Ballad Beauty (5 page)

CHAPTER 6

Noah’s pride prickled up. He dropped her hand. All his life he’d defended the name he’d been saddled with. He’d been called out because of it more times than a soul could imagine. His mama explained why she honored him with this particular name, but he’d finally reached the end of his proverbial rope.

“Who are you to question a fine name such as mine?” he shot back, his eyes narrowing as he tried to intimidate her.

Jenny McShanahan had the decency to look taken aback. “I’m sorry, Mr. Webster. I just hadn’t heard that particular combination before. I don’t wish to upset you.”

“I’m not upset,” he fired off, then amended his tone. “I’ve just taken teasing about it my entire life.”

She smiled at him wistfully. “Well, sir, you carry the moniker of two very fine men. Why, Mr. Noah Webster and I have been friends since I was about ten, and I began my first journal.” She laughed. “We weren’t always friends, you know. Miss Wheadle caught me throwing Mr. Webster’s dictionary across the room early in our relationship. I think it had something to do with blends. Or was it diphthongs? At any rate, I became a first-class speller, thanks to his marvelous compilation.”

He was amused. “And do you have a personal relationship with Mr. Daniel Webster, as well?”

One corner of her mouth turned up. “I’m afraid not. Mr. Daniel Webster’s speeches were not considered proper language to study for young ladies at The Thompson School in Boston.” She paused. “However, my good friend Dr. Randolph indulged me upon occasion. I have read a few of Mr. Daniel Webster’s orations in my time. I particularly enjoyed his defense of the Compromise of 1850. He saved our country from war for a time.”

He whistled low. “You don’t appear to be a typical young lady, ma’am.”

“I don’t? Perhaps not. My upbringing has been a tad unconventional.” She presented him her hand again. “I am Jenny McShanahan, Mr. Webster. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Instead of shaking the proffered hand, he impulsively brought it to his lips and brushed them against her glove. He quickly lowered and squeezed it before she could protest. “Welcome to Texas, Miss McShanahan. Now shall we get down to business?”

She froze for a moment before she flushed a pretty shade of pink. “If I have anything to say in the matter, Mr. Webster, we won’t be in Texas for long.”

“Yes,” he drawled. “I hear tell you want to leave God’s country and head up Nevada way. But you sure aren’t going to do it in that dress.”

She quickly glanced down at what she wore. “Why, this is a perfect dress for traveling, sir,” she said indignantly as she stroked the skirt. “It is a dark, serviceable color, made of a sturdy material, perhaps not completely up to date in a fashion sense, but I doubt my horse will care.”

He set his hat on his head, nudging it back from his forehead with a slight push. “Oh, you look prettier than pansies in a vase, Miss McShanahan.” He gave her a long look. “Have you ever ridden a horse before?”

“No,” she answered. “But I’ve always been a fast learner.” She grimaced. “It simply must be better than riding in a stagecoach. I was churned more on that stage in two days than butter that’s been whipped for a week.”

He laughed. “I’m not questioning your non-existent riding skills, Miss McShanahan. I’m questioning your wisdom in trying to mount a horse in a skirt that tight.”

She looked down at her attire. “You’re right, Mr. Webster. I’m afraid I didn’t think this through properly. In fact, I’d taken a wee bit of pride that it had a small bustle which wouldn’t be in the way. But thanks to your observations, I can see the way my dress is constructed will not even allow me to pull up a knee without straining the fabric.”

She grew red in the face. He knew she was mad. Mad at him for pointing it out, and mad at herself for not realizing such a huge mistake. He figured that all her dresses were similarly constructed.

“Do you see those women leaving the general store? Their skirts are full and loose. Most women in the West dress in a similar manner. And forgive my being forward, but they usually wear a single petticoat or chose to ignore that garment for practicality.”

She thought a moment. “Would it be acceptable to leave tomorrow, Mr. Webster? I seem to have my work cut out for me.”

He grinned. “Tomorrow would be fine, Miss McShanahan. Say six in the morning?”

She opened her mouth to complain about such an early start, but he saw she thought better of it. “Six it shall be.”

“Would you do me the pleasure of dining with me tonight, Miss McShanahan? Sort of a last farewell to civilization meal?”

“No, thank you.” She began to cross the street. 

“No?” he called out to her. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

She stopped and faced him. “No, thank you, Mr. Webster. I’m going to be too busy to dine with you. I do appreciate your kind offer, though. I’ll take you up on it tomorrow night. On the road.”

Jenny sighed and stretched her arms high over her head. Her back ached and her vision was beginning to blur. She’d been sewing continuously all day, determined to come up with the correct clothes to wear for the long trip to Prairie Dell.

A quick stop at the general store satisfied her wish list of supplies. She was a natural seamstress, rarely needing a pattern to sew by. She had just put the final touches on her third outfit. Each one had been simple to cut, once she studied a few pictures the clerk had. It had taken her all day. Her fingers had grown numb from all the stitches she’d taken. Of course, the dresses weren’t the least bit stylish, but she knew from her readings that the trail would be rough.

She placed the gown on the narrow bed and stood. Her right hand cramped painfully. As she shook it out, a light tap sounded on her door. She figured it was Mrs. Swenson. She’d visited once earlier when Jenny failed to come down for dinner. Jenny explained to her that she had a tremendous amount of sewing to do before she left on her trip the next day. The sweet woman promised to bring her supper on a tray when it grew dark.

She went to answer the door, but the cramp seized her again, and she called out, “Come in.”

She turned her back to the door and shook her hand again. A sharp intake of breath escaped her lips as she placed her left hand over her right and rubbed it.

“What’s wrong?”

The deep, low voice startled her. She whipped around to see Noah Webster standing there, an overflowing tray of food in one hand. Before she could order him to leave, another spasm hit. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as she presented him with her back.

She heard him set the tray down. He gently took her shoulders and turned her around. Jenny saw the concern in those clear pools of blue.

“Give it to me.”

“What?”

He didn’t ask a second time. He simply took her hand and began kneading it in long, deep strokes. She closed her eyes for a moment. It felt so good. She could smell his nearness. She caught a whiff of . . . well, she didn’t know what to call it. It was clean and fresh and . . . she supposed . . . manly.

She had a very limited experience when it came to men, but even she knew as good as this felt, he had to stop. Her stomach fluttered in the worst way. It bothered her more than her cramping hand. “You must leave at once!”

He went from concentrating on her hand to staring into her eyes. The butterflies roared into a flying frenzy. This wasn’t any improvement at all.

“Is your hand better?”

“It’s not quite one hundred percent—”

“Then I’m not leaving.”

She exhaled the breath she’d been holding. “You must leave now, Mr. Webster. You’re in my
room
!” she hissed in a whisper. “It isn’t proper.”

He continued to massage her hand. “Some folks would say it isn’t proper to set out on the trail together, either.”

She drew a sharp breath. “That’s different.”

“How so?” He looked at her with slightly raised brows, a trace of a smile hovering about his mouth.

It wasn’t fair. She could barely think—or breath—much less answer him in a reasonable fashion. But, oh, did her hand feel marvelous.

“I’ve hired you as an employee. It’s the only way I can reach my father,” she sputtered.

“So that’s why we’re heading to Nevada?” He began tracing lazy circles along her palm and up to her wrist.

She couldn’t breathe at all now. Her belly tightened, unlike anything she’d ever known. She yanked her hand from his.

“I’ll tell you, Miss McShanahan, tongues wag for sport. You do the right thing, whatever pleases you and what you can live with. Don’t worry how others judge you.”

He looked back across the room. “You refused to accompany me to supper, so I’ve brought supper to you.  Let’s eat.”

“In here?” she squeaked.

He nodded. “In here.”

CHAPTER 7

Noah didn’t have to coax Jenny for long. He tempted her further by offering to leave the door open, and she readily agreed. The way she eyed the food on the tray let him know how hungry she must be. He figured she hadn’t eaten all day. One look around the small room told him all he needed to know.

“Looks as if you’ve kept busy today.” He eyed the dresses placed carefully across the neatly-made bed. “Are you a seamstress?”

She shrugged. “I’ve made my own clothes for many years. Fortunately, it’s one thing I’m good at.”

He began clearing the dresses from the bed. “I’ll do that,” she said and quickly took them from him, her cheeks pink.

He wondered what made her so embarrassed. He’d moved plenty of women’s clothes out the way in his time. Of course, none of those frocks belonged to nice girls like Jenny McShanahan.

Noah brought the tray to the bed and sat down. He indicated to her to sit opposite him, the tray between them. She looked uncomfortable, but she did perch on the edge. Miss Prim and Proper must be awfully hungry to do that. Although her exterior seemed frosty at times, she definitely surprised him today with her actions. A trip with her would prove mighty interesting.

“Whereabouts in Nevada are we heading, Miss McShanahan?” He bit into a leg of cold chicken and then scooped hot mashed potatoes onto his fork.

She dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “It’s a small town near the southern tip of Nevada.” Her brown wrinkled as she reached for the name. “Prairie Dell.”

He dropped his fork, and it clattered noisily against full plate. He nearly choked on the bite he’d just swallowed. He coughed and wheezed. Jenny didn’t help matters by whacking him on the back between his hacks.

“Are you all right, Mr. Webster?” She poured a cup of water from a pitcher on the basin. “Here. Drink this.”

He waved her away, feeling his face burning red. All he wanted was one good breath. She was a bossy little thing, though, and somehow she forced a few sips down him. It calmed him enough to where he croaked out, “Much obliged.” The entire experience wore him out.

Prairie Dell.
When he’d heard her wanting to go to Nevada, he should’ve put two and two together. Well, at least he’d get to visit with Moira in person, at long last. Funny how the whole thing would come full circle. The scene of his one venture into crime would be the end of Sam’s life as a career criminal.

Jenny relaxed and sat back down, but he could still see the concern on her face.

“A piece of meat went down the wrong pipe. That’s all,” he assured her. “Now, you were saying we’re headed to a place called Prairie Dell?” He paused. “I may have heard of it before.”

“I tried to purchase a map at the general store, but none were available of Nevada. In fact,” she leaned in confidentially, “there weren’t any maps at all.”

He laughed. “And that surprised you?”

She looked put out with him. “Of course it did. How are people to get around from place to place without a map?”

He shrugged. “You just do. Is this your first trip to the West, ma’am?”

“Yes, but I have studied the area extensively. I wanted to familiarize myself with it.”

“How long have you been studying up?”

A shadow crossed her face. It surprised him how much that one look said. He guessed she’d read everything she could get her hands on about the West ever since Sam left her in that school back in Massachusetts.

He remembered the one time he’d seen her in a picture Sam kept in his battered wallet. Sam had left it lying out. Noah stared at it a long time. It was hard for him to realize that Famous Sam McShan at one time had been a family man. He’d overheard Sam talking about his deceased wife with Pete, and he supposed the little girl in the starched frock and wavy hair in the family portrait was their daughter.

Pete had been the one to tell him that she was in a boarding school in Boston. He’d warned his son not to broach the subject with Sam. Noah never asked why. He did as he was told. He’d learned not to mess with Sam. Most of the time the outlaw oozed fun and charm, but every now and then one of his black-tempered Irish moods surfaced.

He thought about that little girl now, how happy and hopeful she’d seemed in the picture. She stood between her seated parents, both arms draped around their shoulders. She couldn’t have been more than six or seven at the time. To think she’d lost her mama at such a young age was tragedy enough for any child, but then to be abandoned by her daddy for the next decade was a double loss.

He looked at her with new eyes and a little more respect than before. She appeared to be well-mannered and intelligent. It must have taken a lot of courage on her part to make it through the last ten years alone.

Jenny finally answered, toying with her fork. “Sometimes I feel I’ve read about the West my whole life, Mr. Webster.” She sighed. “Reading was my only means of travel for many years. When I was young, though, my papa moved us frequently, all up and down the Eastern seaboard.”

She paused. “Then my mother fell ill and passed away. Papa found the means to place me at The Thompson School while he paid off some debts.” Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. “He has had many difficulties over the years, and it is only recently he’s been able to send for me.”

He looked into those shimmering green eyes. “So you spent all those years at school. Did you ever see him at any time?”

She shook her head and squared her shoulders. “No. but he did write to me some,” she said defensively. “He thought to make his fortune out West. Papa believed there would be many opportunities for a man to take hold of there, and he knew I was safely cared for at The Thompson School.”

The look on her face told him the full story. He could see a lonely child left in a strange environment, no family to visit her and no friends to be had. He knew what it felt like to be an outsider. He wouldn’t wish it upon anyone, least of all a slip of a girl.

“So you say he’s sent for you. Does that mean he’s made the most of his opportunities?”

She brightened considerably. “Oh, yes. His recent venture has paid off handsomely. He wishes for us to be together.” She laughed. “I was only too happy to leave my position and come immediately to Texas.”

“You were working?” The fact that Sam had left her alone all those years bothered Noah. He could imagine the infrequent letters sent, the empty promises and dashed hopes, but he couldn’t believe she’d had to work, too.

“Yes. I graduated with high honors from school at eighteen. My teachers said I had great promise.” She smiled sadly, and his heart wrenched. “Papa thought it best for me to remain at the school, though. The headmistress, Miss Thompson, allowed me to teach classes to the younger girls for my room and board. I’ve been doing so for over two years now.”

He tamped down the fury he felt. He’d already drawn a clear picture in his mind of her isolated life at school, a forlorn child who withdrew into her books and fantasies about a father who never came, who longed more than anything to join him, no matter what the dangers. Now he saw her even further separated—not a student—yet not quite good enough to be a salaried teacher.

If Miss Thompson were here, he would have harsh words and maybe more with her, no matter what his sainted mama had preached about how to treat a lady. In his mind, this Miss Thompson was no lady at all. He guessed her to be a cold fish who saw a chance to string Jenny along as she raked in tuition and fees at an even bigger margin of profit.

“Well, Miss McShanahan, it sounds like you and your daddy will have a lot to catch up on.” He lifted the buttered bread to his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

“Yes.” She frowned and took a sip of water. “He was to meet me in Apple Blossom, but some unforeseen problem cropped up. I would have already been on my way to Nevada if not for the unfortunate demise of the guide that he arranged for me.”

It amazed him that she could receive such bad news and then have the fortitude to stride into a saloon and try and scare up her own guide. Jenny McShanahan could be termed brave or foolish for trying to hire a stranger, but she obviously wanted to see her father badly.

Guilt streaked through his conscience for a moment, knowing that he’d be the one to pull them apart again. This time forever. Sam had too long a record for it to be anything less than a hanging. Over ten states would line up quicker than lightning strikes to be the one to do the honors. He knew with certainty now that Jenny had no idea what Sam had been up to all these years.

“Why did you accept my offer, Mr. Webster?”

She pulled him from his thoughts. He hoped his face gave nothing away. “I need to head further west anyway, Miss McShanahan. I’ve got the consumption.”

Her jaw dropped. “But you’re the picture of health. You’re tall and robust, with strong muscles and a healthy glow. Why . . .”  Her voice trailed off as she blushed furiously. She brought her napkin to her mouth and dabbed it daintily to hide her embarrassment.

This was the most modest gal he’d run across in his twenty-five years. He grinned at her, glad she’d noticed he cut a fine picture.

“It’s in the very early stages,” he assured her. “Doc says I can live for years and years if I’ll just get myself out to some dry, desert air. That’ll be the best medicine for me.”

She recovered slightly and returned the napkin to her lap. “Still, it’s a shame that you received such a harsh diagnosis. What will you do when you reach your destination?”

He shrugged. “Probably a little of this and that. Doc says I’m in pretty good condition, due to my cowboying.”

“You’re a cowboy?” Her eyes danced merrily. “Have you driven cattle to market?”

“Yep. Started out in ‘66 when the first drives headed up to Kansas after the war. Had to ride drag at the beginning. That’s when—”

“—when you must ride in the rear of the herd. It must be awfully dusty. And smelly.”

“More of your book learning?”

“Yes. The cattle drives have always fascinated me. They sound so romantic.”

He laughed. “You have a twisted idea of romance, ma’am. It’s romantic to walk your gal home from a barn dance and spoon a little under a full moon with the scent of magnolias surrounding you. Riding for weeks at a time with a bunch of smelly cows and even smellier men is not quixotic at all.”

“Quixotic? What an odd word choice for a cowboy.” She scrutinized him carefully. “You must be very well read, Mr. Webster. Perhaps you study your namesake’s dictionary in your spare time around the campfire?”

It was his turn to blush. He was well-educated, thanks to his mama. Having been a newsman’s daughter, she’d been taught the importance of words at an early age. She passed on that magic to all her children. His brother Mark now worked at a San Francisco newspaper. Last he’d heard, his sister Elizabeth was trying to get excerpts of her diary of life as a homesteader’s wife published in some fancy ladies’ magazine in New York.

“You could say that all the Webster children have substantial vocabularies, thanks to our mama.”

Jenny rubbed her hands together. “I am delighted to hear it, Mr. Webster. I had thought I would be saddled with a dull cowpuncher for this trip. Instead, you make lively conversation and appear quite experienced, able to handle any difficulties we might encounter while on our journey.”

“I’m experienced, Miss McShanahan.” He gave her a wry smile and winked. “That you can count on.”

He just loved seeing her blush.