by Savanna Sage
“I won’t stop you.”
“You couldn’t stop me.”
Adam made a fist and took a swipe at Spud that deliberately fell short. Spud jumped back anyway. “Careful with them things! That Waxwing Wonder didn’t come to for hours.”
Adam suddenly pulled his fists to his sides, his eyes wide with concern. “He’s not… dead?”
“No, no, no.” Spud waved his hands back and forth in front of him as if sweeping a table clear. Then he stopped and gave Adam a calculating look. “But if he’s dead, will you leave?”
Adam’s face closed up again. “I’d take him some flowers.”
Spud burst into laughter. “You’re a funny guy, Adam. I like you. And because I like you, I’ll do everything I know of to help you survive. And that means we need to leave.”
“Don’t know that I will.”
Spud’s mouth fell open in exasperation. “You need to wait ‘til morning? Is that what you’re saying?”
Adam glanced at the DeSoto house. “Me leaving this town depends on someone else.”
“Who? Who could keep you here against your will?”
“It’s not against my will,” Adam declared. “There’s someone I feel strongly about.”
“Who?”
“Steel.”
“Where is this Steel? You wanna fight him? I’ll set it up, then we can get out of here.”
“It’s not a man,” Adam said.
Spud’s face creased in disbelief. “Steel’s a woman?”
Just then, the DeSoto’s front door opened and Steel came out in her trousers. She had a new hat on, a felt one, that was slightly misshapen.
To Adam’s delight, she walked down the porch steps and headed toward them, carrying a sheet of paper. The ends of her chopped hair fluttered above her shoulders.
Suddenly shy, Adam lowered his gaze and scuffed one foot against the ground. She stopped in front of them and asked, “Who are you?”
“This is Spud,” Adam said, “my… friend.”
Steel raised an eyebrow. “You said manager before.”
“I am whatever he needs me to be,” Spud said, holding out his hand. “You are?”
“Steel.” She put out her hand for a brief shake, then held the paper toward Adam. “Carmen said you need to read this and sign it.”
When Adam didn’t make a move to take it, Steel pushed it closer to him. “Go on. It’s an agreement from the railroad so you can get paid.”
“He doesn’t need it,” Spud said, reaching for the paper.
Steel pulled it out of his reach. “You may deal in other business with Adam, but this is an arrangement of his own making.” Moving closer, she pressed the paper into Adam’s hand. He took it with reluctance. “I’ve brought you a pencil,” Steel said. “If you want a pen, you’ll have to go inside.” She glanced back over her shoulder at the house, hunching her shoulders a bit.
“Won't do no good,” Spud said. “He can’t read nor write.”
Adam felt like punching Spud in the mouth. Adam could have run his eyes over the letters. He’d recognize some from his year of schooling. After Coretta left, Roland never bothered sending Adam back to school. Although fancy loops and curlicues made no sense to him, Adam knew how to spell out his name in boxy letters. He’d even thought he might make an impressive scribble resembling signatures he’d seen that didn’t look like any letters he’d ever seen. He could have done it, if Spud hadn’t opened his big mouth.
Steel captured Adam with her startled gaze. “You really can’t read or write?”
Adam’s face grew hot, making his bruises itch something terrible. He didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t want this intriguing girl to think poorly of him. He’d always wanted to know more of what those symbols meant, had envied people who easily scanned a line of letters and came up with the meaning behind them.
When Steel laid a gentle hand on his arm, Adam finally spoke. “I can write my name. Don’t know much else, but always wished I did.”
Steel cast a glance to Spud. “Do you know how?”
“Course I do,” Steel said. “Couldn’t be a manager without knowing reading and writing, could I?”
“Why didn’t you teach him?”
Spud shrugged, giving Adam and troubled glance. “Didn’t think he needed to know so long’s I was taking care of things.”
“Well, Adam, if you’ll have me, I’ll be your teacher,” Stella declared, raising her hand from his arm and putting her first finger in the air as if that would help him pay more attention than he already was. He missed the touch of her hand on his arm. “As long as it doesn’t interfere with our other work.”
“He doesn’t need work,” Spud declared.
Steel dismissed him with a glance while Adam reached out and took hold of her hand, extended index finger and all. “I would like that.”
“Ain’t no good, Smasher,” Spud said, “It’ll never be like you want it.”
“Smasher?” Steel asked, the confusion in her eyes tugging at Adam’s heart.
Why did Spud have to go and say that? Adam cast him a despairing glance. Then he turned to Steel and opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
“He used to like smashing things when he was a kid,” Spud said. “Still does.”
“I’ve heard that name,” Steel said, tipping her head to one side and studying Adam’s face. “Someone called it in the woods in Kansas on a starry night. Was that you sitting by the spring, holding onto Prince?”
Adam took in a breath. What would she think if he admitted it? She’d sounded so scared when she called her dog that night. She darted away so fast, before Adam could say a word. Would she be afraid of him all over again if she knew he was that man? Although her brows were raised in a question, her eyes held knowing in their depths.
“Yes, that was us,” Adam admitted, watching his fingers knot together instead of the expected fear on her face.
“And your face… you looked like an ogre,” she said.
His startled lion’s eyes raised to meet her gaze. “An ogre?”
“Yes, like from a fairy tale.”
“I know what ogres are, I just, well, I just never thought I looked like one. And I never meant to scare you.”
She gave a little laugh. “I only realized that my dog liked you after I rescued him from being eaten.”
Adam pulled back in shock. “I would never eat your dog!” Steel laughed more. Adam liked the sound. “Where is he now?” At the stricken look on her face, Adam wished he could pull the question back.
“While you two’s talking about fairy tales, I’ve got work to do,” Spud said, his eyes on Adam. “I’ll see you at the Hacienda Hotel, if you come to your senses.” Then he strode away.
When Adam turned back to Steel, she tried to smile. “Prince was sent to a different kingdom.”
Should he say he was sorry? Or would that only make things worse? Would she say she was sorry about his face, and ask why it was bruised in Kansas as well as here in Santa Fe? If she found out about his illegal fights, would she refuse to see him again? He couldn’t bear it.
But if she would really teach him how to read and write, he’d get a different job, something legal, something she’d be proud of. Warmth filled him at the enchanting thought of taking care of Steel for the rest of their lives. He’d even get Prince back for her, or get her another dog, if she wanted one.
“Enough of the past,” Steel said. “We have some learning to do.” When she sat on a tipped barrel, it rolled a bit under her weight. At her cry of surprised laughter, Adam grabbed her shoulders. “You all right?”
“Yes,” she said, putting her hand over his big one. “Now for your first lesson.” She spread the railroad agreement over her lap. “Can you see the letters well enough?” She looked up at him, her concerned gaze flitting from his eyes up to the scabbed eyebrow and back again.
Gazing at her face, he said, “I can see just fine.” Then he turned his attention to the letters, following along in in
terested fascination, recognizing some of them as she pointed them out and said the words they made.
When they got to the end of the paper, Steel turned it over to its blank side. “Now this is how you write your name.” She spelled, “OGRE.”
“That’s not it!” Adam protested.
Steel laughed. “‘Ogre’ has the same number of letters. Just be glad you aren’t named Zacharias.”
“I’d like to see that spelled out, if you don’t mind.”
“Why?”
Adam looked off to one side. “I’m curious.” He turned his gaze back to Steel. “I want to learn all I can.”
Steel wrote out “Zacharias.”
“Thank you. And how is your name written?”
She put the pencil to the paper and wrote, “Stella.” When she sat back and glanced at the paper, her eyes flew open wide. Leaning forward, she scribbled at the letters she’d written, covering them with dark strokes of gray.
“Don’t worry,” Adam said softly. “I can’t read it anyway.”
Shaking, Steel sat back on the barrel. Dropping the pencil, she covered her face with her hands. “I don’t want him to find me,” she murmured. “He can’t find me.”
Adam put a strong arm around her shaking shoulders. “I’ll protect you,” he said. “I promise. Who is he? Your husband?”
Steel let out a strangled laugh. “My uncle. He tried to force me to marry, but I want to choose for myself.” Suddenly she pulled her hands from her face and stared at Adam. “Why am I telling you this?” Eyes wide with panic, she cried, “No one must know! I’ve got to move on.” She jumped to her feet. “I’ve got to stay free.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” Adam assured her. “I only want you safe. I won’t leave you to face him alone, Steel.”
Gazing into Adam’s eyes with her tear-filled ones nearly tore his heart in two. “Stella,” she finally whispered. “My name is Stella.”
“Stella,” he repeated. “That’s beautiful, more beautiful than Cinderella.” Then he lowered his face closer to hers, and she didn’t pull away. With utmost care, he brushed his lips against hers. He felt her stiffen at first, as if she might resist. But when he touched her lips again, ignoring the twitches from his bruised mouth, she leaned into him, fitting the soft curves of her body against his.
If this enchanting girl could kiss him in spite of his bruised face, then she must really like him. Or else she was really scared. Was she just looking at him as a protector? In spite of his doubts, Adam let himself believe that she was falling in love with him.
Then she pulled her mouth free of his. “Cinderella?” she asked, so close his mouth that he could feel her lips move against his, sending his blood racing through his veins.
“That’s who you looked like when I first saw you in the woods,” he whispered in return. “But you are even more beautiful than her.”
“I’m a beautiful Princess Cabbage Head,” she murmured.
Chapter 13
Stella grabbed a dishtowel and pulled the pan off the stove. Waving her hand in the air did no good in clearing out the smoke, but merely created ghostly patterns in the haze.
She’d done it again. She cooked for her father all the time, so this unfamiliar stove must be enchanted by an evil fairy. Either that, or she spent too much time thinking of Adam instead of her cooking.
The DeSoto’s food was unfamiliar, too. She hadn’t learned how to make proper tortillas.They were either too thin, too thick, uneven, scorched on one side, or a doughy mess. She wasn’t familiar with how long to soak beans, either, and hadn’t yet cooked them long enough to be able to chew without Carmen taking over and correcting her mistakes.
“What’s this?” Paul asked, coughing as he stepped into the kitchen.
“I’m sorry,” Stella said.
“How can you keep ruining the food?” Paul asked, disgusted. He stalked around the room, opening windows.
“I’m not used to your stove, or the kind of food you eat,” Stella said. “I could make you some nice spiced cabbage.”
“Cabbage is food fit only for donkeys,” Paul said in disgust. “You should know how to cook on general principle. I hired you to help, but you’re just costing me money by wasting food.”
“I’m sorry,” Stella said. “It’s only been a couple of days. I’ll do better.”
“I can’t afford to keep you any longer, spoiling food the way you do. We need a lot of food around here.”
Stella’s heart sank. “I… you’re saying I have to leave?”
“I don’t see any other solution if you can’t do what I hired you for.” He glanced at the clock, then strode out the door.
Stella sat down at the table, the smoking pan in her hand, tears gathering in her eyes. She’d had her mind on moving to California, but she had no money. That was before Adam, too. She’d told him her real name. He promised to protect her from Uncle Owen. She believed he could, but what had he been fighting about to get bruises here and in Kansas? Did he defend other girls from evil uncles? Was he a fighter for hire?
“Here,” Carmen said.
Stella rubbed her eyes, then looked up through the dissipating smoke to see Carmen holding out a red dress that was slightly faded, yet more fitted in the waist, and clearly nicer than the loose blue calico skirt draped over her rounded belly. “Don’t cry over burned food,” Carmen said. She didn’t move closer, as she had a child clinging to her skirt, but she added, “We can cook more. For now, you borrow this.”
Stella set the pan down on the scarred wooden table as two children chased each other past her and out the door. Did she even want to wear a dress again? If she was in a dress and Uncle Owen showed up, he’d be more likely to recognize her. She was getting used to the freedom of movement the trousers offered, but she had to keep pulling them up.
“You need to wash those,” Carmen said, glancing at Stella’s trousers.
Stella had to agree. She could always go back to the trousers once they were clean. Perhaps she could alter them as well. Surely she would be safe wearing a dress again for a short time. Uncle Owen most likely had better things to do than chase down a runaway niece who only caused him problems.
Stella reached out and took the dress. What will Adam think when he sees me in this? Her heart fluttered in anticipation of seeing his eyes widen, watching him smile just for her. His poor bruised face this morning made him look a bit like the beast from Beauty and the Beast, but the genuine concern for her in his lion eyes had coaxed her secret from her. Relieved that she could share who she really was, she trusted him to keep it.
“Before you change, let’s fix the hair.” Carmen held up a pair of shears, giving them a decisive snip. One of her children squealed, cried, “Itchy!” and scuttled out of his mother’s reach.
Deciding that nothing Carmen did could make it look worse, Stella sat down at the table, where one of the younger DeSoto children was picking up crumbs with her finger and putting them in her mouth. Carmen used a comb to pull Stella’s hair down straight before cutting off the ragged ends. In spite of the chatter of children moving around the house, the touch of Carmen’s hands in Stella’s hair felt so soothing, Stella was pulled toward sleep like the enchanted Sleeping Beauty.
“There,” Carmen said all too soon. “Now you look like one of my niñas.”
Stella reached up and fingered the even ends of her hair. “Thank you for helping me.” She stood. “But I’m supposed to be helping you, and I’m not doing a very good job if it.”
Carmen waved her hand like a fairy godmother. “You are good company for me. Paul worries too much. He comes from a family of just two sisters more.” She turned her hands over. “They took care of him, the baby of the family. He is sometimes overwhelmed by so many children.”
“But not you?” Stella guessed.
“Si. I just feel like one of them,” Carmen said with a good-humored smile. “It’s how I grew up, the big sister, with seven younger than me. My mother liked to play, so we all had
a good time.” Her face filled with genuine joy and she said, “Now let’s see how the dress fits.”
It didn’t fit very well, with the waistband too high, but the darts gave Stella a semblance of feminine shape by nipping the fabric in at her ribcage. The hem swung higher than the trouser hems had, but Stella had worn the trousers for so long that having the entire height of her boots in plain view was no longer uncomfortable.
“Here,” Carmen held her hand out, fingers tugging at the air. “Give me the trousers.”
“Wait.” Stella reached in the pocket and pulled out her messy hank of hair from where she’d rolled and stuffed it into the pocket during her desperate flight from Kansas.
“Did you scalp someone?” asked an 11-year-old DeSoto boy as he stared with eyes big as pecans at the hair in Stella’s hand.
“No,” Stella said with a laugh. “This is my hair.”
The boy gave her a skeptical look. Then why ain’t it on yer head?”
“Let me see.” Carmen reached out and took the hair. Laying it on the table, she sat down, turning sideways to accommodate her belly. Evening up the edges of the cut hair as well as she could, she tied it tight at the end, then carefully braided the strands to their full length. It turned out thinner than Stella’s original hair, probably due to losing some of it on Franklin’s floor. But the thinner braid worked its magic when Carmen pinned it up around Stella’s head, doing her best to pull up the shorter strands and weave them in.
“There,” Carmen said, standing back. “Get my mirror and see how you like it.”
Stella stared at the reflection of a different person. She was still a bit like Papa’s princess, but stronger. The adventurous escape from Uncle Owen, moving in with the DeSoto’s, and her attraction toward Adam had changed her.
The rumble of a wagon pulling up to the house made Stella put down her mirror and step out onto the porch. Adam sat on the seat of a wagon full of lumber, his bruises all there, some of them changing color. When he caught sight of Stella, he froze, except for his eyes, which scanned her clothes beneath his scabbed brow.