Forever in Texas

by Jodi Thomas

  His huge hands handled the cups with care as he poured tea and placed a hard biscuit on each saucer.

  “May I have an extra biscuit?” she asked, knowing the question was probably impolite.

  He handed her the tin box with MARYLAND’S BEST printed in blue on all four sides. She’d seen boxes like this before, set high on the general store shelf, out of reach and out of the price range of most folks.

  Hannah wiped her hands on the cotton shirt she wore and tried to take one cookie with the proper amount of slowness. Hunger made her task impossible. She had three biscuits in her mouth when she looked up into his eyes.

  “When we warm up a little,” he began, trying hard to make his statement casual, “I could cook you up some eggs. Breakfast is about the only meal I can cook that’s worth eating.”

  Warmth spread across her cheeks. “Thank you, but the tea is fine.” Silently, she tried to calculate how many more biscuits she could eat before he’d comment.

  He glanced away as though he’d read her mind and didn’t want her to think he was noticing.

  “Where are you from, Hannah Wright—if that truly is your name?” His voice was low, almost conversational.

  “Originally, New Orleans,” she answered between bites. “My father and mother are dead.” So far she’d told the truth. At least as much as she knew. Chances were her father was dead by now. According to what her mother told her, he wished they were. “You married, Mr. Colston? If that really is your name?”

  Ford glanced at her and smiled, a wide grin that made his face soften slightly.

  “My name’s Sanford, but I can’t remember ever being called that by anyone but my sister, Gavrila. Everyone else calls me Ford. I’ve lived all my adult life near this settlement. My dad was one of the first Methodists to buy land here. But I never lived in town. I’ve been on my own since I was fifteen. Made enough money hauling buffalo bones to Wichita Falls to buy my own spread.”

  “But why here?”

  “My dad preached in half the towns in Tennessee. When he remarried, I think he wanted to start a new life, and Saints Roost sounded grand. I followed but lived on my own. My stepmother used to say I looked like I was half-wild, and she didn’t like being around me much.”

  “You haven’t answered my question.” Hannah liked the openness about this man. He talked as though there were nothing in his life he wouldn’t tell even a stranger, for he had nothing to hide.

  “No, I’m not married. Even if I wanted to be, which I don’t, it wouldn’t be easy finding a woman who wants to live way out here.”

  He glanced away from her, into the fire, then quickly changed the subject. “How about you? Are you married?”

  “No,” she answered, remembering Jude Davis’s proposal. He’d been a regular at the café on weekends, but he’d never really said much to anyone except Hickory until the night he asked her to marry him. When she’d said yes, he’d commented to everyone that a wife was cheaper than hiring a cook. She’d been hurt, but decided she’d have her own house and her own kitchen. That was enough to ask for in life. It was more than her mother had ever had.

  Cramming two more cookies into her mouth, she added, “I don’t plan to ever settle down in one place long enough to watch the seasons change. I’m getting out of Texas as soon as I can.” The memory of the last evening she and Jude had together crossed her thoughts. He’d been in the café earlier that last night, hardly saying a word to her even when she’d patted him on the shoulder. But when she’d walked out the back door toward her room, he’d been waiting in the shadows. Without warning he’d grabbed a fistful of her hair and twisted until she felt the roots give. You’d better remember something tomorrow after we’re married, she remembered him saying. Never touch me in public, but in private you’d best be willing to do anything I say.

  Hannah forced the memory aside. Jude was dead now; there was no use still being afraid of him. “I’ll never marry,” she said with determination. “Never!”

  “That’s understandable in your line of work,” Ford answered as he stretched long, powerful legs in front of him before once more crossing them.

  Hannah tried to figure out if he was joking or serious. She’d have to tell him far too much if she tried to explain why she had stolen his clothes—so much that it might put his life in danger. Hannah knew there were too many questions she couldn’t answer, even if she had someone to tell her story to. She’d seen a murder, but had no idea what had caused Harwell’s men to be so angry at Jude and Hickory. Even if she stayed alive long enough to testify, it would just be her word against theirs.

  “I’ll take you back to the train as soon as the weather clears.” He drained his cup in one swallow. “In proper clothes, you should be able to travel out of Texas and maybe start a life without crime somewhere else.”

  “What’s the hitch?” Except for her mother, no one had ever helped her without wanting something in return. “Why aren’t you turning me in? You’re a preacher’s son. Isn’t there some scripture about not stealing?”

  Ford slung his wet hair out of his eyes. “No catch. And I’m a preacher’s son, not a preacher. You can mail me back the money as soon as you’re on your feet.” He couldn’t answer her second question. There was no arguing that the right thing to do was to turn her over to the authorities. He was probably the hundredth person she’d robbed or stolen from. But he wanted no part of locking her away.

  Hannah suddenly felt she owed this man a great deal. Not because he could have turned her in at the depot and didn’t, but because he treated her like she was something more than trash. Occasionally she’d seen a man treat a woman like she was delicate and treasured, but no one had ever acted that way toward Hannah.

  Lifting the towel from his shoulders, she ordered, “Take off your shirt.”

  With one eyebrow raised slightly, he studied her cautiously. “Not again?”

  Hannah couldn’t stop the laughter. “No.” She giggled. “If you’ll take off that wet shirt, we could let it dry close to the fire, and I could towel your hair.”

  He hesitated.

  “Come on, Ford Colston. It’s not as if I haven’t seen you bare to the waist before.”

  Suddenly both eyebrows went up as he stared at her with bottomless blue-gray eyes before unbuttoning his shirt. She couldn’t read his thoughts, but she guessed he was thinking about last night…about the way she’d robbed him and how she’d kissed him afterward.

  Hannah tried to ease the tension. “I’ll let you ask all the questions you like while I keep you from catching your death.” She knew she sounded like an overprotective mother, but didn’t care. She wanted to be near him again and this was the only way she could think of doing so. “Only consider the possibility I robbed you for no reason at all. It was just something I had to do, like some folks have to steal a bite from the candy counter at the mercantile.”

  He draped his shirt over the empty chair facing the rocker she sat in and resumed his place on the floor in front of the fire. The golden light danced off his shoulders, reminding her of a statue rather than a flesh-and-blood man.

  Kneeling behind him, she covered his hair with the towel.

  Ford leaned his head back and sighed as she continued to rub the warm cloth against his thick brown hair. “Why’d you tell Smith you were the schoolteacher? You could be in Indian territory by now if you’d stayed with the train. Or even into Kansas City.”

  Hannah thought of saying she was out of money and the ticket only went to that stop, but she knew that wasn’t the answer. “I liked the sound of a place called Saints Roost. It sounded like heaven.”

  “It’s not,” he whispered from beneath the towel. “The rules are hard and fast here, with no tolerance for even a hint of anything improper. Sometimes I think half the town is made up of preachers, or retired preachers eager to pass on their prelearned sermons.”

  “Then why do you stay?” She’d stopped rubbing and pulled the towel to his shoulders. Absently, she moved her
hands into his hair and straightened the mahogany mass with her fingers.

  “It’s as good a place as any for a man like me,” he answered, turning toward her but not meeting her gaze.

  “A man like you?” She could see a loneliness in his eyes. Hannah had met all kinds of men in her life, but had no idea what he was talking about. To her, a man who owned more than one house was surely a rich man, and as a preacher’s son, he must be respected.

  “Never mind.” He pulled away from her, mentally more than physically. “Answer me one more question—and I want the truth, for I’ll only ask it once. Whichever way you answer I’ll still help you make that train in a few hours.”

  “All right.” Her fingers stopped moving through his hair, but she didn’t lean away.

  “Did you kill anyone or commit some other horrible crime?”

  “You mean besides robbing you?”

  He twisted slightly to look at her more closely. “Yes, besides robbing me.”

  She started to say never, then paused. Finally, he faced her directly, waiting so still she wasn’t sure he breathed. Looking into his worried eyes, Hannah answered, “No.”

  The memories came—all she’d been thinking about was the sting of Jude’s slap when Harwell’s men stormed the café. Gunfire seemed to explode from all directions. Jude’s body hitting the floor, his finger still pulling the trigger of his Patterson. Hickory Wilson shouting as if the gunfire were only children making too much racket in his place. The next rounds were aimed at him but she didn’t see him fall. She tried to disappear, pull away from the pain and noise. And then she was running.

  Everything from the past week came crushing down on Hannah at once. She’d hidden behind the potato bins on the porch of the café for hours. When finally everything was quiet, she’d crawled out and run through the alley toward Sheriff Andrews’s office. Two of the gunmen who’d done the killing were sitting on the sheriff’s bench just outside the jail. Her only place of refuge vanished when she recognized the killers in their new yellow slickers. She could still hear the ringing in her ears of gunfire and smell the stench of death around her. The feeling that someone was following her still made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

  With no one to help her, she left Fort Worth and headed toward Dallas, staying well off the road for safety. But when she’d finally reached Dallas, the hired guns had been there watching the train. Somehow they’d tracked her, and without money or friends it would only be a matter of time before she too was dead. And she didn’t even know why. But she’d heard patches of conversations at the café and knew that once Harwell paid his men for a job, they didn’t go back until it was done and all the ends cleaned up. Killing a witness was no more than a loose end to these men.

  Slowly, Hannah moved closer to Sanford, lightly pressing her cheek against his back. He was all the good in the world she could see. His parents had lived in a house with teacups and lace doilies, while her mother had died without even owning a dress that wasn’t worn and patched. He wore fine wool clothing and polished Colts. She had nothing. Nothing. He treated her with kindness, when a week ago Jude had tried to prove she was nobody—even on the eve of their wedding.

  When Ford felt the tears on his shoulder, he could no longer remain stone. He turned, pulling Hannah into his arms with gentle strength, feeling her silent cry as though she were screaming. She wept softly against his heart as he rocked her in his lap. The sleepless night they’d both had weakened reason, and they clung to one another.

  Gently, his hands brushed away the tears. “I believe you,” he whispered against her hair. “Hannah, you don’t have to tell me anything. I’ll help you. Whatever trouble you’re in, there must be a way out.”

  Clinging to him, she felt once more the warmth of being near him. She didn’t care if he believed her or not, because she knew as soon as the snow stopped he’d send her away. All that mattered right now was that he held her, and she didn’t feel so alone.

  The tears drained all energy from her body, and she cradled against him. He lightly stroked her cheeks with the back of his hand, reassuring Hannah that he meant her no harm.

  “Another question,” he whispered. “Why’d you kiss me last night?”

  His fingers touched the corner of her lips as he spoke.

  Hannah smiled. “I liked the way you felt. You feel so strong and warm.” She opened her eyes and looked up into the shadows of his face. “I wanted to see how a man like you kissed.”

  He stiffened. “A man like me?”

  Spreading her fingers across his throat, she added, “A man who can be kind and caring even while he’s being robbed.”

  Tight muscles relaxed slightly beneath her touch, but the veins at his throat still pounded blood wildly. “And how did I kiss?” He closed his eyes, wishing he could take back the impulsive question.

  Hannah straightened until her body was parallel with his and her lips were only an inch from his mouth. “You kissed as if everything were all new and fresh. Like you’d never been kissed before. As if I’d never been kissed and you were afraid of startling me away.”

  He waited only a breath away for her to move closer, and she found the realization that it was her decision intoxicating. His hands were moving over her shoulders, touching her but not holding her.

  “Ford?” she whispered, liking the sound of his name.

  “Yes,” he answered tightly, forcing himself to maintain control.

  “I’d like to give back that kiss I took from you last night.”

  Lightly, she leaned her breasts against his chest and touched her lips to his.

  All control snapped in him as he drew her near. He’d never thought a woman would come to him so willingly. The knowledge that she’d be gone soon encouraged him to allow this insanity between them to continue before reason forced him to pull away.

  Running her hands over his bare shoulders, Hannah felt Ford shudder with pleasure, and the kiss deepened to something she’d never before experienced. He wasn’t advancing as if to conquer or use her, he was giving. She’d been grabbed and kissed by a few of the cowhands, sometimes as a joke, sometimes in the hope she’d respond. But Hannah had always fought against their dirty hands and foul-tasting mouths, wanting none of what they offered.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” Ford whispered, even as his lips ignored his warning.

  “I need to say good-bye,” she answered as his mouth brushed her cheek. He belonged in another world than hers, a world of schools and churches and rules.

  “Good-bye,” he whispered against her ear. “Someday we may meet again. Maybe we’ll be properly introduced, and I’ll ask you to go out walking with me after church.”

  Hannah giggled as his words tickled her ear and his fantasy warmed her heart. “And I’ll say yes, Mr. Colston. I can think of no finer man I’d like to go walking with.”

  Ford’s hold tightened slightly. “After several strolls and a few dinners with family, I’ll ask if I might kiss you.”

  “And if I say yes?” Hannah whispered, loving the dream he painted.

  Huge hands framed her face. “Then I’ll kiss you very politely.” He lightly touched his mouth to hers.

  He’d expected her to pull away, but Hannah leaned against him and parted her lips to his kiss.

  This time he kissed her fully and completely. He needed to believe that he could care for someone and that, miraculously, a woman could care for him. She was only a dream, passing him on one snowy day, but he knew he’d remember her touch for a lifetime.

  Neither of them heard the front door opening or felt the wind blowing snow into the entry.

  Reality didn’t pull him from heaven until Ford heard his sister scream his name.

  They scrambled to their feet like children caught. Ford stepped protectively in front of Hannah as several men, including the town’s minister, rushed into the room to see what tiny, fragile Gavrila found so upsetting.

  Ford’s features hardened to granite as his
sister collapsed in one of her chairs, wailing about the family being ruined. The Reverend Carhart raised a pointed finger toward Ford, as though sentencing him to hell with one stroke.

  “Cover yourself, Sanford!” Gavrila cried and looked away from her brother, disgust etched on her face. “Isn’t it horrible enough that we have to find you sinning without having to look upon you uncovered?”

  Ford grabbed his still damp shirt and tried to think of where to start. “I can explain,” he began, wondering if he really could.

  Smith pushed from behind the crowd. He looked almost sorry for the young couple. “I told them the schoolteacher was here. I thought they’d want to meet her as soon as possible.”

  “The schoolteacher!” Gavrila whined. “He’s dishonored a schoolteacher! Heaven save us all.”

  Hannah found her voice. “He has done nothing of the sort.” She had no idea who these people were, and from the way they were acting, she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to know them.

  Gavrila waved her handkerchief in front of her, filtering the scene before her. “Be honest, girl. We know you wouldn’t be in his arms if Sanford hadn’t forced you.” The petite woman held her head up, determined to accept the family horror with honor. “We all know by looking at my brother the kind of man he is.”

  Hannah didn’t know whether to be angry at whatever they were accusing Ford of being or feel sorry for him for having an insane sister. “And what kind of man is he?” she asked, remembering how she and Ford had said the same thing to one another earlier.

  All the other men seemed to take a step backward, as though afraid they’d be asked to answer her question. Gavrila had center stage all to herself.

  She waved her lace banner once more and looked directly at Hannah. “He’s the kind of man no nice, halfway pleasant looking woman would ever let kiss her.”