith was crying, and the heart Dutch thought he no longer had broke.
He watched the wagon roll away staring long after it disappeared out of sight before he dashed the drink in his hand against the firedogs and strode from the room shouting, “Tsung, I need my horse!”
• • •
Edith followed along the far side of the caboose, watching as her trunk was transferred from the ferry to the baggage car of the train waiting at the Oakland Mole. The huge long building served as the terminal for arriving and departing passengers. Just like the day she arrived in San Francisco, the crowds were horrific, pushing and shoving along the platforms on both sides of the waiting trains. Everyone seemed in a hurry.
Doggedly she kept her trunk in sight. She wanted to know where it was stored because she would check it at every stop, even though she wouldn’t open the locked chest again until she arrived at her destination. For the this journey she kept with her only two carpet bags containing the necessities.
She checked the timepiece that dangled from the chain around her neck and compared it with the large clock on the side of the station building. Ten more minutes before the train’s scheduled departure. Ten more minutes to wish Dutch might change his mind and come with her, or at least come to wish her farewell. Earlier, as she’d left the Smiley’s home, everyone — even a tearful and clinging Tsung — had come to wish her safe journey, except Dutch.
Trey had assured her that he would continue to keep in touch. Eileen and Marcus promised to make sure Dutch didn’t allow his temper to get the better of him. Edith had to admit that he wasn’t as volatile as when they first met; although he still got visibly angry. Tsung not only begged her not to leave but threatened to bring the entire Tsang clan to plead against Edith’s departure.
The door shut on the baggage car, but Edith remained staring. She didn’t see the car. Didn’t hear the crowd rushing around her or the conductors calling to board the train. What she heard was Dutch saying, “I’ll always love you.” What she saw was Dutch’s face the moment after they shared that last kiss. A gentle kiss of longing and regret, but a kiss of resignation. She’d known she would never see him again. She’d spoken her piece. He’d said his then turned and walked away. She still had the petals he’d given her in a sachet. She kept hoping as she left the house, all the way down the street, through the city and onto the ferry.
But he hadn’t come.
Transfixed, Edith slowly moved her gaze to the large terminal clock. She looked at it but didn’t see the hands ticking off the minutes. Instead she saw Dutch as he’d been that night at the bordello, an angry stranger handsome enough to charm the devil and as determined to have nothing to do with her as she was uncertain of what she wanted.
“Last call to board, ma’am,” said a voice beside her.
Lost in thought she nodded.
She’d only been uncertain until she kissed him. Yes, he’d sought to punish her by returning that first kiss, but it hadn’t worked out that way. Not for her. One touch of his lips and she’d wanted little more than to lose herself in his embrace. When all the deceptions had been swept away and she did finally share his passion, nothing could have prepared her for the pleasure and delight she found with him.
She wasn’t certain yet that she carried the child who would secure her inheritance, solve the problems for her sisters and many others. But if she was pregnant, she had to return to Boston to show the proof of that pregnancy. Didn’t she? Mustn’t she find Kiera before all else?
Steam hissed.
Somewhere in the background a whistle blared. Shaking her head, Edith closed her eyes. She was a fool. Dutch made his choice, and she made hers. Hope was worthless. Grandfather had taught her that.
Now because of stubborn stupidity she would never again feel her lover’s touch, never again fly star-soaked to the far reaches of heaven or lay quiet, loved and loving in his arms. And that was just plain wrong. Dutch was right. She was allowing Grandfather to control her actions.
Surely there were other ways — telegrams, photographs, witness statements — to get the will changed? If annulments could be handled through correspondence, so could contesting a will. Grandfather could be dead already, and she would have abandoned Dutch for nothing. Surely sending professionals like Pinkertons to search for Kiera was wiser than going herself. She had to delay her trip. At least long enough to for Dutch to be able to come with her. If he still would have her after the way she’d hurt him?
Gears ground into motion, and the train whistle blew.
Startled from her thoughts, Edith looked up. The train was leaving, and her trunk was still on board. That trunk held everything she owned and all of Kiera’s pictures.
“Wait!” She picked up her skirts and ran.
The train moved a bit faster.
Around her the crowd thinned.
“Stop. My trunk is on that train.”
Encumbered as she was with carpet bags and skirts, she’d never catch the thing, get anyone’s attention, or find a way to stop the train. Heartsick, she dropped her bags and let her skirts fall toward the ground, watching the coaches slip past.
• • •
Am I too late? Dutch strode off the ferry that he’d hoped Edith would be on. He’d galloped like a madman through the San Francisco streets to get to the wharf before the ferry departed. He’d left his horse with a boy and tossed a double eagle — all the money Dutch had with him — at the child with a shout to take the horse back to Smiley’s. Dutch could only pray the kid would do as asked. If he didn’t? Well there were other horses, but only one Edith. She was one of a kind and the only kind worth waiting for. Dutch would give up just about anything to be able to change how he and Edith parted.
But he hadn’t found her on the ferry. Now he was stranded in Oakland not knowing where to look for her. Why hadn’t he taken a moment to ask Tsung which train Edith would be on? Why hadn’t he asked if other ferries had left for Oakland in the past hour? Why hadn’t he told Edith he would go with her in the first place? He was a fool, ten times an idiot, but he could change that, if he could find Edith, and if she would still have him.
He stared at the mass of people rushing about in all directions. The building was huge with long trains stretching nearly the full length. Here and there piles of baggage waited for porters to load the cases and trunks into baggage cars. How to find her?
Check the schedule.
He headed for the ticket counter where schedules lay in piles on a shelf. He grabbed one and went to stand in line. As he waited, he opened the folded paper and searched for a train that stopped in Wyoming. He found the price for the train, but no timetable. Dutch moved to stand in the line for ticket purchases. He didn’t want to bu
y a ticket, but surely the ticket clerk would be able to tell him when the Wyoming train would leave.
“All aboard,” called from three different directions.
He needed more information, now.
The man in front of him completed his purchase. Dutch stepped up to the window.
“When does the next train for Wyoming depart?”
“Conductor just gave the first call for ‘all aboard.’ Didn’t you hear him?”
Dutch ground his teeth. “I heard several calls. Which is the train for Wyoming?”
“That one right there.” The clerk tipped his head in the direction of the platforms.
“Left or right?” Dutch ground out, suppressing the urge to strangle the clerk.
“My left, your right.” The clerk busily stacked tickets and other papers not bothering to look at Dutch.
“First, second, or third train on my right?” Dutch’s patience was wearing thin.
“Look, I’ve already told you which train, and I’m busy. You buying a ticket or not?”
Dutch would have reached through the bars and choked the answer out of the clerk if he could. All the same he leaned in, going nose to nose with the fellow and snarling, “First, second, or third or do I have to get your boss down here?”
The clerk backed up. “Uh no, sir. The third train, sir.”
Before the clerk finished speaking, Dutch was moving toward the Wyoming train. He barreled through the crowd, dodging families, porters, and heaps of baggage. He ran down the platform on the near side of the caboose toward the engine.
“Last call. All aboard for Sacramento, Ogden, Laramie, and points east,” shouted a conductor standing on the steps of the farthest passenger car.
The crowd on the platform thinned rapidly. People hugged then rushed aboard the train or left the area.
No! Dutch’s brain shouted. He waved at the conductor. “Wait!”
The man nodded, indicating he’d heard Dutch.
Nearly out of breath, he skidded to a stop before the conductor. “I need to find a woman.”
“You and me both fella, but I can’t help you.”
“No, a specific woman; she’s supposed to be on this train.”
“Sorry, I got a job to do. If you’re traveling on the train, I suggest you get on board and then look for her.”
“But I’m not.”
“Then there’s nothing I can do.” The man signaled toward the back of the train. “Send her a telegram to Sacramento. We’ll stop there long enough for her to get it.”
“You don’t understand. A telegram won’t work. I have to talk to her, tell her I was wrong.”
The conductor bent a pitying stare on Dutch. “Like that is it? Wish I could help, but I cannot delay this train just so you can sweet talk your woman.”
“Then I’m getting on.” Dutch grabbed the handrail to haul himself up the high steps of the car.
The conductor blocked the way. “You got a ticket, son?”
“I’ll buy one.”
“You ain’t got time for the ticket window, but I could sell you one.”
“Great.” Dutch made to board the train once more.
Once more the conductor blocked access. “Let’s see your cash.”
“Cash?” Dutch felt the blood drain from his head. He felt dizzy, and his stomach churned. He didn’t have a plug nickel. “How much cash?”
“Hundred fourteen in silver or gold. Hundred fifty-three for paper money.”
“Will you take collateral?” Dutch pulled his watch from his waistcoat. “I’ll have the funds wired from San Francisco.
The conductor frowned. “It’s against policy.”
“Please.”
“All right.” He held out his hand. “But if there’s any trouble or the money isn’t sent, you’re off the train at the first available stop, and I’ll have the law on you for fraud.”
Dutch placed the watch in the man’s hand. “Don’t worry, there’ll be no trouble, and I’m good for the money.”
“So you say.” The conductor stepped aside. “Now get on board, you’re making my train late.”
Dutch grinned and climbed into the first car. He paced down the center aisle and searched the faces of the people there, but Edith wasn’t one of them. If she was on this train, he’d find her. He walked the length of the car, exiting at the far side and transferring to the next car. The story was the same. Car after car, no Edith. He counted cars as he went, reaching four by the time the train began to move. About then he encountered another conductor and asked how many cars.
“Seven in all, sir, including the caboose and the baggage car. We’ll pick up more in Sacramento.”
“Have you seen a woman?”
The conductor looked around them. The car was half full of women.
Dutch grinned and described Edith.
“Can’t say as I have, mister, but I’ve been plenty busy. She could have boarded when I wasn’t looking.”
The train rocked slowly as it moved at a snail’s pace toward the huge ferry that would take it across the bay to the track connecting San Francisco with Sacramento.
“Thank you.” Three cars left. She had to be on this train. If she wasn’t, he was in for a long, expensive ride to Sacramento. Heck, if Edith wasn’t on this train, he’d probably ride the rails all the way to Laramie and try to find her there. But he’d search the last two cars first before worrying about that.
At the end of the last car, Dutch resigned himself to visiting Wyoming. His heart hurt, but not as much as when he thought Edith was lost to him forever. He opened the door at the rear of the caboose and stepped outside. The train wasn’t moving fast enough for the wind to blur his vision, still moisture gathered in his eyes. Thank the Lord no one was around to see. He swiped at the incipient tears. As his hand left his face, he saw, running along the platform, a woman who looked exactly like Edith, right down to the two carpet bags she’d just dropped. What were the odds … ?
“Edith!”
• • •
“Edith!”
Dutch? Impossible. Her head swiveled. Who was calling her name? The platform was close to empty.
The train now moved at a slow, steady pace. Above the clack of wheels on the track came another shout. “Edith, why aren’t you on this train?”
That was definitely Dutch, and the shout came from the direction of the track.
She stared. As the last car headed toward the ferry, she saw Dutch standing on the flat area at the back of the train.
“Dutch!”
Abandoning her bags, she grabbed up her skirt in one hand and ran for her life.
The train picked up more speed.
He moved to the lowest of the steps that led onto the train car.
“Don’t jump, you’ll get yourself killed,” she cried.
Grasping a vertical bar with both hands he swung out into the air.
Heart in her throat, she watched, helpless.
Dutch landed, both feet on the ground but off balance.
She had her arms around him, tipping him away from the tracks.
His legs tangled with her skirts. Before their bodies hit the platform his lips settled on hers.
“Ahem.”
Dutch lifted and turned his head. Edith stared beyond him into the face of a uniformed Railway Guard.
“You’re making a public spectacle. I’ll give you twenty seconds to get off this platform before I run you in to the police.”
“Sorry, sir.” Dutch rose, giving Edith a hand up and helping her with her skirts. We had a little misunderstanding.”
She stared up at him. “Misunderstanding?”
“Is that right, Miss? You’re sure this man isn’t bothering you?”
Keeping her eyes on Dutch, she smiled. “No, he’s no bother at all.”
“Well then, you’d best be moving along.”
“Yes, sir.” Dutch placed her hand on his arm and walked to the benches that lined the wall of the terminal building.
Seated with him beside her, Edith looked at him. “What did you mean when you said we had a misunderstanding?”
“I understood that you were leaving on that train.”
“I was.”
“But you weren’t on it.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I was thinking of how I was going to explain to you that I wanted you to go with me to Laramie and then Boston, maybe even wait here a few days until you and Marcus could arrange for the business not to suffer when you came with me. I don’t want an annulment. I love you, Dutch and want to share your life. All of it, for a very long time.”
He kissed her slow, gentle, lingering.
She eased away. “You’d better stop before we create another spectacle.”
He sighed. “All right, but only if we can go back home and make a spectacle in private.”
She arched her brows in mock innocence and smiled. “First tell me what you were doing on the train.”
“I was looking for you.” He grinned back. “To tell you that nothing mattered as much as being with you, that your troubles are my troubles whether you remain my wife or not. But I’d rather be married to you.”
“I have the same preference.”
“Excellent.” He stood and offered her his hand. “Let’s stop at the ticket office on the way home, arrange for your trunk to be held at the next stop, and purchase a pair of Pullman tickets for a train to Laramie next week.”
One Night’s Desire
Book 2 of the Wildfire Love Series
Rue Allyn, author of One Moment’s Pleasure
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by
Crimson Romance