by Deeanne Gist
Water ran in rivulets from the scalpel to the floor. Crossing to the dresser, he grabbed a rag from her pile and wiped it up.
She dropped the instrument back in the bowl, dried her hands, led him to the chaise, then sat down beside him. “This is horrible news. Tragic. What are you going to?”
“He suggested I farm, ranch, or get behind a desk.”
“Do any of those things appeal you?”
“Not even a little. I grew up on a farm and couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Ranching wouldn’t be awful, but it takes a lot of money and land—neither of which I have.”
“And a desk job?”
He gave a shrug. “I figured I’d be behind a desk at some point. Like if I was chief of the Rangers or something. But not now. Not yet. I . . .” He gave her a bleak look. “I can’t even fathom sitting behind a desk for the next thirty-something years.”
“I thought you were up for the captain’s job. Doesn’t he sit behind a desk?”
“Sometimes. But mostly he rides around and checks on all of us.”
“I see. I wonder if there’s a way to compromise.” She froze, her eyes widening. “Is the second condition that I have to quit practicing?”
“No, no. The second condition is that I have a wife.” He figured the governor didn’t realize Billy still planned to work after they wed. And Hunter certainly wasn’t going to enlighten him. Besides, she’d office right out of their home just like all the other docs. So between her and a nanny, Derry’d get plenty of mothering. “So, that was the good part. Now you can’t back out.”
She gave him a soft smile. “I’m not going to back out.”
Despite his distress, desire surged through him. “Go sit on the other end of the couch.”
“What?”
“Go.”
Biting back her smile, she moved to the opposite end of the chaise longue. “Better?”
“No. Nothing’s going to be better till we’re married and can consummate this thing.”
Her eyes warmed. It was one of the best parts of her being a doctor. She wasn’t shocked at the same things as other gals. Still, if she didn’t stop looking at him like that, he’d never make it.
He faced forward.
“What are we going to do?” she asked.
Propping his hands on his knees, he looked down. “I don’t know.”
“We can’t leave him in jail.”
He slid his eyes closed. “I know.”
“What about being a sheriff?”
“I thought of that.” Leaning over, he picked up a dried piece of mud that had fallen off of someone’s shoe.
“You’d thought of that . . . but?”
He swallowed. “It’s a pretty big step down.”
A set of lacy curtains billowed around a window on the north wall.
“Is there nothing you could do for the Rangers? Nothing that would keep you home?”
He nodded. “We have a quartermaster. He maintains the inventory and issues the equipment. But I don’t know, Billy. It’d be just awful to see the boys coming in and going out. Telling tales of what they did and what they saw. All the while me knowing I could do it, too, and perhaps even better.” He sighed. “I think I’d rather sheriff than do that. At least I’d be a lawman and I’d be able to get out from behind my desk fairly often.”
Moistening her lips, she picked at her fingernails. “You don’t have to work, you know.”
His gut clenched. “Don’t. Don’t even start down that road.”
Crumbling the dried piece of mud, he sifted the grains through his fingers. No matter what job he ended up with, life as he knew it was over. He would never be chief. He’d never be captain. Shoot, he wouldn’t even be a Ranger. He was going to have to put away his badge and walk away from his dreams, his hopes, and his ambitions. Everything. Pitched right out a window sixteen stories off the ground.
He rubbed his face. He wished he’d never come. He wished he’d just stayed home and been happy with his job the way it was instead of always trying to grasp more, more, more.
Rising, Billy returned to the washstand. He watched her. Admired her. If he’d not come up here, he’d have never met her. And that, he realized, was worth it all.
Splashes and plops ensued as she finished cleaning and shining her instruments. A lady doctor. He was going to be married to a bloomer-wearing, freethinking, cum laude lady doctor. His mother was going to have a real corker of a fit.
Squinting, he looked at the neighborhood outside. “We’re gonna be as poor as those folks out there for a while. At least until I figure out what to do.”
The splashing stopped. Picking up a towel, she began to dry each item. “Not quite. I’ll be bringing in some extra, assuming I can find paying customers in Texas.”
“You’ll find some paying customers.” But he didn’t think it would happen right away. The folks back home had definite ideas about what a gal should and shouldn’t do. It would be a while before she won their trust and respect.
She tucked a sharp, dangerous-looking knife in her bag. “What if you were sheriff in one of those lawless towns? The ones that are out in the middle of nowhere? You know, where bad guys hide in?”
He studied her. “You’d do that for me? You’d live someplace that remote?”
“I would.” She pulled up one corner of her mouth. “Just think of all the bullet wounds I’d get to fix.”
He felt the first smile of the day begin to tug. “I think somebody’s been reading too many pulp fiction novels. We don’t have towns like that anymore, remember? The frontier is disappearing. And with it, all the outlaws. That’s why those politicians tried to shut us down.”
“Tried? Has something been resolved?”
“Nothing’s final yet, but it definitely looks like that’s not gonna happen.”
She blew out a breath. “Thank goodness for that, anyway.”
“Even still, there is no Wild West. Just normal towns with normal people who put down their stakes and call a place home.”
He shook his head. Even if there were any lawless towns left, he’d never bring his bride to one. No, the three of them would settle someplace quiet and peaceful. A place that would be good to raise a family in.
Holding her bag closed, she latched the buckle. “Well, let’s pick the rowdiest one. You can be the sheriff, establish some law and order, then keep the peace. And I can do the doctoring and patch everybody up. It’ll be our slice of paradise right in the middle of the great state of Texas.”
He knew she wanted to stay in Chicago just as much as he wanted to be a Ranger. Yet she was giving that up. For him. A man with no prospects and no job. Love for her swelled. “I think I have me a slice of paradise right here in this room.”
She ducked her head, her smile shy.
The desire that simmered just below the surface sprang to life. “I sure am looking forward to our wedding day, Billy girl.”
She looked at him. “Me, too.”
Standing, he opened the door. “Come on. We’d best get on out of here.”
DRAWING ROOM OF HULL HOUSE41
“Across town in the drawing room of Hull House, Billy Jack Tate wore a blue-and-eyelet striped gown with one feminine bow at her collar and another just above the curve of her chest.”
CHAPTER
54
News of Derry’s pardon was buried in the back of the paper. Instead, the focus of all Chicago was on the murder of their beloved mayor, Carter Harrison, just two days before the World’s Columbian Exposition was scheduled to close. Just like he had with Hunter, the mayor had opened his own door to a young stranger. Only this time, he’d invited in his murderer.
The grand celebration planned for the final day of the Exposition metamorphosed into a funeral dirge. And the fair that had hosted twenty-seven million visitors and celebrated the great advance of America quietly closed her gates on October 30, 1893, never to open them again.
Across town in the drawing room of Hull House, Billy J
ack Tate wore a bride-like, blue-and-eyelet striped gown with one feminine bow at her collar and another just above the curve of her chest. Beside her, Hunter Joseph Scott slipped his grandmother’s ring onto her fourth finger and pledged his troth.
The reverend closed his Bible. “You may now kiss the bride.”
Hooking his finger beneath her chin, Hunter gave her a tender kiss, causing an eruption of whistles, hoots, and hollers from half a dozen Texas Rangers of Company A. The men had traveled up by order of their captain to make sure Hunter received a proper send-off and to escort one Derry Maximo Molinari safely back to Texas.
Eyes bright, Derry stuck two fingers in his mouth, but only air and slobber came out. “Can you teach me to whistle like that?” he asked the large man beside him.
Reaching down, Ranger Lucious Landrum picked up the boy and tossed him across his shoulder. “You bet.”
Squealing, Derry swung his head up. “Look at me, Doc Tate! I’m taller than you.”
Hunter grabbed the boy’s nose. “The name’s Dr. Scott, son.”
Raising an arm like a conductor, Miss Addams invited everyone to the coffeehouse for refreshments. And though the bride and groom wanted to participate, they had a train to catch.
Hunter shook hands with all his comrades, thanking them for coming. “Don’t drink the coffee,” he warned under his breath. “They don’t make nothing but stump water up here.”
Billy, meanwhile, hugged the women of Hull House.
Still balancing Derry across his shoulder, Lucious rounded up the newlyweds. “You better get goin’, Fox, or you’re gonna miss your train.”
“Fox?” Billy looked at Hunter. “Why do they call you Fox?”
“Cause he’s a regular chaparral fox for smart,” Lucious said. “Graduated cum laude and everything.”
Her lips parted. “Cum laude?”
“Why sure. Didn’t he tell you? He was number one in his class at the A&M College of Texas.”
Putting her hands on her hips, she slowly faced Hunter. ‘ “Praise the laude?’ ”
Grinning, he gave her a wink. “Tell Derry good-bye, darlin’. We’ve gotta go.”
After a moment of exasperation, she walked behind Lucious and placed her hands on either side of Derry’s cheeks. “You be good and do what these men tell you, all right?”
“I will.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hunter corrected.
“Yes, ma’am,” Derry repeated.
Lifting up on tiptoe, she kissed him on the forehead. “We’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”
SLEEPING CAR42
“High above the chairs, a large panel rested against one wall. She knew it was the berth, for there’d been a sample sleeping car in the Transportation Building at the fair.”
CHAPTER
55
Billy stood in the plush Pullman sleeping car, the easy, swaying motion of the train indicating they’d left the city behind and had crossed into the Illinois prairies. Hunter had stepped out of their room to “canvass” the train, as he called it, not wanting to retire until he’d made sure all was well.
As a wedding present, the Rangers had secured them a private room on the luxurious train. Intricate carpeting, brocade draperies, and stationary upholstered chairs graced their quarters. A gas chandelier hung from the carved ceiling, and she couldn’t help but marvel at the lavishness of the wood, the colors, and the design.
High above the chairs, a large panel rested against one wall. She knew it was the berth, for there’d been a sample sleeping car in the Transportation Building at the fair and she’d watched a Pullman representative lower the bed. It had looked so easy. She felt sure she could do it.
Lifting her skirt, she stepped up onto the seat of one of the chairs and reached for a handle at the top of the panel. As she cranked it, the berth began to open up as if it were an extra-wide drawbridge. The only things suspending it at the moment were two chains on either end that ran on spring pulleys.
Lying atop the berth were two pieces of mahogany that were to serve as the bed’s ground support. Dragging one off, she teetered for a moment, then propped it up and wedged it beneath the head of the bed, sliding it in a preformed groove. Blowing a swath of hair from her face, she pulled the other piece of mahogany from the berth and repeated the steps, but at the foot of the bed.
Brushing her hands together, she studied the stationary chairs. In the demonstration, the bed linens had been behind a seat cushion. After some wiggling and a bit of manhandling, she managed to force a cushion to the side, and there they were.
Now, this she could do without difficulty.
Whipping out the sheet, she tossed it up onto the berth. It settled off center. She did it again. And again.
Botheration. She was going to have to get up there to tuck it in properly. But there was no ladder. No stool. No nothing. At least, not that she could find.
She couldn’t step on the chair cushion again because the chairs were now underneath the berth, their backs flush with the mahogany pieces she’d stuck in. Mumbling, she tossed the linen onto the bed and removed her boots.
Finally, she hiked her skirt clear up above her knee, then set her foot on the armrest of one of the chairs. Holding tightly to the edge of the berth, she pulled herself up and onto the bed.
Working quickly, she tucked the linen in against the wall, the head, and the foot. She’d tuck in the last side once she was back on the floor. She looked over the edge. It was too far to jump.
Rolling onto her stomach, she inched backward like a worm, her body making progress, her skirts and petticoats staying where they’d started. Her stocking-clad legs made it over the edge and dangled in midair. But her skirts were inside out, cocooning her upper body within their folds. Her pantalets had bunched at her thighs.
In an effort to see where the armrest was, she wiggled her feet. Nothing but open air.
She pushed herself a little lower. Still no armrest. Where was the blasted thing? Had she missed it completely?
She must have. Sighing, she closed her eyes, took a breath, and counted silently in her head.
One . . . two . . . three.
She pushed herself off and hit ground almost immediately, then her knees gave. Between her tangled skirts and the unforgiving floor, it took her a moment to orient herself.
A draft she hadn’t noticed before swirled around her. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Pulling her legs beneath her, she rocked slowly to her feet. Then turned.
Hunter stood inside the closed door, the fabric of his cassimere suit outlining his broad shoulders, trim waist, and muscular legs. He leaned with one shoulder against the wall and one ankle crossed in front of the other, showcasing his armadillo boots.
He gave her a wicked grin. “Goin’ somewhere?”
CHAPTER
56
The hiss of the gas lantern reminded her he could see everything clearly. Very clearly.
Images flashed through her mind. Her body wriggling as she inchwormed over the edge. Her skirts not following as they should. Her pantalets bunching about her thighs. Her back end clearly delineated by her position. Her lower half swinging from the berth as her toes sought out the armrest.
Heat rushed through her body. She wanted to drop through the floor. Following that urge was an overwhelming one to throw caution to the wind and launch herself into his arms.
She couldn’t decide which to do. She’d long since lost her ability to reason when he looked at her like that. She cast about for something to say. “How long have you been there?”
“Pretty much the whole time.”
She twirled her finger in her skirt, wrapping it round and round. “Why didn’t you help me?”
Lifting his chin, he scratched his jaw. “I wasn’t exactly sure what to grab.”
She bit her lip.
He surveyed her skirt as if he could see right through it. “Those weren’t the pantalets-trousers you were wearing last time. Those were . . . I like those. No
t that I didn’t like the other ones. I did. But these . . . are they new?”
She blushed. “I bought them back in May. I sort of ruined my other ones when I went through that cellar window.”
He pushed himself away from the wall. “You’ve been wearing those see-through things this whole time? Throughout the whole fair?”
She nodded.
He groaned. “Good thing I didn’t know that.”
Walking to the foot of the bed, he fastened two strong wire ropes from the upper berth to the bottom of the chair.
Leaning over, she watched him. “What are those for?”
“It keeps the berth from snapping closed and smashing us flat.”
Us. She glanced at the wide, two-person berth. He was going to be in that with her. She crossed her arms against her stomach.
He fastened the wires at the head of the bed. “The porters will make the bed for us. They also remove the linens and clean them. Every day. So, much as I enjoyed watching you, it’s really not necessary for you to do all that.”
She tucked a piece of hair up into her coif. Good heavens. She must look a fright. “I need to freshen up.”
He straightened. “Freshen up?”
“My hair’s a mess. It came all undone while I was, um . . ..” She waved her hand toward the bed.
“And you need to put it back up?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She blinked. “Why?”
His eyes darkened.
She backed up. The berth skimmed the very top of her head. Before she could sneak underneath it, he slipped his arm around her and pulled her to him.
“You don’t need to put up your hair,” he said.
“I don’t?”
“No.”
“Because you’re going to take it down?”
He kissed the pulse at her neck. “Because I’m going to take it down.”
But instead of reaching for her hairpins, he tugged a streamer at her collar loose, unraveling her bow. His lips moved up her neck to her ear.