Bullets on the Iron Trail (Preview)

Prologue

Johnny Callahan pushed back on the chair he was sitting in so it was balanced on the rear two legs. He rocked forward and back a few times, grinning at the bartender, a short, dumpy man named Elmer.

“Whatchu lookin’ at, Ellie?” he asked, using a nickname he knew the bartender didn’t care for.

“Now what have I told you about callin’ me that?” the short man asked, slamming a thick glass mug on the bar in front of him. It didn’t smash. It was too thick and solid.

“Awww, you mad at me now?” Johnny let out a raucous laugh, coming down on the front two legs of the chair as hard as Elmer had with the glass.

“Sometimes you just get outta hand, Johnny. Why don’t you calm down for once?” the bartender gave him a sour look, turning away to attend to a man at the end of the bar who looked so drunk, he would surely fall off the tall stool at any moment.

Johnny paid him no more attention than a glance, swinging his bright green eyes to the door when it opened. The sunlight streaming in around the massive body that blocked most of it cast beams into the room with particles of dust floating through them.

“You causin’ Elmer some trouble, Johnny Callahan?”

He recognized the voice immediately and lifted his beer mug to his lips, smiling over the rim.

“Don’t know what you mean, Deputy,” he responded. Deputy Charles Cromwell, whom everyone in Cedar Bluff, Massachusetts, called “Chuck”, strolled over to Johnny’s table, pulled out a chair and dropped down onto it hard. He sat forward, his steely eyes on Johnny, folding his hands together on the table in front of him.

“You know what I mean,” Chuck replied, his voice low.

The other patrons had cast him a glance when he entered but now were not paying attention to any of them.

“I ain’t doin’ nothin’,” Johnny said, ceasing his rocking and his joviality in the face of the lawman’s stare. “Why you come in here, interruptin’ my fun? What you want with me? You come in here for me or for a drink?”

Chuck looked up at Elmer as the bartender came toward the table. He lifted one hand with two fingers in the air and shook his head. “Not drinkin’ today, Elmer, thanks.”

His words confused Johnny. They appeared to confuse Elmer, too, because when Johnny looked at the man, his thick eyebrows had pulled together. For a moment, Elmer froze in place. Then he turned around and headed back to the bar, shaking his head.

Johnny returned his eyes to Chuck.

“I got somethin’ to discuss with you, Johnny. And you’re gonna have to come with me.”

Johnny didn’t like the sound of that. In Cedar Bluff, he was safe, completely unafraid of being taken in by the law for his dastardly deeds. He was an aggressive Irish outlaw who had traveled from New York City, where he’d gotten himself in a spot of trouble, to Cedar Bluff, where he knew he would be left alone by the corrupt Sheriff and his deputies.

The only one he ever got along with was Chuck.

“I ain’t done nothin’ to you,” Johnny said, immediately jumping to his own defense. “And I ain’t goin’ nowhere with you.”

At that moment, Chuck did something Johnny had never seen before. His face turned from a stern one to a compassionate one, his eyes softening. He didn’t know what effect Chuck thought that would have on him, but it only made Johnny tense up even more. He wasn’t used to seeing an expression like that. Not aimed at him, anyway.

He decided he didn’t like it. He squirmed uncomfortably in his chair.

“Why you lookin’ at me like that?” he asked.

Chuck didn’t answer right away. Instead, the deputy stood up.

“Why you standin’ up?” Johnny asked, alarmed. “You just got here. You just sat down. Have a beer with me and stop actin’ strange.”

Chuck shook his head. “I need you to come with me, Johnny.”

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere with you!” Johnny exclaimed. “What you want from me? What you doin’? I ain’t goin’ to jail.”

Chuck rolled his eyes. “Come on, Johnny. I got somethin’ to tell you and somethin’ to show you. I ain’t taken you to jail. You ain’t done anything wrong. I just need to talk to you about somethin’. Somethin’ else. Got nothin’ to do with how you make a living.”

Still feeling suspicious but deciding he would trust the deputy, Johnny stood up, pushing the chair with the back of his knees.

“Awright, awright. Show me what you gotta show me.”

“We’ve got to go to the Doc’s place.”

Johnny followed Chuck without another word, curious to know what the doctor wanted with him.

The saloon he’d been in wasn’t far from the Doc, who was at that moment standing outside his clinic door, which doubled as his home. He was holding a bundle of fabric in his arms.

“I don’t need no more clothes,” Johnny stated hesitatingly. He almost stopped but Chuck shook his head.

“Just come on,” he said, sounding exasperated.

When they reached the doctor, Johnny could see what the man was holding. He stopped and stared.

“Hey…” His voice was low and breathless. “What you doin’ with Jackie? Where’s my brother and Elise. What’s goin’ on?’

Doctor Bernard Carson held the baby out to Johnny. “Killed in a coach accident, Johnny. Jack’s yours now.”

Chills erupted all over Johnny’s body. His brother and sister-in-law were dead? He blinked, almost unable to breathe, surprised by the sorrow that filled him. He’d never felt any sorrow or remorse for any of his past actions. He wasn’t accustomed to the emotion.

“Wha…” His words caught in his throat.

Jack squirmed, turning his little head to look at his uncle.

“I ain’t got the resources to take care of a baby,” Johnny said, his voice softening as he took Jack from the man. “What am I gonna do with you, little buddy?”

“If you don’t take him,” the doctor said, “he’ll be taken to the orphanage.”

Johnny’s eyes flipped to the man, narrowing viciously. “Nobody gonna take this boy from me,” he said passionately. “He’s mine now. And I ain’t gonna let nobody hurt him!”

He turned to walk away but was called back to grab the bag of necessities, including baby clothes, from the doctor. Jack had curly red hair all over his head and the same green eyes as his father and uncle. Johnny decided as he walked away that he would raise him, protect him, and though it wasn’t an ideal situation, he was determined to make the best of it.

Chapter One

Lydia Hartman was thirteen years old when her life changed permanently. She walked beside her mother, swinging a picnic basket filled with sandwiches and snacks on one arm. Her mother had formed her blonde hair into two long braids that Lydia hung over her shoulders. Her blue eyes were like two pools of clear water. She had just a few freckles on her nose and cheeks. Lydia wasn’t fond of them, but her mother told her they would likely fade as the years went by. She hoped her mother was right.

They were taking a lunch to her father, who worked at the Harrison Mill. They would all sit on the grass near the mill, in one of Lydia’s favorite spots, and dine on what they’d brought to eat.

She was excited. In just two days, school would start. Lydia loved to learn. She enjoyed reading and writing and attempting her arithmetic without any help from anyone else. She could do the math all by herself, she told everyone. She only needed to be shown one time.

Most of the men in town worked at Harrison Mill, where they forged iron plates for buildings and made a variety of weapons and ammunition. All Lydia knew about it was how hot and sweaty it had to be inside. Her father almost always came out with his shirt soaked and sweat beads on his forehead he wiped away with a bandana even though they popped right back up again.

Lydia waved one hand in front of her face. Insects were buzzing about. She dreaded the thought that she might get one up her nose or in her mouth, so she kept her mouth shut. She could hear birdsong in the trees and wondered what they were talking about.

“Mother, do you think birds have conversations like us humans do?”

Angelica Hartman looked down at her daughter, love in her eyes.

“Oh, Lydia, you do think of the strangest questions!” she responded with humor.

Lydia didn’t understand what was so strange about the question she’d asked.

“Well, how will I ever know things if I don’t ask?” she stated.

Her mother laughed softly. “I can’t say you are wrong, my dear. I don’t know. I imagine they do, since many times it’s their song that attracts a mate. Some of them dance as well.”

“And if the song and dance is good enough, the girl bird will stay with them?”

Her mother chuckled. “I’ve never heard it put that way, but yes. They have to be strong and majestic and beautiful, too.”

“Maybe birds can see into each other’s souls. Do you think that happens? Or is there a lot of hopping and chirping and dancing? Like this!” She did a short jig in the street. She almost bumped into someone passing by but stopped short, looking up with wide eyes. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “I’m so sorry.”

The tall man, dressed very eloquently, she thought, just nodded at her with a stern expression. His eyes slid to her mother.

“Your daughter is quite reckless,” he said. Fear slid through Lydia, dispelled just a moment later when he followed up with, “Perhaps she will be a dancer someday.”

Even though his face was still hard and cold, he cracked a smile, and it made all Lydia’s fear slip away.

“Yes,” she responded, hurrying back to take her mother’s hand. “I would like that.”

“It would be good for you,” the man continued. “Maybe it would make you less reckless on the streets of Nebraska. What do you think, Mother?”

Lydia clutched her mother’s hand tightly, looking up at her.

“She is very excitable, Mr. Hawthorne,” her mother said. “I will consider it.”

Mr. Hawthorne grunted and moved along, paying them no more mind.

“Who was that, Mother?” Lydia asked in a hushed tone. “He looks very stern.”

Her mother squeezed her hand warmly. “Mr. Hawthorne is the local judge, my dear. He’s been keeping law and order in Kearney for a long time now. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of another judge in this area. He’s very strict. You are lucky you didn’t fall into him.”

Lydia twisted her head to look over her shoulder at the man. “I like him,” she decided then and there. “I bet he’s not really as cold as he looks.”

Her mother laughed. “I don’t know. I have never talked to him before and I’ve certainly never gone in front of him to be judged for a crime.”

“Has father?” she asked.

Her mother gasped. “No! My goodness, your father has never been in trouble with the law. What a thing to ask.”

“I was just wondering,” Lydia replied, giggling. “Let’s hurry. I want to get there so we can eat.” She pictured the delicious egg salad sandwiches her mother had made. Just the thought of them made her stomach growl with anticipation.

The sun above was burning bright, but it was countered by a cool breeze that lifted Lydia’s braids just slightly. She lifted her chin and closed her eyes to the bright sun above her, enjoying the refreshing feeling. Her parents were Swedish immigrants, both coming to America on the same boat when they were children but not officially meeting until ten years later, when they were old enough to fall in love and marry. Lydia was proud of them both, as they were said around town to be the best-looking couple in the town. She was an almost perfect copy of her mother, her eyes light blue like two pools of clear water, a small button nose and two rosy red lips. She was sure her looks would get her as much attention as it did her mother, who had taken to selling several magazines advertising clothing lines to the women, wearing the clothes that were advertised to show how they looked in person.

Her father was a manager at the mill, the smartest man in Lydia’s small world. He was funny, intelligent and just as good-looking as her mother. They’d raised her as an only child with all the love they could give, which was quite a lot. She was a good girl, respecting and admiring her parents.

“All right, honey, you stay right here, I’ll go and get your father.”

Lydia, in a rare moment of defiance, frowned slightly. “I want to go inside. I’m big enough now. I can go and get him.”

Her mother only had to shake her head and say no once more. “It’s not safe for you to go in there, dear. It’s a hot, unsuitable environment for a child.”

“But I’m thirteen! I’m practically a woman now!”

“Oh? You are ready to get married then?”

Lydia recoiled at the idea and noticed when her mother’s lips twitched with humor.

“Oh, Mother, you’re teasing me!” she exclaimed and then laughed.

“Stay right here. We’ll be out in a moment.”

“All right,” Lydia responded, nodding. She bumped her legs with the basket, watching her mother open the door of the factory and slip inside. She felt hot air sweep out and engulf her when the door was opened.

The door closed with its own weight, leaving Lydia pleased that she hadn’t gone inside. It never took long for them to come out. Her father was a conscientious man. Soon he would ring the loud bell that would let all the men know it was time for their lunch break. Lydia was fascinated by the mill. The men looked like they would rather be anywhere else when they came out into the sunlight to enjoy their hour break.

Despite being proud of her father for his position in the company, the largest employer in all of Kearney, Lydia hoped he wouldn’t have to work in that environment for too long. She’d heard many men became ill from the effects of the work they did and didn’t live long lives. She wanted her father to be around for a long, long time.

Lydia hummed a tune, bouncing the basket against her legs some more. She turned her head to the left and right, scanning the walkways, looking for schoolmates. When she saw none, she turned her eyes back to the door, anxious for her parents to come back out.

Gunshots popped off somewhere near her, a rare sound in Kearney. Lydia hesitated, hoping her parents would appear before her curiosity got the better of her. Alas, they didn’t and she was forced to go explore the sounds on her own.

She walked slowly to the corner of the building and peeked around. The gunshots had gotten the attention of other passers-by, who looked alarmed.

Two men were heading for the side door at the back of the Harrison Mill building. They were in a hurry but one of them looked injured by his loping gait. He fell but his companion didn’t stop to help him. He made it to the door, yanked it open and darted into the building.

In the distance, Lydia saw a man running toward them from the dusty plain behind the mill. He looked young, maybe in his twenties. Even from that distance, she could tell he was carrying a gun.

Chapter Two

Lydia and several pedestrians moved into the wide space between the Mill and the building next to it, which was the town stables, where all the employees left their horses while they worked. She hoped none of the horses would be shot. Worried, she turned to go toward it. Her intention was to inspect the outer wall of the stables. If she saw any gunshot holes, she would peek through to see if a horse had been hit.

She had just turned her back when a sudden explosion rocked the earth. She whipped around to see where it had come from only to see a ball of fire coming right toward her. She screamed and lifted both arms, crossing them in front of her face, turning her head down and away from the heat and flames.

Her scream moved from fear to pain as the fire made contact with her arms, and she discovered it was actually a burning ventilation grate. The hot metal seared, stripping off the skin, leaving perfectly straight lines. Her right arm was burned more than the left. She was blown back by the force of the explosion, landing on her backside near the stables, making her pretty yellow dress dirty on both sides, beads of fire burning holes in it.

The other two men who had been trying to help the fallen man, were lying on the ground, not moving.

Lydia pushed herself up so she could turn over and sit on the ground, unable to do more than cry, the pain from her burned arms consuming her. She looked at the men on the ground, horrified to see they both had pieces of metal sticking out of their bodies. The one who had been injured already was now dead for sure. His clothes were on fire, and he wasn’t making any noise.

Lydia’s screams came to a fever pitch as she stared at the mill building. It was quickly engulfed in flames, from the back to the front, all the way up to the roof of the two-story building.

“Mama!” Lydia shrieked. “Papa!” She hadn’t called them by those names since she was a small child. “Mama! Mama! Papa!”

She didn’t see the young man who’d been running toward the mill approach her until he was right next to her. He was breathing hard, his eyes wide as he stared at the fire. Most of the people in town were coming, along with the volunteer fire brigade.

Lydia would be very surprised if they were able to do anything about the raging flames that crackled in front of her, destroying what had once been a magnificent structure.

“Are you okay?” she heard the young man say.

“My mama and papa are in there!” she cried out.

“You’re hurt,” he said, leaning toward her.

“I don’t care!” In reality, she was very aware of the burns on her arms. The agony of knowing her parents were suddenly taken from her was almost overpowering the physical pain she was in. “I want my mama! I want my papa!”

Screams from inside the building rocked her senses. She couldn’t believe people were still alive in there. They wouldn’t be for long. Knowing she was hearing death cries made her tears come harder. Her head was beginning to hurt.

The man who’d stopped to speak to her slid his gun into the holster at his waist and hurried to help put out the fire, mixing in with the other people of Kearney. Was there any way the people inside could be saved? Could her mother and father be two of those people? Had anyone gotten to safety before the explosion?

“Lydia! Lydia!”

Before she knew it, big strong arms picked her up and carried her away from the burning building. That wasn’t what she wanted so she began to squirm and fight the man who’d picked her up.

“Lydia, you can’t go in there!” the man said. It wasn’t until he spoke that she realized it was Mr. Pinkney, the schoolteacher. He was the only male schoolteacher in all of Nebraska. She’d always considered him to be very handsome and almost as smart as her own father. He knew a lot of things, things she likely would never need to know in her entire life. Unless she became a schoolteacher herself.

“My mama and papa are in there!” she retorted, struggling to get out of his arms. Her legs slipped from his grasp and left him holding her by the waist, preventing her from going back toward the burning building.

“I know, Lydia! But you can’t save them! I’m sorry, dear, you can’t go back. The fire is too hot. There might be another explosion, and you might be killed. Stay here with Mrs. Pinkney. They need me over there. But you stay here with Maria. Okay? You stay here.”

He’d spun her around and was holding her with both hands on her cheeks, forcing her to look at his worried eyes. She noticed he had tears streaming down his face, though his voice showed no indication of his sorrow. He stood up straight, linking her hand with his wife’s.

“Be careful, Peter.” Lydia heard how terrified the woman was for her husband.

“I will,” Mr. Pinkney responded. “You take her to the doc before he’s overwhelmed with people.”

“No one is coming out of that building alive, Peter.”

Lydia hated those words. She had almost accepted that she should stay with Mrs. Pinkney till she heard those horrible, horrible words.

“Mama!” she screamed, breaking away in a solid run back toward the building. “Papa!”

She was captured around the waist and pulled up off her feet.

“No, no, Lydia. You can’t help. If I can bring them back to you, if we can get anyone out, I will bring them to you.” Mr. Pinkney set her back on her feet next to his wife, though she was still fighting him.

“Her arms need to be tended to,” she heard the man say to his wife. “Take her to the doctor. Now!”

With that, he spun around and headed for the building once more. Lydia couldn’t see through the tears in her eyes. She didn’t fight Mrs. Pinkney but instead planted her feet where they were, turning to the building and watching as the entire town came out to help. She saw the handsome young man who’d come running with a gun in his hand as he slapped at the wall of fire with a thick wet horse blanket.

He had rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, shedding the leather jacket he’d been wearing so she could see his black suspenders. His shirt was soaked with sweat and water that was being splashed all around him. He had no hat on, and his brown hair was flattened against his head, shiny with perspiration.

She watched him, sure that if anyone would get someone safe out of that building, it would be him. He looked like he could do anything, his powerful muscles visible through the wet shirt.

“Get them out,” she whispered. “Get them out.”

Mrs. Pinkney wrapped her arms around Lydia’s shoulders, tugging gently on her.

“Come with me, dear. Let’s have the doctor look at your arms.”

“No, not yet,” Lydia responded. She wasn’t fighting anymore. She was just looking. She was just watching. Her arms hurt more than almost any pain she’d ever felt. The only thing that was hurting more was her heart. She pictured her mother and father in her mind. The best-looking couple in Kearney. The family of smiles and laughter. Her security. Her loving parents. They weren’t coming out of that building. The screams inside had stopped, leaving only the shouts of the people outside as they called for more water, more help.

“They aren’t going to get that fire out until it burns down,” Mrs. Pinkney said quietly, having bent over so she could whisper in Lydia’s ear. “You must come with me and have your arms looked at as soon as possible, or they will get infected. You don’t want to have your arms cut off because of infection, do you?”

At that moment, Lydia didn’t care. She didn’t care about scars. She didn’t care about infections. The life she’d had until that day was over. Without her parents, where would she go? What would she do? Who would she live with?

It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair.

Chapter Three

Eight years later, twenty-one-year-old Lydia Hartman stepped out from the train station building, her heart thumping hard in her chest. She was nervous and trying mightily not to show it.

After the Harrison Mill Fire, Lydia had gone to the orphanage, where she was welcomed by all the other children, who she knew from helping on Saturdays when her mother went there to teach the children basic skills like sewing and gardening.

In the orphanage, she’d received good care. She got enough to eat and received clothes and shoes from older girls in Kearney who donated to the orphanage.

Lydia tried to tell herself everything would be okay, but her nervousness made her bite her lips, scanning the train station platform where many other people were gathered, waiting for the train to come to a full stop. People would get off and when the train was ready to take passengers, she planned to slip in one of the cars without being seen by an attendant.

Lydia had no money. Whatever had come from the sale of her parents’ home and belongings had gone to the orphanage to pay for her care. That money ran out after a few years, and the orphanage took on her expenses. The day she’d left was the day she found out the Pinkneys had supplied money for her care.

She’d written them a letter and stuck it in between the storm door and the entrance door of the orphanage, hoping she would be gone before they received it. She was afraid they’d try to stop her or, God forbid, give her money like she was a charity case. Even though she was one.

For once, Lydia wanted to do something on her own. Her father had been a smart man, and she’d inherited his intelligence. Now that she was a grown woman, she knew she resembled her mother enough to be able to get by on just her looks alone. But there were no jobs for her in Kearney. After the Harrison Mill Fire, the town was devastated and became a shell of what it once was.

She’d traveled on her own to Omaha in the back of a wagon with livestock like just another animal. She was grateful to the farmer for bringing her that far for free. She was now about to get on the train but had no idea how she was going to do that.

Kearney had never had a train station of its own, since it was close to Omaha, which was a city of many thousands of people, none who knew who she was.

She pulled her lips in and bit them nervously, watching the train roll in, steam filling the platform for a few fearful minutes. Lydia clutched the handle of her worn leather suitcase that contained everything she owned. She wore her finest dress, which she’d repaired and made alterations to on her own, thanks to the sewing skills she’d learned from her mother.

The doors opened, one for each passenger car. Attendants stepped out and stood by, their hands folded in front of them, their eyes staring ahead as they scanned the people on the platform. They looked almost like military, but Lydia didn’t know of any reason why they would be. They were strict, though, she knew that. They wouldn’t let anyone on without a ticket.

She needed a ticket more than anything else. But she had no way to purchase one. Turning away from the train, she walked along the wooden platform, examining those who were waiting to board, or waiting for friends and loved ones to deboard. She heard loud exclamations of joy as people reunited. So many people giving hugs, smiling, laughing, greeting. It made her arms hurt. Whenever she thought of her parents, the scars she bore on her arms that burned in her soul, instead of her heart. She hadn’t grown cold on purpose. It was too great a loss at too young of an age. Those three words kept floating through her mind, as they had since the day of the fire.

It wasn’t fair.

She turned her head as she walked along the platform, looking in the windows of the train cars. Could she go through a window? She was almost amused at the thought of her scrambling up and trying to open one of those windows. That would be impossible, though.

Another step forward and she bumped into someone.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, pulling herself back, staring at the man she’d run into. “I’m so sorry!”

She was taken aback by his handsome, exotic features. He had tan skin, a dark brown beard and mustache, and thick eyebrows over dark eyes. He was dressed in a fine suit, and his shoes were shiny and black.

“Well, well, well,” he said, a thick accent lacing the word. “What have we here? Are you all right, Miss?”

Lydia was used to men having that reaction to her. She was as beautiful as her mother and though she knew it, she never used her looks for gain. She was terrified what doors that would open, terrified she would be hurt and terrified that she would meet a man and fall in love, only to be discarded when he realized how traumatized she was, the horrific Harrison Mill fire leaving ugly scars up her forearms, deformed skin around both elbows.

“I am. Thank you,” she said. “I didn’t mean to run into you. I apologize.”

The man shook his head. She noticed how soft his eyes were. “Please allow me to escort you. Are you coming or going?”

“I… I need to get on the train.” Could she ask this man for help? Her heart seized at the thought that what he might want in return would be too much for her to bear.

She wouldn’t allow herself to be taken advantage of. Many men had tried that in the past. They’d assumed she was promiscuous, her scarred arms keeping her from any normal relationships. She had never worked in a brothel and had no plans of doing so. After being approached one too many times, Lydia had sworn off men, vowing to never let herself be used up and discarded. She decided this man was just like the others without questioning her decision. She couldn’t trust him. “P… pardon me.”

She tried to walk away from him, but something stopped her. She’d spotted the top of his ticket sticking out of the front breast pocket of his tan suit jacket.

He reached up and removed his hat. “Allow me to be of assistance.”

“I… I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude.” She had to think quickly. How could she possibly get that ticket off him? “I do apologize.”

He shook his head. “No need, my dear. My name is Miguel Alejandro Santiago. Where are you heading?”

Lydia was intrigued with his name. He was from Mexico? Or perhaps Spain. She’d learned about both in her schooling but had no idea how to tell the difference. She didn’t want to be ruder than she’d already been, especially since she was thinking of stealing his ticket… if that was even remotely possible.

“My name is… Lucy… Lucy Pinkney. It’s nice to meet you.”

She transferred her bag from her right hand to her left and held out her hand to shake. She took a step forward when he took it and pretended to trip on her own feet. Dropping her bag, she put both hands on his chest, her face flushing for several reasons. In the process of him helping her back to her feet, she slipped the ticket from his pocket and slid it up under the sleeve of her dress.

Her sleeves were not tight against her arm, in fact, they were what everyone called Bell sleeves, bunched at the wrist and the shoulder but otherwise flared out so they didn’t touch her arms. The ticket slipped down to her elbow.

“Pardon me!” she stated. “I’m just so clumsy these days. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I… I can get on the train myself. I don’t need any help. But thank you so much for offering! I do appreciate it!”

Miguel nodded, taking his hat from his head again and bowing at the waist. “You have a safe trip, Miss. I’ll be getting on the train myself as soon as my companion arrives. It was lovely to meet you, Miss Pinkney. Perhaps we can get a drink together on the train.”

“Yes… yes, perhaps. Again, I apologize.”

“Take care now,” he said, waving his hat in his hand, suddenly distracted. “I see my friend. We will talk later, I hope.”

“Yes, thank you, okay, goodbye.” She ran the words together, nervously. She wanted to keep apologizing. She had just done something she never thought she would do… or be able to do. She was now a thief.

With tears of regret coming to her eyes, she bent to grab her suitcase and hurried away from the man, knowing he was watching her as she moved away. All men did.

She glanced back to see he was weaving through the crowd, one hand raised as he went toward another man who was responding to his greeting.

Lydia hid behind a thick column that helped to hold the roof up over the platform. Her heart was beating so hard, her blood racing through her veins, it was hard to breathe.

“Miss, are you all right?”

Suddenly, an attendant appeared next to her.

“Do you need help?”

Lydia shook her head. “No, I… I’m here to get on the train. I just became short of breath, that’s all.”

With a heavy, pounding heart, she crossed the platform to the first open car door and went up the steps. It would be better in California. There were jobs there she could do. Maybe she could sell magazines like her mother. Dresses with long sleeves preferably.

As long as she was wearing long sleeves.

Chapter Four

Lydia showed the ticket to the attendant, who nodded as she got on the train. They would later come by her seat and rip it in half, giving her one side and keeping the other. Her heart slammed in her chest as she went up the short steps. She moved down the rows of seats, staring at the ticket to see if it had any indication of where she was supposed to sit. Not seeing any kind of seating number, she slid first into a seat near the platform so she could look out the window.

Mr. Santiago would know what happened as soon as he reached for his ticket, she told herself. That meant she had to avoid seeing him. But she wanted to know which car he planned to get in so she could make sure she wasn’t sitting there.

She saw him instantly on the platform outside, not because of anything he was doing, but because of the man he was with. His companion was devilishly handsome, with wavy ginger hair that looked like it would be soft to the touch and bright green eyes.

“Are you all right, Miss?”

Lydia turned her head to see a woman holding a baby had stopped by her seat.

“Yes, thank you,” she replied, moving her eyes to the child, admiring his round face. She knew the baby was a boy because his mother had dressed him in an infant-sized suit with the tiniest bow tie Lydia had ever seen. No child in the orphanage dressed that way. It was an immediate sign of wealth in Lydia’s mind.

“Do you mind if we sit here with you? I must say you look a little lost. Maybe a little afraid, too?”

Without waiting for permission Lydia didn’t need to give, the woman sat across from her, settling the child on her lap. She secured the baby with one hand while reaching forward with the other. When Lydia took her hand, she noticed the woman’s grip was gentle but strong.

“Lydia Hartman,” she said while they shook hands.

“Prunella Cartridge,” the woman responded, “and this is little Henry. He’s the apple of his mother’s eye, aren’t you, my dear?” She abruptly gave the child a peck on the cheek. His blue eyes slid to his mother, giving her an amusing side eye that made both Lydia and Prunella laugh.

“He has a good personality,” Lydia remarked. While she was still leaning forward, she moved her hand from the child’s mother to his round, rosy cheeks. Instead of pinching, which she’d always hated as a child, she brushed the back of her fingers softly against his skin. “He’s very handsome, too.”

Prunella’s smile gave away her delight at Lydia’s compliments. She squeezed the boy to her chest, hugging him. “Everyone says so. But I think Henry is a little too young to understand.”

“He’s going to have all the ladies pining after him,” Lydia said. “I can tell. I’ve been around babies from the time they were born till they were eight or nine. They were heartbreakers from the start. But you won’t be a heartbreaker, will you, Henry? You’ll be with one woman and call her your own.”

Prunella’s snort was soft. “We can only hope,” she stated warmly.

“Yes, that’s right. Don’t you go breaking the ladies’ hearts.” Lydia let out a short laugh, sitting back on the bench seat. “How far are you traveling?” she asked, giving her attention back to his mother.

“We’re on our way to California. Sacramento is where we plan to make a new life. My husband, Richard, is working in the mines out that way. He sent us ticket money and will meet us when we get there.”

Lydia was surprised to hear that. She’d assumed instantly that Prunella was a wealthy woman, strictly because of how the baby was dressed. Now that she had a chance to look more closely, she could see the dress the woman was wearing was several years old and had been altered, just like her own. Somehow, this made Lydia feel she had a connection to Prunella, Richard and Henry.

“I hope you find success there,” she said.

“Thank you, dear. And where are you going?”

Lydia thought quickly. She hadn’t even looked on the ticket to see what her destination was supposed to be. She bit her bottom lip, glancing quickly at the ticket in her hand. Sure enough, it said Sacramento in small, typed letters.

“I’m also going to Sacramento!” she exclaimed, giving away the fact that she hadn’t known where she was going moments before. Prunella gave her an odd look.

“I take it you aren’t going there to meet someone,” she said.

“What makes you say that?” Lydia fought the urge to defend herself. Her assumption that she was being questioned and suspected came only from the fact she’d never committed an offense such as this in her past. She wasn’t a thief, even in her lowest times after leaving the orphanage.

“I saw you glance down at your ticket. Was yours sent to you by someone else? A sponsor maybe?”

Lydia didn’t know she could get a sponsor. She didn’t even know how that worked.

Without any planning, she said, “Oh… well, my grandparents live in Sacramento, but I’ve never met them before. I received a letter from them with the ticket, asking me to come live with them. I’m an orphan, you see. I lost both my parents in a coach accident.”

She saw sympathy and kindness on the woman’s face. Now she wasn’t just a thief, she was a liar. She fought hard to keep herself from blushing and giving herself away.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you, Lydia. I’m glad you have grandparents to go to. Losing your parents is very painful. I lost both of mine, but I was expecting their deaths well ahead of time and was able to prepare.”

Lydia tilted her head to the side, confused by the woman’s words. “What do you mean?”

“They were both very ill for some time before they left. Tuberculosis.”

Prunella’s clarification sent bolts of fearful energy through Lydia. She had experienced the hardships of tuberculosis in the form of several children in the orphanage being taken away and put in tents to isolate them.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know that disease is a very bad one. I’ve lost friends to it.”

“It’s been some time since they passed,” Prunella explained. “I had time to come to terms with it. I am very lucky I didn’t catch it myself. I tended to them in their final days and took all the precautions I could and never got sick.”

“That’s very lucky,” Lydia responded vehemently. “I was told it is very contagious, and they took the children away when they had symptoms. None of them ever came back to the…” She closed her mouth, blushing because she’d just revealed that she was brought up in an orphanage. She decided to continue with an explanation. “I was thirteen when my parents died. I spent seven years in an orphanage in Kearney and then a year on my own.”

“A hard life for you then.” Prunella’s voice was soft with compassion.

“Yes,” she agreed.

“Well, I hope you find success in Sacramento. It’s a beautiful city filled with opportunities.”

“I hope so,” Lydia replied. “I really hope so.”

Chapter Five

Jack spotted the woman and Miguel before she slipped away. His first thought was how beautiful she was. He’d never seen a woman as beautiful. He watched her to see what car she got in. Miguel lifted one hand up in the air, pushing through the crowd, calling out his name.

“Jack! Jack!”

Jack raised his hand and smiled, bringing his eyes back to Miguel. They’d been friends for nine years, ever since Jack left the outlaw life his uncle had raised him in. He had clearly not been meant for such a life. Uncle Johnny made sure to tell him every chance he got that he was better than all the other men in the gang. Jack wasn’t supposed to be an outlaw, Johnny told him, and sooner or later, he expected the young man to go off on his own and make something of himself. He was destined to do things that would have made his father and mother proud.

“You’re finally here!” Miguel stated, bringing Jack out of his thoughts. “You’re late. You should have been here ages ago to wait for the train with me.”

Jack shrugged. “The train is still here, Miguel. I’m not that late.”

“Did you get your ticket already?”

Jack nodded, patting the pocket of his jacket. “Yes, I’m ready to go.”

When Miguel was close enough, they grasped hands in a firm shake. Miguel had been central to pulling Jack away from the life of a bandit. He owed a lot to his Spanish friend.

He had set his bag down and when he bent to pick it up, he glanced at the windows of the train car, searching for the beautiful woman who had already boarded.

“Who was that woman I saw you with?” he asked. “I didn’t know you knew anyone in Omaha.”

“I don’t,” Miguel replied in a firm voice. “She almost ran over me! Bumped right into me when she wasn’t paying attention.” He grinned wide. “She will be on the train as well. I asked her to share a drink with me. Don’t you go stealing her heart before I get a chance to.”

Jack laughed. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, friend. I have no intentions of stealing the heart of any woman.”

Miguel raised his eyebrows. “And why not? You aren’t married. You aren’t betrothed and haven’t been spoken for. In fact, have I ever seen you with a woman?”

“No,” Jack responded, “and you probably never will.”

Miguel snorted, bent to pick up Jack’s bag and handed it to him. “I never understood that, Jack. You’re a good-looking man. You could have any woman you wanted. But you’ve never tried.”

Jack lost his joviality when he said, “You know very well why that is, Miguel.”

Since he’d left the life of an outlaw, Jack had never considered himself good enough for the women he was interested in. They were all pretty but most of them were demure and shy, raised by good parents, and led good lives. They had gentle hearts, and he didn’t want to hurt them. As a result, he never approached any of them. The firecrackers who would have shown an interest in him were all in the sections of town he no longer wanted to frequent.

“Someday you’re going to meet a woman who will bring you out of that shell,” Miguel said, turning to the nearest train car. “I guarantee it.”

Jack hoped so, as well, but didn’t say so. He didn’t want Miguel taking it upon himself to set him up with a woman. If he wanted a wife, he could find her on his own. Even if he didn’t think he would ever be prepared for it. They walked together toward the nearest open door to get on the train.

“Well, I’ll be!” Miguel stated firmly. Jack looked at him when Miguel abruptly stopped. His friend was peering into the empty breast pocket of his jacket. “Looks like I’ve lost my ticket.”

“Or been robbed of it,” Jack remarked.

Miguel shook his head, a disappointed look on his face. “It must have been that woman. Lucy Pinkney, she said her name was.” He looked up at Jack. “If that is even her name.”

Jack raised his eyebrows. “You really think she stole it?”

“You said it first, my friend. The ticket isn’t exactly going to jump out of my pocket and run away, is it?” his friend responded. “You go ahead and board. I will get another ticket and meet up with you.” Miguel turned toward the building behind them.

“I’ll take your bag. Here, give it to me.” He reached for the suitcase, which Miguel handed over without a second thought.

“Thank you.”

Before Jack could respond Miguel bolted for the door, weaving through the crowd, forced to push several people out of the way while saying “excuse me” and “pardon me” as they stood chatting on the busy platform.

Jack pictured the woman in his mind. Lucy Pinkney. A very beautiful woman. Possibly, a very beautiful thief. Shaking his head, he went to the open door they’d been about to use, showing his ticket to the attendant and going up the steps. He would have no trouble finding her. He already had her face memorized. She had turned to look at him when Miguel shouted and waved. That moment was all he needed.

The car he’d boarded was nearly full. The only available seats were in between other passengers. He wanted to find a bench that was not taken so he and Miguel could sit together, if not on one side, then facing each other.

He went to the next car, hoping to find better availability and was pleasantly surprised to see it was hardly full at all.

Plus, the blonde woman, Lucy Pinkney was there. She was sitting alone on a bench seat. He saw the back of another woman sitting across from her. The two were talking.

Jack headed for the woman, wondering if he should confront her about Miguel’s ticket. The closer he got, the more he didn’t want to say anything. Maybe Miguel had lost the ticket. Maybe he’d forgotten it and was mistaken about putting it in his pocket. Could he in any good conscience accuse the woman without knowing for sure?

No. He could not.

He thought he saw a flicker of recognition when the woman looked past her companion and saw him coming. Her cheeks were flushed but that didn’t mean it was because of him. He told himself to calm down just before reaching the two bench seats facing each other. Both women looked up at him curiously.

“Good morning,” he said. “Do you mind if my companion and I sit here with you ladies? Hello there, little man.” He grinned at the baby, who smiled right back at him. It was one of Jack’s redeeming qualities, his uncle had told him, and just another sign that he wasn’t meant to be an outlaw. Babies and animals were his friends upon contact. Not because of anything Jack did. It just happened.

The baby made a gurgling noise, indicating his lack of the ability to form words just yet.

“Is that right?” Jack stated firmly. He moved his eyes to the baby’s mother. “I think he just gave me permission.”

“Please do take my seat,” the woman with the baby said. “I don’t mind.” The woman stood up and moved past him.

Lucy Pinkney spoke up. “Will I see you in Sacramento?”

Jack was nearly beside himself with delight hearing her words. That was his destination, as well.

“I certainly hope so, Lydia. It was so good talking with you.”

“You too.”

The woman with the baby walked away, cooing at the child, who turned his head to stare at Jack with a curious gaze.

“That baby really took to you,” the blonde woman said with a smile.

“They usually do. Babies, I mean. And animals.” Jack pushed his suitcase under the bench where the woman with the baby had been sitting, following it up with Miguel’s.

“Is that so?”

He caught her gaze before sitting and said, “You don’t mind if I sit here, do you?”

“No, not at all. Feel free. You can sit wherever you like.”

Jack was still thinking about the fact that Miguel had said the woman’s name was Lucy. But her companion had called her Lydia. Should he say something? She was more mysterious with every passing moment.

There was no mistaking this woman was the one he saw for that brief moment with Miguel. No one else on the train was wearing a tattered, repaired and clearly old dress. He noticed she had stressed eyes. Life had clearly been a struggle.

He sat forward, holding out his hand. This would be the test for the young woman. Would she tell him her real name? Or would he get a third version of who she was?

“Jack Callahan,” he said.

She sat forward, taking his hand. “Lydia Hartman.”