B000XUBEHA EBOK (28 page)

Eventually the Atchison, the Topeka, and the Santa Fe would raise the money to blast a rail bed through the mountains and take the railroad the rest of the way into Santa Fe. Cameron didn’t doubt this for a moment. He had, in fact, invested in several railroads, including the Atchison, the Topeka, and the Santa Fe. Rail was coming to the mountains and plains from both coasts.

Things were changing, he thought, sitting beside the stage driver, hunched against a cold wind. There were still Indian uprisings to deal with, but for the most part the Indian wars had ended. Eventually all the territories would become states. Farms and ranches had spread across the Great Plains faster than a man could count. Men like himself were pinning on a badge and taming the frontier towns. When Cameron first came west, a man could ride for days without seeing another soul. Now it didn’t matter where he went, it was an unusual day that he didn’t encounter someone on the trail.

A few short years from now the West wouldn’t be wild anymore; it would feel a lot like civilization. When that happened, a man might as well move to California, where he could be warm all year while he put up with civilized society. Cameron sniffed the cold air and smelled snow. California sounded tempting on a day when the wind drove cold needles against his face.

Della had said she understood why he walked away from her last night. He narrowed his eyes on the road and wondered what reason she’d come up with. At least she didn’t seem angry. But he was.

It was goddamned unfair that he’d found the one person in all the world who made life seem worth living, and she turned out to be Clarence Ward’s wife.

What sank this injustice to a tragedy was his suspicion that Della Ward could have been his. She had come into his arms willing and eager, he’d seen a softness when she looked at him.

If it meant he could have Della, he would have moved to California on the next train. Instead of catching or shooting outlaws as a sheriff or a bounty hunter, he would balance his personal scales in a courtroom. He’d send the bastards to prison or the gallows, and satisfy his need in that way. He could have made that life work, if he could have had Della.

He stared into the waning light and remembered whistling with her on the trail. Remembered dozens of good conversations, laughter, and teasing glances. Thinking about last night and rose-colored stockings sent knots running up his jaw, and his fists clenched.

In a perfect world, he and Della would go to Atlanta and fetch Claire, then they would settle in California and live happily ever after as the family he’d believed he would never have.

It was goddamned unfair.

“Jesus, mister.” The driver’s eyes darted away. “All I said was, we’ll be at the station in about ten minutes.”

Cameron hadn’t realized he was staring. He shifted his gaze to the first snowflakes spinning out of the darkening sky.

Ten days, possibly a few more, and then it was over.

They were late reaching the station. Full darkness had descended and snow was beginning to accumulate on the platform. Clouds of hissing steam blew back from the engine and the firebox glowed like a sunken eye through the curtain of snowflakes.

The conductor waved everyone from the stage to the train, and men scurried to whisk their luggage to the baggage car. Since the dining car had closed, a porter stood beside the conductor pushing box suppers into the passenger’s hands.

“This is hard to believe, isn’t it?” After the interior of the stage, the cold, crisp air smelled like nectar, and Della loved the feathery touch of snow against her cheeks. “Remember how hot it was the day you rode up my driveway?”

That day might have happened years ago since it seemed as if Della had known James Cameron forever. Right now she knew that he was hungry and feeling out of sorts because the stage driver had controlled the stage and horses, not Cameron. And it would irritate him to ride on a train as a passenger. He didn’t like to be in someone else’s control. Smiling, she took his arm and tugged him toward the light spilling from the train onto the platform. “We don’t want them to leave without us.”

There was only one passenger car in use on the east-bound trip, and only the passengers from the Santa Fe stage had boarded. The other cars were designated for freight or closed off to be used during subsequent legs of the journey. Della and Cameron could have taken one of the bench seats for themselves and stretched out their legs, but without discussing it, they slid into the same seat.

“It looks like a good supper.” Inside Della’s box were two pieces of fried chicken, soft rolls, a hard-boiled egg, an apple, and a piece of frosted spice cake wrapped in newspaper. Finger food that didn’t need utensils. This seemed like a good idea to Della. She placed her gloved hand on Cameron’s sleeve. “I haven’t been on a train in ten years. It’s exciting.”

“I don’t guess the trains came this far west back then.”

“They didn’t. I took a stage most of the way.”

Naturally they sat in the back row. The only items behind them were a latrine and a potbellied stove tended by a sleepy-eyed boy. Ahead, the stage passengers had spread out widely, separated by empty seats.

The whistle blew, a long blast of sound that made Della smile beneath sparkling eyes. The train lurched and couplings ground together. They lurched again and she felt a building vibration beneath her boots. Leaning to the window, she watched the platform slip away, disappearing behind a veil of snow.

“It hasn’t felt real until now,” she whispered, responding to the power of the wheels turning beneath them. “We’re really going home.” Her eyes widened and she swallowed back a surge of panic. Her fingers tightened on the box supper. “I wonder if my cousin still lives in Atlanta. We didn’t keep in touch after the war.”

The conductor came down the aisle to take their tickets and inform them they wouldn’t pick up a sleeper car until tomorrow. After checking on the boy dozing beside the stove, he returned to the front of the car, dimming the lights as he went.

Della set aside her box supper and turned her face to the cold, dark window. Everything would be different. She had left behind a city in ruins. By now, buildings and homes were rebuilt. Atlanta would be like the landscape in dreams, partly familiar and also strangely unfamiliar.

Should she try to locate old friends? Biting her lips, she stared at the snowflakes streaming past the window and let her mind turn backward. Names and faces flickered through her memory, people she hadn’t thought of in years.

It would have been nice to see some of them, but she couldn’t bear knowing their conversation would center around losses and memories of a world that no longer existed.

“I don’t think we should stay long,” she decided slowly, thinking about it. There was no one she really wanted to see. Just Claire. “Perhaps a week.”

Cameron propped his boot on the seat back in front of them and bit into his apple. “This is your trip. We’ll do it however you like.”

A sudden thought occurred to her and she turned stricken eyes to him. “Oh, Cameron. I’ve been so thoughtless and selfish. Are there people you want to see? Places you want to visit?” He lowered the apple and fixed his gaze on a point toward the front of the car. “Good heavens. I owe you an apology. I don’t believe I ever asked where you were from . . .” It seemed a glaring omission now that she noticed, and one that embarrassed her greatly.

“My father was the third generation of Camerons to live in Winthrop.”

“Winthrop.” Frowning, Della tried to recall if she’d heard the name. “What direction is Winthrop from Atlanta?”

“It’s north.”

She touched his sleeve and examined his profile. “We could take a few days and go there if you like. I’d enjoy seeing where you grew up.”

“No.”

The unadorned answer raised a half smile of annoyance and affection. If the stage ride hadn’t worn her to a frazzle, Della would have pried out a more complete response. But the heat from the stove behind them and the gentle sway of the rocking car lulled her toward sleep.

“I think I’ll eat the egg and the cake, then doze a bit.”

The emotional ups and downs of the last few days, followed by the discomfort of the stage, and now the jumble of confusion and anxiety caused by finally boarding the train, had worn her out.

She attempted to doze sitting erect, her hands tidily folded in her lap, but her head fell forward and woke her. Then she tried resting her head against the window, but the cold on her cheek made it impossible to sleep.

“Come here.” His voice was gruff and amused.

After a token hesitation, Della moved into his arms and found a perfect place to rest her head between his shoulder and throat. It occurred to her that if anyone looked back or passed them on the way to the latrine, they would look like lovers. She didn’t care. This was the safest place on earth, here in James Cameron’s arms. Pressed to his side and chest, enclosed by the solid warmth of his body, Della went to sleep with his heartbeat in her ear and his apple-scented breath warming her cheek.

Cameron held her as the train rushed through the snowy night. His arm grew tingly and then numb but he didn’t move or disturb her. He wished that he could freeze time, wished the dawn would never come. He would have been happy to spend forever riding a train with Della Ward in his arms.

There were folks who claimed it wasn’t healthy to ride faster than a horse could run, who claimed that train travel twisted a person’s innards.

“No, I don’t believe that,” Cameron said, smiling.

“The
Two Creeks Gazette
sparked a heated debate by stating that trains are against nature and an abomination in God’s eyes.”

“Would it be fair to guess that the editor of the
Two
Creeks Gazette
hadn’t ridden a train?”

“That was my thought, too.” Della nodded when a waiter clad in spotless white offered more coffee before whisking away their breakfast plates.

After three days her initial excitement had waned considerably. She’d been wearing the same clothing since they boarded and her traveling suit was beginning to look the worst for wear. Then it was either too hot or too cold. The boy who tended the stove kept it cherry red and roaring or he let the flames die to ash and didn’t seem to notice the cold until frost laced the inside of the windows.

At each stop across the Great Plains, the train took on more passengers. There were few empty seats now. Babies cried, children ran up and down the aisles, the smell of crowded humanity filled the coach. Sleeping cars had been added, but there were few amenities. Della slept in the ladies’ coach atop a thin mattress rolled out on a board.

The times she liked best were meals in the dining car, and when they stopped to take on fuel and the passengers pushed outside to stroll the platform and inhale great gulps of fresh air.

The difficult times were sitting hour after hour on the bench seat, feeling Cameron’s solid shoulder against hers, and sometimes leaning into his body to doze a bit during the long afternoons.

Sometimes the physical contact between them felt sensual and arousing and where their bodies touched became the only thing she could think about. Those few inches of shoulder or thigh or hip became the only part of her body that seemed alive, that she could actually feel. When the electric tingling became more than her nerves could bear, she shifted on the wooden seat and turned her cheek toward the cold air at the window, seeking to cool thoughts as heated as the potbellied stove.

Other times, like now, she sat primly erect, eyes forward, and told herself that the rush of sensation emanating from the point where the sleeve of her jacket pressed Cameron’s sleeve was nothing more than gratitude and the recognition that, for the moment, she was not alone or lonely.

Della told herself that a woman could daydream about being with a man without it meaning something like love or commitment. She had pondered this issue during the long hours and had concluded that maidens earnestly believed love and commitment must precede being with a man, and that was undoubtedly a prudent attitude. But a mature woman, like herself, say, could be with a man for the pleasure of it without tying either partner to an emotional commitment.

This meant that love was not necessary to justify following one’s desires. That was excellent because she did not want to love James Cameron. Unless he loved her back and was willing to move away from his legend, that is.

As the train moved across Kansas she began to see that he’d been correct. A few military passengers wore side arms, and here and there a cowboy type sported a gun belt. But most of the passengers appeared to be farmers or businessmen who traveled unarmed.

“Ladies and gents, may I have your attention, please.” The conductor shattered her reverie. “We’ll be stopping in St. Joseph, Missouri, for three hours. There’s a café and several good restaurants in town. You’ll find many pleasing views of the Missouri River, and some might enjoy a stroll along the docks. You can buy current newspapers in the lobby of the Saratoga Hotel and there’s a novelty shop next door to the hotel.” He removed a brass watch from his vest pocket. “Be back on the platform at four o’clock.”

“Are you hungry?” Cameron asked. Today his eyes were the piercing blue of a morning sky, and he was so handsome that Della’s breath caught in her throat.

During a short stopover in Dodge City, Kansas, Cameron had ordered his trunk from the baggage car. When Della saw him again, he’d packed away his duster and Stetson, his riding pants and shirt. Now he wore a three-piece black suit and narrow-brimmed hat, and would have looked like a businessman, except for his boots. And she doubted many businessmen carried a pistol in a shoulder holster.