Anita Mills (6 page)

“You must have been first in line,” she decided.

“No.”

“Mr. McCready, are you hiding something?” she asked curiously.

“Funny, but I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“What?”

“There’s a couple of hard cases in there looking for you.”

“What?
There can’t be—I don’t know anybody in this entire state,” she declared positively. “Nobody but Mr. Hamer even knows I’m coming.”

“Hamer?”

“The lawyer. He was appointed by the judge to handle my father’s estate, but I’d hardly call that an acquaintance. I’ve never met him.”

“They aren’t lawyers—I’ll go bail on that.”

“There must be a mistake.”

“I don’t know. But while you were taking your time in the privy, they were meeting everybody coming off the train, asking if anybody’d seen a Verena Howard—a
Miss
Verena Howard, that is. Seems like they’re some long-lost relatives of yours.”

“They can’t be—I don’t have any. At least none that I know of, anyway,” she amended. “After my father deserted us, I don’t know what he did.”

“They’re older than you are.”

“How odd.”

“Yeah, like I said, these are a couple of hardcases.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what that is.”

“Ugly customers.”

“That doesn’t help much either.”

“Real rough looking. I don’t know—maybe they’re Texas Rangers. All I know is that they were expecting to find you on this train. They were looking for a single woman traveling alone and bound for San Angelo.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “You’re just saying this, aren’t you? This is some part of your scheme, isn’t it? For some reason, you’re wanting to accompany me, but for the life of me, I can’t see why.”

“Actually, I may be leaving this train before Eagle Pass.”

She digested that for a moment, then asked suddenly, You’re in some sort of trouble, aren’t you?”

“They weren’t asking about me,” he countered. “Not unless they expect me to be disguised as a young woman, slender and in her early twenties, going across Texas all by herself. No, it’s you they’re after.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Uh-oh. Speak of the devil, there’s one of ’em right now,” he said low.

“What?”

“Keep your head down—better yet cover your face with my shoulder.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Just do it.” Before she could refuse, he reached out and drew her left hand to his opposite arm, exposing the band on her finger. “Don’t look up,” he murmured, almost under his breath. “Here he comes.”

“This is ridiculous,” she whispered. “I feel like a complete fool.”

“Just let me do the talking.”

With considerable skepticism, she turned her body, buried her head in his coat, and clasped his shoulder. “If I find out this is some sort of ruse—”

“Use your ears instead of your mouth,” he whispered against her hair. “It’s all right, Bess, honey,” he said aloud, his Southern accent suddenly heavy. “I guess those tortillas were too much for that queasy stomach. You just hold on until we get to Austin, and things’ll get a whole lot bettah, I promise yuh.”

“What—?”

Feeling her stiffen, he held her more tightly and went on, “It’s the baby, that’s all—and yuh got a delicate constitution. I should have left yuh back in Little Rock with Mama. Now yuh just stay real still, honey, and it’ll pass.”

“She sick, mister?”

“First baby,” she heard McCready answer proudly. Under her ear, his voice resounded as if it came from the inside of a barrel. “Been real sick with it—real sick. Right now, it don’t look like that tortilla she ate is gonna stay down.” Reaching around her with his right arm, he held out his hand. “Name’s McCready—Tom McCready, but folks call me Mac. And this here’s m’wife, Elizabeth McCready.”

“Mac. Ma’am.” He didn’t return the introduction. “Can’t say as I can see much of her.”

“Ever’ time she sits up, she pukes,” McCready explained. “I just got the last mess cleaned up.”

The stranger’s eyes narrowed. “You a Reb?”

“Yep—and mighty proud of it. Hell Brigade, Third Arkansas. And you?”

“I was a Yankee.” There was a pause. Then, “I was on the winning side.”

“Yeah, I know,” McCready murmured dryly.

“Don’t suppose you chanced to see a girl on this train?” the fellow asked casually. “She’d be traveling alone.”

“Not too many women on this run. There was one that got on this side of Galveston, but she had some kids with her.”

“No, this one’s young—looks about twenty, maybe a little older.”

The gambler furrowed his brow, then shook his head. “Not that I remember, anyway, but with taking care of Bess here, I might not’ve noticed. I’m right sorry.”

The stranger expelled a deep breath. “Yeah, so am I.”

“Friend of your’n?”

“My sister. She’s coming from back East alone.”

“And she’s lost?”

“Yeah. We missed meeting her in Galveston, and now it looks like she’s plumb disappeared. I figured maybe she’d be on this train.”

“Maybe she’s in one of the other cars,” McCready offered helpfully.

“Ain’t nobody seen her. We already asked damned near everybody.”

“Tell yuh what—yuh give me your name and direction, and if Bess or I happen to see her when we change lines at Harrisburg, I’ll wire yuh.”

The stranger didn’t take the bait. Instead, he said, “Her name’s Howard—Verena Howard. It’s real unusual, the kind if you heard it, you’d remember—the Verena, I mean.”

“Well, we’ll sure be on the lookout for her,” McCready promised. “I’d hate to have my sister out here fending for herself. No tellin’ what kind of riffraff she’d be running into—there’s Yankees damned near everywhere now.”

The man’s jaw tensed and his hand dropped to the six-shooter strapped to his thigh. Then he caught himself. Forcing a smile, he said tightly, “Guess we’ll ride on to San Antone and look for her there. Guess she coulda gone by stage or something.”

“That’s what I’d do—look for her in San Antonio, I mean.”

“Where’d you say you were going?”

“Austin. At Columbus, we’ll be headed for Austin. We got people there.” McCready shifted Verena slightly, murmuring, “Feeling any better, Bess, honey?”

“I can’t breathe,” she choked out.

“It’s all that throwing up yuh been doing,” he assured her.

“Well, I guess I’ll be going,” the stranger said. “She didn’t just go up in smoke, that’s for sure.”

“Wouldn’t think so, anyway,” McCready murmured. “Sure hope yuh find her before anything bad happens.”

“Oh, we’ll find her, all right—one way or another, we’ll find her.”

Verena couldn’t see, but she could hear the jangle of the man’s spurs fading as he walked away. Yet the gambler’s arm still held her so close that his heartbeat kept its rhythm beneath her ear.

“All right,” he said finally, releasing her, “you can sit up now. But he just got off, so I wouldn’t be looking outside yet.”

“I think you’ve given me a crick in my neck,” she muttered.

Leaning back in her seat, she furtively glanced toward the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man. But he had his back to her, and all she could see was a big felt hat, a plaid flannel shirt, and a pair of short, decidedly bowed legs above badly worn boots. He walked with a limp.

“Recognize him?”

Caught, she turned guiltily toward the gambler. “No, of course not. I don’t know who he is, but I can assure you he isn’t my brother.”

“Maybe he’s from the wrong side of the blanket?”

“My father didn’t leave home until ’61—until the war started.”

“Well, I didn’t see much resemblance, but you never know.”

“
I
know. My father was taller—and exceptionally handsome.”
Like you,
something in her mind whispered. But she didn’t repeat it. Instead, a small smile teased the corners of her mouth. “But I will give you one thing, Mr. McCready.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re quite the accomplished liar. If your mother’d been right, your ears ought to be dangling down to your ankles by now.”

“I got rid of him for you, didn’t I?”

“I hope so, anyway. But where on earth did you come up with Bess? I’ve never liked that name—ever. It sounds as if it ought to belong to a fat old woman.”

“It’s my mother’s.”

“Oh. Well, then I suppose you’re entitled to feel a certain attachment to it,” she conceded.

“I do.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, sighing. “I shouldn’t be so blunt, I expect.”

“Actually, she always admired honesty. But talking about Bess McCready won’t explain what that cowboy wanted,” he murmured, returning to the subject at hand. “You’re sure you don’t know?”

“If I did, don’t you think I would have told you?”

“No.”

“Well, I don’t, anyway.”

“Somebody knew you were coming down.”

“Just Mr. Hamer, and I hardly think he would have instructed a couple of ruffians to meet me the instant I set foot in Texas.”

“What do you know about him?”

“Mr. Hamer? Nothing really, but I gather from his letter that he’s an entirely respectable attorney.”

“There isn’t any such thing.”

“Well, in any event, he writes like an old man, and I don’t know as he was even acquainted with my father at all. According to the papers he sent me, he was appointed by the county to handle what little there is of an estate. And I gather from what he wrote that my father didn’t really leave enough to bother with—just a little farm with a three-room house on it. It could’ve gone to probate without my even appearing in court.”

“Which brings me to another point—if that’s the case, why bother coming down?”

“Right now, I wish I hadn’t—I truly wish I hadn’t. It’s been an expense, and a near nightmare.” Taking a deep breath, she looked out the window again. Exhaling, she turned back to McCready. “I guess I just wanted to see what Jack Howard did with his life after he deserted us. I guess I’m just looking for a reason why he did that.” She looked up at him. “That sounds rather foolish, doesn’t it? To spend money that I’ll probably never even recover just coming down here, I mean.”

“No.”

“I don’t suppose there can be two Verena Howards, can there?” she asked, sighing again.

“Probably not. As your friend pointed out, Verena’s not exactly common.”

“No. I only knew one other, anyway—and she was the aunt I was named for. Verena Summers was her name.”

“Well, it’s got me beat,” he admitted. Leaning back, he unwrapped the tortillas again. “Here, you’d better get something on your stomach before we leave out.”

The grease had already congealed on them. “I couldn’t—I just couldn’t. They didn’t even smell good when they were cooking.”

Taking out his watch, he flicked the case open, then decided, “All right, we’ve still got about eight minutes. You wait here, and I’ll fight the crowd to see what else they’ve got.”

“You didn’t look while you were there?”

“No. When I heard ’em asking about you, I just grabbed these off the counter when the cook wasn’t looking.”

“You didn’t even pay for them?” she asked incredulously. “You stole food?”

“I threw down a quarter.” His gaze dropped to the greasy rag and the offending tortillas. “Even free, they wouldn’t be much of a bargain.” Rolling up the rag, he stood up and dropped his right arm, sliding the narrow knife from beneath his sleeve. “Here, this’ll work even better than a hatpin.”

She looked first at the knife, then back to the food in his hand. “I’ve changed my mind, Mr. McCready—I’ll eat those.”

“You want my gun? I guess I could leave it with you.”

“No.” Her gaze went to his face for a moment. “I don’t want you to go anywhere right now.”

Favoring her with a look of long suffering, he sighed, then dropped back into his seat. “You know you’re damned hard to please, don’t you? If there were a school where females just learned the art of contrariness, you’d have graduated from it with high marks,” he complained. “And the same way about lying.”

“I haven’t lied to you, Mr. McCready,” she protested.

“No?”

“Well, not really, anyway.”

“Is
there a Mr. Howard?”

“I’m sure there must be—somewhere. I mean, Howard is a fairly common name, after all.”

“But you don’t really have a husband.”

“No.”

“What about the rest of it?”

“The rest of what? Really, sir, but—”

“What else are you lying about?” he cut in curtly.

“Nothing. And I wouldn’t have claimed to be married, but I was hoping to avoid unwanted attention,” she explained defensively.

“Like that fellow that just left?” he gibed.

“Like
you,
Mr. McCready—and like those awful cowboys.” Daring to meet the skeptical look in those dark eyes, she declared evenly, “Everything else I’ve told you is the truth.”

“That’s pretty hard to swallow, you know.”

“And what about you?” she countered. “Let’s turn the table, Mr. McCready. What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, isn’t it? All right, then—why are you making my business your business? What are you hiding from me?”

“Nothing much,” he lied.

“Is
there a Mrs. McCready?”

“Lots of ’em.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My father had four brothers, all of whom married and produced mostly sons. And those sons—”

“You can spare me the litany,” she cut in. “I was asking about you.”

“No.” Leaning back, he regarded her lazily for a moment, then asked, “Why? Were you thinking of applying for the position?”

“No, of course not!” she snapped.

“Anything else bothering you? About me, I mean.”

“I’ m not a prying person, Mr. McCready.”

“Oh, I don’t know—that struck me as a pretty personal question.”

“You asked it of me first, didn’t you? What difference did it make to you?”

“None, I guess. But a man sees a pretty female traveling all by herself, and—”

“And he gets notions,” she said, finishing his sentence for him.

“I’d rather call it curiosity, Miss Howard.”

“And I’d rather call it what it is.”

“All right, then have it your way. Here”—handing her a cold tortilla, he added—“you’d better eat and enjoy the company while you’ve got it.”