Texas Blue (4 page)

Mrs. Allender was one of those women made of sugar, Lewt decided. She had apple round cheeks and tiny hands as white as bleached cotton. She preceded every question with “If you don’t mind my asking . . .” or “If you’ll be so kind to tell us . . .” When Lewt showed her kindness and respect, he won the approval of both the Allenders.

He even told her the bird was cute, when in truth he was sure it was the ugliest thing he’d ever seen. Mother Nature must have had an off day to put the strange colors of feathers together.

Before he could settle back in his chair, another man boarded. He was of medium build, but he carried himself with the confidence of a warrior preparing to face a battle. His handshake was fast, his grip tight, his speech clipped, as though he didn’t want to waste a moment more than necessary with small talk.

Lewt couldn’t figure out whether he liked the man, and from the way Davis Allender watched him, neither could the young man.

“I’m Boyd Sinclair,” the stranger announced. “Rode half the night to make it in time for this train.” He seemed to look around as if to make sure everyone was listening, then added, “I had my man load my horses. Can’t wait to see how the McMurray horses measure up to my stock.”

Davis grinned. “I thought we were going to meet the ladies, not the horses.”

“Of course,” Boyd nodded. “I’m just thinking ahead. Normally, I wouldn’t travel to meet a woman, but I’ve heard of the Whispering Mountain stock. The trip will be worth it just to examine their lines, and if I happen to find a suitable bride, all the better.”

Mrs. Allender whispered, “Oh my.”

Lewt laughed, then whispered back to only her, “I do hope he’s talking about the horses when he mentioned examining their lines.”

The little lady blushed.

They all took their seats as the train started to roll. Mrs. Allender looked nervous, but as soon as the train leveled off in speed, her son was up walking the length of the car as if he could help move the train along faster.

Lewt decided to play the host and offered everyone a drink. Mrs. Allender took water, Davis asked if there was any hot tea, and Boyd asked for brandy.

While Lewt rummaged in the tiny pantry, young Davis leaned into the doorway and asked, “How long?”

“Before the trains it would have taken three or four days, I’m guessing, but now, we’ll be there before dark.” Lewt had never been this far north, but he’d heard Duncan talk about the trip when he went home. Texas had been settled from south to north. The farther up the state you went, the more western and less southern the country and the people became.

Boyd Sinclair leaned on the other side of the tiny pantry door. “I’d rather have made the trip on horseback, but Duncan informed me that the offer to stay at Whispering Mountain was only extended for this week. We arrive tonight and leave the following Saturday morning.” He gave the other two men a curious look. “I got the feeling these McMurrays are none too free with invitations. Folks in San Antonio say there’s only one way into their land. It’s over a bridge, and twice they’ve burned the bridge to keep people off their land.”

Davis shrugged. “Duncan asked me three months ago when I came by his office with plans for a new federal building. I’m just the junior architect on the job, but he said then that if the time was right, he’d love me to see his home and meet the family. I thought he was just being polite, but two days ago, he asked me again.”

Lewt handed them both their drinks and carried his and Mrs. Allender’s water back to the seating area. He asked a few questions, but gave nothing about himself away. The conversation moved from Boyd talking about himself and his adventures and Davis talking about the rich blends of architecture that made Texas unique.

Around one o’ clock a porter brought a lunch of fruit and sandwiches. They all moved to the table to eat, then settled into different areas. Mrs. Allender leaned into the love seat and napped. Davis pulled out what looked like a sketchbook and took a seat by the window. Boyd propped his feet on the chair across from him and snored the afternoon away.

Lewt took the other single seat by the window and watched the land move by as he planned. He’d always believed in chances, in playing the odds. No matter how bad his life was, he’d never lost hope that someday, somehow, a chance would open up and he’d be able to make his life better.

Looking back, he realized that from where he started there wasn’t anywhere but up. He’d been born to the town drunk and the woman who cleaned rooms and did laundry at a whorehouse. His father told him once that his mother was too ugly to be a whore, but even when Lewt tried, he couldn’t remember what she looked like.

His first memories were of sitting in the rain waiting for his father to wake up. He’d passed out before they’d made it home, and Lewt was too little to find his way through the backstreets of New Orleans in the dark.

His mother died before he started school and his dad made an effort to stay sober enough to work. Lewt wasn’t old enough to count the months, but he remembered his father bringing home the first of a string of women before summer was over. Some were kind to him, but most showed little interest. They all made him go to school, more to get him out from underfoot than anything else.

No matter what happened, Lewt always believed that somehow a chance would come. The nice women told him to call them Mother, but they still wouldn’t take him with them when they left. The mean ones were usually kicked out by his dad. But, good or bad, when they left, the same thing happened; Lewt’s dad stayed drunk until all the money ran out.

During those weeks, Lewt found it safer to disappear. Once a bartender caught him sleeping just inside the back door of a saloon. He was a big Swede who’d left his children back home when he’d come west. He offered Lewt a job in exchange for a cot in the kitchen and a meal.

Lewt took the job. He worked unnoticed by the drunks and women of the night who came through. He watched and learned. While most kids his age were fishing and playing after school, Lewt was learning to read people. He learned that if he dressed up and wore clean clothes, folks treated him better. They’d give him two bits to watch their horses or run an errand. He figured out when it paid to be invisible and how to lift the change off a drunk as he helped him out the door.

After his father dropped by a few times and took the money he’d saved, Lewt learned about banks. He swore he’d never be poor again, so every town he traveled to that had a bank, Lewt opened an account.

To the rhythm of the train, he drifted to sleep thinking of what it would be like to have a home. He’d never owned anything he couldn’t pack in a suitcase. He’d never belonged anywhere. New Orleans had been the first town he remembered the name of, but there had been other towns, other places before. Once he was old enough, he took the boat from New Orleans to Galveston and began to work his way around Texas.

Some towns were so lawless he slept with a gun next to his pillow. Others were so settled there wasn’t room for a man like him. When he reached Austin, he found the perfect mixture.

The train pulled to a stop at Anderson Glen, rattling everyone in the car awake. Davis jumped up, collecting his bags and helping his mother. Boyd ran to help with the unloading of his horses, and Lewt stood on the platform and studied the sleepy little town.

Duncan had told him once that the town near his ranch had been little more than a trading post when he was a boy, but now, Lewt saw streets, churches, a school, businesses, and a bank. When he married one of the McMurray women, he might buy one of the hotels, or maybe a general store, and this town looked as good as any to settle in.

He checked the watch that had once belonged to Four. If the bank had been open, Lewt would have made a deposit. He liked making deposits. Tellers who wouldn’t speak to him on the street would call him sir as they counted out his money. Once he had an account, he felt like he somehow belonged.

Davis walked up beside Lewt. “Any idea where we can get a buggy?”

“We could probably rent one,” Lewt said, “but my guess is that rig over there is for us.”

A cowhand walked toward them and tipped his hat. “Name’s Sumner,” he said around a cheek full of tobacco. “I’m looking for three gentlemen bound for Whispering Mountain.” He was polite, but not overly friendly. “Any chance you gentlemen are two of them?”

Lewt smiled. “We are, and this sweet young lady”—he motioned toward Mrs. Allender—“is accompanying us this evening.”

The cowhand didn’t question, he just helped with the luggage. They moved to the end of the platform and Davis helped his mother in while Lewt and the cowhand loaded the luggage.

Sumner looked old, but he might still be in his forties. He had a slight limp, but Lewt guessed he wasn’t a man who liked questions. During these days in Texas a curious stranger usually got a wooden cross for free when he departed town.

“Any idea where the third gentleman might be?” Sumner asked as he bit off another chew of tobacco.

Lewt raised his head as two men flew by on horses already at full gallop. “Yep,” he said. “He just passed us. My guess is he doesn’t plan to give the buggy the chance to slow him down.”

One side of Sumner’s mouth rose in a quick grin. “I never slow down a fool.”

“What makes you think he’s a fool?” Lewt wasn’t arguing, only asking.

The old cowhand lifted himself onto the front bench. “He’s headed the wrong direction.”

Lewt laughed and climbed in.

T
HE SKY HAD ALREADY TURNED TO NIGHT WHEN Emily McMurray watched the wagon cross the bridge and roll onto Whispering Mountain Ranch. She’d been standing in the loft opening above the barn fighting the urge to ride out and dynamite the bridge. Like her papa, Teagen McMurray, she hated strangers on her land. Her adopted father had taught her well how to run the ranch, and now with him away she planned to do just that. Tall and slender, she looked like a young man in her trousers and loose shirt, with her blond hair tucked beneath her hat. The gun strapped to her leg left little doubt that she could protect what was hers.

The barn lantern glowed from behind her near the ladder, but for once, she didn’t stand in its light. Em wanted to watch the men arriving without being seen.

“Strangers,” she whispered. “Strangers on my land.” The words tasted sour in her mouth, and she fought the urge to spit them out.

The night had an eerie feeling to it. Wind whipped from first one direction, then another as if not able to make up its mind which way to blow. Damp wisps of fog drifted in the evening sky like a dark cloud come to play in the breeze. A full moon cast milky light between the buildings that marked the ranch. Two huge barns, one for horses and one to store the collection of wagons and buggies used mostly for training teams, seemed to stand guard over the ranch. The main house with its two wings coming off the center reminded Em of a great eagle about to take flight. A bunkhouse and several smaller buildings used for storage huddled around the area, almost making the ranch headquarters look like a town settled beneath rolling hills.

The music of the ranch, from the whine of the clothesline to the clank of the well rig keeping time to the wind chimes near the mudroom door, seemed to clang off-key tonight. The only safe home she’d ever known seemed to be standing silent, waiting, preparing for a threat yet to come. Em told herself she would be ready. She had to be ready. She was the oldest. The safety of Whispering Mountain lay in her hands.

Two men on horses galloped ahead as the buggy crossed the bridge. Even in the shadows, she recognized fine horses and superior riders. Both men handled their mounts with an easy skill as they raced for the house.

When they reached the yard and dismounted, one man stood back with the horses while the other stepped onto the porch. In an odd way he reminded her of a peacock, walking tall, stretching his legs, not looking down as he moved.

She heard the one on the porch snap an order to the man with the horses, but Em couldn’t make out what he said because the buggy rattled into the yard.

A tall stranger, who’d ridden in the front beside Sumner, jumped from the bench. He began helping an older lady out of the buggy. She was short and plump, with a hat the wind seemed determined to claim and a birdcage half her size. Another man joined in the effort to assist her as wind whipped at the little creature’s tall feathers and bows.

Em studied the shadowy figures. She hadn’t expected a woman. Only three men had been mentioned in Duck’s letter, and now there were three men and a woman. Thoughts of killing Duck crossed her mind. She’d been angry since she’d gotten his letter saying he was sending unmarried men to meet them. Her sisters Rose and Beth might be in a twitter of excitement, but Em was furious. How many times did she have to tell everyone that she never planned to marry? All she’d ever wanted was to stay on the ranch and help her papa raise the finest horses in Texas.