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  “Please, you take care of yourself, too,” I begged, my throat dry. “I will check in on you, Celia, I promise I will.”

  Celia’s expression changed, wonder lifting her eyebrows. She caught my right hand between both of hers and placed it upon the swollen curve of her lower belly. There, beneath my palm, a small bump thrust outward. She whispered, “He’s moving so much today.”

  “I promise,” I vowed, feeling Miles’s baby pressing back against my palm.

  Outside under the blistering sun I floundered, growing dizzy as we descended the porch steps. I was clutching the bundle of my belongings to my stomach and stumbled over the bottom stair. Patricia kept a firm grip on my elbow, just as she had last night. She said in my ear, “It is all right. Come, I am certain you have not yet had a proper meal today. We shall retire to my train car.”

  I allowed Patricia to guide me across the street and together we angled south and east, out toward the railroad depot and its subsequent tracks. I was aware of very little until we reached our destination, hearing a buzzing in my head, letting Patricia lead me to six railroad cars strung in a line along an offshoot of the main track, two painted dark red, four flat black, all adorned with white script that read Redd Line RRC, Chicago, Illinois. She climbed three metal steps with a sense of familiarity, entering the first red car, and we were enveloped by cool dimness. I blinked in the shadowy interior space as Patricia helped me to sit on a velvet loveseat. I dropped the unraveling bundle of my clothes to the floor.

  She knelt and grasped my hands. “You are in distress and I am deeply sorry. But please do not worry. You shall accompany me back to Chicago and live in my home. I would be delighted if you should agree to this. Rilla’s was an unsuitable place for you to reside, as you realize. Dredd shall take out an advertisement in every paper east of the Mississippi, Ruthann, and find your people. What say you?”

  I found the energy to squeeze her hands. “Thank you.”

  “You rest now,” she invited, managing a charming smile. “We have a dinner engagement this night. And we shall worry about tomorrow, tomorrow.”

  Chapter Nine

  I WAS UNAWARE HOW MUCH TIME HAD PASSED WHEN A sharp knocking sounded on the door of the train car, about ten paces from where I lay beneath a cerulean satin comforter. I blinked to consciousness, hazy and disoriented, eyes darting in confusion until I recognized Patricia’s personal compartment. I was tucked in her feather bed, wearing nothing more than a borrowed chemise, a long, blouse-like garment Patricia had lent me, fancier by far than anything I possessed, made of soft white cotton and edged in fragile lace. It left my arms, neck, and calves bare.

  Earlier I’d bathed in the small washtub Patricia filled with water, kindly taking this task upon herself. The water was cold but her soap was lilac-scented and her monogrammed ivory towels the softest linen imaginable. After cleansing every inch of my skin, I collapsed atop her bed. The tiny sleeping chamber was windowless, allowing no clue as to the time of day, and I wanted to ignore the knocking, praying that whoever was out there would just go away. Where was Patricia? I was groggy and irritable; she’d been here when I went to sleep but had since disappeared.

  “Ruthann? Are you there? It’s Marshal Rawley,” he called from right outside.

  “Just a second!” My throat was raspy but he must have heard because he quit knocking.

  I scrambled from beneath the covers and searched for my blouses, seeing neither in sight. I did spy one of my ragged skirts and hurried to button it over the chemise, my hair swinging loose and tangled. Embarrassed that I was taking too much time to answer, I swept my hair forward to cover my breasts; I was not wearing a corset. As further safeguarding, I crossed my arms and stumbled barefoot through the bedroom and adjacent sitting room, in which the shades were drawn, to answer the door. I opened it and immediately squinted at the brilliant punch of afternoon sunshine. Just as quickly, I re-crossed my arms over my breasts.

  “I have awoken you.” Miles sounded apologetic. Right on cue, he added, “I apologize. I was most anxious to see you after hearing you were ordered from Rilla Jaymes’s place this morning. What has happened this day? Rilla would tell me nothing and I did not know where you had disappeared until just minutes ago. I have been deeply worried.”

  I found myself unable to do a thing but stare up at him, backlit as he was by the sunlight. He appeared just as concerned as he claimed, studying my face as if to search for any additional signs of harm. He wore a collared shirt, open at the throat, his gray vest with its marshal star, and dark trousers. His sleeves were rolled back, as they had been last night. Again I noticed the black hair on his forearms and the backs of his wrists; I could see evidence of hair on his chest, his shirt open past his collarbones. He held the door with one hand, his hat in the other. His forehead bore a faint sheen of sweat and I felt hot and tight all along my thighs and upward into my belly.

  How is that I know you, he’d said last night.

  At last I found my voice. “You needn’t worry.”

  His eyes were intent upon mine. He was no more than two steps away and my heart was pounding like someone attacking a set of drums. As though thinking aloud, he observed, “Your hair is down.”

  My nipples pressed against the backsides of my crossed arms, almost through the thin material of the chemise. I was so confused, so powerfully drawn to him – a man who was, in all truth, a stranger to me – shocked by the urge to move forward the mere inches it would take to tuck my face against his bare neck. I said stupidly, “It is.”

  His chest expanded with a slow, deliberate breath, the way someone would inhale in order to decrease tension, to get level. On the exhale, he repeated, “I have been deeply worried this day.”

  “I touched your baby,” I whispered, thinking of Celia, alone back at Rilla’s. I would not acknowledge what felt suspiciously like a broiling, burning lump of jealousy wedged behind my breastbone, nor would I think about Miles making love time and again to Celia last spring, enough to get her pregnant. No, I would not think of that…

  His eyebrows drew together, creating the horizontal crease above his nose; all I seemed to do was trouble and confuse him. In a tone indicating he demanded understanding, he asked, “What do you mean?”

  “The baby moved inside of Celia.” The blazing coals in my chest swelled to encompass my throat. I whispered, “Have you talked to her?”

  “I spoke with her this very day, but minutes ago. She asked me never to return to Rilla’s. She was the one who finally told me you had left with Mrs. Yancy.”

  “You can’t listen to her. She needs your help. She needs you.”

  He shook his head and I hated how my voice had broken on that last word. I felt a sensation of coming undone, of being lost within the expression in his eyes, and further, I felt like a traitor. Miles was not my man, and yet…and yet…

  “Is Ruthann awake?” I heard Patricia’s voice from outside, moving closer, and the marshal stepped to the side, passing a hand over his face. He appeared agonized. Patricia hurried up the metal steps, which chimed under her heeled shoes. She swept past Miles and enveloped me in a hug. Over her shoulder, I saw Axton sitting on the seat of his flatbed wagon, drawn by Ranger and my own nameless horse.

  Patricia said decorously, “Marshal Rawley, how good of you to call. Mr. Douglas is here to escort us to dinner at his home as soon as I inform Mrs. Mason.” And then, in a scandalized undertone, “Ruthann, you are in a state of undress. Gentlemen, please excuse us!”

  So saying, she tugged me inside and closed the door. I felt like a tornado had just blown through the train car. Patricia perused my outfit and decided, “I shall lend you proper clothing.”

  Mostly to be contrary, I asked, “Who the hell is Mrs. Mason, anyway?”

  Patricia smiled at my cursing. “My ladies’ maid. Dredd hired her for me, back in Chicago. Hers is the other red car. I could not ask for a better chaperone. She refuses to travel without her laudanum supply, which keeps her quite perfectly daze
d at all times.”

  I thought back to my early days at Rilla’s, and could relate.

  Miles waited the few minutes it took for me to braid my hair, locate my corset, and dress in a clean blouse and skirt, both in shades of sky-blue, Patricia’s preferred hue. He was mounted on Blade, chatting with Axton, and both men looked our way when the door opened; Patricia offered a radiant smile while I concentrated on not hooking the toes of my shoes on the metal stairs and therefore falling to my face. Miles dismounted to help us aboard the wagon but I stopped to greet my horse, letting Patricia go first.

  “Hi, girl,” I murmured, stroking her jaws, then her neck. She blew a breath from both nostrils, right between my breasts, and I planted a kiss on her velvet nose. “I’ve missed you.”

  “She’s been missing you too, Ruthie,” Axton said, taking Patricia’s hand to assist her as she settled beside him on the wagon seat. I saw how pleased he was to extend this courtesy; Ax was a goner for her already, it was obvious.

  “I know,” I said, with mild guilt pangs, resting my cheek against the mare’s neck, overcome by everything that had happened in the last twelve hours. My horse smelled familiar and her very presence was a comfort. She was calm, flicking her tail as I lavished a little love on her. Miles, having assisted Patricia, joined me near my horse’s nose. He reached and scratched beneath her chin. I spoke to the mare, murmuring, “I haven’t even named you yet.”

  “She already has a name,” Miles said. “Doc Turn always called her Girl.” The horse gave a quiet whicker, as though acknowledging this truth, and Miles patted her neck. “See, that’s right, isn’t it, Girl?”

  “But that’s a stupid name,” I said, peering up at the man standing beside me. He had replaced his hat and it created a shadow over his eyes, but I could still detect the hint of good humor in their depths.

  “You look as pretty as a prairie spring,” Axton was saying to Patricia.

  “You flatter me,” Patricia said, beaming. “But thank you all the same, Mr. Douglas.”

  “May I?” Miles asked, offering his arm.

  He rested one hand on the small of my back, cupping the other around my right elbow, to help me atop the wagon. I faltered, not having lifted my skirt high enough to compensate for such a big step up, but he kept me steady. His hands were warm and strong, and I tried to pretend I didn’t feel those brief, very proper touches at other points on my body.

  Patricia hauled me alongside her, scooting closer to Axton and tucking her hand beneath his right arm. Even with the space between us, I could sense his heated flush of pride at this action; I thought of how Ax and I had been discussing labor during our last talk, the kind which happened when women gave birth. He’d been very concerned about the amount of pain women were expected to suffer through in order to deliver a child. And not long before that conversation he’d asked me, with considerable blushing, how a man made sure a woman enjoyed lovemaking. Or, as Ax referred to it, ‘the marriage act.’

  You make it sound like something that has to pass through Congress, I’d teased him.

  I’ve heard stories, he confessed, and earnestness replaced his fluster. But I know you’ll tell me true. I want to make sure I know how to please a woman. A woman oughta be pleased during the marriage act.

  You are one-hundred percent correct, I’d said.

  It was so damn easy to love Axton.

  Miles mounted Blade with graceful movements. He held the reins and sat the saddle as though both were second nature to him, and rode on the right side of the wagon, closest to where I was sitting, though maybe I was flattering myself thinking that was why he chose this side versus the other. He rode just enough ahead that I could admire the line of his wide shoulders, my eyes moving shamelessly up and down his back, over his thighs. He must have felt the strength of my gaze, because he looked over his left shoulder and then drew on Blade’s reins so the animal matched the pace of the slower-moving wagon.

  I dragged my eyes away.

  “Ruthie, I figure it’s a sign you oughta live with Uncle Branch and me, from now on,” Axton said as we rolled across the open foothill prairie, angling away from the railroad tracks which led back to some faraway eastern destination. The sun drooped low in the sky, casting all of us in a crimson glow. Ax leaned forward, driving the team with his forearms on his thighs; he looked my way as he spoke, his warm, smiling gaze flickering over Patricia. She reached and squeezed my hand in hers; her other hand remained tucked around Axton’s bicep and I could sense his bursting joy over this simple fact.

  Oh, Ax, I thought, with true sympathy. First crush.

  “Ruthann’s dismissal was a sign, to be sure,” Patricia agreed. “Though, not exactly as you have interpreted it, Mr. Douglas. I believe fate led me to Ruthann last night. I feel certain we were meant to know one another.”

  “I feel the same,” I admitted.

  “You believe in fate?” Miles asked us and I seized this excuse to look at him. The sun gilded his body in scarlet light and for a second, a strange and horrible second, this color seemed ominous; it looked like blood. My heart stuttered in its rhythm, effectively eradicating the flicker of happiness I’d just experienced.

  Stop it. It’s nothing but the sun.

  “Uncle Branch claims fate saved him from Federal bullets during the War, more than one time,” Axton supplied.

  “Fate is surely what drew our paths together,” Patricia agreed.

  I knew Miles wanted my response.

  “I think I do,” I said quietly, and then wished I could retract the comment. An eerie sense of finality hovered in the air and I knew Miles sensed something wasn’t quite right; I battled the urge to lift my hands and bat away the unpleasant sensation, the same way I would a cloud of mosquitoes.

  The sudden approach of galloping hooves sent Axton and Patricia craning their necks, but Miles and I did not look apart from each other.

  “Hold up there, you-all!” Cole shouted, racing his horse over the prairie, bent low over the animal’s head. At the same moment the wheels jounced over a large rut and I grabbed the edge of the wagon. Miles reached to steady me and without a thought I curled our fingers together. His black mustache lifted in the half-smile to which I was growing accustomed and he squeezed my fingers before gently releasing my hand.

  Patricia and Axton were both occupied watching Cole, whose horse flew past the wagon, its galloping legs a blur of frenzied motion, Cole hollering like someone headed into battle. Show-off, I couldn’t help but think. Meanwhile, Patricia sat straighter and fussily adjusted her skirts and hair, unable to pull her gaze from him.

  “Wish I had a brother to race with,” Axton said.

  Perhaps a quarter-mile ahead, Cole circled his mount in a wide arc and proceeded to canter back in our direction, as graceful in the saddle as Miles or Axton, men born to ride horses. Patricia’s chin lifted as she watched and I could actually see the increasing pulse at the base of her throat.

  Miles remarked, “You are more than welcome to a few of my brothers, young Axton. I have four, and there were plenty of days in my youth when I longed to be an only child.”

  “But that would be so lonely,” I said.

  “Peaceful,” Miles amended, and caressed me with his eyes, just as I did to him. There was no denying.

  Cole was upon us, his horse breathing with exertion; his eyes sought Patricia and though he greeted all of us with equal enthusiasm, he led his mount to flank the wagon on the left, closest to her.

  “Ruthann, you poor girl, your day ain’t been any better than your night, has it?” Cole asked. He clarified, “I heard you were asked to leave Rilla’s.”

  “I was, but it’s for the best.” I prayed this was true.

  “Ruthann shall remain with me,” Patricia said, hooking her arm through mine.

  “Or with me and Uncle Branch,” Axton said. He joked, “We’ve got piles of laundry.”

  I leaned over Patricia to slap his thigh and connected a little too well. Axton yelped, “I was
just fooling!”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, even though everyone was laughing. I imagined the tension of the day, all sense of fear, being carried away by the sound, like birds taking wing. I asked Cole, “What’s your horse’s name?”

  “Charger,” Cole answered, leaning to direct his smile my way. He was magnetic, even if I wasn’t susceptible to it the way I could tell Patricia was; she was all but wringing her hands as she peeked from the corner of her lashes, trying not to seem too aware of him. What’s more, even without having met Dredd Yancy I was certain Cole was about a hundred times more of a man; his smile gained steam as he said, “Tell me, Rawley, how’d we get so damn lucky this evening?”

  Miles replied smoothly, “If by ‘lucky’ you mean the privilege of escorting two beautiful women to dinner, I cannot honestly explain how.”

  I bit my cheek to restrain a wry smile; I would be a liar if I didn’t admit the compliment affected my composure.

  Cole whistled through his teeth. “I couldn’t have said it any better myself.”

  Poor Ax was way out of his league among these two; I realized Miles and Cole, as such longtime friends, had probably long ago perfected their repertoire of flattery.

  “What kind gentlemen,” Patricia said, with just a little sarcasm in her tone; she had plainly reached the same understanding, and turned her animated attention to Axton. “You said you live with your uncle, Mr. Douglas?”

  “Yes, I do. Uncle Branch raised me from a sprout.”

  “And if I don’t mistake myself, there is the old coot now,” Cole said, standing in his stirrups to call hello to Branch, who was tending the cookfire, as per usual at day’s end. I hadn’t seen Branch in close to three days and hurried into his open arms once the wagon was halted, not waiting for anyone to help me down; I managed, awkwardly, in my two layers of skirts, and ran straight to him.

  “Ruthie, I oughta be skinned alive for not watching out for you.” Branch tucked me close. The smoke overpowered his body odor but I didn’t care either way; I was just grateful to be held securely against his familiar, barrel-shaped chest. He was perhaps the closest I would ever get to a real father, and I loved him.