Tom's Angel (2 page)

Rosalie pitied her father more than ever before.
And, she loathed him. Her life in this place had been hell, but a familiar hell she could deal with. She knew nothing about Denver, or the Strickland family.

Zane Strickland could represent a completely new and worse kind of hell.

“So, when will we leave for Denver?”

“
We? I ain't going nowhere. You'll leave here in time to be there in two months, just like he said. I'll get you passage on the stage.”

“
I won't travel alone. Respectable ladies never travel unchaperoned.”

“
Well, you'll have to. There's no one here to take you, except maybe Clem or Judd. But they'll probably be back out on the trail.”

Rosalie straightened her spine.
“If you cannot find a proper escort for me, I won't go.”

“
You'll go, all right. I can't have Zane Strickland back here looking for me when he's sober.” He scratched his chin, then his head. “I met a man in Denver once. Can't recollect his name. McCabe. Yeah. Amos McCabe. Last I heard, he'd made Senator, still living outside of Denver on a big ranch. Has three sons. I'll wire Senator McCabe. Maybe he'll send one of his sons to go with you to Denver.”

“
Why should he honor a request from you?”

“
He owes me. I saved his life once. Will that satisfy you?”

Rosalie considered.
A Senator's son should qualify as a proper escort for any young woman. “Yes.” She remembered Lizzy. “Elizabeth is going with me.”

“
What? You're talking nonsense, girl. Lizzy ain't going nowhere with nobody.”

“
She could've been killed today.” Some sorry no-good cowboy used his knife on her.”

Kincannon
hesitated. “Is she alive?”

“
Barely. But she won't be much longer if I can't get her out of Fort Worth. No one will know us in Denver. She can start a new life.”

Kincannon
pulled himself up from the chair again. “Rosie, she's never gonna be a fine lady like you'll be someday.”

“
Even so, she can't stay here. He cut her leg, Paw. Deep. She can't dance now, and maybe never again.”

“
Then, she'll have to move to the crib houses. Don't concern yourself with her. She's nothing but a two-bit whore.”

Rosalie raised her hand to strike her father, just as she'd done with Zane Strickland.
Thinking better of it this time, knowing her father would not hesitate to retaliate, she lowered her hand, turned her back and walked away.

Chapter
2

This couldn't be right. Every fiber in Tom McCabe's body told him he must have misunderstood the directions to the Kincannon residence in Fort Worth. Yet, he'd followed the written instructions in the wire to the letter, located every landmark, verified every step.

Kincannon
lived in Hell's Half Acre.

Six weeks ago, William
Kincannon had asked a favor. His daughter needed an escort to Denver. Could Senator Amos McCabe send one of his sons to serve as escort to Rosalie Kincannon?

“
He's a liar and a cheat,” Amos told Tom after receiving the wire. “Always wagering on horse races, dog fights, whatever sort of gambling happens to be available.”

“
So, what happened?”

“
A dozen years ago, Kincannon took a bullet meant for me. An upstart named Cody thought I was someone named Weston and tried to kill me for stealing his cattle. Just as Cody squeezed the trigger, Kincannon ran for the door, got in the way and the bullet hit his thigh instead of me. Cody was hauled to the floor before he could shoot again. He spent a day or two in jail, cooling off, sobering up, and getting it straight who he was trying to kill before the Sheriff turned him loose and ran him out of town.”

“
So that business with Cody is what Kincannon referred to in the wire when he said you owed him.”

Amos nodded.
“Swore at the time he'd saved my life and deserved a reward. I paid Doc Adams to patch him up. Figured that's all I owed him for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hell, maybe he did save my life.”

“
Why is his daughter coming to Denver?”

“
God only knows.” Amos glanced sideways at his eldest son. “As a future citizen of Denver, she's also a citizen of Colorado and my constituent. With a father like Kincannon, she needs all the help we can give her. I guess I'm doing it for her, and not her worthless paw. Will you go, Tom?”

How could he refuse?
All his life, Tom had obeyed every word from his father, performed every chore with the utmost care, wanting Amos McCabe to be proud of him. Hell, if Amos had asked him to jump off a cliff, he probably would've done it.

“
I'll go. It'll give me a chance to visit Trina and Gabriel. The baby's due to arrive soon, isn't it?”

“
End of July, close as anyone can reckon. Guess that means any time now. You know how babies are.”

Tom counted back in his mind to
his sister’s wedding last year. “They didn't waste any time, did they?” In fact, if his figuring was correct, they started on that baby before the wedding. His flighty sister had done some impulsive things in her life, but nothing to compare with her behavior after she'd met Gabriel Hart on the train to Silver Falls. Her infatuation with the ex-lawman had led her into situations too dangerous to think about without cringing. But Gabriel had brought her home safe.

Then, he married her and took her with him to Texas.
Seeing them after almost a year would be a real treat.

“
When should I leave?”

“
I wired William to expect you in three weeks. Will and Bo can finish that north fence so you can leave on Friday. Outside of Lubbock, you can take a look at Oliver's bull and see what you think of him. If he doesn't suit, wire me before you go on to Fort Worth so I can find another.

“
While you're there, be sure to drop in on Phillip Mallory. Now, there's a fine friend. I'll wire him that you're coming. They'll plan something, if I know Phillip. Marietta loves having weekend parties.” Amos offered his hand to Tom, who took it. “I'm obliged to you, Tom, for doing this. It’s a mighty long trip and I hate to make you go, but I want your eyes on that bull before we buy him.” He ducked his head. “You owe William nothing. If I could go, I would.”

“
I owe William for saving your life, and I owe you everything.”

That comment had brought a shine to his father's eyes that still caused a lump in Tom's throat.

Nothing about Hell's Half Acre in Fort Worth Texas elicited any emotion from him other than revulsion.
How could anyone live there?

“
The Acre,” as people called the area, was a collection of one-story wooden-frame structures built from unseasoned yellow pine and held together with too few nails, judging from the way some of them leaned decidedly to one side. Some of the buildings had false fronts, unsuccessful attempts to make them appear grander, while others made no beans about what they were. Gray had become up the predominant color, as weather and sun had taken their tolls on unpainted lumber. Occasionally, a hitching post or a boardwalk out front of the saloons broke the monotony.

A row of crib houses
, where the cheaper whores plied their trade, stretched from Main to Rusk on Tenth Street. Each crib, barely wide enough for a door and one window, appeared to be about a dozen feet deep. Tom cringed, thinking about the women who rented these shacks and what they did there for twenty-five cents.

Tom had never felt the urge to visit one of the
“soiled doves,” as the newspapers called them, even in one of the nicer “sporting houses” in Denver. Why any man would want to share intimacies with a woman he could only pity and despise went beyond Tom's comprehension.

If
Kincannon really did live in the Acre, what did that say about his daughter, Rosalie? Tom shook his head. Amos would bust a gut if Miss Kincannon turned out to be a whore.

Not many cowboys in the Acre at the moment.
They swarmed into town after driving their herds in from the Chisholm Trail, collected three or four months' pay, then spent it all in one night in the Acre, trading weeks of backbreaking work and eating dust for one night of drunkenness and pleasure.

Tom's idea of pleasure ran a mite different.
A Colorado sunset. A newborn calf or colt. Fire in the hearth after a long day's work on the ranch. Now, that was real pleasure.

There
...on the right...the house after the last dance hall. On the front of the house hung a sign that said, “William Kincannon, Esq.”

Tom tied his rented horse to the front porch support, stretched his back, wiped sweat from his brow with one sleeve, then knocked on the door.
He heard nothing inside. After a moment, the door cracked open an inch. He couldn't tell who might be behind that door. He reached for his hat and dragged it from his head, ran his fingers through his damp, tangled hair, and nodded at the unseen resident.

“
Morning. I'm Tom McCabe. I've come to escort Miss Kincannon to Denver.”

“
Mr. McCabe, did you say?”

A woman's voice.
He still couldn't see if she was old or young, the person he'd come to escort or her mother. Hell, he didn't know anything about this woman.

“
Yes, Ma'am. My father is Senator Amos McCabe. William Kincannon sent a wire, asking that an escort be sent to take Rosalie Kincannon to Denver. Am I at the right house? The directions I had—”

“
You're at the right house.” The door opened a bit wider. “But I can't let you in right now, Mr. McCabe. I'm...that is...my father is not at home presently. It would not be proper to ask you in while I'm here alone.”

Proper?
Concerned about being proper, living here?

“
All right, Ma'am. When should I come back?”

“
My father should return around two o'clock.”

“
All right, then. I'll be back about two.” He nodded, replaced his hat and turned to leave.

“
Mr. McCabe?”

Glancing back, his breath caught in his throat.
Rosalie Kincannon had come out on the porch. Long, shiny hair, as dark as a blackbird's wings, curled and nestled about her shoulders. Her eyes made it difficult for him to think straight for a moment. Just what color they were, he couldn't rightly say, but they made him think of the mountains at dusk. Incredible eyes. Focused on him.

“
Ma'am?” He finally remembered his manners and jerked his hat down again.

“
Thank you for coming. You...that is...I am most grateful. You cannot imagine how much I appreciate your father's generosity in sending you to escort me to Denver.”

“
My pleasure, Ma'am.” Truly. “I'll be back at two. Is there a hotel nearby?” He glanced down the street. “A fairly nice one? Where I could clean up a little?”

“
Not here. You don't want to stay here.”

The way she said it made him feel cold in spite of the sun
blazing down on his head and shoulders. She hated this place. He revised his previous assumptions about her.

“
No, Ma'am, that wouldn't be my first choice.”

“
The El Paso Hotel, at the corner of Third Street and Main, is quite nice. I think you'll find it to your liking.”

“
Thank you, Ma'am. I believe I passed it on the way here.”

She averted her eyes, stared at her feet, straightened her skirts.
“I must apologize, Mr. McCabe, for your having to come to...this part of Fort Worth. Have you been to the city before?”

“
Not for a long time, Ma'am.”

“
Please don't judge the whole city by this place.”

“
No, Ma'am. Denver has an area much like this one. I understand what you're saying.”

She seemed to relax a bit.
“Good.” She smiled.

The gesture transformed her face.
Tom took a step back toward the porch, needing to be closer for a moment before leaving.

“
Are you happy to be going to Denver, Ma'am?”

She hesitated.
“Yes. I am.”

Considering where she lived in Fort Worth, he could believe that easily.
Yet, something in her eyes, and that brief hesitation before she spoke, told him she might not be telling the whole truth. He replaced his hat, climbed on the horse, nodded once, then rode off down the street.

<><><><>

Rosalie watched until he'd disappeared behind the buildings then hurried back inside, careful to lock the door behind her. Most doors in the Acre stood open, night and day, as did the wooden shutters on the windows. With doors and windows closed, and temperatures reaching one hundred degrees or more in the shade, the house and anyone inside sweltered during the day. But she preferred suffering in the heat to having drunken cowboys wander in from the street, stinking of cows and dirt, whiskey and sweat, “looking for a good time.”

At last, she might be able to escape this fetid sewer.
Never, living here, could she expect to be accepted as a lady and treated with the respect she craved so desperately. Going to Denver meant climbing from a dark, airless well into the light, where she could breathe clean air, hold her head up, and apologize to no one for who she was, where she lived, or what she'd done. Even though, in Denver, she'd be house maid for a man she'd never met and for his vile son, the Strickland family had to be better than the scum who frequented the establishments in the Acre. Perhaps Mrs. Strickland, at least, would be kind. She might even provide some protection, when needed.

For years, since Rosalie had gotten old enough to recognize the truth of where they lived, and what kind of man her father had become, she'd begged him to move to the north side of Fort Worth, where they could live in a decent house, among respectable people.
Instead of a dance hall, she'd suggested a dry goods store. But William Kincannon had no interest in respectability. And he certainly didn't like hearing her complaints.

“
Get yourself a job at one of the houses!” he'd yelled at her dozens of times. “If you want to leave this place, it takes money. You'll have to earn your own. The hall hardly keeps us in beans and ham.”

Rosalie knew better.
They'd had a nasty fight when she'd needed money to buy material to sew a new dress. He said he had no money, but she'd seen folding money in his pocket earlier in the day. It didn't take much snooping to find his stash, in a can, buried under a board in his bedroom floor. He had hundreds of dollars hidden away. Since then, he hadn't spent a fraction of that amount. There had to be a substantial sum under that board, no matter what he said.

Yet, stealing the money would make her as bad as he.
She had to escape without any additional burdening of her soul. And, if at all possible, she had to take Elizabeth with her. The thought of leaving her behind was abhorrent.

The means for escape
—for both of them, perhaps—had just arrived in Fort Worth. Tom McCabe. Thinking about him comforted her. She lingered on the way his mouth crinkled at the corners when he smiled, his brown eyes, gentle and kind. His hair, thick and unruly, hadn't seen a barber's chair lately, but it didn't detract from his handsome features. In fact, she liked the way the damp curls lay on his forehead when he took off his hat.