Anita Mills (13 page)

Thoroughly awake now, McCready butted the bigger man in his gut. An
Ooof!
escaped, but as the man staggered backward, knocking over the bedside table, breaking the unlit lamp, several half-inebriated fellows piled on, eager to join the fight. With the rest of her furniture breaking around her, poor Mrs. Goode ran to the door shouting for her husband, while everybody else punched and cursed and rolled on the floor in the semidarkness.

Totally humiliated, yet unable to escape past the sheriff’s wife, Verena sank to the floor with her head in her hands. When morning came, she didn’t know how she could face any of them, least of all Matthew McCready.

“How badly does it hurt?” she asked, breaking the seemingly interminable silence between them.

Instead of answering, he slid his hat back from his face and regarded her balefully through the narrow, swollen slit that was his left eye.

She sighed and looked out the train window. They were about twenty minutes out of Eagle Lake, and while the number of passengers had thinned down considerably, and most of those were sleeping off the effects of the sheriff’s strong cider, a few in the front of the car were singing loudly, drowning out most conversation.

Not that it mattered. Matthew McCready was just sitting there, his expression inscrutable. Straightening her tired shoulders against the train seat, she dropped her gaze to her hands. The false wedding band seemed to mock her now, but until she reached Columbus, she didn’t dare take it off.

Casting another surreptitious glance at McCready, she felt more than a little guilty for the beating he’d taken. That eye was as puffy and discolored as any she’d ever seen, and the lower jaw bore a dark bruise where he’d taken a hard blow. Whether from discomfort or resentment, he was obviously in no mood to talk.

“You know, I did tell you I was sorry,” she said finally, keeping her voice low. “But I’m not wholly to blame. It
was
your idea to share, wasn’t it? Obviously you had no more notion it was going to collapse like that than I did.”

No response.

“Can’t you at least say something?”

“Yeah.” As he spoke, his jaw ached. “I may be dangerous, but you’re just plain trouble.”

“If you hadn’t fought back—”

The eyebrow over the black eye lifted, causing him to wince.

“Well, then, if you hadn’t tried to fight
all
of them, maybe I could have tried to explain—” Yet even as she said it, she could feel her face flush with remembered embarassment, and she knew there wouldn’t have been any acceptable explanation.

First there’d been the fight. Then, once it’d been broken up by the sheriff, and McCready’s attackers hauled out to cool off, things had only gotten worse. The two Negro boys and the hired girl sent in to nail boards over the broken frame had kept rolling their eyes and giggling. If she lived to be a hundred, she’d never forget the impudent way the girl had stood there, her hands on her hips, scolding her and McCready, “Y’all oughter be ashamed o’yersels—a-going at it right where folks cud hear yah.” Then there’d been Mrs. Goode. Returning to survey the damage to the room, she’d simply handed Verena a kettle of water and a tin of salve, then left, but it was apparent that she wasn’t amused at all. As a goodwill gesture, McCready had given her forty dollars to replace the broken furniture.

But this morning’s breakfast had been unbearable. By then, everybody who’d not actually witnessed the debacle had heard of it. The kindest comment was a whispered, “They must be newlyweds,” but almost everything else was either a furtive glance or an outright snicker. McCready hadn’t said anything then, either, but she knew he heard the snide comments also.

She was still too mortified to get up and walk around. She hadn’t even drunk her morning coffee for fear she’d have to use the privy before she got to Columbus. No, once she got off this train, she hoped she never saw any of her fellow passengers again. No, that wasn’t entirely true, she realized. Without McCready, she’d be utterly, completely alone.

“You’re miserable, aren’t you?” she asked, trying again.

“I’ll be all right.” Shifting in his seat, he tried to stretch his cramped legs. “You know, if I’d had any sense, I’d have bought myself a horse in Galveston and left you to fend for yourself—that’s what I should have done.”

“I didn’t ask you to come.”

“ ‘What fools these mortals be,’ ” he murmured sardonically.

“Shakespeare’s
A Midsummer Night’s Dream,”
she said, trying to smile.

“Not one of my favorites, but at least the thought’s appropriate,” he admitted. “You know, when I first laid eyes on you, I was actually fool enough to foresee a very different diversion.” His mouth twisted wryly. “If you had shared the notion, we could’ve had a real nice trip in spite of all this.”

“Well, it wasn’t a very flattering notion—not of my character, anyway.”

“When a man looks at a pretty woman, the last thing on his mind is her character—unless there’s a lack of it. No,” he said, straightening in his seat, “I should’ve folded that hand at the outset.”

“What are you going to do now?” she dared to ask.

“At Columbus? Get off this accursed train.”

“Besides that, I mean.”

“Well, for a start, I aim to get myself a tub of good hot water and some soap strong enough to wash the sweat off. Then I’ll be looking for a poker game and some real Tennessee mash.”

“Tennessee what?”

“Mash. Good sipping whiskey—the kind that goes down smooth, then kicks like hell later.” He touched his sore jaw gingerly, then nodded. “Right now, I could drink the whole bottle by myself.”

“But then you’d be drunk.”

“That’s the idea, anyway.”

“You’ll be paying the piper afterward.”

“One way or another, we all pay the piper, Rena.” He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and pulled his hat down over his forehead. “Even you.”

“Are you still intending to go to Austin?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Yeah,” he lied, “there ought to be some high-stakes games in a state capital. Why?”

“Well, I guess if that’s all you want out of life, then that’s what you ought to do.” She studied what she could see of his face for a moment, then admitted, “You know, you surprised me last night.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, given the expensive clothes you wear, I more or less had you figured for a—”

“Fancy man,” he cut in curtly, pushing back the hat and opening his eyes again. “You might as well go ahead and say it. Sparing my feelings hasn’t stopped you yet.”

“Well, not that—at least not precisely. Having seen the way you went for your gun, I knew you weren’t exactly what you look. I was just meaning I never took you for a brawler. You seem so neat, so …” She paused, groping for the right word. “So fastidious about your person,” she finished finally.

“I am. I hate dirt and sweat,” he declared flatly. “But growing up with a couple of older brothers, I learned to hold my own.”

“I always wanted a brother,” she admitted wistfully.

“It got pretty rough sometimes. Whenever there was any dispute, Pa threw us outside and made us settle it between ourselves. Being the littlest, I had to bite, butt, kick, and gouge, or I’d never have gotten my share of anything.”

“How awful,” she murmured.

“Oh, I don’t know—I guess we finally came to terms with each other. Hell, I
know
we did. By the time I was ten or so, we’d pretty much closed ranks against the rest of the world. Whenever we got to go to school, nobody gave us any trouble.”

“Well, if it’s any comfort at all right now, I think you gave better than you got last night. In fact, I know you did. While I was salving you up, Mrs. Goode was sewing up some of the others.”

It was hard figuring her out. Yesterday she’d been eager to get rid of him, and now that it was about to happen, she seemed determined to coax conversation out of him, as if she didn’t want him to leave her. If he were in a better mood, maybe he’d be up to understanding her, but he wasn’t. All his brief acquaintance with her had got him was trouble, and he didn’t need any more of that.

“Don’t you ever get tired of gambling?” she asked suddenly. “Don’t you ever want to do something worthwhile?”

“Is this your way of asking me to stick around?”

She shook her head. “I can take care of myself. I’ve been alone ever since Mama died.”

“You’ll be all right.” But even as he said it, he didn’t believe it.

“You’re really determined to go to Austin, anyway.”

It was a statement, not the question he’d already answered. And the resignation in it pricked what was left of his conscience. He tried to smile, but his mouth hurt too much, so he just nodded. “Yeah.” Looking down with his one good eye, he saw her twisting the ring on her finger. “You know, you could just go back to Galveston and write that lawyer, telling him you’ve changed your mind.” Raising up just enough to wrench a sore rib, he reached into his coat pocket and took out the thick roll of banknotes. “You yourself said your father’s place wasn’t worth much,” he reminded her, counting out two hundred dollars. “Here—go home and forget it.” As she stared in disbelief, he added another fifty dollars to it. “That ought to get you there with plenty to spare.”

It took her a moment to regain her speech. “Are you offering to
buy
my farm, Mr. McCready?” she asked incredulously.

Until she said it, the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. Yet now that she’d planted the notion, he mulled it over, considering the possibilities. No, he didn’t want anything to do with any farm. But he didn’t really want to go to Helena, either, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to Austin, no matter what he’d told her. While he’d place a bet that Jack Howard’s farm wasn’t anything more than a little dirt patch in the middle of nowhere, there was something to be said for that. It’d be a place to hide out, a place where nobody would expect to find Matthew Morgan.

Suddenly, in his mind’s eye he could see his mother, worn-out and old before her time, as faded as her shapeless flour sack dress, and his father standing beside her, his weathered skin as tough as boiled leather from too many years of backbreaking labor. No, he couldn’t even pretend to be a farmer. He’d rather die nameless in Helena than plant crops anywhere. It had just been a fleeting, utterly stupid notion.

“No,” he managed, his voice harsh, “you just take the money and go back where you came from. There’s enough there for a pretty dress and a whole lot more. Fix yourself up nice and go hunting for a husband to take care of you.”

“I don’t need anybody to take care of me.”

“Well, you sure as hell don’t belong out here, Rena. Eking out a living on dirt takes a heavy toll on a woman, especially on a pretty one like you. A couple of years, and nobody back East will even recognize you.”

“I wasn’t intending to stay—I don’t know how many times I’ve said it, but I’m not staying.”

“You can think that, but maybe you won’t have the money to go home. Unless I miss my guess, what you came with is about gone—or it will be by the time you get to San Angelo. You know, it could take a year, maybe longer, to sell a farm down here. Look at what we’ve come through—damned near all cattle ranches. This is Texas, and everything gets bigger and rougher down here,” he argued.

“I’m sure I can manage. I can price the place low, you know. All I have to have is enough to get home on.”

“Yeah, and while you’re waiting for a buyer, who’s going to help you out? It sure as hell won’t be me, if that’s what you were angling at. I walked behind my last plow a long time ago—a real long time ago.”

The money in his hand was terribly tempting. Two hundred and fifty dollars was well over a year’s wages without the room and board. More than enough to get her back to Philadelphia. Even enough to give her the luxury of choosing rather than just taking any teaching position. And it obviously didn’t mean nearly as much to him. It was as though every fiber of her body cried out, telling her to take it and go home.

“No,” she said finally. “It wouldn’t be right—you don’t owe it to me, and I can’t accept all that money. Just give me ten dollars for my dress, and we’ll be more than even.”

“Take the rest of it, and I won’t have to worry about you. I’ll just be thinking it’s a good riddance.”

“In a couple of hours, maybe even less, you’re going to be rid of me, anyway,” she reminded him, her eyes still on the money. Drawing upon her last bulwark of resolve, she declared more definitely, “I have to go on, Mr. McCready—my father’s will comes up for probate, and I promised Mr. Hamer I’d be there.”

Studying the determined set of her face, he felt goaded. She was too damned obstinate to make sense. Unless … No, he could think of only one reason why after all that had happened to her, she was still hell-bent on getting to San Angelo. If there wasn’t something more to it than she’d told him, she’d have taken his money and hied herself back East with it. His good eye narrowed to match the half-closed one.

“Then you’re a damned liar, Verena.”

She blinked blankly at the sudden, unexpected attack. For a moment, she just stared. “And just what do you mean by that?” she demanded when she found her voice.

“You don’t want my money because you’ve got something better waiting at San Angelo. That’s why you’ve got those hardcases chasing you. There’s some reason why you’re so all-fired eager to claim a supposedly worthless piece of ground over there. I don’t know what it is, but it’s something real important to you.”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at, but I don’t like the inference,” she told him stiffly. “As far as I know, all my father left me is one hundred and sixty acres of land about eight miles out of San Angelo. But even if there
were
something else, I don’t see where it would be any business of yours, anyway.”

“When you hide behind a man, he’s got a right to know if there’s going to be somebody shooting at him because of you.”

“Nobody’s shot at you yet,” she retorted.

“No, the way I’ve got it figured now, you know what they want, and you’ve been playing me for a damned fool,” he went on. “While you’ve been acting like Miss Innocent, all you’ve wanted is somebody to throw ’em off. That’s it—admit it.”

“Ohhhh, now that’s just rich, it is!” she hissed at him furiously. “May I remind you yet again that it was
you
who followed me—not the other way around! Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I’ve wished you in Purgatory at the least!”

“Now
that,
my dear, is a barefaced lie. As I recall, it was you turning to me just yesterday, claiming you’d overheard—”

“It wasn’t a claim—it was a fact,” she snapped, cutting him off.

“Keep your voice down, will you?” Rising slightly in his seat, he looked the length of the car to make sure no one had heard her. “Apparently, that caterwauling drowned you out,” he decided, leaning back. “I guess you’d have to shout loud enough to wake the dead before anybody’d notice.”