Tess’s glance swept to the frightened faces of the children, two boys and two girls, whose hats and heavy coats swallowed their thin faces. The youngest of the brood, a girl probably no more than two years old, coughed from deep inside her small chest. The sound worried Tess.
She gave them a bright smile and a wink, praying they wouldn’t take ill.
Mrs. Abner stopped struggling with Rollins and drew up. “These children aren’t mine. I’m taking them to the orphanage in Kasota Springs. But I’ll allow you might have a point. I won’t tolerate much more of this, though. I have connections, you know.” The woman huffed, dropping into the seat. She gathered the children around her like a plump mother goose with her goslings.
Tess turned to Roe and spoke low. “There’s someone coming. I saw a sled through the window.”
“Won’t be soon enough to suit me. I’ll let him in.”
“You may need my help.” Tess followed close on the engineer’s heels since the conductor and brakeman had braved the cold to get what supplies they could gather from the caboose.
Roe applied all his shoulder to the door, but it was frozen shut. Tess added her weight and pushed with all her might. At last the steel door broke loose.
And Tess’s heart stopped.
The man on whom their survival depended was none other than rancher Sloan Sullivan. The blast of frigid air that entered with the man cavorted around her ankles and danced up her skirts. The weather reflected the icy scowl on Sullivan’s face.
Why couldn’t it have been someone else? Anyone else.
The measured assessment from the recluse’s gunmetal gray eyes seemed to say he shared the sentiment.
The problem wasn’t Sloan’s looks. Her heart raced like a stampeding herd of buffalo each time she found herself in his vicinity. No, the point at issue was the way he went out of his way to avoid her. Several times he’d crossed the main street of Kasota Springs to avoid having to speak to her.
Tess knew the talk bandied back and forth about her. For one, that she was some kind of highbrow who thought her daddy’s money could buy her whatever she set her heart on. Particularly irksome was the spiteful gossip that her daddy hadn’t been able to buy her a husband.
Even now, remembering the talk brought fresh pain.
As if a woman could shop for a husband the same way she bought a length of calico from the mercantile. Heaven forbid. She’d had her chances to wed and turned them all down. She’d wait for someone to come along who didn’t have an eye on the size of her purse. And if such a man never crossed her path? She’d live out her days a spinster. She’d marry for love or not at all.
Sloan grabbed the handrail and pulled his tall form onto the train, ducking his head to get through the low entrance. He removed his battered felt hat and knocked the snow from the brim before settling it back on his dark head.
Tess steeled herself, certain he meant to ignore her.
After several long heartbeats, he reached up and touched his hat brim with two fingers. “Miss Whitgrove.”
“Mr. Sullivan,” she returned. “Welcome aboard.”
The engineer pumped Sloan’s hand. “Roe Rollins here. We’re mighty glad to see help arrive. Yessiree.”
“I brought a load of blankets, some food, and plenty of firewood for the stove. Thought you might use it. No telling how long you’ll be snowbound. This weather is a wooly bear.”
His deep baritone stirred the air and created a path of tingles up her spine. His ebony hair was so dark it had a blue cast to it, which only made his gray eyes more startling and clear. But it was the cleft in his chin and his full mouth that drew her attention. She’d lain awake many nights, fantasizing what it would be like to kiss him.
That was before he’d treated her like a case of poison ivy.
Now she barely gave him another thought. Liar, her conscience berated. She tamped it down and sneaked a look from the corner of her eye.
Rollins finally turned Sloan’s hand loose. “I’ll get some men to help unload your sled. I’m sure you’d like to get back home while you still can.”
Tess helplessly watched the old engineer disappear down the aisle. She didn’t relish being alone with the antisocial rancher. Given his preference for doling out his words more frugally than a widow woman pinching pennies, she didn’t know what exactly to say to him.
The silence grew uncomfortable. She finally managed to speak, the words coming no louder than a murmur. “Thank you for sharing what you have with us. We’re badly in need.”
He met her eyes briefly before he looked away. “I only did what any other man would do. I reckon this is one situation where a person’s money is useless.”
The words slapped her like a connecting open hand. A flush rose. “Have I done something to you, Mr. Sullivan?”
His frank gray stare swung to her. “No, ma’am. Things are the way they are, I suppose. Just remarking is all.”
If only she could believe that. Unfortunately, he’d have a difficult time selling her that particular horse.
Although Tess didn’t succeed in fully tamping down her anger, she managed to add a good helping of honey to her reply. “I assure you, Mr. Sullivan, that this silver spoon in my mouth doesn’t interfere in the least with my ability to tell truth from untruth. You don’t fool me. Just so you know.”
Sloan was clearly ill at ease, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Or maybe part of it was because his leg was hurting. She’d heard about his accident and had seen him limping when he made his monthly trip into town for supplies.
She was again searching for something to say when she noticed his attention drawn to Maryellen Langtry, who was heavy with child. With a struggle, the young woman pulled herself from her seat and lumbered toward the back. Probably going to visit the necessary again. Tess bit her bottom lip. The woman would have to pass by Ira Powell, who lay on a bench seat near the back of the car. Please, God, don’t let the woman catch what Ira has.
Rollins returned. He’d pressed into service Charles Flynn, who was traveling to Kasota Springs, and the conductor, who’d returned from the caboose in the nick of time.
Then the engineer, his helpers, and Sloan Sullivan turned up the collars of their coats, pulled on their gloves, and trudged into the howling wind and bitter cold. Tess shivered and pulled her coat tighter, thankful that the passengers would soon have a fire and food to put into their growling bellies.
Still reeling from her encounter with the aloof Mr. Sullivan, she switched her thoughts to another worry. The new bell that she’d gone all the way to Boston for might not make it to Kasota Springs in time for the Christmas service. Everyone would be heartbroken if it didn’t arrive. And the way the weather was, it didn’t appear they would break the train from the high drifts in time.
The likelihood of spending Christmas aboard the Fort Worth and Denver City train appeared pretty certain.
When she found a free moment, she’d go to the baggage car. The clothes, shoes, and toys she’d bought for the orphanage would help make Christmas bright for the children traveling with Mrs. Abner.
But first she needed to check on Ira Powell.
Omie Powell, his gray-haired wife, met her halfway down the aisle. “Come quickly. Ira’s taken a turn for the worse.”
Mr. Powell’s breath was labored and shallow. He’d slipped into unconsciousness and burned with a high fever. Also, a strange sandpapery rash covered the right side of his neck. Tess’s breath got caught on the sizable lump in her throat. All were signs of deadly scarlet fever that was sweeping the country.
A sudden gust of wind battered the side of the train, rocking it back and forth. Bone-chilling cold seeped into Tess. She didn’t think she’d ever be warm again.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Omie clenched her hands together tightly until her blue veins stood out.
Tess was glad the woman had kept her voice low. The passengers didn’t know the extent of the illness, and Tess wanted to keep it that way. If they got w
ind of what she suspected, there’d be overwhelming panic.
Mrs. Abner, who was always looking for something to raise a ruckus over, would seize the opportunity to lash out.
“Yes, Mrs. Powell, your husband’s situation is very dire.” She put her arm around the old woman’s frail shoulders. “Just don’t give up hope. As long as there’s life, there’s hope. You must be strong.”
Omie straightened her five-foot frame. “I know what it is to wage a war with death. And often how futile it can be. I birthed six little ones and buried four of them before they were three years old.” Tears filled the woman’s brown eyes. The tragedy she’d suffered would’ve broken many a woman. “It’s just that Ira is my life. I don’t know how I’d make it without him.”
Tess kissed the woman’s wrinkled cheek. “Hopefully, you won’t have to find out for a long while to come.”
They needed a miracle—a Christmas miracle.
She laid a hand on Ira’s chest, wishing she didn’t feel so helpless.
A throat cleared behind her. She whirled and found herself face-to-face with the last person she wanted to see.
Sloan Sullivan thrust an armful of blankets at her. “Rollins said you needed these.”
“Thank you.” She wondered how long he’d been standing there as she accepted the load and promptly spread the blankets over Ira.
“What do you think he has?” Sullivan asked.
Tess pulled him out of earshot of the passengers. Her breath fogged in the air as she leaned close. “It looks to be scarlet fever, although I’m not certain. But for obvious reasons I don’t want the rest of the passengers to overhear.”
For once he’d appeared to put aside his ill feelings. “I agree. What can I do to help?”
“If you could get a fire going in the stove, we’d be in your debt. The children are freezing. I’m praying whatever Mr. Powell has won’t spread.”
“You were wise to keep him apart from the others as much as possible.”
“I just followed my instincts, Sullivan, same as you would. It’ll be a nightmare if this spreads to the others. It’ll be especially bad if Maryellen Langtry, the woman who’s in the family way, comes down with it.”
His wintry gray eyes stared into hers before they flicked away. “I’d best get to that fire before I head back home.”
“Sullivan?”
He’d shifted his weight and turned to go. He stopped. “Yes?”
“Maybe you’d better take a look out the window.”
Sloan bent over to peer out. A low oath squeezed from between his full lips. “Reckon I’m not going anywhere in this whiteout.”
Dismay settled like sour milk in Tess’s stomach.
This was just dandy!
Chapter 2
Sloan jerked up straight. He was stuck on the train.
Fine rescuer he’d turned out to be.
Forced to share tight quarters with Tess Whitgrove, of all people. There’d be no way to avoid her.
A few seconds before, he’d been mulling over a plan to bundle Mr. Powell up good and haul him into Kasota Springs to the doctor. But it looked like Mother Nature had other ideas.
And he didn’t dare set out for the ranch. He’d known of men who ventured out in a whiteout, lost their bearings, and ended up frozen stiff as a fireplace poker.
He gave Tess a wry grin. “Appears you won’t get rid of me today.”
“We have plenty of empty seats since most of the other passengers heard about the storm and got off in Farley Springs.” Her pale amber eyes clouded and her mouth drew in a tight line.
It was evident to Sloan that she was none too pleased to be saddled with him. Well, he’d try not to add to her headaches. Staying entirely out of her way would be impossible, though, given the limited space.
Sloan shifted and rubbed his leg. “Guess I’d best unhitch the horse from the sled and get him into the livestock car before he freezes to death.”
“I’m sure the animal would appreciate that.” Her silky golden hair that she’d tied back with a blue ribbon rippled down her back in curls as she turned to Mrs. Powell. “I can use your help seeing what kind of food Mr. Sullivan brought. Maybe we can find something for the children to nibble on.”
“All right, dear,” the older woman answered. “I need something to occupy myself with. Otherwise I’ll just sit and fret over things that are beyond my control.”
Sloan fidgeted. “Reckon I’d best see to my horse.”
He watched Tess give her patient a lingering pat before herding Ira Powell’s wife toward the supplies they’d unloaded in the front of the car. She seemed to care a lot about someone who was no kin. Could be an act for his benefit. Yet it appeared genuine enough. And there was Mrs. Abner and Mrs. Langtry, who could take on the chore of seeing what he’d brought and doling out some food, but they hadn’t stepped up to offer. Maybe those rumors about Tess Whitgrove were unfounded.
If she were truly the selfish overindulged woman he’d heard she was, she’d sit on her hands and expect to be waited on like the Queen of Sheba.
Yes, he was beginning to have a new admiration for the lovely banker’s daughter.
Prying his eyes off the gentle sway of her hips, he hurried to the woodstove that stood near the door of the passenger car. Someone had already piled a good stack of the wood he’d brought from the ranch beside it.
The train engineer knelt in front of the black iron stove and was busy laying a fire. The man looked up. “Go tend to your horse, Mr. Sullivan. I’ve got this.”
“It’s about time we got warm,” huffed a stout woman who perched stiffly in a nearby seat. With all the children huddled around her, she looked like a stuffed Mother Goose. Only with her disapproving frown and sour disposition, she more resembled a nasty-tempered banty rooster.
“I’m doing the best I can, Mrs. Abner,” Rollins answered.
Sloan shook his head at the irritating woman. Buttoning his coat and pulling on gloves, he limped out into the blizzard. He wasted no time in unhitching the horse and leading it into the livestock car out of the weather. Sloan even found some grain to feed the gelding. He checked on the other horse, a handsome dappled gray, and was satisfied it was in good shape. It must belong to the passenger Rollins had called Flynn in the shearling coat.
There was also a milk cow tied next to the horses. He saw that she had hay to eat. The milk would come in handy. He’d come back and milk her in a bit.
By the time Sloan made it back inside, a roaring fire greeted him. Glad to have gotten his horse out of the weather, he tugged off his gloves and backed up to the cast-iron stove to warm his bones.
His glance caught the children, who happily chewed on some of the jerky and hunks of cheese and bread he’d hauled from the ranch.
The woman who was clearly in the family way struggled from her seat and joined him. He caught the way the woman reached around to rub her back. As one who suffered his own pain, he knew her back was killing her.
And being a rancher and working with cows, he also knew her babe would arrive soon.
Heaven help them if they didn’t get the train out of the drifts in time.
Sloan looked around. Not counting himself or the sick man in the back, there were three of the train crew and the land agent Flynn on board. That wasn’t enough to dig out the huge locomotive even if Flynn hadn’t appeared yet to be introduced to the business end of a shovel. No, Tess Whitgrove was more likely to ply her hand to the task than that fellow.
If the blizzard moved on out by tomorrow, he could bundle up Mr. Powell and this pregnant woman and take them to town.
That was a big if.
“Hello. I’m Maryellen Langtry.” The woman offered a handshake. “We sure do appreciate you bringing supplies to us. Circumstances were getting pretty dire.”
Sloan gave her hand a brief shake. “Out here we all help each other. It’s the only way to survive.”
“All the same, we’re mighty grateful.” The woman pulled out a handkerc
hief that she’d tucked into her sleeve at the wrist and wiped her nose. “I can’t remember the last time I ate.” All of a sudden she grabbed his arm and sagged against him.
He quickly helped her to the nearest seat. “Let me see if I can find you a drink of water, ma’am.”
Problem was he didn’t see any. His gaze swept the passenger car, landing on Tess, who was back with Powell. She met his glance and must’ve sensed trouble because the skirts of her gray wool traveling dress snapped around her feet as she hurried toward him.
“What’s wrong, Sullivan?”
“It’s Mrs. Langtry. She’s feeling a mite faint. I think a drink of water would do her good.”
“There’s a bucket of melted snow and a cup next to the stove.”
Tess’s attention turned to Maryellen as Sloan went to fetch the water. “Maryellen, are you having pain?” she asked gently, laying her hand on the woman’s brow, relieved to find Maryellen didn’t have a fever.
“Only in my back. I just got a little dizzy.” Maryellen flashed a wan smile and raised herself up straighter. “I’m feeling better already. Don’t fret about me.”
“Now, who else is going to worry if I don’t?”
Maryellen’s brow wrinkled. “Well, there’s my husband Earl, who’s the worrier in the family. I’m sure he’s walking the floor, wondering where the train is. He must be beside himself.”
There probably were a lot of anxious families, her own included. Her mother and father would be out looking for the train as soon as the weather permitted. Others in Kasota Springs would be out also. One thing about it, when the chips were down everyone banded together.
Then there was the mayor, who’d commissioned Boston Iron Works to design and pour the Christmas bell that now rested in a huge crate in the freight car. All the citizens of Kasota Springs had donated money to purchase it. Now it appeared the weather would prevent them from ringing the bell on Christmas Day. Once again, the day of the Lord’s birth would be silent. And the newly erected bell tower would sit empty.
A Texas Christmas Page 17