her.
“Well, I guess I’ll be going,” the stranger said. “She didn’t just go up in smoke, that’s for sure.”
“Wouldn’t think so, anyway,” McCready murmured. “Sure hope yuh find her before anything bad happens.”
“Oh, we’ll find her, all right—one way or another, we’ll find her.”
Verena couldn’t see, but she could hear the jangle of the man’s spurs fading as he walked away. Yet the gambler’s arm still held her so close that his heartbeat kept its rhythm beneath her ear.
“All right,” he said finally, releasing her, “you can sit up now. But he just got off, so I wouldn’t be looking outside yet.”
“I think you’ve given me a crick in my neck,” she muttered.
Leaning back in her seat, she furtively glanced toward the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man. But he had his back to her, and all she could see was a big felt hat, a plaid flannel shirt, and a pair of short, decidedly bowed legs above badly worn boots. He walked with a limp.
“Recognize him?”
Caught, she turned guiltily toward the gambler. “No, of course not. I don’t know who he is, but I can assure you he isn’t my brother.”
“Maybe he’s from the wrong side of the blanket?”
“My father didn’t leave home until ’61—until the war started.”
“Well, I didn’t see much resemblance, but you never know.”
“ I know. My father was taller—and exceptionally handsome.” Like you, something in her mind whispered. But she didn’t repeat it. Instead, a small smile teased the corners of her mouth. “But I will give you one thing, Mr. McCready.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re quite the accomplished liar. If your mother’d been right, your ears ought to be dangling down to your ankles by now.”
“I got rid of him for you, didn’t I?”
“I hope so, anyway. But where on earth did you come up with Bess? I’ve never liked that name—ever. It sounds as if it ought to belong to a fat old woman.”
“It’s my mother’s.”
“Oh. Well, then I suppose you’re entitled to feel a certain attachment to it,” she conceded.
“I do.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, sighing. “I shouldn’t be so blunt, I expect.”
“Actually, she always admired honesty. But talking about Bess McCready won’t explain what that cowboy wanted,” he murmured, returning to the subject at hand. “You’re sure you don’t know?”
“If I did, don’t you think I would have told you?”
“No.”
“Well, I don’t, anyway.”
“Somebody knew you were coming down.”
“Just Mr. Hamer, and I hardly think he would have instructed a couple of ruffians to meet me the instant I set foot in Texas.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Mr. Hamer? Nothing really, but I gather from his letter that he’s an entirely respectable attorney.”
“There isn’t any such thing.”
“Well, in any event, he writes like an old man, and I don’t know as he was even acquainted with my father at all. According to the papers he sent me, he was appointed by the county to handle what little there is of an estate. And I gather from what he wrote that my father didn’t really leave enough to bother with—just a little farm with a three-room house on it. It could’ve gone to probate without my even appearing in court.”
“Which brings me to another point—if that’s the case, why bother coming down?”
“Right now, I wish I hadn’t—I truly wish I hadn’t. It’s been an expense, and a near nightmare.” Taking a deep breath, she looked out the window again. Exhaling, she turned back to McCready. “I guess I just wanted to see what Jack Howard did with his life after he deserted us. I guess I’m just looking for a reason why he did that.” She looked up at him. “That sounds rather foolish, doesn’t it? To spend money that I’ll probably never even recover just coming down here, I mean.”
“No.”
“I don’t suppose there can be two Verena Howards, can there?” she asked, sighing
“Well, I guess I’ll be going,” the stranger said. “She didn’t just go up in smoke, that’s for sure.”
“Wouldn’t think so, anyway,” McCready murmured. “Sure hope yuh find her before anything bad happens.”
“Oh, we’ll find her, all right—one way or another, we’ll find her.”
Verena couldn’t see, but she could hear the jangle of the man’s spurs fading as he walked away. Yet the gambler’s arm still held her so close that his heartbeat kept its rhythm beneath her ear.
“All right,” he said finally, releasing her, “you can sit up now. But he just got off, so I wouldn’t be looking outside yet.”
“I think you’ve given me a crick in my neck,” she muttered.
Leaning back in her seat, she furtively glanced toward the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man. But he had his back to her, and all she could see was a big felt hat, a plaid flannel shirt, and a pair of short, decidedly bowed legs above badly worn boots. He walked with a limp.
“Recognize him?”
Caught, she turned guiltily toward the gambler. “No, of course not. I don’t know who he is, but I can assure you he isn’t my brother.”
“Maybe he’s from the wrong side of the blanket?”
“My father didn’t leave home until ’61—until the war started.”
“Well, I didn’t see much resemblance, but you never know.”
“ I know. My father was taller—and exceptionally handsome.” Like you, something in her mind whispered. But she didn’t repeat it. Instead, a small smile teased the corners of her mouth. “But I will give you one thing, Mr. McCready.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re quite the accomplished liar. If your mother’d been right, your ears ought to be dangling down to your ankles by now.”
“I got rid of him for you, didn’t I?”
“I hope so, anyway. But where on earth did you come up with Bess? I’ve never liked that name—ever. It sounds as if it ought to belong to a fat old woman.”
“It’s my mother’s.”
“Oh. Well, then I suppose you’re entitled to feel a certain attachment to it,” she conceded.
“I do.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, sighing. “I shouldn’t be so blunt, I expect.”
“Actually, she always admired honesty. But talking about Bess McCready won’t explain what that cowboy wanted,” he murmured, returning to the subject at hand. “You’re sure you don’t know?”
“If I did, don’t you think I would have told you?”
“No.”
“Well, I don’t, anyway.”
“Somebody knew you were coming down.”
“Just Mr. Hamer, and I hardly think he would have instructed a couple of ruffians to meet me the instant I set foot in Texas.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Mr. Hamer? Nothing really, but I gather from his letter that he’s an entirely respectable attorney.”
“There isn’t any such thing.”
“Well, in any event, he writes like an old man, and I don’t know as he was even acquainted with my father at all. According to the papers he sent me, he was appointed by the county to handle what little there is of an estate. And I gather from what he wrote that my father didn’t really leave enough to bother with—just a little farm with a three-room house on it. It could’ve gone to probate without my even appearing in court.”
“Which brings me to another point—if that’s the case, why bother coming down?”
“Right now, I wish I hadn’t—I truly wish I hadn’t. It’s been an expense, and a near nightmare.” Taking a deep breath, she looked out the window again. Exhaling, she turned back to McCready. “I guess I just wanted to see what Jack Howard did with his life after he deserted us. I guess I’m just looking for a reason why he did that.” She looked up at him. “That sounds rather foolish, doesn’t it? To spend money that I’ll probably never even recover just coming down here, I mean.”
“No.”
“I don’t suppose there can be two Verena Howards, can there?” she asked, sighing
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