A Bride For Brynmor (Songbird Junction Book 1)

by Jacqui Nelson

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?” He grimaced. Echoing her words made him sound little better than a parrot. His ability to banter had flown to the far heavens.

  “For always wanting to help me. Even after I snap at you for doing so. Even when you have your own challenges clamoring for your attention. Like this…” She stared out the window as if seeking the right words as well. “What is it called? Junction Town?”

  “It’s too small to be a town and too new to have a name. For now, it’s simply the junction.” He reached for his lamb, ready to do his part again.

  She shook her head. “I’ll hold them so you’ll have both hands free to jump off at the junction. And back on, too. Don’t go bashing into any more walls.”

  He snorted a laugh. “I’ll try.”

  “You’d better do more than that. I don’t want you getting hurt again.” She reached out to touch his shoulder, the one he’d bumped against the train while getting on. “I want—” Her hand and her gaze plummeted to the lambs.

  He leaned toward her but stopped short of touching her as well. He set his elbows on his knees and let his hands hang in the space separating them. “What do you want?”

  She exhaled a long breath full of melancholy but also mischief. “To hear what you’ll say when you give Barnum and Bailey to your brother-in-law and sister.”

  “Who are Barnum and Bailey?”

  “They’re famous circus showmen that I read about. And, since trying to hold onto two lively lambs probably feels like containing a circus sometimes, I figured they were excellent names for these little ones.” When she scratched both Barnum and Bailey behind their ears, they wriggled in bliss, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

  His worries over his words, what to say and not say, vanished. Lark had never judged him, and speaking about everything and nothing with her was a routine he was eager to resume. Their time in Cheyenne suddenly seemed like yesterday, not hundreds of days ago. All too soon, the train began to slow.

  No. He’d imagined it. They weren’t nearing his stop. He still had time to—

  At the other end of their railcar, Caleb’s arrival announced his departure. “We’re making a short stop to let one man off. There’s nothing outside worth seeing, so stay inside. If you disembark, you’ll be left behind. You’ll freeze your toes off waiting for the next train. And it won’t be here until tomorrow, going in the opposite direction, heading back to Denver.”

  Despite the dire warning, Lark smiled. “When there’s work to be done, I can’t imagine you standing still long enough to suffer even a nip of frostbite.”

  “If I stayed at the junction till the next train arrived, I wouldn’t stop until I had the office set up and enough wood chopped to warm myself for a fortnight.” He shook his head. “Not me. The attendant. The one I should’ve picked rather than trusting the railroad.” A rush of certainty made him sit up straight. “That’s the answer.”

  “What is?”

  “Get the junction ready, then choose the next man myself.”

  “After you find out what happened to the first one.”

  He slumped back on his seat. “Yes, after I do that. And everything else.”

  “You’ll succeed. Of that I’ve no doubt. Your junction will become a thriving part of the business you’ve worked so hard to build. It’s only unfortunate you must tackle today’s endeavor alone.”

  But he wouldn’t be alone for long. He had family at both ends of the line. While she had no idea where her sisters were or if she’d ever see them again. “After I search the junction, we can—” The chances of them being a we were diminishing. He didn’t want to set one foot off this train.

  “Better hurry.” Her voice turned husky as she said in a rush, “Or you won’t make it back to tell me what your investigation reveals.” She faced the window, and her lips formed a thin line.

  He knew that look. She was determined not to say another word.

  He covered the distance to the rear door in two strides. Outside, he braced himself on the step. The frosty wind whipped his face, but not his scalp or his ears—thanks to a fine sheep and an even finer brother-in-law who’d transformed a ball of yarn into a much-needed cap. Max and Robyn would take good care of Lark, but he wanted to be the one to do the caring. He shook his head at his selfish thoughts.

  You haven’t the luxury to do everything you want.

  When the train slowed just enough, he leapt off. He hit the bank running, straight for the junction’s single lodging, an abandoned cabin only discovered by chance when the track was laid nearby.

  If the junction survived, a new building would be needed, closer to the tracks and double, or even triple, in size. The snow lay heaped against the cabin’s sturdy but rustic log walls, climbing higher with each gust of wind.

  A flurry came inside with him. He slammed the door shut to clear his sightline.

  Not that he needed to see very far. The room was small and square and empty of human life. It was, however, still full of the crates and sacks he’d left with the attendant.

  He threaded his way through the freight. Easily. Nothing had been unpacked or even opened. No personal items lay scattered about either.

  He pressed his palm to the potbelly stove. Stone cold.

  Inspired by Lark’s letter leaving at the music shop, he searched for a note. Which turned out to be another waste of his time. People left letters when they cared. This man most certainly did not. His assumption made him sigh.

  You know precious little about the man. So stop being judgmental.

  He reviewed the room one last time and ended up facing the back door.

  What if the attendant had hurt himself outside and hadn’t been able to make it back inside?

  He yanked open the door and stepped into pristine snow disturbed only by his footprints and the tip of a wooden handle. Hellfire! The man had left an axe on the ground where someone might’ve stepped on it?

  He grabbed the handle and whacked the blade into the nearest block of wood. The man wouldn’t have had to go far to put it there. The meager hump of wood stacked against the back of the cabin spoke of more idleness. So did the cords hidden under the snow. He stubbed his toes on several as he made his way around the back of the cabin, examining the trees for a clue to where the attendant might have gone.

  The steam whistle shattered the hushed stillness. His time was up.

  He sprinted toward the train, gazing down its length in pursuit of the last railcar. The spot where he’d hop back on and see Lark again.

  Behind the engine, the wood tender was stacked high with fuel. The link between it and the first passenger car was occupied as well. A man shrouded from shoulder to shin in a bulky coat drew back, disappearing in the shadow of the wood car. The swiftness of his departure made the white in his dark hair flash. The coloring marked him as Ulysses T. Stone.

  “Son of a trickster,” Brynmor growled. “That’s where you’ve been hiding?”

  The train chugged forward. He raced for Lark’s railcar and leapt onto the platform behind it. Holding tight to the railing, he leaned out as far as he could and locked his gaze on the forward cars. He forced himself not to blink. He waited to see if Ulysses would show himself again.

  No one of any description appeared. They were all headed to Noelle. And after they got there? Perhaps Lark shouldn’t stay in Noelle. Not with Ulysses there and him having to return to Denver. After they delivered Barnum and Bailey, she should come home with him.

  The railcar door burst open. With a lamb clutched in each arm, Lark ran straight for him. Her eyes wide. Her face ghostly pale.

  Dread iced his veins. “What’s wrong?”

  “Come with me.” She thrust Barnum into his arms and jumped off the train.

  He tightened his grasp on the lamb and leapt after her. He hadn’t a hope of catching her and halting her fall. Heck, he’d be lucky if he didn’t land flat on his face.

  Lark’s feet hit the ground without a mishap. She didn’t
even stumble. Astoundingly, neither did he.

  But why had she jumped? Who was chasing her? Where was Caleb? When he glanced back at the train, he found the conductor standing in the doorway that Lark had practically flown through.

  “Don’t blame him.” Lark words hit him with the wind. “I ordered him to open the door for me.”

  With the train now picking up speed as it continued down the track away from them, it was hard to see, but Caleb’s expression appeared as confused as Brynmor felt. The young man raised his hand and gave him a brisk salute.

  The jaunty farewell did nothing to slow the thundering beat of his heart.

  The train rounded the bend and was gone.

  When he turned in search of Lark, she was gone as well. But the door to the cabin stood wide open.

  Chapter 3

  Brynmor hovered in the cabin doorway, gaping at her as if she’d gone mad.

  She wanted him to think well of her, but not at the expense of his wellbeing. “Mr. Court told me he’d seen something odd. And I—” She struggled for the word to describe the oddness of what had happened to her. She hugged Bailey tighter. “I panicked.”

  Brynmor’s eyebrows rose even higher. She had trouble comprehending it as well. The moment he’d left, a coldness had invaded her. But as she’d watched him return, her fear had chilled her to the bone.

  That had to be insanity.

  When she shivered, he closed the door, handed her Barnum, and went straight to the stove. “Until I get the fire going, hold them close. You’ll conserve heat together.”

  She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, trying to warm up that way as well. Why was it so much colder here than in Denver? It’s just the elevation, silly. You’re in the mountains. This is nothing new.

  But being alone in a tiny room with Brynmor was.

  The stove’s hinges squeaked, wood clunked against metal, and a match hissed. Against that industrious clatter, Brynmor’s voice flowed like a calming brook as he asked, “What happened after Court shared his odd story?”

  “I told him I had to get off the train, that I was afraid for my safety.” She sucked in a breath and then blurted, “He’d seen Ulysses.”

  Brynmor nodded but didn’t raise his gaze from the stove. “He must’ve seen him as he made his way forward to speak with the engineer about our stop.”

  “How did you know?” She pressed her cheeks against both lambs, taking comfort in their soft wool and warmth. “Did you see Ulysses as well?”

  “Only from a distance. Did Court question him? What excuse did Ulysses make for not being in a passenger car?”

  “He’d been sickened by the sight of something and needed fresh air.” Those words usually meant he suffered from a severe case of yearning to trounce someone.

  Brynmor huffed. “The air’s not so fresh behind an engine’s smokestack.”

  “That’s what Mr. Court said. Then Ulysses presented his ticket with an aggressiveness that didn’t suit anyone, ill or not. Luckily their conversation ended there.” Her stomach still rolled with fear for the young conductor who’d shown her kindness. Ulysses had bragged many times about throwing men who’d displeased him under moving trains.

  “What happened next?”

  “I didn’t want to face his anger again so I jumped.” She pressed her lips tight, ending her story there. Let him think she had been most afraid for herself.

  “Or…” Brynmor doffed his wool cap and raked his finger through his hair. The soft glow from the growing fire turned the thick auburn waves even redder. “You didn’t want me to face him again.”

  She’d accomplished that. Her stubbornly helpful Welsh giant was safe. And without her near him, Mr. Court hopefully was safe as well.

  Her shivers lessened, and her bravado returned. She raised her chin. “Or I never liked watching from the wings. Now I can see what you discovered in this cabin.”

  “You’ll see nothing.” His long sigh left a ghostly trail in the air. “The attendant’s belongings are gone. He didn’t even stay long enough to make a dent in the food supplies we’d left him.”

  “Good news. He left with intent, and there’s no need to search for him. You can stay here.” With me.

  He grabbed several blankets from a nearby stack and arranged them on the floor by the stove.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making a nest for our lambs.”

  Our. Her heart thudded as she savored the silent echo in her soul. “How cozy,” she murmured, trying not to appear undone by a single word. When she placed Barnum and Bailey on their bed, her arm brushed Brynmor’s, and her body flushed with heat.

  “Everything in here is snug,” he muttered as he stepped back to give her room. Or at least tried.

  She set the bag—that she’d slung over her shoulder before bolting from the train—on the floor, took out two bottles of milk, and handed one to Brynmor. They both knelt to feed the suddenly very wiggly lambs.

  Barnum and Bailey’s eagerness to guzzle every drop consumed her attention. They rocked forward and back, bouncing against the bottles as they enjoyed their feast. Their darling eyes widened, their impish tails wagged, and their spindly legs quivered. When they finished, they flopped down on their bed and curled up close to each other, becoming one enticingly fluffy ball of wool.

  No matter how cute, she couldn’t stare at them all night. She turned her gaze to the clutter in the cabin so she wouldn’t be tempted to stare at Brynmor all night as well.

  “If you see a feed sack,” he said, “let me know. When Barnum and Bailey wake up, they might enjoy some ground corn.”

  The corner of a familiar shape caught her eye. She wound her way through the freight to get a better look. “Of all the things to have in an office, and one this size, why is a piano here?”

  “Forgot about that.” His gaze fell to his hands twisting his cap like they needed to keep busy. He shoved the hat in his pocket and opened the nearest crate and began removing items. “Our hired man insisted on it.”

  “You bought a piano for him? Why?”

  “Because he spoke about music the way you did.” He shrugged. “Guess it wasn’t as important as he said.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That…” He kept working as he pondered the answer. “Silence is deafening, and music speaks volumes.”

  “All that effort to accommodate him and he still abandoned his post?” She lifted the fallboard, pressed several keys, and grimaced. “Out of tune.” She snuck a peek at him and longed to tease the frown from his brow. “Maybe that’s why your man left.”

  When his shoulders hunched, she regretted her words. He looked like the unhappy bear she’d compared him to when he’d found her talking to the conductor. “If you knew, I have no doubt you’d have arranged its repair quickly.”

  “I would’ve brought Mrs. Fitzpatrick here.” He heaved one of his all too familiar sighs as he studied the room. “If she were agreeable. This isn’t going to be a comfortable place for you to stay.”

  “Are you the same man who said he could set up this office in a—?”

  “I’m too distracted.” He stopped unloading the crate. The contents had gone from neatly stacked inside to a jumble on the floor.

  “By thoughts of Ulysses? We’re free of him until the train returns tomorrow. He’s headed to Noelle without us.”

  “How do you know he’s not jumping off somewhere along the line?”

  “He won’t. Not at full steam or even as a train is picking up speed. Nearly broke his ankle doing that. Even Ulysses has his weaknesses.”

  “Good to know.” His voice rumbled with relief, but not for long. “And when he doesn’t see us get off in Noelle?”

  “He’ll assume we’re hiding and scour the train and then the town. We should warn your sister. We’ll telegraph Noelle.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “Why? Outside there’s a pole with wires and inside—” She reviewed the room until understanding ma
de her halt. “Is the telegraph machine in one of these crates?” she asked, hopefully.

  He did a quick search. “In here.” He tapped the top of one. “But finding it doesn’t help much because I haven’t a clue how to use it.”

  “Our missing man had those skills?”

  He shrugged. “So he said.”

  “Well, Mr. Court will tell Robyn and the Peregrines where we are. A real conversation is as good as any highfalutin’ wires.”

  “Highfalutin’?” His scowl vanished. The strength of his grin made her heart skip a beat. “You sound like Grandpa Gus.”

  “Why thank you,” she said primly, trying to conceal how much she enjoyed making him smile. “Gus is an open-minded man, a compassionate soul, and a patient teacher.” There’d been a dearth of all three at the orphanage. She pried her thoughts away from her sour past and fixed them on the sassy sweetness in one man. “Gus is…the grandfather I always dreamed of having.”

  “Me too.”

  Brynmor had been only a boy when life had made him the eldest in his family. As far as she could see, he’d been an exceptionally fine father figure for his siblings, but it couldn’t have been easy.

  She had to clear the tightness from her throat before she could speak. “I enjoyed working with Gus in Noelle.”

  “And Robyn and Max enjoyed knowing you were keeping Gus occupied.” Brynmor studied the room as if it confused him as much as it might have muddled their elderly friend. “Setting up this office isn’t going to be as easy as I said. Like Gus, my mind’s gone wandering.” He moved to peer out the window. He didn’t have to go far. “It’ll be dark soon. I’ll have to go out and fix the woodpile.”

  If she were Oriole, she’d spend her time inside trying to fix the piano. After meeting Mrs. Fitzgerald, Oriole had become obsessed with repairing instruments. A hard trade to learn without an instructor.

  Since leaving Ulysses, Lark had found quite a few people willing to teach her new things. What kind of teacher would Brynmor be? He’d been a fine student. Showing him how to dance had been remarkably easy and thoroughly enjoyable.