Page 2 of Texas Destiny
“But he’s standin’.”
“My pa can sleep while he’s sittin’ in the saddle. Seen him do it once.” “
So touch him and see.”
A suffocating expectation filled the air with tension. Then the touch came. A quick jab just above his knee.
Damn! He’d hoped the boys were older, bigger, so he could grab one by the scruff of his shirt, hoist him to eye level, and scare the holy hell out of him. Only he knew a bigger boy wouldn’t have jabbed him so low.
Reluctantly, Houston slowly opened his eye and glanced down. Two ragamuffins not much older than six stared up at him.
“Git,” he growled.
“Heh, mister, you a train robber?” one asked. “Is that how come you’re standin’ over here so no one can see ya?”
“I said to git.”
“How’d you lose your eye?” the other asked.
His eye? Houston had lost a good deal more than his eye. Trust boys to overlook the obvious. His younger brother had. Austin had never seemed to notice that his brother had left the better part of his face on some godforsaken battlefield.
“Git outta here,” Houston ordered, deepening his voice.
Blinking, the boys studied him as though he were a ragged scarecrow standing in a cornfield.
With a quickness they obviously weren’t expecting, he stomped his foot in their direction, leaned low, and pulled his lips back into a snarl. The boys’ eyes grew as large as their hollering mouths just before they took off at a run. Watching their bare feet stir up the dry dirt in the street leading away from the depot, Houston wished he could run with them, but family obligations forced him to remain.
In resignation, he repositioned himself against the wall, slipped his hand inside the opening of his duster, and stroked the smooth handle of the Colt revolver. The thought of breaking Dallas’s leg no longer held enough satisfaction.
Houston decided he’d shoot his brother when he got back to the ranch.
Amelia Carson had never been so terrified in all her nineteen years.
Afraid the train might hurtle her onto the platform before she was ready to disembark, she clung to her seat as the huffing beast lurched to a stop. The wheels squealed over the wobbly tracks, the whistle blew, and the bell clanged as the engine settled with an ominous hiss. The pungent smell of wood smoke worked its way into the compartment as the passengers flung open the doors, forgetting their manners as they shoved each other aside in their hurry to scramble off the train. Amelia had never seen such an odd collection of people crammed together in one space.
Women with throaty voices and low-necked bodices had graced the compartment. A few well-groomed men had worn tailored suits as though they’d been invited to dine with a queen. Only the guns bulging beneath their jackets indicated otherwise. Some men, smelling of sweat and tobacco, had squinted at her as though contemplating the idea of slitting her throat if she closed her eyes. So she’d rarely slept.
Instead, she had spent her time reading the letters that Dallas Leigh had written to her. She was certain the bold, strong handwriting was a reflection of the man who had responded to her advertisement indicating she had a desire to travel west and become a wife. He was a hero—inasmuch as the South could claim a hero in a war that it had lost. He had been a lieutenant at seventeen, a captain at nineteen. He owned his land, his cattle, and his destiny.
He had wrapped his proposal for marriage around dreams, dreams of building a ranching empire and having a son with whom to share them.
Amelia knew a great deal about dreams and how frightening it was to reach for them alone. Together she and Dallas Leigh could do more than reach for the dreams. They would hold them in the palm of their hands.
Countless times during her journey, she had envisioned Dallas Leigh waiting for her in Fort Worth, impatiently pacing the platform. Once the train arrived, he would crane his neck to see into the cars, anxious to find her. She had imagined him losing his patience and barging onto the train, yelling her name and knocking people out of the way, desperate to hold her within his arms.
With her dreams rekindled and her heart fluttering, she gazed out the window, hoping to catch sight of her future husband.
She saw many impatient men, but they were all rushing away from the train, yelling and shoving through the crowd, anxious to make their mark on the westernmost railhead. None wore her handiwork wrapped around the crown of his hat. None glanced at the train as though he cared who might still be on board.
She fought off her disappointment and turned away from the window. Perhaps he was simply being considerate, giving her time to compose herself after the arduous journey.
She pulled her carpetbag onto the bench beside her and opened it. With a shaky breath, she stared at the conglomeration of ribbons, flowers, and a stuffed brown bird that her betrothed had labeled a hat. Since she had no portrait to send him, he had sent her something to wear that he could identify.
She was grateful….
She stared at the hat.
She was grateful … grateful …
