by Linda George
“Mighty fine tea, Ma'am. Thank you kindly.”
“You're most welcome, Mr. McCabe.”
“I think we should talk about when I'll be leaving and taking Miss Kincannon to Denver.”
“All right. When are you planning to set out? Tomorrow? Rosie don't have much to take. In fact, I think she has it all fresh done up, ready to go.”
“Papa!” His telling Tom how little she owned embarrassed her to the bone. Why couldn't her father see the effect of his words and respect her feelings? He knew how she felt!
“Aw, now, Rosie, it don't make no never mind to Tom how many doodads you've got. Does it, Tom?”
“We'll take whatever Miss Kincannon wishes to take.”
“You don't have to call her Miss Kincannon all the time, neither. Just call her Rosie, like I do. Ain't that right, darlin'?”
Rosalie seized the tray, almost upsetting the cups and tea pot in her haste to leave the room. From the kitchen, she heard Tom tell her father, “We've just met. It wouldn't be proper.”
“Proper! That's a word I hear from Rosie all the time, mostly about how I'm not proper and how it wouldn't be proper. At times I get sick to death of that word. Now, you do as I say and call her Rosie, ya hear?”
Tom glanced at Rosalie, standing in the kitchen door, defeated by her father's refusal to adopt any decorum on her behalf. Tom stood and came toward her.
Her heart pounded. Could he hear it?
He said softly, “With your permission, I shall address you as Miss Rosalie. Would that be acceptable?”
Ignoring a tear trailing down her cheek, she nodded. “That would be most acceptable, Mr. McCabe.”
Chapter 3
Tom turned back to Kincannon. “While I'm in Fort Worth, I plan to visit my sister and her husband. They live about ten miles southwest of here.”
“What's the name?” Kincannon asked.
“Hart. Gabriel and Trina Hart. They're expecting their first child any day now. We haven't seen them since their wedding, last November, in Denver. I'll be staying a couple of days. When I get back, I'll arrange passage and we'll be on our way to Denver on Sunday, if that suits.”
Kincannon grinned, revealing a gap in his stained front teeth. “That'll be great, won't it, Rosie?”
“Fine. Just fine.” She picked at the antimacassar on the arm of her chair absent-mindedly.
Tom noticed Rosalie's preoccupation. “Miss Rosalie, is there something I might help you with? You seem...bothered.”
“Not bothered, Mr. McCabe. I am embarrassed to admit…”
“If it's in my power to do, it's yours.”
Her eyes grew round and her expression expectant. “I don't intend to hold you to that, but I wonder...that is...might it be possible...”
“Aw, Rosie, just spit it out. Damn, but females can be a bother when they've got something stuck in their craws.”
Rosalie straightened her shoulders. “Might it be possible for me to accompany you on your visit, Mr. McCabe? I assure you I would be no trouble at all. With your sister heavy with child, I might be of some assistance in the kitchen.” She took a deep breath, as though she'd used every ounce of air in her lungs to utter that speech.
Tom didn't hesitate. “I would be happy for you to go with me. If it's all right with your paw, of course.” He hated having to tack that on, but being proper meant worlds to this woman. He intended to see to it, for the duration of his time with her, that she got all the “proper” she wanted.
Rosalie waited, eyes down, for her father to speak.
Kincannon glanced from his daughter to Tom, then back again. “Hell, I don't care what she does. She can go if she's of a mind to, and you're willing to take her.”
If Rosalie hadn't been standing there, Tom would've told Kincannon a thing or two about respect and courtesy. Instead, he nodded and addressed Rosalie instead. “We'll leave first thing in the morning. I'll be at the El Paso if you need me before then.” He had an idea he knew would please her. “Would you care to have dinner with me this evening? I don't like eating alone.”
Kincannon boomed, “Much obliged, Mr. McCabe! Been a coon's age since I've et real steak.”
Tom considered letting it go, but changed his mind. “Begging your pardon, sir, but my invitation was intended for your daughter.” He hesitated for emphasis. “Only your daughter.”
Kincannon frowned and cleared his throat noisily. “You'll have to come back for her. I ain't hauling her all the way to the El Paso Hotel when I'm not eatin', too.”
“My pleasure.”
Her cheeks flushed with obvious pleasure as she nodded. “I'll be ready.”
Tom headed for the door, but Kincannon stopped him with another loud clearing of his throat. “Mr. McCabe?”
“Yes?”
“I expect you to have my daughter back before midnight. Can't have her gallivanting all over the city in the middle of the night. It wouldn't be...proper.” He glared at Rosalie.
Tom almost laughed in his face. “I'll have her home long before midnight. We have a long ride ahead of us tomorrow. I wouldn't think of depriving Miss Rosalie of the rest she'll need. Seven o'clock?”
She nodded.
He smiled and winked.
She caught her laughter and turned it into an answering smile.
Tom mounted and rode north, feeling especially pleased with himself. He guessed the streets had to be at least eighty feet wide, from doorway to doorway across Rusk. Rutted and rough, the road presented a precarious path for the horse, who picked his way carefully from gulley to gulley. It had been quite a spell since rain had turned the road to muck and mush. Dust choked every person brave enough to challenge the roadway. And hot! Damn, but that sun couldn't beat down any harder than it was doing now.
Raucous music, mixed with laughter, squeals, and an occasional gunshot, poured through the batwing doors of numerous saloons. Just in front of him, the doors burst outward as two cowboys were evicted from a dance hall by a giant of a man with one of his front teeth missing.
“Stay out! Come back here and you'll leave in a box.”
The men eventually pulled themselves vertical, wrapped their arms around each other, and staggered off toward another hall, none the worse for their experience, laughing and hooting, imitating their evictor.
Tom took a deep breath only when the Acre lay well behind him and the air substantially fresher. He'd have to have a buggy by six thirty. Maybe that boy would still be hanging around the hotel.
<><><><>
Rosalie couldn't believe her good luck! Visiting Mr. McCabe's sister, and going to supper with a real gentleman would be new experiences for her. What on earth did she have to wear that would be suitable for either event?
Leaving her father draped in his chair, head nodding, eyes practically closed, she went to her bedroom and examined her dresses. She'd made all three, but not one would be nice enough. What could she do in only a few hours? No time to get the fabric and sew something new. Fixing her hair would take an hour. If Paw would give her some of his folding money...
Back in the front room, she found him snoring. Her excitement over the invitation to dinner had escaped him totally. She nudged his arm. “Paw, wake up.”
“Huh?”
“I need money.”
“Money? What for?” He squirmed in the chair, trying to get more comfortable.
“A dress. I don't have anything—” She almost said proper, but overruled it. “I don’t have anything nice enough to wear tonight. Please, may I have money for a new dress? I can wear it on the train to Denver, too. You won't be buying anything for me after I leave.”
“I don't have any money! Now, leave me alone. I was up all night.” In less than a minute, he'd resumed his snoring.
She thought about the can under the floor in the bedroom. Never would she stoop to stealing. She'd managed to save a few coins during the past few months. Barely enough for one dress, and a plain one at that. Not good enough. She'd have to borrow one.
>
She considering every woman she knew who working in the nicer saloons and houses. Betsy was about her size.
Betsy, at the Waco Tap would surely sell her a dress for the few coins she had. She dressed more conservatively than most of the working girls. One of her drabbest dresses might be precisely what Rosalie needed.
Exhilaration consumed her as she walked briskly toward the saloon where Betsy worked, on the northern edge of the Acre.
<><><><>
Josh brought the buggy, drawn by a single black mare, at six fifteen, just as Tom had asked him to do. He gave the boy four bits this time.
“Thanks, Mister! You need anythin' else, you just holler.”
“I'll be back directly, then I'll be finished with it around nine. Maybe a little later. There's another two bits in it for you if you'll take care of the buggy then.”
“I'll be here!”
“Won't your mother wonder where you are?”
“Naw. We own the hotel. She wants me to help guests with whatever they need.”
“Good enough. Nine o'clock.”
The boy grinned so wide, Tom feared his face might split. He laughed and clicked his tongue at the mare.
Dressed in clean jeans and a clean shirt, he wished he'd worn his suit. He didn't want to embarrass Miss Kincannon, though, by being dressed too fancy. If her clothes matched that shack her father provided, she might not have a nice dress to her name. No matter. Her beauty didn't depend on fancy clothes.
Tom took a different route, to avoid Rusk Street after dark. It took a little longer, but paid off in fewer drunk cowboys to navigate through and less chance of catching a stray bullet coming from one of the saloons.
He pulled up outside the Kincannon house just before seven o'clock.
He'd barely knocked when the door opened. For a long moment, Tom thought the heat had gotten to him, making him see things. Rosalie wore a dainty violet dress that emphasized the incredible color of her eyes, and she'd curled her hair into a thousand ringlets, tumbling over her shoulders and down her back. She smelled of lilac toilet water.
Her expression changed from expectant to worried. “Am I dressed properly, Mr. McCabe?”
“You look like an angel,” he murmured.
She smiled her appreciation. “It's sweltering inside, but may I offer you some lemonade? Not the real thing, I'm afraid, only crystals, but still refreshing.”
“It'll be cooler at the restaurant. We can have lemonade there, if you'd like. It may not be the real thing, either, but it'll still taste good. Even after dark, this place is as hot as he—” Tom cleared his throat. “That is, it's still awfully hot.”
“In the winter, it can be bitterly cold.”
William Kincannon, nowhere to be seen, had no doubt gone back to The Rose. Tom had one goal—to get Rosalie out of the Acre into fresh, clean air as quick as he could manage it.
He offered his arm. She held it lightly, and followed him down the steps. Tom felt her tremble when he steadied her elbow to help her into the buggy. On the other side, he stepped into the seat, took the reins, slapped the mare's rump and headed back the way he'd come.
About a block down Main Street, a woman rushed into the street and up to the buggy, shouting Rosalie's name. Tom reined in the mare and stopped.
“Rosie, it's started. She's asking for you.”
“It'll be hours yet, Sadie. Tell her I'll be over after a while.”
“She's sweating something fierce.”
“Bathe her face and arms and try to keep her calm. Women have babies all the time. Give her Ladies' Mantle tea and she'll do fine. I'll have supper, then I'll be along. Tell her I'm coming, all right?”
Sadie shifted from one foot to the other. “Can't you come right now? She needs you.” She glanced at Tom with a blatantly curious expression, then back to Rosalie. “You always come in a hurry when one of the girls is ailing.”
“I've delivered a lot of babies. It'll be hours. I'll see her the minute I get back.”
“I'll tell her.” She ran back the way she'd come.
Tom urged the mare forward again.
Rosalie knew Sadie hadn't been pleased with her decision not to abandon her plans in light of this event. In the past, nothing had kept her from helping one of the girls when they needed her. Rosalie felt somewhat guilty, choosing her own pleasure over easing Mary's fear.
“What was all that about?”
“One of the girls at my father's dance hall is having a baby. She's had no problems up until now. It'll be hours before the baby comes.”
“But why is she asking for you?”
“There's no one else. The doctor usually can't be bothered with birthing a bawd's baby. Through the years, I've learned how to be midwife when they get themselves pregnant. I apologize, Mr. McCabe, for my candor. In this place, there is seldom opportunity for subtlety.”
“No need to apologize.”
“Thank you for understanding.”
Rosalie sat on the buggy seat as primly as a cultured young woman would, she hoped. Her corset, laced tightly, made it difficult to breathe, but each shallow breath she took smelled sweeter than the last, the farther they traveled from home and the Acre.
Tom broke the silence when they reached a nicer area of Fort Worth.
“I appreciate your company tonight, Miss Kincannon.”
“Thank you. I thought you were going to call me Miss Rosalie.”
“Only if you'll agree to call me Tom.”
“In that case, and seeing as how we're going to be spending several days together before we reach Denver, I think it would be...proper...for you to call me Rosalie. Just Rosalie.”
“I think I'd like that fine.”
When Tom stopped the buggy in front of Merchant's Restaurant, across from the El Paso, Josh stood waiting to take the horse's reins.
“I'll let you know when we're ready,” Tom told him.
“Yes, Sir. Just holler for Josh and I'll have the buggy here in two shakes of a coon's tail.”
Rosalie smiled, amused at his exuberance. “Thank you, Josh.”
“Yes, Ma'am. You shore are purty.” His teeth shone along with his brown eyes.
“Why thank you, kind sir.”
Josh beamed, tipping his cap to her before leading the horse and buggy away.
Tom's lips pressed together as he tried to suppress a smile, but it broke through anyway.
“Is something funny?”
He shook his head, held his arm for her again and escorted her inside.
Pleased by the attention she drew when they crossed to a table and sat down, Rosalie accepted a menu, glanced at the men still watching her around the room, then tried to concentrate on what to order. In the saloons and dance halls, most of the cowboys couldn't read, so they ordered beans and ham after staring at the menu on the wall in pretense. Rosalie had cooked washtubs full of beans and hundreds of pounds of fat ham while working at the dance hall. Tonight, she wanted nothing remotely similar to beans or ham.
Tom perused the menu, then told the waiter, “I'll have the beefsteak, rare, with boiled potatoes.”
“Same for me. Except, cook it until it doesn't bawl when I cut into it, please. Pink in the center will be just fine.” She spread the napkin over her lap.
Tom grinned, handing the menus back to the waiter.
Never in her life had Rosalie dined with an honest-to-goodness gentleman. But she'd read books and stories in the newspapers about rich people and their exquisite suppers in fine mansions. Far from being a fine mansion, Merchants' was a king’s palace compared to The Rose.
It wouldn't hurt to practice polite conversation.
“Tell me about your home in Denver, Mr. McCabe.”
“Tom, remember?”
“Tom.” She smiled and sipped some water, hoping he wouldn't see how nervous she was.
“We live on our ranch outside of Denver about four miles. We generally run a couple of thousand head, but we've had a spell of bad luck with tick fever. L
ost both of our bulls and most of our cows. Don't have more than a couple of hundred head left.”
“How awful. I'm so sorry.”
“Without a bull, there'll be no calves in the spring. But we'll be buying a new one soon. My father will be sending my brother, Will, to Lubbock to fetch him as soon as I get home.”
“You have one brother?”
“Two. Bo's the youngest. There are four of us, counting my sister, Katrina.”
“Whom we're going to see?”
“Yes.”
“Your father is a Senator, I understand.”
“Yes, Ma'am.”
“And your mother?”
“She died when Trina was born.”
“I'm sorry.”
“We've done all right.”
“I can see that.”
“Your turn.”
“Excuse me?” She stalled, wanting to change the subject if possible. She didn't want to lie about her upbringing. He'd see through her. Neither did she want to tell the truth. In her mind, she began arranging facts so they wouldn't embarrass her once spoken aloud.
“Your turn to tell me about yourself. If you want to, of course. I don't mean to pry.”
“Well, my mother died when I was twelve. I still miss her terribly.”
“She must have been a handsome woman.”
Not knowing how to reply, she smiled.
“Do you have brothers or sisters?”
“Two sisters. One of them died at birth. We called her Penelope, because that was the name Mama had chosen for a girl.”
“And your other sister?”
“She doesn't live at home anymore.” Would he press her for more details? Thankfully, the waiter arrived with their steaks and Tom didn't pursue it further.
The beefsteak, though tough, tasted heavenly. How long had it been since she'd eaten beefsteak, much less one this size? And the potatoes were cooked perfectly, not too hard, yet not mushy and falling apart. Butter dripped over them, reminding her to dab at her lips with the napkin.
“This is delicious. I had no idea I was so hungry. It's been a long time since I've had steak. That is, steak this good.” She dabbed at her lips again.