Page 3 of Texas Destiny
She furrowed her brow, searching for something about the hat for which she could be grateful. It wasn’t an easy quest, but then nothing in her life had been easy since the war. Suddenly she smiled.
She was grateful Mr. Leigh had not met her in Georgia. She was grateful that she didn’t have to place the hat on her head until this moment, that none of her fellow passengers had ever seen it.
She plucked it out of her bag, settled it on her head, and took a deep breath. Her future husband was waiting for her.
She just hoped none of the cowboys still mingling at the depot took a notion into their heads to shoot the bird off her hat before Mr. Leigh found her.
Standing, she stepped into the aisle, lifted her bag, and marched to the open doorway with all the determination she could muster. She smiled at the porter as he helped her descend the steps, and then she found herself standing on the wooden platform amid chaos.
Tightening her grip on the bag, she eased farther away from the train. She felt as though she were a shrub surrounded by mighty oak trees. She had little doubt that even the hat was not visible among all these men asking directions, exchanging money and paper with a purpose, and shouldering each other aside.
She considered calling out for Mr. Dallas Leigh, but she didn’t think she could lift her voice above the horrendous yelling that surrounded her. She had expected Texas to be quiet and unsettled, not reminiscent of all the carpetbaggers who had come to stake a claim in the rebuilding of Georgia.
She shuddered as the blurred memories, images of Georgia during and after the war, rushed through her mind. With tremendous effort, she shoved them back into their dark corner where they couldn’t touch her.
The men and women began to drift away. Amelia considered following them, but Mr. Leigh had written that he would meet her at the train station in Fort Worth. The sign on the wooden framed building proudly boasted “Fort Worth.” She was certain she had arrived at the correct depot.
Slowly she turned, searching among the few remaining people for a man wearing a hat that bore her flowers. What if he had been here? What if he had seen her and found her lacking? Perhaps he had expected her to be prettier or made of sturdier stock. She had always been small of stature, but she was competent. If he’d give her the chance, she could prove that she was not afraid of hard, honest work.
She dropped her carpetbag and the platform rattled. Tears stung her eyes. She wanted so little. Just a place away from the memories, a place where the nightmares didn’t dwell. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to sort through her disappointment.
No man would send a woman tickets for a journey and then not come to meet her. Somehow, she had already disappointed him … or a tragedy had befallen him, preventing his arrival.
People referred to portions of Texas as a frontier, a dangerous wilderness, a haven for outlaws. Newspaper accounts drifted through her mind. She latched onto one, and her imagination surged forward. Outlaws had ambushed him. On his way to Fort Worth, on his way to meet her, he had been brutally attacked, and now, his body riddled with bullets, her name on his lips, he was crawling across the sun-baked prairie—
“Miss Carson?”
Amelia’s eyes flew open as the deep voice enveloped her like a warm blanket on an autumn evening. Through her tears, she saw the profile of a tall man wearing a long black coat. His very presence was strong enough to block out the afternoon sun.
She could tell little about his appearance except that he’d obviously bought a new hat in order to impress her. He wore it low so it cast a dark shadow over his face, a shadow that shimmered through her tears. Although he wasn’t wearing her flowers on his hat, she was certain she was meeting her future husband.
Brushing the tears away from her eyes, she gave him a tremulous smile. “Mr. Leigh?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Slowly, he pulled his hat from his head. The shadows retreated to reveal a strong, bold profile. His black hair curled over his collar. A strip of leather creased his forehead and circled his head.
Amelia had seen enough soldiers return from the war to recognize that he wore a patch over the eye she couldn’t see. He had failed to mention in his letters that he had sacrificed a portion of his sight for the South.
His obvious discomfort caused an ache to settle within her heart. Anxious to reassure him that his loss mattered not at all, she stepped in front of him. With a tiny gasp, she caught her breath. She had expected the black eye patch. She was unprepared for the uneven scars that bordered it and trailed down his cheek like an unsightly frame of wax melting in the sun. With fresh tears welling in her eyes, she reached out to touch his marred flesh. His powerful hand grabbed her trembling fingers, halting their journey of comfort.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered as she searched for words of reassurance. “I didn’t know. You didn’t mention … but it doesn’t matter. Truly it doesn’t. I’m so grateful—”
“I’m not Dallas,” he said quietly as he released her hand. “I’m Houston. Dallas busted his leg and couldn’t make the journey. He sent me to fetch you.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew her embroidered cloth. “He sent this along so you’d know you’d be safe with me.”
If his knuckles hadn’t turned white as he held the linen, Amelia would have taken it from him. He had shifted his stance slightly so only his profile filled her vision.
A perfect profile.
“He mentioned you in his letters,” she stammered. “He didn’t say a great deal—”
“There’s not much to tell.” He settled his hat on his head. “If you’ll show me where your other bags are, we can get goin’.”
“I only have the one bag.”
He leveled his brown-eyed gaze on her. “One bag?”
“Yes. You can’t imagine how grateful I was every time we had to get off the train that I only had the one bag to worry over.”
No, Houston couldn’t imagine her being grateful for one bag. He allowed his gaze to wander slowly over her white bodice and black skirt, taking note of the worn fabric. Wouldn’t a woman wear her best clothing when she met the man she was to marry?
