Read Jodi Thomas - WM 1 Online
Authors: Texas Rain
Jodi Thomas - WM 1 (20 page)
“Thank you, Mrs. Davis,” Rainey answered. “And I’d love to learn.”
“Call me Dottie,” the widow said. “I’ve lived here longer than any of the boarders, almost a year. Mamie and I have become friends over my late-night snacks. You don’t have to worry about her telling, or Mrs. Vivian coming in. After she locks the doors she locks herself in her room and doesn’t come out till morning. I think inside her room she can forget that her big house has renters.”
“What happened to her husband?” Rainey asked as she sipped her tea.
“I heard once that he left in ’forty-nine. Went out looking for gold. Though Mrs. Vivian claims he’s just on a trip to Galveston. Everyone in Austin who knew him said he had quite a temper and was always looking to make fast money.”
The slave nodded. “She acts like he’s coming back any day. Ever month she makes me wash and press his clothes ’cause she says he likes them fresh. I swear, they’ll all be nothing but rags from the washing if he don’t show up soon.”
Dottie shook her head. “He’s not any more likely to come back than the French girl, if you ask me. She got dead and he got gone.”
Mamie agreed.
“Only good thing he ever did was leave Vivian with this house. If he comes back, he’ll take it from her,” Dottie mumbled. “She better pray he stays gone.”
Mamie shrugged. “She won’t let me in her bedroom. Hands me the sheets at the door she does. But I’ve looked in a few times and seen his things setting around like he just left. She moved all her good furniture in there after he left so none of the boarders would wear it out before he gets back.” She picked up her coffee cup and moved away. “She’ll be the only one not surprised when he comes back.”
“I’m sorry to be intruding,” Rainey whispered to Dottie.
Dottie smiled. “We’re glad of the company. You see, Mamie has to do laundry till late, and I’ve spent too many nights staying up into the wee hours to go to bed with the chickens. Mamie was just taking a break.”
Rainey relaxed. Around the widow she never had to talk much. Dottie had a way of making one of her stories flow into the next. It was almost dawn when she finally climbed back to the third floor. Over several card games she’d made two friends.
She slept through breakfast the next morning and didn’t mind a bit. She’d enjoyed her midnight company.
Because she didn’t have to bake, she decided to finish Travis’s letter. But the tiny room seemed to close in around her. She dressed and walked a block down to one of the cafés where she sold her pies.
The owner gave her a table in the corner, and Rainey wrote her letter, talking to Travis as if he were sitting across the table from her, listening. When she finished, she walked home feeling as if she’d spent the day with him.
At the end of her letter about the barmaids’ planned crime, she added:
I enjoyed being with you today. You are as real in my thoughts as those around me. Sometimes I can almost feel your words on my cheek as you stand close to me and whisper as you did at the dance. I wish you had kissed the palm of my hand so I could close my fingers and save it always.
Then she signed the letter as she had before with an
R.
R.
She knew she was being very bold, but what did it matter? She’d never see her Ranger again.
CHAPTER 16
TRAVIS TOOK HIS THIRD CUP OF MORNING COFFEE TO the porch and studied the weather. Winter played with dried leaves, rushing them from one corner of the yard to another. He smiled, enjoying the crisp air and thinking of the letter he’d received last week. Just a note really and again signed with only R. She’d told him how she hated winter and the cold almost as much as she hated the darkness. She said she made a few friends, then, like it was important, she added that her hair had grown long enough to put up. She wore it with a ribbon around the curls so that it looked much like a bun.
Leaning against the porch railing to relieve the strain on his leg from standing, Travis tried to remember her hair and wondered if it stayed curly when it grew. He laughed. He’d spent so much time the past ten years trying to stay alive, he realized how a woman’s hair grew had never crossed his mind. But it did now. Everything about his fairy woman drifted in his thoughts. If he had time today he’d write her that he’d like to feel her hair in his fingers. The moment the thought entered his head, he realized it wasn’t a longing, but a need. With each day and each letter he needed to touch her a little more. The letters filled his thoughts, but he craved more. He longed to feel her in his arms. If he wrote how dearly he wanted her, she’d probably never write him again.
Martha clomped onto the porch. “Cold out here,” she complained to no one. “My bones are getting so old that the only place I’m comfortable from November to May is by the stove.”
Travis straightened. “Problem?” He knew she wouldn’t be out here pestering him unless she needed something. “The boy all right?”
Martha nodded. “Sage has him in the kitchen making cookies. He’s eating more than he’s making. She’s singing to him and he loves it. If I were guessing, I’d say maybe he remembers his mother singing to him.”
Travis relaxed, glad the kid they all called Duck wasn’t in trouble. He didn’t seem to know how to play, but he loved to explore. He could climb like a monkey. Twice they’d had to get the ladder and pull him down from the logs crossing at the ceiling in the main room. The first time Sage gave him a bath, he whimpered like a pup. The second time, he escaped. By the time they got him down, Sage decided to save bathing for another day.
Martha pulled her shawl around her and shivered. “I hate to ask, Travis, but . . .”
“What is it?” He knew she spoke the truth, she did hate to ask for any kind of help. He also knew he’d be doing what she requested if it were in his power.
“Teagen and most of the men are working a downed fence in the north corral,” she said.
Travis already knew about the fence. The last storm had done major damage. The chances were slight any horse would leave Whispering Mountain land, but this time of year it was safer to keep the stock corralled. It would take several days of hard work, but the fence had to be rebuilt as fast as possible. They didn’t just raise horses, they raised the best in Texas.
Martha continued. “Tobin is in the barn with two mares who were hurt when they got into the rocks during the rain. He said one could foal any day.”
Travis also knew every detail of Tobin’s problems. One of the mares might have to be put down if Tobin didn’t watch the cuts and keep them clean.
“So.” He turned to Martha. “You need my help.” It appeared he was the only one left.
She nodded. “With Sage making cookies every day, I need supplies. I noticed you’ve been handling the wagon around the place and wondered if you’re up to a run to town.”
“I am.” Travis knew he’d probably hurt like hell when he got home, but it would be good to see something other than the inside of the place and the view from the porch. His leg had finally grown strong enough to make it the few steps into Elmo’s without a cane. “With one stipulation. I go alone.”
Martha understood. Sage loved riding along, but if she went, Duck wouldn’t stay with Martha, so he’d have to ride along, too. Travis left it up to Martha to talk Sage into staying.
Thirty minutes later, with Martha’s list in his pocket, Travis pulled out of the yard and headed to the trading post. The morning was cold, but the sky clear. He’d have no problems with the weather, and with the two rifles beneath his seat, he’d ensured he would be prepared for any trouble that he might encounter. This part of the country had been safe the past few years, but now and again some “down on his luck” cowhand would try a robbery.
Travis made it to Anderson Trading Post with no trouble. Tobin had added a brace on the floor of the wagon a week ago so that Travis could rest his bad leg, and Sage made a pad out of deer hide for the bench. He still needed his cane to walk most of the time, but Travis no longer looked like a cripple.
However, he was thankful no one sat out on Elmo’s porch when he pulled up. He could take his time climbing from the wagon, and once inside he could buy the boy clothes while Elmo loaded the wagon. With luck, Elmo would go back inside before Travis had to lift himself up on the bench for the ride home.
The plan worked. He climbed back on the seat just as Elmo came out to load the last box.
“Good to see you up and about!” Elmo yelled from the back of the wagon. “How’s the boy they brought in from up north last month? You McMurrays letting him out of the cage yet?”
Travis twisted as much as he could on the wagon seat. “He’s doing great. The first week he wouldn’t get two feet from me without throwing a fit, but Sage bribed him with cookies. Now he’s running all over the place. He usually spends his mornings helping Tobin in the barn.”
Elmo leaned on the wagon. “He talk?”
“Not a word. I’m not sure he even understands much English. If the boy ever knew it, he’s forgotten. We’re guessing he’s almost four, so he must have been captured before he was two. From what I saw he was treated more like a dog than a boy while he was captured.”
“Any hint as to where he might have come from?”
Travis shook his head. “Unless he can say something, we may never know. He’s not dumb, though. Seems to understand a few words in both Spanish and Apache. He likes to sit by the fire, but won’t get too near a horse. Tobin’s working with him, trying to get him to stand a few feet closer to the corral every day, but he seems happiest when all is silent and he’s close to the fire.”
Elmo laughed. “He aughta be right at home with you boys. Ain’t one of you’ll pass more than a few minutes talking.”
Travis didn’t answer or take offense. He figured Elmo was just stating a fact. The McMurrays had never had much to say to outsiders.
The trading post owner headed back toward the store, then turned. “I almost forgot. You got another letter from that Sam fellow in the San Marcos settlement. Must be a good friend. This is the third or fourth one in less than two months.”
Years of watching his every move, every emotion, kept Travis from yelling or reaching too fast for the letter.
Elmo took his time handing it over, examining the envelope as if it held a clue. “What do you reckon a man would have on his mind to write so many letters?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Travis took the paper and shoved it into his pocket. “You pack the boy clothes?”
Elmo nodded, then waited, as if hoping for more information about the letter.
“I’d better be getting back.” Travis circled the wagon and headed toward Whispering Mountain. He didn’t look back. He knew the trading post owner was watching from his porch. He also knew he and the letter would be the topic of conversation around the stove for the next few days.
He thought of waiting until he got home to open the letter, but knew there would be the unloading of supplies, and by then Martha would have lunch ready. Sage would follow him around asking questions. She’d want to know who he saw and what he said. Sundays were her only day to go visiting, and she usually didn’t leave the ranch without one of the brothers tagging along complaining about a need to get back before they even left the property.
Travis touched the letter in his pocket. He’d written her four times in the past month. Mostly, he talked of the boy. There were so many things he wanted to say. Questions he wanted to ask. Each letter he felt he’d be a little more honest. In a strange way they were getting to know each other on paper.
With a sudden jerk Travis stopped the wagon. He could wait no longer. Glancing around to make sure no one followed, he pulled the letter from his pocket. He told himself not to let the little woman he hardly knew matter to him, but it was too late. She did matter.
Travis swore. She’d lied to him about everything, including her name. She’d stolen two horses out from under his nose and run when he’d told her to stay. He laughed. “Sounds like the perfect woman for me,” he mumbled as he opened the letter.
My dear Travis
. She used his first name as if they were friends and the
dear
as if she cared for him. Travis smiled. He would do the same if he knew her name. Strange how he knew the feel of her and not her name. He read further.
. She used his first name as if they were friends and the
dear
as if she cared for him. Travis smiled. He would do the same if he knew her name. Strange how he knew the feel of her and not her name. He read further.
At first her account of the two women plotting a murder appeared humorous. Women planning to kill some no-good man didn’t seem like it would be all that unusual a conversation. He could almost picture his fairy woman curled up in her bed by the window as she listened.
Then it occurred to him that if the barmaids were serious, and R. had overheard them, she might be in real danger. He’d noticed over the years that once a person kills, it’s not all that hard to kill again.
He reread the letter. She’d left no hint as to where she was, but he knew it could not be anywhere near San Marcos. Unless the settlement had experienced a grand growing spurt, there was no alley where saloons framed in one side and three-story homes were on the other side.
Travis folded the letter into his pocket and drove home. By the time he reached Whispering Mountain, he’d made up his mind about two things. One, Miss R. could be only one place close enough and big enough to fit her writing . . . Austin. And two, he planned to be on his way there by morning. The least he could do was find her and warn her.
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