by Alix West
Nick would believe that when he saw it. David Tarrant was a man controlled by his appetites. Even when he’d been married with a child on the way, he’d caroused and gambled.
“Your father ought to stay home a little more,” he grumbled, talking more to himself than the boy.
“He plans to, sir, when his bride comes from Boston.”
“When’s she coming?”
“Just a few weeks. He needed the money, so he could pay her train ticket.”
“You telling me, that my money went to pay for your Daddy’s bride to come to Colter Canyon?”
The boy nodded. A slow smile tilted his lips and his eyes shone. “We can hardly wait, Mr. Travis. She’s going to cook and clean and everything’s going to be better when she comes. We need a momma something fierce. Especially the twins.”
Nick couldn’t argue with that. The Tarrant kids didn’t have a mother or a father, truth be told.
The boy glanced around the study and Nick didn’t miss the way he eyed the disarray. Books littered the chesterfield. A plate with a half-eaten sandwich from a few days ago sat on a table amidst papers and ranch documents. Over the last few months, he’d lost several housekeepers. When the last one left, he hadn’t bothered to replace her.
“I suppose women sort of civilize a place, don’t they?” Nick muttered.
“Yes, sir. My daddy says he can hardly wait. He’s fretting a little that she might have a little one with her. That happens with them mail-ordered brides. He says he doesn’t want to raise some other fella’s brat.”
“Does she know she’s going to be caring for his children?”
“I dunno.”
Nick tried to imagine the woman arriving to Colter Canyon and walking into the Tarrant home. The household hadn’t had a woman’s touch in over a year, Nick wagered. She’d probably take one look, turn around and walk right out. The money Tarrant should have paid him for the bull would be wasted on false hope, and the Tarrant children would still be motherless.
The boy sipped his coffee while Nick seethed silently about his money. That damn bull would probably never be paid for. One day, and one day soon, he’d likely have to reclaim it. In the meantime, Tarrant would be getting free stud service. What annoyed him just as much was the idea that some girl probably had stars in her eyes about Colter Canyon and a no-good drunk like David Tarrant.
Then again, she might not even show up. Louisa had written entire letters in rhymed verse with hearts doodled in the margins. She’d changed her mind, throwing him over for something that looked better to her and getting herself in the family way to boot.
His attention drifted back to the boy. Now that he’d finished his mug of coffee, he looked cold again. Thin and pale, he wrapped his arms around himself, hugging himself to try and get warm, despite the heat of the fireplace. He gazed into the flames with a rapturous look on his face.
Nick gritted his teeth. Henry seemed like a decent kid. He’d braved the rain without complaint and that was saying something. It irked Nick that the boy was getting his hopes up for what might turn out to be nothing. The woman might never step off the train, and even if she did, she’d be none too pleased to see what she’d signed up for.
Henry’s teeth chattered, yet he still looked happy as a pig in mud, which wasn’t too far from the state of things. He couldn’t send the boy back out into the rain in a soaking wet shirt and no coat.
Nick tugged his shirt over his head and held it out to the astonished child. “Take off your wet shirt, boy. You need to wear something dry on the way home, so you don’t catch your death.”
The boy’s jaw dropped. “I can’t take your shirt, Mr. Travis.”
“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you. Put this on and I’m going to dig up one of my slickers and you’re going to wear that too.”
Henry lifted his hands and took the shirt. A look of disbelief crept over his features. He acted as if the shirt might bite him, or that Nick might snatch it away.
Nick left him and went to the wooden chest in the front hall where he kept coats and hats and gloves. When he found what he was looking for, he returned to the study. The boy wore his shirt. The tails practically reached his knees, but he grinned and no longer looked pinched with cold.
“Put this on. It’ll help keep you dry. If you like it, you can keep it. I have a few. I practically never remember to wear one, anyway.”
After Henry had the coat on, Nick walked him back to the front door. The boy pulled on his boots. Nick had wanted to send a message to David Tarrant that he’d come for his bull in a few weeks’ time if David didn’t pay up, but he didn’t want to burden the boy with the responsibility. David Tarrant was none too patient with anybody, especially not his children. Nick’s message would likely just earn the boy more troubles.
“Thank you, sir.” The boy gave him a lopsided smile.
“That’s fine. You’re a good kid, riding all this way in the rain. You get a little older, come and see me. Either me or my brothers might have a job for a hard worker like you.”
The boy mounted his horse, a sway-backed nag that had seen better days. He turned for home, waved and shouted a thank you before he vanished in the downpour.
Chapter Three
Cora
With her brothers away from Boston for a week, Cora had the perfect window of opportunity to finish her plans to escape. That would mean leaving three days early, but it couldn’t be helped. When she arrived in Colter Canyon she would simply have to find David Tarrant. How difficult could it be to find a someone in such a small town?
She laid out all her dresses, draping them across her bed, one by one. Her closets overflowed with dresses, but she could hardly take them all. She picked a dozen for her new life. Six lovely satin and silk frocks and six simple muslin dresses, ones she’d had made just for married life in Texas. She filled two trunks, adding items one at a time as she checked things off a list she’d prepared.
The morning she intended to leave, she walked around her home a final time. The rooms were mostly empty. Much of the furniture had been hauled off already by her brothers. The bronzes were long gone, sold or carted off to her brothers’ homes.
The only paintings left were of her parents. Her father’s image gazed down from the frame, gray-haired and solemn. She could imagine him forbidding her to go to Texas. When angered, Benjamin Singleton’s voice was like thunder. Cora and her mother could always soften his mood and coax a smile from him, unlike her brothers or their wives.
Her mother’s picture, hanging beside his, captured the glint of mischief and adventure. The artist had captured the tilt of her lips in the moment before she would dissolve into laughter. Her mother used to say that she yearned to see the wide-open spaces of the West. Perhaps it was just to torment her husband, who would respond with vehemence every time she mentioned the notion.
Nothing but outlaws and cutthroats in Texas… utterly uncivilized…
Elizabeth and Benjamin Singleton had been happy together, wildly in love after scandalizing Boston with their hasty marriage. Not only was Cora’s mother twenty years younger than her father, but she had also been governess to James and Neville, Cora’s older brothers. Their mother had died years before. Cora’s father claimed he fell in love with her mother the very instant he laid eyes on her.
His words had always struck Cora as wildly romantic. While she had no hope for the passion her parents shared, she admitted, if only to herself, that the notion set off her imagination. She pictured a man who would love her as her father loved her mother.
She stood in the empty salon and gazed one last time at the paintings. If only she could take them with her, but, it was impossible. Turning her back, she left the room with a resolute step, and set about with the last of her preparations.
She managed to get her trunks downstairs. She positioned them on a rug and dragged them along the hall and down the stairs, finally wrestling them into position by the front doorway. There’d been a time when the house wa
s filled with servants who would have been shocked to see her handling her own trunks.
Her brothers dismissed the staff long ago.
Fending for herself had given her a degree of confidence she didn’t realize she lacked. The absence of any sort of help required her to learn new skills that would be valuable in Texas. Although David was a man of immense means, he never mentioned any servants in his letters. Strange, but the folks in Texas would have ways that were different than those of Boston. She felt proud of her ability to cook a few simple meals, wash her own clothes and keep a home reasonably well.
She stood in the foyer and watched for the carriage. The driver arrived five minutes early and loaded her two trunks. She pulled the door closed, locked it and dropped the key in the mail slot. With that, she turned and left the only home she’d ever known, not allowing herself a backwards glance.
She instructed the driver to take her to Miss Petit’s office. To her immense disappointment, Miss Petit was ailing. The woman had taken to her bed but sent her fond farewell. The rest of the trip to the train station passed quickly despite the crowds of travelers. It seemed half of Boston intended to travel on the westbound train.
Waiting on the platform, she pulled her cloak tighter around herself. A cold, winter wind swirled along the tracks. Snow spun on the wind. She saw a boy standing on the other side of the tracks. He hunched his shoulders against the cold and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. He watched her with the same curiosity as she did him.
It wasn’t often she saw a redhead with the same color of golden red as her own. The boy’s hair wasn’t the exact shade, but similar. She smiled. He stiffened but gave no answering smile. He clutched a cap and he jammed it on his head. The shock of red hair disappeared, hidden under a drab, gray cap. The boy turned and melted into the crowd.
She wondered if he was a beggar. If he had come to her, she would give him a few coins. He looked small and cold. Her brothers always chided her for her tender heart. They said she’d never outgrown her childish naiveté.
You’d let any fool take your money, Cora.
And they’d been right, too. She realized that particular fact too late, allowing her brothers to swindle her out of her inheritance. She shook off the memory. It was done. Over. Spilt milk.
Perhaps they’d been right, she was gullible. She was willing to concede that point and for that reason had contracted with Miss Petit. She had trusted the woman to find the right man for her. A man with 25,000 acres. Cora could hardly imagine such a thing. If he cared for her, she was determined to be a fine and devoted wife. Her throat tightened with worry.
The ground beneath Cora’s feet shook. She searched the horizon for the tell-tale smoke. The puffs drifted in the sky and the train chugged around the track.
When the great iron beast rolled to a stop, the crowd surged toward the doors. A porter stepped down from the first-class car. Cora lifted her hand to summon the man. He nodded and pushed through the people, pulling a trolley. She showed him her tickets. With a nod he quickly and efficiently loaded her trunks. Then he led her to her train car.
It felt like a dream, moving through the frozen silence. Amid a mass of people, she felt utterly alone. Yet a flicker of hope burned inside her. In an hour, the train would leave, delivering her from her shame. Her brothers would never know where she’d gone. She might write them. She might not.
Either way, no one could stop her now.
She followed the porter to a small, first-class compartment. The man stowed her luggage, explaining that her sleeper would be prepared for her at nightfall. After he departed, Cora sat in the seat near the window and watched the hustle and bustle of the train station. A movement near the door drew her attention, and to her shock, the red-headed boy stood in the doorway.
He watched her warily with eyes that looked too big for his face. He looked hungry and utterly neglected. Instead of a belt, he wore a rope around his pitifully narrow waist. His pants were a good six inches too short, revealing bare ankles, the skin pink and wind-chapped. Only one of his boots had laces and he wore no socks.
Cora nodded, unsure what to say. The boy was a runaway. Like her. Slowly, he edged into the compartment and lowered to a seat near the door. He looked like a frightened rabbit, tense and ready to bolt at the first sign of a threat.
“Your parents will be looking for you.”
The boy’s lips twitched with the hint of a sneer.
“No?”
He shook his head.
“Won’t anyone be worried about you?”
He narrowed his eyes, a gesture she assumed meant that no one would miss him.
She pursed her lips and turned away to look out the window. Scanning the crowd, she searched for a frantic mother or father even though she was certain he was right. She wouldn’t find anyone looking for the boy. He was on his own. A street urchin that no one would notice when he slipped away.
He perched on the edge of the seat, watching her with a look that was partway between curious and distrustful. The fear in his eyes had receded, but he was still ready to dart out of the compartment should she make any sudden move.
Her mother always spoke of taking in beggar children. The sight of them would move her to tears. If she had been there, Elizabeth Singleton would have already coaxed the boy’s story from him and formed a plan to get him food and decent clothing.
“I’m going to St. Louis,” Cora offered. “After that, I’ll take a train to Texas.”
She waited, but he said nothing. He simply watched her with pale gray eyes, his lips pressed together to form a thin line.
“Can you hear me?”
He nodded.
“But you don’t speak.”
He shook his head.
“What will you do when the conductor asks you for your ticket?”
He pointed to the space beneath the seats. Then, as if jerked by some invisible force, he jumped to his feet and looked out the door of the compartment. Whirling around, he dove for the seats and wriggled out of view. The wildly foolish attempt to conceal himself might have been comical if she hadn’t seen the desperate look in his eyes.
“You’re about as invisible as an elephant,” Cora remarked. “Your stowaway skills could use a little practice.”
A moment later, the conductor appeared in the doorway. Cora handed him her ticket. She couldn’t stand the idea of the boy getting into trouble. The conductor would throw him off the train and perhaps give him a sound thrashing too. Then what would happen to him? He’d be back to wandering the harsh streets of Boston. Cora didn’t want to lie, but if she could do the boy some small kindness, she would.
“I’ve done such a silly thing,” she said with a demure smile. “I’ve forgotten to purchase a ticket for my traveling companion.”
The conductor frowned and looked around the compartment. Red-faced and flustered, he seemed to be in too great of a hurry to bother asking any questions.
“That will be three dollars for a second ticket to St. Louis.”
Cora smiled and took the bills from her wallet. “Thank you.”
He took out a bundle of tickets from his bag, stamped one and handed it to her before leaving. Passengers thronged outside her compartment, and now that the tickets had been taken care of, she closed the door. She leaned down and waved the ticket in front of the boy’s face.
“I’ve paid your fare. You needn’t throw yourself under the seats every time the conductor comes this way.”
The boy blinked. Although he relaxed a little, the tension easing from his eyes, he made no move to leave his hiding spot. Crouched next to him, she could see his features a little better despite the layer of dirt on his face. They were delicate, angelic almost, or they were until he scowled
“You can’t stay under the seats the whole way to St. Louis.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“I suppose you could stay there, but why would you when there’s a lovely cushioned seat for you and window to look out? Come sit with me
and I’ll tell you a secret.”
The boy reached a small grubby hand and took the ticket. He turned it over a few times and finally squirmed his way out from under the seats and took the seat across from her. They both spent the next half hour watching the throngs of people moving about outside the train. Neither talked or even looked at the other. Finally, the train lurched, jerking them in their seats. Cora felt the vibrations of the wheels along the length of her spine, a heady sensation. Rumbling along the track, the train gained speed as it pulled away from the Boston station.
Cora found a piece of paper and a pencil in her bags. She handed it to the child. “You look like a clever boy, one who knows how to write. I’d like to know your name.”
The boy took the paper and wrote without hesitation. He handed it back to her.
“Justin. That’s a fine name. I’m Cora Singleton.”
He gave a small nod.
“Would you like to know my secret?”
His face covered in grime, looked like he’d bathed in dirt. He was filthy, yet he didn’t smell. He nodded again, slowly, as if he wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to know anything whatsoever.
“You needn’t look so worried. It’s nothing illicit or frightening. But you might as well know since we’re sharing this compartment.”
He sat stock still, waiting. Finally, he gave a slight nod.
“I’m deaf.”
The boy’s jaw dropped.
“But I can read lips.” She waited for a response, but he said nothing. “I can read lips so well many people don’t catch on that I can’t hear. And with concentration, I can enunciate well enough they never suspect a thing.”
His brows lifted.
“We’ll be a fine pair, won’t we? One of us can’t hear, and one of us can’t speak.”
The corner of his lip twitched.