he was one lucky son of a bitch, then spat out of one corner of his mouth.
“Don’t s’pose Amos’s daughters will be half so taken with all that road dust, though.” The driver grinned. “Guess they’re used to fancy fellas who smell more like hair tonic than Texas dirt.”
As he realigned the gun belt that Nona had nearly undone, Shad grumbled, “Some women like it fine.”
“Yup,” mused Eb, “I ‘spect it depends some who it’s on.” He bent then to pick up a bucket and rag, and began to wash down the dusty red-and-black coach. “Still, you best wash some of that dirt off, Shad, afore you pay your respects to the Captain’s daughters. Can’t walk through the door of a fancy eating establishment looking like a man who works for a living, I hear.”
Grumbling under his breath and rolling up his sleeves, Shad ambled toward the washbowl on a bench. “Doesn’t make much difference since I’ll be taking my supper at the saloon,” he called over his shoulder.
“Not tonight, you ain’t,” Eb called back.
“What do you mean?” Shad dipped his hands into the soapy gray water and splashed it on his face. “I always eat and bed down at the Steamboat when I’m in Corpus.”
“Bed down maybe, but tonight you’re eating with the Captain’s daughters at a fancy restaurant.”
The big man shook his wet head, sending beads of water in a wide spray. He pulled the towel roll till he found a dry spot. “Says who?” he asked.
“Says Amos.” Eb put down his bucket and rag, then fished in his pants pocket a moment before producing two gold coins. “He gimme these here double eagles to give you. Said you’re to see those females have a proper meal. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you hisself.”
Actually Eb Talent wasn’t at all surprised. When the boss had handed him the money and had instructed him in how it was to be spent, Amos had laughed as he added, “Shad’ll tell me no to my face, Eb, but once he’s in Corpus he can’t do that, now, can he?”
When it came to getting his way, the Captain didn’t miss a trick. And nobody knew that better than Shadrach Jones. Given half a chance, Shad could usually outfox the old man, too. The two of them were so much alike that some of the hands at Paradise had speculated over the years that the Captain might even be Shad’s natural father. Eb knew different, though. He and Amos had still been steaming back and forth across the Gulf of Mexico when Jones had been born some thirty-four or thirty-five years ago.
There was a lot about Shadrach Jones that Eb didn’t know, including his sire, but he did know right that moment in the livery stable that the man was about to explode. The former sailor was tempted to haul himself up into the coach as fast as his old legs could move in order to avoid the fireworks.
But Shad didn’t explode. He laughed instead, shook his damp head and muttered, “That old fox. I’m telling you, Eb, I don’t envy the Almighty once Amos Kingsland starts staking his claim on the real Paradise.” He jerked a thumb heavenward, then extended his hand toward Eb. “Gimme the damn money.”
Eb did as he was told, saying, “I sure wouldn’t mind being a fly on the wall when you’re having supper with those gals.”
Shad jammed the coins into his back pocket. “Come on along then. Only don’t expect to linger over coffee and prissy little desserts. Fancy or not, this is going to be one quick meal.” Shad sighed “I don’t get to town so often that I intend to waste my time with a couple of thin-lipped, bony-assed Eastern ladies when there’s all those willing women down the street.”
For a moment, the notion had a certain appeal for Eb. “Maybe I could get a couple new recipes. Fancy stuff, you know, to fix up for the Captain.”
“Sure,” Shad agreed.
Then the old man glanced back at the big coach, still covered with dust. He shrugged. “Nah. Guess I’ll stay right here. Anyway, fancy eats might not sit right with the Captain what with his aching stomach.”
“Suit yourself.” Shad planted his black Stetson on his damp hair and turned for the stable door. “I won’t be long, hoss. You can count on that.”
The second floor, corner room in the Excelsior Hotel was pleasant but small, made smaller still by a cot and a huge assortment of trunks, handbags and hatboxes. The room was so crammed that Shula Kingsland could barely pace. She kept tripping over luggage.
“Damnation,” she howled, grabbing onto the iron footboard to keep from pitching forward onto the floor. “Well, I don’t know why I bother holding on, really. A person couldn’t possibly fall down in here. All this junk would keep a body propped up indefinitely.”
Libby was tempted to remind her sister that most of the junk was hers. Instead, she remained silent and continued to press a cool cloth to the forehead of the little girl lying on the cot. The long trip from Saint Louis—by train and finally by steamship—had taken a toll on Andy. She’d been seasick on the steamship from Mobile and what little she had eaten had promptly come back up. Shula, too, had claimed to be deathly ill while they were on The Belle of the Gulf, but it hadn’t stopped her from taking a seat at the captain’s table or consuming copious quantities of oysters and champagne.
“Lord, it’s hot in here,” Shula said now, fanning herself with her hand as she picked her way toward the window. “I’m fairly dripping, Libby. I don’t remember Texas being so hellishly hot, do you?”
“It’s no worse than Saint Louis,” Libby said softly. Andy seemed to have drifted off to sleep and she didn’t want to wake her. She angled off the cot as delicately as she could. “If you’d sit a minute, Shula, maybe you’d cool off.”
Shula was peering out the window now. “I can see the gulf.”
“Well, that should make you feel cooler.”
“No,” Shula said with a sniff. “Looks to me like it’s boiling.”
Libby sighed. It would be a miracle, she thought, if she survived this day, let alone the several weeks she planned to remain in Texas. It wasn’t a trip she wanted to make, but all her resolve had evaporated that afternoon last week when John Rowan had nearly broken down their front door in his attempt to get his daughter back. Damn that man anyway. Libby had felt she’d had no choice but to spirit the child away—far away—for a while at least. With any luck, the man would commit other crimes for which the police could successfully put him away permanently.
In the meantime, she merely hoped she could endure her sister’s theatrics. Sharing such close quarters with Shula was like being strapped to a front-row seat at a melodrama. The woman could go on for hours about everything and nothing. Complaining, it seemed, had become Shula’s favorite pastime. And she never just talked. She exclaimed!
At the moment she was flapping her arms in an effort to dry the damp fabric of her dress. “I’ll be dehydrated in a few hours,” Shula muttered now. “How can anybody stand this? It’s like a steam bath.”
Libby went to the window and gazed out at the sparkling gulf. Funny she didn’t recall it, she thought. Her memories of Texas were land, not water. Land and nothing else, as far as the eye could see. Her father’s land. Paradise. She wondered if it would seem as vast, as purely magical now that she was grown.
When
