If she was the daughter of the owner, he wondered where her husband was and what he did for a living. Clint didn’t get to town much, but Del Rio was a small place. He couldn’t remember any Sanfords living in the area.
Glancing at her rigid, almost defensive stance, he realized she probably wouldn’t be eager to answer his questions, especially personal ones. Besides, all he wanted was a decent room and a place to put his horse.
“You're right. I can leave my mount at the livery stable for tonight.” Actually, it wasn’t such a bad idea. It would give the blacksmith time to replace Jezebel’s shoe.
Even though it was a solution to his problem, he was surprised Mrs. Sanford didn’t have the authority to stable his horse for one night without her father’s permission. And where was her husband? Couldn’t he step forward to handle the situation?
He was starting to think he was obsessed with this woman's husband. Why was that? Because he found Mrs. Sanford attractive? The thought struck him like an open-handed slap, bringing him to his senses.
He’d never paid much attention to the ladies, especially married ones. Not that he didn’t like women—in their proper place. But there was something about this one. Something that went beyond her emerald eyes and ripe mouth, a vulnerability that reached out to him, rousing his protective instincts.
But his reaction to her was plumb loco to his way of thinking. She had a father and a husband. She certainly didn’t need an old saddle bum to protect her.
There was one question he might ask. It had bothered him, but he’d been busy thinking about his mare. He’d inquired around town, wanting to find the going rate for room and board, wondering how much of his salary he would be able to save. He’d been told the usual rate was six to eight dollars a week. Considering Kerr House’s reputation, why was the rate only five dollars?
Thinking it foolish to raise the subject but curious to know, he said, “Your rent is lower than the other boardinghouses in town. I’m surprised you have a vacant room.”
She tilted her head, and her eyebrows drew together. “Our boarders feel it’s only fair they receive a lower rate because they don’t eat at the house every day. Most railroad men appreciate our flexibility, knowing they’ll have expenses on the road.”
“Railroad men?” He tugged on his earlobe. He wasn’t a railroad man. And what was she saying about not eating every day?
“I thought you said the rent included breakfast and supper and a cold box lunch?”
“Yes, Mr. Graham, that’s precisely what I said.” Her gaze darted to his face, and her voice took on the note of an adult explaining to a child. “You must be new to railroad life. Perhaps you just hired on. I don’t remember your face. You probably haven’t considered you’ll be away from Del Rio when you’re on a run. During that time, you’ll need to pay for your meals.”
That she didn’t remember his face when he’d recognized her from town shouldn’t have bothered him. But it did. He shook off the momentary twinge of displeasure.
Now he understood why their interview had been so bewildering. No one had mentioned Kerr House catered to railroad men and their peculiar lifestyle. But he didn’t work for the railroad, and he wouldn’t be traveling. He needed to know the rate for a full-time boarder. If it was double the railroad rate, he might have to rethink taking a room here.
“I need to know what you charge for a full-time boarder, Mrs. Sanford. You see, I’m not a railroad man. I own a sheep ranch on the Devil’s River. Yesterday, I was asked to be sheriff.”
Her eyes widened and she covered her cheeks with her hands. “Not a railroad man. A sheep rancher!” She shook her head and dropped her hands, twining her fingers together.
“Mr. Graham, you cannot board here.”
Chapter Two
“Mrs. Sanford, are you telling me I’m forbidden to rent a room because I don’t work for the railroad?”
How could she explain that was precisely what she meant? Abigail had never encountered this situation before. Everyone knew Kerr House catered to railroad workers. To make matters worse, this man was a sheep rancher. Why on earth would he want to live in town?
Before she could fashion a reply, he interjected, “As I said, I’ve been appointed the new sheriff of the county. That’s why I’m moving to town.”
Abigail recoiled at this bit of information. Having the new sheriff, who was also a sheep rancher, living in Kerr House with railroaders was certain to cause friction. And she didn’t want trouble.
Sliding a glance at him, she could understand why he’d been appointed the new sheriff. He was a big man, tall and imposing, with broad shoulders and muscular forearms. And there was an innate air of self-confidence about him, too, as if he knew he was capable of taking care of himself, no matter the situation.
Even the features of his face underscored his powerful presence. He reminded her of a hawk, possessing an alert and watchful wariness.
Not that his features were unattractive. High cheekbones set off his clear blue eyes. His brown hair was cut short, fitting his head like a cap. The bold slash of his mouth might be considered generous if he would smile rather than frown. And the sharp line of his jaw and chin gave his face an air of authority.
His clothing was modest, faded Levi’s and a denim shirt with the sleeves rolled above his elbows. Even though his clothes weren’t fancy, they were neat and functional, fitting his muscular frame like a glove.
Despite her initial misgivings, she found her attitude subtly shifting. A lawman might prove to be an asset for the boardinghouse, especially in these troubled times. But her opinion wasn’t important. Her father was out, and she had no idea how he would react.
And what about the other boarders? She couldn’t envision them welcoming him with open arms. He was the new sheriff. His job should command respect, even from the railroad men. But it was a decision she didn’t feel comfortable making, and she wanted him to understand her position.
“Mr. Graham, you must be aware of the, ah, the ill-will between railroaders and ranchers in this town. As you’re a rancher yourself, I would think you’ve a difficult road ahead, convincing both sides you’re not biased. Living among railroaders will make your job more—”
“I disagree.” He shook his head and crossed his arms. “Granted, until I talked to you, I didn’t know Kerr House catered to railroad workers. I chose your house because of its reputation for cleanliness and tasty food.”
At his off-handed remark about the house, though it only obliquely referred to her efforts, a warm sensation spread through her body like the welcoming heat of a fire on a cold winter night. She wasn’t accustomed to receiving compliments...any kind of compliments.
“Now that you’ve brought the subject up,” he continued, “I think it would benefit my cause to live among railroaders.”
“You can’t be serious. Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in another house?”
“Is it my comfort or yours we’re talking about, Mrs. Sanford?”
She chose to ignore his provocative remark. “I fail to see why you would want to—”
“Confront this feud?” He cut her off again. “I think I can help settle it peacefully, Mrs. Sanford. I have a few ideas. But as you pointed out, some people will think I’m playing favorites because I own a ranch. What better way to inspire confidence than to live among the railroaders?”
His argument made sense. And there was something about him, his air of self-confidence, she guessed, that made her want to have him around. But it wasn’t her decision to make.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Sanford. I can take care of myself. And I won’t take offense at anything your other boarders might say. After a time, I hope we’ll become good friends.” His gaze caught hers, and there was an expectant light in his blue eyes. “Could I see the room, please?”
“Mr. Graham, I understand your position. If it were my decision to make, I would…” She stopped herself, not comfortable with placing the blame on her father. Even though it might be
true, she felt cowardly and disloyal, saying the words out loud.
“Is there someone else I can speak with?”
“Not tonight, I’m afraid. My father is out on the railroad,” she repeated.
“Then I’ll speak with your father as soon as he returns. I’m certain I can convince him.”
“What will you do tonight?”
Where had that come from?
His welfare was none of her concern. She clutched her mother's cameo at her throat and twisted the ribbon around her index finger.
His features softened. He allowed himself a small smile, a lop-sided smile. She hadn't noticed before, but he had a scar at the right-hand corner of his mouth that pulled his lower lip down when he smiled. But even with just half a smile mellowing his features, he was a handsome man.
Then she recognized what his smile meant. It was a knowing smile, as if he was amused by her unexpected concern. Speculating on what he might be thinking, her face grew warm. Night had fallen since they’d started talking. She hadn’t lit a lamp in the parlor. Lucky for her the room was shadowed.
“I’ll take a room at the hotel for tonight. Thank you for your time.” He started to extend his hand, checked himself and gave her a small bow instead. “I’ll see myself out.”
“Here, let me show you to the door,” she offered.
Turning back, he threw out, almost as an afterthought, “What about your husband, Mrs. Sanford?”
The question took her by surprise. What did he mean? Had he noticed her blush and read more into it than he should?
As if he understood her startled reaction, he added, “What I meant to ask, is your husband around? Could I talk to him about the room?”
A sigh of relief escaped her. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. He didn’t know her circumstances. And she’d introduced herself as Mrs. Sanford. He would expect her to have a husband, but she didn’t.
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she was a widow. That would be the easy way out. But it was a falsehood, and she didn’t like to lie. “My husband doesn’t live here, Mr. Graham. He hasn’t lived here for several years.”
This time, it was his turn to look surprised. His gaze slid away, and he lowered his head. It was obvious he’d embarrassed himself.
“I’m sorry I asked. Please, accept—”
“That’s quite all right,” she interrupted brusquely. She crossed the parlor and went into the foyer. She opened the front door and nodded to him.
At the door, he replaced his Stetson and tugged the brim down with one finger. “Goodnight, ma’am.”
“Goodnight,” she replied, closing the door firmly.
***
Sunlight spilled through the long windows, pooling like melted butter on the brown crust of the hardwood floors. The faintest promise of autumn tinged the air. It was Abigail’s favorite time of year in Del Rio, when the sky was such a deep blue, it hurt your eyes and the mild winter to come offered a welcome relief from the relentless heat.
The few hours spent in Elisa’s sewing room were precious to Abigail, surpassed only by the time she spent with her son. With the morning’s chores over, Kevin in school, and her father out on the railroad, she’d stolen the time for herself. She enjoyed learning to sew and the earthy pleasure of Elisa’s never-ending stream of gossip. Sometimes, though, Abigail wished she could have shared these special moments with her mother.
Jean Kerr had been a gentle woman, completely devoted to her husband and family. Abigail, the youngest of five, had lost her mother to consumption when she needed her the most—the awkward time between childhood and the onset of womanhood.
As the baby of the family, her brothers and sisters did their best to protect her against the loss. They’d convinced their father to allow Abigail to finish her studies. Her father had grudgingly agreed, though he’d forced his other children to leave school early and work.
Her brothers and sisters had even encouraged her frivolous hobbies. When she was younger, she’d spent her spare time drawing with pastel chalks and composing poetry to accompany the pictures.
Now she possessed precious little time to spare, and she couldn’t afford to spend it drawing pictures and writing poetry. Elisa taught her a more suitable pursuit, sewing beautiful bridal ensembles and trousseaus. Unlike ordinary seamstress work, the level of craft was exacting, with an obsessive attention to detail and fine seams. It also paid more than ordinary sewing. And she hoped it would provide her the means to leave Del Rio.
Like her brothers and sisters before her, she would be fleeing her father’s unbending, miserly grasp. He had forced her mother and siblings to live in poverty, despite having a well-paid job on the railroad, so he could amass money. Money which he never spent. Money which he invested to make more money.
With one exception—this house.
After the death of his wife, her father had learned the Southern Pacific Railroad, which stretched from New Orleans to San Francisco, needed firemen in Del Rio, a remote frontier town on the Mexican border. He'd volunteered and been promoted from brakeman to fireman and then five years later, to the crowning glory of engineer.
Foreseeing opportunity in the ragged border town, he'd purchased town lots cheaply and built the commodious Victorian structure to keep his children at hand and working for him. But over time, they’d all escaped, leaving only Abigail behind.
Abigail had turned twenty-seven in July, and Kevin was growing up fast. She needed to begin a life of her own. She could live with one of her brothers or sisters, but she didn’t want to be dependent. She had been too long dependent on her father. She wanted to stand on her own two feet and in order to be independent she needed a skill to earn a living.
With that thought in mind, she turned her attention to the satin fabric and its intricate swirls of seed pearls. Clutching the needle tighter, she passed it through the tiny hole in one side of a pearl and tugged the thread taut.
“You are unusually quiet today, hijita mía. Where have your thoughts flown?” Elisa managed to ask with her mouth full of straight pins while she pinned double rows of lace to the bodice of a wedding gown.
“I was wondering how much money I’ll need to open my bridal shop.”
“Have you decided where you will go?”
“Probably San Antonio or El Paso.”
“Go to El Paso. You have a sister there.”
Elisa and Juan had no children of their own. It was Elisa’s biggest disappointment. She believed family was the most important thing in life. She mothered Abigail and treated Kevin as if he were her grandson.
“I want to be on my own, Elisa. I need to take care of myself and my son.”
Elisa removed the last pin from her mouth and clucked her tongue. “You are a single woman with no man to protect you. It is better to go to El Paso where your sister lives with her husband.”
“No man has protected me, Elisa. Quite the opposite.”
Elisa didn’t know everything about her past, but she knew Abigail felt used and mistreated by her father. “You shouldn’t talk like that, mi hija. Your father has trouble expressing his feelings, but he does love the boy.”
“Yes, he loves Kevin.”
“Family is all we can depend upon. Por favor, think about going to El Paso rather than San Antonio.”
Abigail sighed. “I know Leanna and her husband would welcome us, but this is something I have to prove to myself. San Antonio is closer, only a few hours away on the train. You and Juan could visit me.”
“Even though you will be closer, you will be a woman alone in San Antonio. I will worry about you.”
“You needn’t start worrying yet. It will be a long time before I sew enough gowns to save the money I need.”
“How much do you have?” Elisa asked with her customary bluntness.
“About two hundred dollars.”
Elisa held her needle to the light and threaded it. She had her head cocked to one side, considering. “You’re right. You wi
ll need double that amount for a shop. And you will need additional money to set up housekeeping if you don’t live with your sister,” she pointed out.
Sighing again, Abigail said, “Maybe you’re right.”
She really wanted to be independent, but Elisa did have a point. Why make things harder? Starting over in a city where she didn’t know a single soul frightened her more than she cared to admit.
But that was the problem, wasn’t it? She’d lived too long in fear, hiding in the shadow of her powerful and grasping father. And then there had been Lucas who had…
She swallowed hard and willed herself not to think of him.
But if she didn’t face her fears and overcome them, she would never make a life for herself. Would she?
She dropped the sewing and raised her hands to rub her temples. Whenever she considered leaving home, her thoughts turned in circles, going over the same ground, like a dog circling a rug, trying to find a comfortable place.
“Bueno,” Elisa said. “I hope you will go to live with your sister.” She smiled. “Then I will be able to sleep nights.”
“Oh, Elisa, sometimes I wonder who is the bigger worry-wart, you or me? And I don’t have nearly enough money saved so there is plenty of time to worry…and plan.” She retrieved her sewing and concentrated on the seed pearls.
“When the time comes, I will help you any way I can, mi hija. And Juan will help you too.” Elisa patted her shoulder.
Abigail leaned forward and put her arms around her friend’s ample waist, murmuring, “Thank you, Elisa. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
Elisa returned the hug. Tears burned at the back of Abigail’s throat. Gulping, she realized she’d been especially sensitive lately, crying at the silliest things. She couldn’t remember crying this much since she’d given birth to Kevin and her husband had deserted her.
Thinking of Lucas again, reminded her of talking with the new sheriff last night. Elisa, who knew most of the town’s gossip, might be able to answer some of the questions she'd been wondering about.
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