In a Cowboy’s Arms (23 page)

Dade stood there watching her, his eyes dark and unreadable. If he appreciated her help, he kept it to himself.

She fidgeted and debated whether to pack the plate or hand it to him. This was his plate. His provisions. His journey to make.

She was just the hanger on. The one person he had agreed to take to St. Louis because she could help him reach his goal of finding Daisy first.

Maggie handed him the plate. “I need to–” She broke off and motioned toward the door, praying he understood.

“Make it quick as you can,” he said. “Sun’s up now.”

She’d had privacy to attend to her needs before, but the light of day dispelled that. “I won’t dawdle.”

Maggie wasted no time hustling out the door. A crimson glow brightened the horizon, and she hoped that meant fair weather for today’s ride.

By the time she’d finished, Dade had the horses saddled and the packs secured. The old man was sitting on his stump chair right outside the door, looking relaxed.

“You’re welcome to stay longer if you want,” the old man said.

“Appreciate it, but we have to get going,” Dade said.

He gave Maggie a boost up onto the saddle, and she smothered a wince as her sore muscles protested being back on a horse. She gripped the saddle horn with one hand and took the reins Dade handed her with the other.

He flicked her a questioning look, and she managed a smile. He must have taken it to mean she was settled in the best she could, for he swung onto his gelding without a word.

“If Miss Jennean is still running the Crossroads, you tell her that Omar Orley said hey,” the old man said.

“If I ever get over that way, I’ll pass the word on,” Dade said, surprising Maggie.

But only for a moment. She realized he wouldn’t admit their destination in case the bounty hunter trailed them here.

“Thanks for the hospitality,” Dade said.

“Come back any time,” Orley said.

Dade headed them east over the rolling plains, breaking into a ground-eating trot far too soon for her liking. Again she concentrated on riding with the horse rather than against the mare. She tried not to think too much about the cowboy leading her into the unknown.

A refreshing breeze swept down from the west, but the bright sun in a cloudless sky promised that the day could turn torturous. She was doubly grateful for the wide brimmed straw hat he’d bought her.

But she wasn’t sure she could continue at this pace. Just as she was about to voice a protest, Dade slowed the horses to a walk.

She thought their chances were slim of finding anyone at the Crossroads who’d remember Daisy. The fact that Daisy had been taken to the house of ill repute didn’t sit well with her. What had become of Daisy? Would they ever know? Had her fate been kinder than Maggie’s?

She stared at the set line of Dade’s shoulders. He blamed himself for losing his sister to the orphan train. If a baser fate had befallen her, she feared he’d never forgive himself.

They topped a rise, and Dade brought them to a stop. “This looks like a good place to rest.”

She stared out at the undulating plains, noting sparse clumps of trees in the distance in any direction she looked.

He took a drink from his canteen, his throat working as he drank. He swiped a hand across his mouth and handed her the canteen.

She took a sip from it, giving in to a shiver as her mouth settled over the place his had just been. It seemed so intimate to drink after a man.

“I don’t doubt the old man is right about it taking two days of hard riding to get to the Crossroads,” Dade said. “When you get too weary to ride or need to stop, speak up.”

“I will. Do you think we’ll find shelter along the way?”

“We’ll be damned lucky if we do.”

She had been afraid he’d say that.

After a grueling day of riding northeast, they headed east, staying within sight of the railroad tracks. Dade knew Maggie was ready to drop from the saddle, but he didn’t dare venture into any of the towns they’d passed. So they camped on the plains that night, and sleeping beside her without touching her was damned near impossible.

Near the end of the second day, Dade heard the lowing of cattle and caught the unmistakable smell of manure long before the cattle pens came into view. It sure as hell wasn’t anything near the size of the stockyards he’d seen in Cheyenne, Laramie, or Denver. But then this was pretty much still the middle of nowhere.

The barbed wire fence barring them from riding straight toward the pens confirmed that this land was privately owned now. Hard to guess how many acres stretched south over the Kansas prairie, but the glint of wire as far as he could see had him thinking it was a section at least.

A large red barn stood to the west of the pens. Farther west still was a two-story white house with a large yard enclosed with a white picket fence.

“Is that the Crossroads?” Maggie asked, sounding more tired than she had last night.

“You tell me.”

The snake of railroad tracks extended as far west and east as he could see. A worn trail, smaller than the road that had taken them on an easterly route since noon, stretched from the house to beyond the tracks.

That had to be the lane to the property. A fair-sized building near the tracks and the water tower likely served as the depot. If there was a trading post there too, he’d be surprised.

“I don’t know. There wasn’t a depot back then,” she said. “We stood on a platform near the pens.”

“The auction block,” he said, and she flushed.

How many similar places had Daisy and Maggie stood waiting for someone to claim them? Too many.

Just thinking about what those children went through got his dander up. The orphan train was supposed to be a better fate than indenture, but through his eyes it hadn’t looked much different.

He’d never forgotten how the factory owners had visited Guardian Angel’s Orphan Asylum, looking for stout boys to apprentice in a variety of trades, from steel-workers to wheelwrights. Or how businessmen and the like came every few months looking for strong healthy boys to work the fields or labor in their shops for room and board.

The guardians at the home told them over and over that it was a better fate than ending up on the street. Dade hadn’t been convinced.

For one thing he didn’t want to be a steelworker or hired hand. He wanted to own a little piece of land. A farm where he could provide for his sister like he’d promised his ma.

Instead his sister had been chosen by the man who’d taken her to the big white house–the Crossroads, one of the most elite brothels of its time. There was no good reason why a gentleman would do that. None at all.

“The white house looked different,” she said. “But it’s right where I remembered it would be.”

He squinted as sun reflected off the glass windows, his heart pounding faster at the thought of finally finding Daisy. “Let’s pay it a visit, and see if anyone recalls Daisy.”

They skirted the barbed wire to their west. Yep, this was clearly a working ranch now and a prosperous one to boot.

Nearly fifteen minutes passed before they reached the lane leading up to the house. The road here was wider and worn.

The area saw a lot of traffic, and the reason was obvious when they reached the depot. Tucked behind it was a long low building boasting a sign that read LARK’S TRADING POST.

“I saw this place when the train pulled in,” Maggie said.

Dade reined up in front of the trading post and dismounted. “Let’s see what we can find out.”

He secured the horses to the hitching post, then helped Maggie down. Her hands gripped his shoulders, while his bracketed her waist. Their eyes caught and held, and he felt a frisson of energy pass from her into him.

The baser part of him ached to pull her close and kiss her and taste those sweet lips pressed against his once again. He set her aside and stepped back, cursing his abruptness when she swayed before steadying herself.

To hell with her fevered denial the other day. The high color on her cheeks told him she was equally affected.

“Dade,” she began, her expression troubled.

“Later, Maggie.” He didn’t care to get a lecture on holding her just now. “After you.”

She strode to the trading post with him right behind her.

He reached around her and opened the door, and his arm brushed her shoulder. A soft gasp escaped her, just loud enough for his ears.

Maggie hurried inside. A wiry man with a beard and thick spectacles perched on his beak of a nose smiled at them.

“Afternoon, folks. How can I help you?”

Dade wasted no time explaining. “You lived around here long?”

“Close to twenty-five years,” he said, his gaze narrowing. “You looking for someone?”

“That I am.” He nodded toward Maggie. “Our sister was on an orphan train that passed through here some twenty years back. A gentleman took her to that white house up on the rise.”

“I remember the train, but don’t recall the man or the girl he took,” he said. “But Miss Jennean would. Why, she can remember everyone who’s passed through her doors.”

Dade’s insides tightened. While he had higher hopes now that she’d remember Daisy, there was the fear that his sister had never left the brothel.

“Heard that house was once called the Crossroads,” Dade said.

The shopkeeper nodded. “Still is by those who know.”

But was it still a brothel? Before Dade could ask, Maggie posed a question of her own.

“Does Miss Jennean have children?” she asked.

“A daughter,” the man said. “Miss Isabella Reed is back east getting an education.”

Miss Isabella. Not Miss Daisy.

His first thought was relief that his sister hadn’t ended up being a prostitute’s daughter. Then a darker thought seeped into his mind that Daisy might have become one of the Crossroads doves.

Dade didn’t want to think along those lines. “Thanks for your time. Believe we will pay the lady a call.”

“You tell Miss Jennean that Charlie sent you up to the house,” he said.

“I’ll do that.”

He guided Maggie out the door and to the horses. In moments they were riding down the graveled road that ran parallel to the railroad tracks.

“It’s a beautiful place,” Maggie commented.

“That it is.”

If it had been built and maintained with the profits from the brothel, then this business had been a thriving one. His gaze flicked from the massive herd of Black Angus to the stock pens.

This entire setup bellowed money and good planning. If they’d suffered during the hellish blizzard of ‘86, it didn’t show now.

As they drew near the house, a cowboy stepped from an outbuilding and strode toward the house. He was waiting for them when they pulled up.

Dade had a feeling this was the man’s job. “Afternoon,” he said. “I’m looking for Miss Jennean. Was told she lived here back when the orphan train passed through in ‘74.”

“Why are you asking?”

“My sister was taken off that train here,” Dade said. “If the lady can shed any light on that day and the man who took my sister, I’d be most appreciative.”

The cowboy relaxed. “Come on in, then. Miss Jennean will likely want to talk to you.”

Dade tried not to read anything into that statement. He helped Maggie off her mare then motioned her to precede him again. The cowboy had already reached the door and had it open, a welcoming gesture that wasn’t lost on him either.

Since this had been–or still was–a bawdy house, he’d expected the place to be dressed in garish elegance. He was sorely mistaken.

There was a quiet grandeur to the house, with an attention to detail in everything. Quality came to mind.

It had a homey feel that he hadn’t expected either. A matronly lady greeted them, her smile as warm as the sun.

“Miss Jennean?” he asked, and the woman shook her head.

The rustle of skirts on the balcony drew his attention. “I’m Jennean Reed.”

He looked up at the mistress of the house. She was dressed in a style that he’d expect to see worn by someone high up the social ladder.

The lady didn’t smile, but she didn’t seem annoyed to have a visitor or two either. She just stared at him like she was trying to place his face.

“This fellow is looking for a girl who was adopted off the train back in ‘74. Says he’s her brother.”

“Thank you, Jerome,” the lady said, and he promptly dipped his chin and left. “Mrs. Wray, do show my guests into the parlor and see to their comfort. I will join them directly.”

“This way,” the housekeeper said.

Dade and Maggie followed the lady into a brightly lit parlor furnished with a rich brocade settee, plush armless chairs, and artfully arranged knickknacks on the table.

There was no clutter or extravagance. Like everything here, it bespoke of money and good taste.

“Would you care for tea, coffee, or a more bracing libation?” the housekeeper asked.

“I’d enjoy a cup of tea,” Maggie said.

Dade could’ve used a cold beer, but he didn’t want to dull his senses. “Coffee, ma’am, black and strong, if you have it.”

She smiled. “That, sir, is a requirement in the west. Do make yourselves at home.”

Mrs. Wray bustled out the door. Maggie settled onto an armless chair angled out from the front bow window. Dade moseyed to the fireplace where several framed photos resided on the mantel.

The women were all elegant and young. They couldn’t all be family. Prostitutes? If so, then this place’s reputation for high dollar was warranted.

This wasn’t your ordinary brothel. This was a trip to heaven for a man.

He studied the photos carefully and felt a monumental relief when he didn’t recognize anyone with Daisy’s features. Maybe, if his sister hadn’t been taken in to work, Miss Jennean had adopted her and changed her name.

“Dade,” Maggie said. “Come look at this.”

He turned to find Maggie holding a framed photo. His gut clenched as he crossed the room to where she sat. Had she found Daisy after all?

The young woman smiled back at him, and he just plain forgot to breathe for a moment. He’d seen many pretty women in his day and a few truly beautiful ones, but this lady had a quality he’d never seen in another woman. She was a strange mixture of innocence and cunning.