Love Finds You in Groom, Texas (3 page)

“I do believe you missed your calling on the stage, Emily.” Anne stifled a laugh. “But as for Uncle Bertrand, we truly have no other choice.” She bit back the rest of the words. Anne had never cared for her father’s brother, but who else would take them in? Life in her uncle’s home might not be comfortable, but it would be a sure sight better than living in the poorhouse in Denver.

“He’s so mean.” Kate shivered. “Remember that last time he came to see Papa? He got angry at me for playing hide-and-go-seek in the library while they were talking in the next room.”

Anne remembered the incident clearly. How Uncle Bertrand had stormed into the room, insisting that the girls receive lashes for their childish noise. Papa had not gone along with him, naturally. Of course, Papa was full to the brim with whiskey that night. He could barely walk, let alone fuss at a child. But Uncle Bertrand’s harsh words had served as a cruel enough punishment and left a lasting impression.

“Maybe our uncle has softened with age,” Anne said.
One can hope, anyway.

“Uncle Bertrand said Papa was a
gambler
.” Emily emphasized the words, her eyes widening. “Do you think it was true, Annie? Did Papa really gamble away all our money like Wild Eyed Joe?”

“Who in heaven’s name is Wild Eyed Joe?”

“He’s a gambler from a story I read in a magazine. Best card cheat in the Wild West. He made a marvelous villain.” Her expression softened. “Not that I’m calling Papa a villain. Just wonderin’ if that’s what Uncle Bertrand meant.”

The woman seated across from them looked up with curiosity etched on her brow. Just as quickly, her gaze shifted back to the needlepoint in her lap.

Anne bit back the words that threatened to escape. “We don’t speak ill of the dead, Emily,” she whispered at last. “Papa was a fine man.”
A fine man with a serious gambling problem. And a drinking problem, to boot. But you are far too young to know about such things.

“I’ll bet the Texas Panhandle is filled with gamblers and such.” Emily giggled, and her face came alive with excitement. “Ruffians and renegades.”

“Ruffians and renegades?”
Where does she come up with these things?

“Yes, bad guys—and good guys too. My story is going to feature the handsomest good guy you ever saw—a cowboy set on protecting the frontier against lawlessness and crime.” A happy sigh followed. “Sounds fantastical, doesn’t it!”

“Hmph. Not sure ‘fantastical’ is the right word, but I can see you’ve located plenty of fodder for your story. Get busy writing,” Anne said. “I’ll read it when you’re done and offer my critique.”

“Marvelous!” Emily reached for her bag and pulled out her tablet and pencil. “Oh, it’s going to be a terrific story, Annie. The hero is going to save damsels in distress from a fate worse than death.” She turned to her little sister and whispered, “I’m sorry, Kate. I didn’t mean to say death.”

“What kind of distress will he save them from?” Kate asked, her eyes widening.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Emily shrugged and rolled her pencil between her fingers. Her voice grew more animated as she offered a suggestion. “What do you think? An Indian attack?”

“No, you used Indians in your last story, remember?” Kate paused and appeared to be thinking.

“I’ve been contemplating bubonic plague or maybe dysentery.” Emily wrinkled her nose. “But neither of those is very romantic. Besides, if the heroine has an illness, she’s going to need a medical doctor, not a handsome Texas cowboy.”

“Unless the cowboy happens to be delivering the medicine she needs,” Anne offered. “What do you think of that idea?”

Emily shrugged. “I suppose that could work. But if she’s suffering from some sort of terrible malady, she won’t look beautiful to him, now, will she? I was thinking she should be exquisitely beautiful.”

“True beauty is internal,” Anne added. “So keep that in mind, if you please.”

“I suppose.” Emily’s eyes took on that dreamy look again. “She can be beautiful on the inside, then. But he’s going to be handsome inside and out.”

“Is he now?” Anne couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Yes. I can’t abide an ugly hero. He’s got to be a rugged cowboy with a six-shooter who rides the most beautiful stallion in all of the state of Texas. I’m calling him Copper.”

“The cowboy?” Anne asked.

“No, silly.” Emily giggled. “The stallion. I’m calling him Copper because that’s his color. I haven’t given the cowboy a name yet, but it has to be something that suits him. Something dashing and adventurous—appropriate to the handsomest man who ever drew a gun.”

“What about Tex Morgan, the name of the man who wrote that tourist paper?” Anne suggested. “That’s a romantic name. And rather fanciful, if I do say so myself.”

“Ooh, great idea.” Emily began to scribble on her tablet with Kate looking on. “I do hope it’s not considered plagiarism to use a real person’s name.”

“I cannot imagine that’s his real name,” Anne said. “I would be more concerned about slander than plagiarism, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, your stories are so fanciful, Mr. Tex Morgan might come looking for you. If you make him out to be a villain or something, I mean.”

“Oh no. Tex is going to be my hero, remember? I’ll think of a name for the villain.” She leaned over her tablet then suddenly looked up, her eyes brighter than ever. “Ooh. Bertrand. That’s my villain.”

Emily and Kate began to carry on a conversation about the cowboy in the story. Anne couldn’t help but think about their father. Despite his flaws, he’d done his best to play the role of the hero in his daughters’ lives. He’d worked hard to give them a home—and life—they could be proud of. Most of that had unraveled in the end, but at least he’d tried. And the illusion of having a fine home and clothes had gotten her through those rough years after Mama’s death.

Anne’s thoughts shifted to Uncle Bertrand. No doubt Emily found it easy to name him as the villain in her novel. He came across as such, both in manner and in appearance.

Anne had done her best over the years not to be put off by the way he looked. His protruding chin and long, thin nose made it difficult, of course. One couldn’t help but stare—at least when he wasn’t looking. Of course, being the gentleman, he always wore a proper suit and hat and spoke with an exaggerated air. Beneath that handlebar mustache, however, was a mouth that could rip a person to shreds. She’d experienced his hurtful words firsthand on many occasions.

Then again, he was their only living relative, and he
had
sent for them upon their father’s death. Surely he wouldn’t bring three girls into his home without careful thought and preparation.

She relaxed against the seat. Yes, likely he had softened upon hearing the news of his younger brother’s death. And caring for his three nieces was the penance he would pay for the cruelty he had bestowed upon others in years past. Perhaps Uncle Bertrand would turn out to be like one of the heroes in Emily’s story—a fine man with a good heart who rescued damsels in distress.

One could hope, anyway.

As Jake entered the house, his mother’s voice rang out in singsong fashion. “Take off those muddy boots, Jakey O’Farrell. Don’t want to make a mess of my rugs. I spent this morning mopping up the mud you dragged in last night.”

He bit back a response and pulled off the boots as instructed.

“I’ve made your favorite meal, son.” She entered the room, wiping her hands on her embroidered apron. “Chicken and dumplings. And blackberry pie for dessert. I know how much you love my blackberry pie.” She flashed a bright smile and opened her arms in anticipation of a hug, which he promptly delivered.

“I daresay this season’s blackberries are the best we’ve ever had. Those little nieces and nephews of yours have been picking buckets and buckets. Don’t know what I’m going to do with so many.” She straightened a wayward hair on his forehead. “Guess we’ll have to eat a lot of pie. And jam.” She pinched him on the cheek. “I know how much my boy loves his mama’s homemade jam!”

He could almost taste it now. Still, Jake couldn’t get Cody’s words out of his mind. Did folks really see him as being a mama’s boy?

“You don’t have to cook for me every night, Mama,” he said at last. “I’m a grown man. I can—”

Her smile faded at once. “But I love cooking for you, son. It’s one of the few remaining joys in my life.” She paused and lifted the hem of her apron to dab her eyes. “Ever since your father passed away…”

Jake managed a weak smile.
Say no more.
“Can’t wait to taste that blackberry pie.”

“Now, there’s my boy.” She paused to glance in the large mirror above the buffet. “Gracious, this red hair of mine is as unruly as a tomcat after a brawl. I’ll need to tend to it before supper. But first I’d better get back in the kitchen. Those dumplings are going to overcook if I’m not careful. And we can’t have that, now, can we? No sir, only the best for my Jakey.” With a nod, she disappeared into the kitchen.

For a moment or two, Jake contemplated throwing himself off a cliff. He finally decided a bowl of chicken and dumplings sounded more appealing. There would be plenty of time to fret over his “mama’s boy” status later.

And, indeed, there was. No sooner were the dumplings consumed and the dishes washed than Mama busied herself with some needlework in the parlor. That left Jake free to take a stroll and think about a potential solution to his problem. He made his way to the edge of the fenced portion of the yard and gazed out over O’Farrell’s Honor, the ranch his father had worked so hard to build.

Hundreds of acres of the nicest ranch land in Carson County beckoned him. Off in the distance, a half dozen workhorses grazed. His favorite, a mare he’d named Frances, stamped her foot, as if willing him to come and dress her for a ride out into the pasture. No time for that right now, though the idea of riding off into the sunset did hold some appeal, in light of his earlier conversation with Cody. And besides, with Frances due to deliver in the next couple of weeks, she needed the rest.

Jake tipped his hat and wiped the sweat from his hair. As he did, the majestic sunset captivated him, the reds, oranges, and yellows all melding together. He squinted and glanced to his right, making out John and Ruth’s place. His brother Joseph had taken up residence in the home just beyond it with his wife. And behind both of those, Jeremiah had constructed a home for his wife and their children. Of course, the newest addition to the ranch sat to the left of the others—Jedediah and Pauline had lived there for only four months, since their Christmas wedding.

Jake stood for a moment, the quiet stillness wrapping him in a warm embrace. The 7:55 train to Dallas was due to pass by at any moment. Most evenings he stood here until it passed and then created stories in his head of what life would be like in a big city like Dallas or Houston or even New York. Maybe one day he would climb aboard one of the passenger cars and find out for himself. He would travel to places unseen and see how other folks lived.

Maybe. Right now, however, something else sounded far more appealing. Jake had a hankerin’ to head back inside the house and swallow down a big piece of his Mama’s homemade blackberry pie.

Chapter Three

The famed Fort Worth and Denver City Railway Company (FW&DC) has merged forces with Rock Island and Santa Fe, providing a rail network throughout the Texas Panhandle. The lines come together in the town of Amarillo. In that opportunistic place, folks can experience the very best the Panhandle has to offer—culture, a rich social life, and plenty of commerce and trade. Perhaps you’re not interested in living so close to town. You prefer ranching or farming. Well, look no farther! When you choose a piece of land in the Panhandle, nearby rail lines provide easy access to markets. Talk about having the best of both worlds! I guess you could say the Texas Panhandle is perched on the “track” for success! —
“Tex” Morgan, reporting for the
Panhandle Primer

After dozing off in the uncomfortable train seat, Anne awoke to a screeching sound, followed by a scream from Kate. Something jerked her forward, nearly causing her to tumble onto the floor. The piercing sound of the train’s brakes reached a deafening level then subsided. The noise was quickly followed by a thick round of black soot filling the air.