The Rails to Love Romance Collection

by Brandmeyer, Diana Lesire; Cabot, Amanda; Carter, Lisa

  Eve’s insides shriveled with fear as Doctor Callahan’s uneasy glance bounced between the sheriff and John, who stood glaring at one another while Clara appeared on the verge of tears. The thought of exchanging the comfort of her bed and the kind ministrations of Clara and John Weston for a hard cot in a jail cell filled Eve with terror.

  Dr. Callahan’s throat moved with a hard swallow. “Well—”

  “Eve isn’t going anywhere.” John crossed his arms over his chest and widened his booted stance, his gaze never leaving the sheriff’s face. “Put her in my protective custody, Sid.”

  “You can understand why I’d be reluctant to do that, John.” The sheriff’s scowl deepened.

  John glanced down, and his voice turned contrite. “Yeah, I can understand, Sid.” He met the sheriff’s gaze again, his voice hardening. “But I’m willing to take full responsibility for her and, if you like, I can get Amos Chandler over here to write up the papers all legal and proper.”

  Sheriff McCord heaved a sigh of surrender. “All right, all right.” He waved his hand. “No need to get a lawyer mixed into it yet. I’ll telegraph the Buffalo police department and see if I can get someone to come and help figure out who she is.”

  When the sheriff finally left the room with the doctor in tow, Eve allowed herself to breathe again. Her heart had swelled to watch her champion angel-man battle for her freedom. Still, it didn’t dispel the cloud of suspicion hanging over her, and she could only hope it wouldn’t bring a storm of trouble down on John and Clara.

  Three days later, with no further word from the sheriff, Eve began to relax. Surely the lawman would have returned by now if he’d found more evidence pointing to her being the New York criminal. Embezzlement. Could she have committed such a crime? She recoiled at the thought. Still, something akin to guilt scratched at her foggy brain. No! “That is not who I am!” The words burst from her lips as if saying them would make it so. Until someone provided evidence to the contrary, she’d refuse to believe herself capable of such an immoral act.

  The morning sun shining through the long narrow window on the east wall beckoned, stirring a restlessness within Eve. This room that had first felt like a sanctuary had begun to feel more like a prison.

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed, pressed her bare feet against the nubbylittle braided rug that covered the wood floor, and stood. Glad to take off the voluminous gown, she donned the pink-and-white-striped cotton frock and sturdy shoes Clara had left for her in the wardrobe.

  Downstairs, delicious aromas welcomed Eve into the kitchen, where Clara turned from tending a pan of scrambled eggs on the stove to greet her with a wide smile. The older woman’s eyes turned watery as they scanned Eve from head to foot, and a pleased expression settled on her round face. “I thought Margaret’s clothes would fit you. But are you sure you’re well enough to be up?”

  “I’m perfectly fine.” Eve returned Clara’s smile. “The room is lovely, and the bed is comfortable, but three days confined to them are enough. Besides, I’m sure you have plenty to do without waiting on me hand and foot.”

  “You are no trouble, dear.” Lines at the corners of Clara’s eyes crinkled with her smile. “To tell you the truth, I’ve enjoyed having another woman around here again.”

  “Who is Margaret?” Eve worried that the owner of the clothes she was wearing might not approve of Clara loaning them out. As she considered who this Margaret might be, a thought struck, causing an uncomfortable feeling to twist in her middle. Perhaps John had a wife somewhere.

  “Margaret was my daughter—Matthew’s mother. We lost her to a ruptured appendix five years ago.” Giving a telltale sniff, Clara busied herself with the pan of eggs on the stove.

  Gratitude bubbled up in Eve, causing unexpected tears to spring into her eyes. Despite Clara’s claim to the contrary, Eve had no doubt that she’d been more trouble than company for the older woman, and now to learn that Clara had given Eve her dead daughter’s clothes felt overwhelming. “I can’t thank you enough for taking me in.” She glanced down at her skirt. “And for everything you’ve done for me.”

  “Ah pshaw!” Clara crossed to Eve and gave her a warm hug. “If Margaret was here, she’d have given you the clothes herself. Besides, we’ve done nothing more than what our Lord and Savior expects from us. ‘For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in. …’” She went back to tend her skillet. “ ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.’ ”Clara gave an emphatic nod. “I wouldn’t want to stand before my Lord on Judgment Day and have to answer when He asks why I turned Him away.” Her smile returned. “And I know John feels the same way.”

  Eve quirked a weak smile. Clara’s words had sounded like Bible verses of some kind, but nothing about the quote struck her as familiar. A sick feeling curdled in her belly. A criminal would not be especially religious.

  Shaking off the disconcerting thought, she took in the neat little farmhouse kitchen with its stone sink, wood-fired range, and sturdy-looking wood oval table and chairs. Had she ever worked in a kitchen like this one? Again, nothing seemed familiar, and no remembered kitchen skills sprang to mind.

  Another prick of dismay. Would a fugitive bank robber have enough money to eat all her meals at restaurants? Eve gave herself a mental shake. She must stop thinking in those terms. Until Sheriff McCord returned with more substantial proof of any wrongdoing by her, she would simply consider herself a guest of the Westons. Besides, Clara and John apparently believed that the charity they showed her bought them some measure ofcredit from the deity. Still, that didn’t negate Eve’s responsibility to earn her keep while she was here. “What can I do to help, Clara?”

  Clara glanced over at a short wooden cabinet. “You could fetch the slab of bacon from the icebox and slice some down to go with these eggs.”

  Eve crossed the room to the icebox and opened it. The July day had already turned warm, and the immediate coolness of the open icebox felt delicious. If this was a common experience for her, wouldn’t she remember it? The past three days—the only days she remembered—had been filled with such questions. So far, most of her experiences here had felt unfamiliar. She stared into the icebox, knowing she’d found yet another one.

  “It’s that bundle wrapped in brown paper.” Clara moved the frying pan to the back of the stove and walked to the icebox. When she reached in and brought out the wrapped meat, Eve felt useless.

  “I’m sorry to be such a dolt.”

  “Pshaw. You’re no such thing, dear.” Clara carried the package to a wooden cupboard near the stove and gave Eve an encouraging smile. “It’s not easy for anyone to find their way around a strange kitchen. I’m sure I’d be lost in your kitchen, too.”

  While the two worked together making breakfast, Clara’s comment churned in Eve’s mind, sparking a barrage of troubling questions. Did she have a kitchen? In what kind of home had she lived? Did she have a husband? Children? Her throat tightened at the thought of loved ones at home grieving her loss. She glanced at her left hand as she reached into the oven with a quilted square of cloth to retrieve a pan of golden-brown biscuits, and the tightness in her throat loosened. No ring adorned her hand. At least she was likely single.

  A few minutes later, she felt not only relief, but gladness at that thought when John entered the kitchen. Warmth that had nothing to do with the kitchen stove suffused her face at the sight of her angel-man. His blue chambray shirtsleeves, damp from washing up, were rolled up to his elbows, exposing muscular forearms. Arms that had held her against his strong, warm chest.

  Eve shoved the thought away. However attracted she might be to John Weston, until she knew who she was, nothing could come of it.

  “Well, look who’s up.” A wide grin marched across John’s handsome face as his gaze fastened onto Eve. “It’s good to see you on your feet. How are you feeling?”

  “Better.” So
mehow Eve managed to murmur the word even as the sight of her angel-man sucked the air from her lungs. She hadn’t seen him since he left with the doctor and sheriff three days ago. Had she always acted this silly and giddy around handsome men? Deep inside, she didn’t think so.

  “Good. That’s good.” His eyes remained fixed on hers. They seemed to melt into hers, as if he were trying to peer into her soul. Was he attempting to discern a smudge there, an indelible stain like Hester’s scarlet letter? Odd that she could recall Hawthorne’s acclaimed novel yet could not remember when or where she had read it.

  Even as her brain churned with these thoughts, Eve stood transfixed, unable to move or speak until Clara handed her a plate of biscuits, breaking the spell of John’s gaze.

  “John, go tell Matthew to hurry and get washed up, or he’ll miss breakfast.” Clara forked strips of fried bacon onto the platter of scrambled eggs.

  John grinned and left the kitchen, leaving Eve feeling bereft.

  Her joy returned a few minutes later when he walked through the door again, with Matthew close behind.

  When they gathered around the table, Eve’s heart quickened as John pulled out a chair for her and his hand grazed her shoulder. His every look, every touch, set her heart dancing. However she might have acted around men before, she must rein in her obviously untamed emotions for her good as well as for John’s.

  Her unspoken vow had scarcely formed in her mind when John, who’d taken a seat beside her, took her hand in his and obliterated her vow with his touch.

  “Shall we pray?” He bowed his head and closed his eyes, as did Clara, who took Eve’s other hand and that of young Matthew.

  Eve bowed her head. It felt odd. Ignoring the awkwardness of the situation, she let herself become lost in her angel-man’s deep, resonant voice without focusing on the words of his prayer: an expression of thanks for the day, the food, and Eve’s recovery, including a petition for her full healing.

  When John finished his prayer with a strong “Amen,” which Clara echoed, he let go of Eve’s hand. She experienced the same sense of loss she’d felt earlier when he left the kitchen.

  “So what is it like not to know who you are?” Matthew looked across the table at Eve with innocent brown eyes as he fingered a piece of bacon.

  Clara emitted a tiny gasp followed by a whispered “Matthew James!”

  Eve didn’t dare look at John, but judging by the flash of alarm on Matthew’s face when he looked at his older cousin, her angel-man’s expression was less than approving. For her part, Eve regarded the boy’s question as more honest than rude. It deserved an honest answer.

  “Odd. I’d say it makes me feel odd.” Digging her fork into her scrambled eggs, she smiled. “At first I felt lost and scared, but you, your grandmother, and cousin have made me feel safe.”

  “So you don’t remember if you robbed that bank like Sheriff McCord said?” The inquisitive youngster leaned forward, expectation shining in his eyes.

  “That’s enough, Matt.” The stern tone in John’s quiet voice set Matthew back in his chair.

  For once, Eve ignored John. “No. I don’t think I did. At least, I don’t want to think I did.”

  “I’m sorry, Eve.” Regret, dismay, and embarrassment mingled together in John’s voice. “Matthew meant no harm.” His voice took on a harder edge. “Sometimes his curiosity gets the best of him.” He turned his attention to Matthew. “Don’t you remember what we talked about this morning in the barn?”

  “Baseball?”

  Eve stifled a giggle.

  “No, Matt. The other thing we talked about.”

  “Oh.” Matthew looked down at his plate. When he looked back up at Eve, his expression had turned contrite. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, Eve.” Now his brown eyes looked hopeful. “I didn’t hurt your feelings, did I?”

  Eve grinned. “Of course you didn’t hurt my feelings, Matthew.” She shrugged. “Who knows who I am? Perhaps I am an embezzler, or a royal princess, or even a lady baseball player if there is such a thing.” She paused to pour cream from a little pitcher into her coffee. How do I know I like cream in my coffee? The thought wiped the smile from her face for an instant, but she forced it back. “I suppose the good thing about not knowing who you are is that you can be whoever you want to be.”

  John made an odd throat-clearing sound, and she sensed him tense beside her. Despite his efforts to keep her out of jail, was he beginning to suspect her of being the New York fugitive? The thought pricked her heart. She needed to change the subject.

  “So, Matthew, do you have a favorite baseball team?”

  Matthew brightened up. “The Chicago Colts, of course.”

  The conversation turned to baseball until three sharp raps at the kitchen door intruded. When John went to answer it, Sheriff McCord’s voice traveled into the room.

  “I need to talk to the woman from the train wreck.”

  Chapter Four

  The protective instinct that had spiked in John toward Eve at the breakfast table shot up another notch as he looked into the sheriff’s unreadable expression. “Have you discovered something about Eve’s identity, Sid?” The sound of chair legs scraping against the floor told him the others had left the table. He sensed Eve’s presence behind him.

  “No. We even went through every piece of luggage in the baggage car but found nothing we couldn’t link to other passengers.” Disappointment tinged Sid’s tone, but his chin lifted in a determined jut. John had seen the sheriff’s stubborn streak enough to know that, like a bulldog with a rabbit in its jaws, the lawman wouldn’t let go of this case until he got a resolution. That thought brought both comfort and consternation.

  “Come on in, Sid.” Aunt Clara’s bright voice chimed in from the center of the room. “Would you like some breakfast and coffee?”

  Sid dragged his hat from his balding pate and quirked an apologetic smile over John’s shoulder. “Thanks, Clara, but my Ethyl fed me.” The smile vanished as his gaze slid down to Eve, now at John’s side. “I just came from the school where they took some of the injured from the train wreck. A patient there remembers seeing someone that fits your description, ma’am.” He glanced at his hands, fingering his gray fedora, and the edges of his gruff voice softened. “I was thinking that if you talked to the gentleman, it might help to bring back your memory.”

  “Yes. Yes, I would like that.” The eager hope in Eve’s voice pricked John’s heart, and his desire to protect her shot up again.

  Without thinking, he put his arm around Eve’s narrow shoulders. “Are you sure you’re up to this, Eve? Doc told me that some of the injuries are… really bad.” He gazed into her crystal blue eyes brimming with all the trust and expectation of a child on Christmas morning and fought the urge to pull her against him.

  “Yes.” Her shoulders straightened beneath his arm, and her chin lifted in a courageous tilt. “If there’s a chance that someone from the train knows who I am, I have to try.”

  “Okay.” John took his arm from her shoulder because if he didn’t, he’d wrap her in an embrace, and that wouldn’t do. He couldn’t deny the attraction he felt for Eve. Now, a growing respect equaled that attraction. Whoever this girl was, he wanted to know her better.

  A brick building with a bell tower came into view, and Eve’s insides twisted. The excitement she’d felt a half hour earlier when she’d agreed to this visit evaporated. She sucked in a ragged, involuntary breath and leaned toward John on the wagon seat beside her. What if she found family members? The thought of adding to an injured loved one’s agony by not recognizing him or her pressed down on her heart like a weight.

  “You don’t have to do this, you know.” John’s gentle voice as he reined the horse to a halt in front of the building almost undid Eve’s resolve.

  The temptation to tell him to turn the wagon around and head back to the farmhouse rose with the lump in her throat. She swallowed it down. Whatever unpleasantness she might face inside this building was worth t
he chance of learning her identity. “Yes I do, John. I have to know who I am.”

  John nodded, and a tiny smile lifted the corner of his mouth. A look of wonder and something else Eve was not prepared to name shone in his hazel-green eyes before he jumped down from the wagon.

  When he reached up and helped her down, Eve stood for a long moment with his strong hands around her waist. Their gazes locked, and for an instant, she thought he might kiss her. Instead, he put his arm around her back and turned her toward the school. “I’ll be with you every step. And any moment you want to head back home, we’ll do that.”

  Not trusting her voice, Eve nodded. She drew in another fortifying breath, gathered her courage along with the folds of her cotton skirt, and headed up the grassy embankment.

  Sheriff McCord, who had driven ahead in his buggy, met them at the door. Something akin to compassion flashed across the man’s craggy features, and he held out a folded square of white cloth. “It doesn’t smell real nice in there. You might want to hold this handkerchief over your nose.”

  Eve shook her head. “Thank you, but the people in there feel bad enough. I don’t want to do anything to make them feel worse.”

  Two steps into the building, Eve questioned her decision to reject the sheriff’s offer. A wave of foul odors smacked her in the face, and she fought the urge to gag. Rows of canvas cots covered the space devoid of desks. Only the bookcases lining the walls interspersed with pictures of George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, and other past presidents evidenced this as a place of learning.

  “Breathe through your mouth.” John’s whispered advice and the comforting strength of his hand on Eve’s back gave her the ability to keep her breakfast down and the courage to forge ahead.

  Sheriff McCord stepped to Eve’s other side. “There’s a fellow here who might have talked to you on the train. A drummer of some sort, I think.” The lines in the sheriff’s forehead furrowed deeper. “Poor feller lost a leg. They took it yesterday, so I’m not real sure if he’ll be in much shape to talk. Doc’s got him on a heavy dose of laudanum.”