His thoughts returned to the woman across from him.
What now?
He sighed. There was no going back.
He thought about tearing up the paper in his shirt, letting the pieces blow away like he’d done with that other one.
Wouldn’t be that hard.
He could do it now, let the pieces fly out of the window...
Gone, like that.
But then what? What would happen to Annie? Where would she go? Make a new life for herself—and the puppy—somewhere along the rail? Didn’t seem likely. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t write. He doubted she could read. And someone could all-too-easily take advantage of her vulnerability.
He couldn’t let her off at the next stop to fend for herself. It wouldn’t be right. But how in the world were they ever going to communicate? Not that he felt much like talking. He sighed and scratched his fingers through his beard, which was becoming a habit these days. He’d grown used to the fur on his face now. It was about as normal as wearing his coat or putting on his hat.
He caught Mae glaring at him with a pointedly sullen expression. She reached up and tugged at a bit of his beard. “No,” she said rather severely, not for the first time expressing her dislike of his facial hair.
He glanced over at Annie, who was watching them, and tugged at one of his daughter’s loose curls, not too hard, but not precisely gentle either. Enough to get his point across: Don’t pull on my beard. “Not now, Mae,” he said repressively.
She subsided in her seat and stuck her bottom lip out. Soon she began bouncing her legs off the edge of the seat. He’d have to take her for a walk up and down the train soon, but for the life of him he couldn’t bring himself to move. He just wanted a few minutes to sink into a nap. If only he could set aside all these worries for a short while, maybe he could wake up refreshed, with a new idea.
He rolled his shoulders back and rested his head against the seat. Just a minute or two...
He must have dozed, for he awoke with a drugged feeling, to the sound of someone clapping a hand against wood. And maybe the sound of the puppy whimpering?
He opened one eye blearily.
Annie was standing before him, holding the puppy against her with one arm, looking uncertain. Her other hand was resting on the back of her seat, which made him think she’d slapped her hand against it to wake him up. Why not jostle his shoulder? Mae was curled up against him, snoring softly, deep in sleep.
“What?” he asked, groggy and a little grumpy.
The puppy whimpered again and let out a sharp little bark. The other passengers in the car glared at them, some of them turning all the way around in their seats to get a better look. Jem woke up more fully.
Annie hefted the puppy in both arms and looked around, clearly not sure what to do with it. Er, her. Now that Jem could see the pup’s underside, it was obviously a female.
“Needs to go out, eh?” He stretched carefully, not wanting to wake Mae. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Where in the world to take a puppy on a train? He should have had Annie take the pup over to a grassy spot before they got on, but he’d been worried about the man in the duster and the need to get Annie and Mae safely on board. He also hadn’t been around a little puppy in a while—not as the one responsible for it anyway—so he wasn’t accustomed to having to think about such practical matters as a puppy’s needs.
He eased Mae off his lap, and she slumped flat against the seat cushion, thankfully not waking. He prepared to stand and take possession of the puppy, but when he looked over again he saw it was too late.
A dark wet stain was blooming down the front of Annie’s brown dress. He could tell the moment the warmth of it spread through to her skin, for her eyes widened. A sharply sweet odor filled the car—a distinctive, instantly recognizable odor. The dark plume went straight down her front, nearly to her hem. She grunted in dismay, and he felt sorry for her. She’d been trying to help the poor creature and just look what had happened to her.
The porter must have had an extraordinary sense of timing, for he chose that precise moment to push through the door of their car and duck through.
Jem waved him over, not recognizing him. The porter he’d found earlier had been a different fellow. This man was tall, with a rather pudgy middle that stretched the buttons of his shirt. His complexion was also a bit on the pasty side. His blond hair was thin on top, brushed straight back off his forehead, leaving white furrows. When he caught sight of Jem and Annie with the puppy, his expression darkened, and he strode over.
“What’s going on here?” he asked, giving consideration to the irritated looks the other passengers were sending their way. He took another look at the puppy and Annie’s dress. The smell must have hit him then, for he drew his chin back a little and his nostrils flared.
It wasn’t the most encouraging of openings, but Jem forged ahead. “Listen, the pup’s had an accident. These things happen. Annie here is going to need a change of clothes. Can you find me anything?”
The porter looked her up and down, his expression flattening. “Is she ticketed?” Obviously, he expected not.
“She got on at the last stop. Mail-order bride. It’s a long story.”
The porter frowned, his eyes flicking over her dingy dress and her dirt-streaked face. “Your bride?”
“That’s right. I’ve got the papers right here. She’s had a bit of a rough time of it. Thieves,” Jem said by way of explanation, tapping his chest. The marriage certificate stuffed in his shirt crinkled. He wasn’t certain Annie’s appearance had anything to do with the preacher’s claim that they’d been robbed—he doubted it—but it made a better excuse than none. He noticed Annie looking at him with a wide-eyed expression, and continued, “I got a ticket from the other porter. Here—” He dug in the pockets of his trousers—first one, then the other—but they were empty. He checked again, confused. “It was right here.”
“Sure it was.”
“No, it was.” Jem looked down and spotted a paper on the floor. In a small puddle. He grimaced and picked it up by one corner. It dripped onto the floor.
The porter paled. He didn’t take it but gave it a thorough inspection before nodding. “Looks to be in order.” He sounded a bit disappointed, as if he’d looked forward to throwing Annie off the train. Or maybe collecting a bribe.
“Can you find her a dress?” Jem lowered his voice so as not to attract any more attention, although it seemed late for that.
“I don’t have a bin of dresses to hand out to passengers,” the porter replied, with an audible sniff. He was certainly a testy fellow, opinionated too. And not in a good way.
Jem’s jaw tightened reflexively. The man was being deliberately rude. His job was to serve, not lecture. “Well, then an apron or something?” he gritted through his teeth.
“I’ll see what I can find.” Based on the slight flare of the man’s nostrils, Jem didn’t put much hope in seeing an apron any time soon.
He wished now that he’d booked seats in the sleeping car today, but they were arriving at their destination before nightfall, hopefully in the next few hours, and he hadn’t thought it necessary at the time. Maybe it wasn’t too late.
“Do you have any seats in the sleeping car?” he asked. “A little privacy would be welcome.” He glanced meaningfully toward Annie’s dress and the puppy, and toward the other passengers watching them with unabashed curiosity and not a little hostility.
“We have a couple available,” the porter said, brightening a little. Perhaps he saw his opportunity for a tip.
He named a price, and Jem hesitated. He didn’t have to search his pockets to know the last of his ready cash had gone to purchase their meager meal and Annie’s ticket. The rest of the bills had been spent at the last stop, where he’d doled out a ridiculously generous payment to the man in the duster for the puppy, and even more to the preacher for Annie. Jem resisted the urge to scratch through his beard. He’d had plenty of funds at the start of the
trip, or he’d thought he had.
“I don’t have it on me,” he admitted and saw the porter’s expression shutter. “But I’ll have it at my stop. I’m getting off at Colorado Springs. My bank’s there.” If it was open by the time they got there, which it likely wouldn’t be.
This must have also occurred to the porter, because he shook his head. “Sorry, mister. I’d need the cash up front.”
Of course he would. Jem gritted his teeth. The man didn’t even bother to call him “sir” as he probably would have under more normal circumstances.
“Well,” Jem said, striving for patience, “what about checking the kitchen for that apron?”
“I’ll see about that.” Noncommittal as ever.
“And the puppy? Where can I take it—her?”
“Between the cars, I suspect.”
“A puppy?”
He shrugged. “Not my concern, mister. It’s your dog.”
It’s not my dog—the denial nearly flew out of his mouth, but Jem stopped himself. It was his dog now. He’d bought it.
How was he supposed to take a dog out between the cars? Hold it over the gap and hope it would go over the tracks? No puppy he’d ever known would go like that.
“What about the livery car?” he asked.
“You could try that,” the porter said, dismissively. He went around to the other passengers then, checking tickets.
Jem thought about the stock car. All those horses. And not just horses, but pent-up horses. Horses that had been on the train too long and were likely looking for any excuse for excitement. The puppy would likely get trampled. He might just get trampled himself. He sighed. He’d have to take it—her—between the cars and hope for the best.
He took the puppy from Annie, who promptly sat back in her seat, hunched over, looking miserable. He couldn’t blame her, what with her dress a wet wreck.
“Sorry about your dress,” he said.
She gestured kind of feebly.
He cleared his throat, feeling distinctly uncomfortable around this woman. He didn’t like getting involved with her or meddling into her problems. Would have gladly handed her care over to someone who knew about people with her condition, someone with both the means and the strength to do a proper job of it. Someone reputable and kind. “I’ll take her out now, see if she’s done.” He took the puppy from Annie and held it out at arms’ length.
“Watch over Mae?” he asked, looking down at his daughter. She was thankfully still sleeping, her fists bunched up under her chin, her cheeks flushed pink.
Annie glanced up at him from under her lashes and nodded. She seemed a bit more dispirited than she had before, and he felt bad for her.
Jem wished he could say something to encourage her, but he was afraid she wasn’t going to have any relief anytime soon. Even if he could make his way to the luggage car, he’d probably never find his trunks, and, even if he did, he didn’t have a single thing she could wear. His clothes wouldn’t suit a woman at all, and Mae’s were tiny. He’d given away most of Lorelei’s things. Pop had insisted. Said it would help him “get over his grief” to let them go. Becky had helped him pick out a few items for Mae to have someday, but Jem had already crated those up and shipped them ahead about a month ago, not wanting to be burdened with extra luggage on the trip with his horses and a toddler in tow.
He strode to the back of their car, keeping the puppy safely outstretched and avoiding the hostile glares of an older married couple sitting in the seats behind them and across the way.
FOUR
Colorado Springs, Colorado
One moment Annie was on the train, then she wasn’t. She barely registered the fact because her mind had flown hundreds of miles away and about twenty or so years into the past.
She was a child again. Maybe two. Little, like Mae.
It was the smell that did it. She hated smelling bad, always had.
And sitting there on her seat, while Jem had walked away from her probably hadn’t helped.
Memories were funny that way.
She wrinkled her nose, still fighting to keep her mind from wandering into things best left forgotten, but it was too late. Just like it was yesterday, she felt the sensation of her mama holding her out at arms’ length.
“Now, you stay put,” she’d said, and plopped Annie down onto a crate in a cramped dark place, a back alley maybe. It was night.
Annie remembered being scared. She remembered waiting, because she always did whatever Mama said. Mostly. So, though she could have scrambled down and run after her mother—she’d been old enough—she didn’t. Mama had told her to stay put, like all those other nights when she set Annie out in the hallway outside their room. Sitting in the hall had been all right, really. Normal.
But sitting in that alley hadn’t been. Though it had been so long ago, it seemed as clear as today.
There were no comforting walls around her. No lantern to cast a glow onto the ground. She heard no low murmur of voices either, no laughter coming out from under Mama’s door.
All she had was the smell. The worst kind of smell: rotting trash.
The stench fairly smothered her. It threatened to eat her whole.
She believed it too, being so small—that it could actually swell up like a monster and eat her down...
And yet she still waited. Even after she wet herself.
Mama hadn’t come back.
She’d never come back.
Funny how she could remember those little things so clearly, when there were so many other things between now and then that were lost forever.
A gust of wind tugged Annie’s damp skirts flat against her. She woke to her surroundings, realizing Jem must’ve come back to collect her and Mae, and somehow they were now stepping off the train steps onto a wood-plank platform.
She glanced around, her immediate impression one of trees lining the railroad tracks on one side, evenly spaced and all the same size, as if someone had carefully planted them. Cultivated. Cultured. Civilized. A real town. Real roads. A few “big city” buildings, with gray bricks and sidewalks. A grassy park. In the distance, was a mountain range the color of ash—so different from the soft green swells of the Smokies back home. Here, everything was taller, with sharper edges.
She wondered how far it was to Jem lived. Where did he live? A proper house in town? A spread outside town? What did he do? He certainly looked like he was used to hard work—roping cattle, maybe.
There were a hundred questions Annie wanted to ask him:
Where are we going?
Do you live here?
How long are we going to stay?
Do you mean to be married to me—do you want a wife? A real wife?
Will I be staying with you?
Where am I going to sleep?
I need a bath. I need clean clothes. I’m hungry.
She had only a vague memory of following Jem off the train. She’d only been half-aware, lost in her memories. Walking as if in a dream. But now she was awake. She could feel the puppy’s chain in her hand. She’d gripped it so tight the metal loops had bit into her flesh.
A hollow had gaped open inside her, a space that needed filled. It was such a cold lonesome sensation. An emptiness. A desperate need to be loved. Needed. Not as a servant either, but as a person. As Annie. She wanted someone to listen, to try to understand. Mrs. Ruskin had done that, but now there was no one.
Annie flexed her fingers, then closed them around the chain again, suddenly angry. Useless, useless anger.
Anger never made anything better. Anger was never going to make her happy.
If she wanted to be happy—and she did—it was time for a change.
It was as simple as that.
She turned her attention forcibly to her surroundings. Her gaze rested on the puppy. It was out all the way to the end of the leash, scratching one ear with its hind foot, nearly falling over, catching its balance. So adorable.
Annie smiled a bit to herself and looked at little M
ae, so sweet in her dirt-streaked pinafore. Her thumb was stuck loosely in her mouth, her cheeks puffing in and out. Precious.
Annie took an account. She’d have the puppy’s devotion in no time. A few well-placed scratches behind the ear, a few times giving it food.
Done.
Little Mae already liked her a little—at least Annie hoped so. She’d just have to be there, be present. Give her what she needed, when she needed it. Play with her. Love her. Entirely possible.
Hopeful.
Finally, Annie looked at the man standing in front of her—Jem. He looked every inch the tall rugged cowboy. Brown leather jacket stretched across powerful shoulders. Boots and spurs. Lean hips. That wide-brimmed Stetson pulled low over his eyes.
She chewed the inside of her cheek, pondering.
Widowed. Damaged, maybe.
Quiet. Aloof.
A man who needed no one.
Didn’t know her. Didn’t want to know her. Didn’t need her.
Well, that made it a bit more of a challenge, but that didn’t mean it was impossible.
She straightened her spine, standing there in all her filth. The past was the past. It was time for a change, and now.
This was going to be her family. Whether they knew it or not. Whether they wanted her or not. Somehow she’d worm her way into their hearts. Somehow, someway.
She bent down to give the puppy a scratch behind its ears. It fell immediately to its side in ecstasy, one hind paw scratching at the air.
One down, two to go.
FIVE
Jem stood purposefully on the platform, Mae’s hand tucked safely in his. He could feel Annie’s presence behind him. He knew she was mortified about her dress—that much had been plain on her face. He couldn’t blame her. Everyone was looking at them, giving them a good wide berth.
It was clear what he had to do.
He’d get her settled in at the ranch, get her some clean things to wear, have somebody draw her a bath. Explain how things were going to be. He’d appreciate her help minding Mae. She could be a nanny of sorts while he was out working the ranch. He’d have to find someone else at some point to help Mae learn to read and write, and with her numbers and such, but that could wait a bit. Meanwhile, Annie seemed kind and willing enough to help.
The Bartered Bride (The Brides Book 3) Page 4