Chapter Seventeen
Winchester Falls, Texas
March, 1905
Heat radiated in waves around her. Who knew that Texas would be so terribly hot, especially so early in spring?
Of course, this was the uncivilized part, not the more well-established, genteel cities one heard about, like San Antonio or Austin. Perhaps scorching heat was befitting the rough-and-ready northwestern Texas town of Winchester Falls.
Ada Westmore stepped gingerly out onto the train platform, holding tightly to her hat as the wind threatened to tear it free of all its carefully placed hat pins. She caught a glance of her reflection in the train-car window as she struggled to keep the door from slamming shut. Her black hair, so tidily arranged this morning, framed her face in straggling locks. Her dark blue eyes were ringed with fatigue. Her dress, once a fashionable shade of dark green, had been dyed the requisite somber hue for mourning. Yet the color really didn’t matter, for it was muted by a fine layer of sandy dirt that had blown through the train-car windows.
Ada straightened, shoving the hat pins more deeply into her coiffure to anchor her hat securely. Then she gathered her skirts in one hand while navigating the steps to the platform. A porter waited, extending his hand as she made her way down.
“Thank you,” she said, grateful for the assistance. She scanned the length of the platform, but no one seemed to be expecting her. Surely Aunt Pearl would be here by now. The train was late, after all, having been delayed by a solitary cow that had refused to move from the tracks and had to be coaxed away by the conductor. “Is there a waiting room inside the depot?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the porter replied. “But it’s so hot right now most people wait out on the platform. At least that way, you can hope to catch the breeze.”
Ada gave him a wan smile. This was no mere breeze, but a howling, scorching gust that made her feel as though walking might be a passing fancy but not something to be seriously attempted. She should probably offer the man a tip. She opened her reticule and removed a few precious pennies, the last of the small horde that she had managed to bring with her. He took them from her with a curt nod.
Ada burned with shame at the paltry sum, but what could she do? From her debutante days in New York, she could claim very little. Her home was gone, sold on the auction block, and all of the luxurious possessions with it. There had barely been enough for her two younger sisters to finish their semester in boarding school. In fact, unless she came up with a steady income, both her sisters would be turned away from the school for the next term. There was nothing to do but beg Aunt Pearl for assistance. With her aunt’s help, she could either find a position or establish a home of their own. Either way, she had reached the limit of what she could accomplish on her own, and she needed to make things work so her sisters would not face disaster. Ada made her way down the length of the platform, peering curiously around her as she strode.
Winchester Falls was different from New York, no doubt about it. True, there were several tall buildings nearby and the train depot had a certain charm to it, but everything looked, well, raw. Small wonder, for Winchester Falls had only really come into its own in the past decade, or at least that’s what Aunt Pearl had said in her last letter. She glanced around at the rugged landscape. Somewhere out there, the falls that gave the town its name rushed over a hillside and into a nearby river, or so she’d read in a newspaper. It was difficult to believe that a refreshing waterfall could play any part in this landscape.
Her valise had been unceremoniously dumped on the platform next to her trunk, and the porter had vanished. There was nothing to do but retrieve it and then have a seat atop her trunk. Aunt Pearl would be here eventually. She had to come. She was Ada’s only living relative, save her sisters, and she had promised to help Ada start a new life out here.
Nervousness gripped Ada as she collected her bag, but she straightened her back and lifted her chin. Was this any way to feel, when she had faced far more dire situations? She had marched in suffragist parades and been pelted with rotten eggs from jeering onlookers. She had padlocked herself to a police wagon when they had tossed her fellow suffragists in jail. No matter what Texas threw at her, she could certainly handle it.
“Miss, I’ll take that bag,” a voice drawled behind her.
Ada dropped her case and glanced up. A young man, quite tall and broad shouldered, stood before her. Though his straw hat was in his hands, arrogance and power emanated from him, from his stance to the slightly mocking light in his green eyes. There was something elemental in the impression he created. He was as much a part of this rough landscape as the boulders that ringed the depot. She was staring at him. She gave her head a quick shake.
Handsome men like this always made her feel inadequate, and feeling inadequate made her appalled at her lack of spine.
“I beg your pardon?” Her voice had a definite quaver to it. She cleared her throat. “I am waiting for my aunt. Surely I have the right to be here?”
He raked his hand through his thick blond hair. “Mrs. Colgan sent me to fetch you.”
“Aunt Pearl isn’t here?” Ada gasped in outrage. She had just lost everything—her family and her fortune—and had made a long and arduous journey across the country to build a new life. The very least she expected was for her aunt to meet her at the station.
“Something came up,” the man replied. “Under the circumstances, she figured it might be better for me to bring you to her, anyway.” He nodded, and two boys grasped her trunk, hefting it down the length of the station platform and into a handsome carriage with a pair of matched bays. After watching their progress, he tugged on his hat and lifted Ada’s valise.
“Circumstances? What circumstances?” Ada stepped in front of him, blocking his path.
He moved around her quickly, striding down the length of the platform to the carriage, where the bays waited patiently. Ada scurried after him, trying to match his pace and failing miserably. He tossed a coin to the two boys, one of whom caught it in midair. When they dashed off, he stored her valise in the back of the carriage and stood patiently, waiting to hand her up.
“Just a moment,” she panted, facing him squarely. “Why would it make more sense for you to pick me up at a train station? I don’t even know you. My aunt should be here.”
“My name is Jack Burnett.” He looked at her steadily, from under the brim of his hat. “That name should mean something to you.”
