Chapter 29

29

Letty awoke to a kiss the next morning, only it wasn’t the kiss she’d been dreaming of most of the night. Eyes squinting, she reached for the furry head she knew would be on the other end of the tongue that licked her face.

“All right, all right,” she whispered as she pushed back the blanket and sat up on her bunk. “I’m up.”

Rusty laid his head across her lap, as if giving her a quick morning hug, then dashed off for the door before turning a plaintive look over his shoulder, urging her to hurry.

Letty bit back a sleepy grin, then padded over to the door to let him out. “Stay close,” she warned as she unlatched the door. “We’ll be leaving soon.”

He gave no indication that he heard, just wriggled through the opening as soon as he could fit his head through and ran off into the gray dimness of predawn. She stood in the doorway, watching him run. He barely limped at all. Letty’s heart beat out a prayer of gratitude that the extra rest had restored the health of both her protectors.

“How’re things looking out there?” Philip’s low voice wrapped around her like a fleece blanket.

Letty closed the door and turned to find her Pinkerton sitting on the edge of his own bunk, a yawn stretching his mouth as he rubbed a hand over his head. Not that he had any tousled locks to smooth. He wore his hair the length of a shorn sheep. Vastly different from the images in her storybooks of medieval princes with flowing manes reaching to their shoulders. She used to wonder what it would feel like to run her fingers through such a man’s hair, but the idea no longer held the same appeal. The clean-cut masculinity of the man before her put those romanticized storybook men to shame.

He finished his yawn and looked at her expectantly, reminding her that he had asked a question.

“There’s definitely a morning nip in the air but no rain. Should be a good day for traveling.” As she ducked around a pair of hanging trousers on her way to the stove, she tested the fabric between her thumb and fingers of one hand while clasping the toe of a nearby woolen sock with her other. “Feels like things have dried out in here, too.” She aimed a smile in Philip’s direction. “No need to keep wearing our rag-bin fashion.”

The answering smile he sent her moved through her insides like drizzled honey. “Glad to hear it. I’m pretty sure Steele would refuse to be seen with me if I showed up in pants that failed to cover my boot tops. He has his reputation as a dashing steed to consider, after all.”

Letty chuckled, then sucked in a breath when Philip rose from his bunk and moved to collect his shirt from where it hung a few feet away. Goodness, but the man was a feast for the eyes. Even with too-short pants and dozens of scrapes and bruises marring his chest. Her heart panged at the sight of the purple-and-green discoloration that had risen to the surface overnight, though. Visible proof that his injuries were more than mere abrasions.

She hugged her middle in sympathy. “Are you terribly sore this morning?”

He pulled his shirt down from where it hung, then glanced at the bruises coloring his abdomen and ribs. His shoulders offered a small shrug before he slid the shirt over his head and pushed his arms through the sleeves. The lines around his mouth tightened slightly when he worked his bandaged arm through the opening, but he made no sound of distress.

“Not any worse than yesterday.” He reached for the buttons that began midway up his chest and started doing them up. “I’ll be good as new in a day or two.”

He grabbed a pair of socks and his boots, then took a seat by the stove and dressed his feet while Letty retrieved her own armful of clothing.

“I’m gonna go check on the horses.” Philip slapped his palms against his thighs, rose, and strode for the door. He snagged a pair of newly dried trousers from the rafters as he went and flung them over his shoulder. “I’ll take my time.” His gaze found hers, and she had no doubt of his meaning.

He’d finish dressing in the barn, affording her the privacy to change without him in the bunkhouse.

“I’ll get the coffee on and start some oatmeal.”

He pulled his hat from the nail by the door and fit it to his head, taking a moment to dip his chin and finger the brim in a gentlemanly salute.

The moment the door clicked closed behind him, Letty darted behind one of the blankets she’d hung up to dry and changed out of her borrowed gear, feeling more herself with each layer of clothing she donned. Once dressed, she filled the coffeepot with water and set it on the stove to boil, then strolled around the bunkhouse, retrieving all their clothes and bedding. With each item that she folded and put away, a piece of the trauma from the past day disappeared until all that remained was the routine of packing up camp.

Thankfully, the food had been waterproofed better than their clothes since it had ridden on the packhorse beneath an oilskin tarp. She’d been able to salvage more than half of the remaining oats and flour. If they rationed a bit, it should last until they reached Houston.

After breakfast, Letty washed and dried the soup jar and placed a few dollars and a note of thanks inside. While Philip loaded the packhorse, she approached the house with her offering. The sky had lightened with the arrival of dawn, though the trees surrounding the property hid her view of the sun. The dog under the widow’s porch didn’t bark at her this time. He just came out to give her a sniff, then escorted her up to the front door.

Letty set the jar down and backed away, reaching a hand down to pet the dog as she went. “Your mistress is a kind lady. Take good care of her, you hear?”

The hound rubbed up against Letty’s leg, then moved back to stand guard in front of the door.

Letty smiled. “Good boy.”

She descended the steps to the yard and crossed to where Philip was leading the horses out of the barn. Pausing, she twisted to glance over her shoulder.

Thank you, Lord, for leading me here. For providing the shelter we so desperately needed. Please bless the mistress of this house. Shower her with loving care and abundant goodness in return for the kindness she extended to a pair of strangers. May I be as willing to open my heart and home to those in need should the occasion ever arise.

Something resonated in her spirit as the last words of her prayer shaped within her mind. Letty stared at the house, searching for a meaning that eluded her. What was God trying to tell her? Clarity refused to come, but the moment carried the heft of significance. As if God had planted a seed in her soul. One she wouldn’t recognize until it sprouted.

Trusting him to make things clear when the time was right, she turned her attention back to the moment at hand and crossed the yard to take Shadow’s reins. Rusty trotted around the side of the barn, looking pleased with himself. Must’ve found a nice fat rabbit to feast on. Letty grinned. Her wolf had never developed a taste for oatmeal.

Philip came alongside her and offered her a leg up. Once in the saddle, she took a long look at the bunkhouse. Such a humble, weather-beaten building, yet it would hold a place of honor in her memory. For it was the building that saved the life of the man she loved.

Hearing saddle leather creak, she turned to smile at Philip as he settled onto Steele’s back. Restored health radiated from him, but it was the tenderness in his eyes when they met hers that arrested her attention.

“Ready?”

She held his gaze. She was ready. Ready to forge a path through life with him by her side. But that wasn’t the question he was asking. Not yet, anyway. So she tucked her declarations away for another time, praying she’d get the opportunity to use them someday, and offered him a cheery nod as she leaned forward to pat her mare’s neck.

“Ready.”

****

The next four days passed more quickly than Philip would have wished. Strange how emotions affected time. At the outset of this endeavor, when the journey had just been a job, the days seemed to crawl, but now that each moment represented a precious gift to spend getting to know the remarkable woman who rode at his side, time slid through his fingers with terrifying quickness.

They’d reach her mother’s house in two days. Two days filled with constant vigilance and very little conversation, for the closer they came to Houston, the less room there was to hide. Cities and towns multiplied as open spaces shrank. Rail lines crisscrossed the countryside like tree branches, growing denser as they neared the source.

Ever since their group crossed the Trinity—thankfully with no one taking a swim this time—Letty had worn her hood. The cloak helped keep her warm as the temperatures cooled, but it was the anonymity the hood afforded that motivated the fashion choice. Philip had spotted three or four riders during their travels over the last day and a half. Likely men out hunting or rounding up stock, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Not with Letty.

Philip checked the pinkening sky and made the decision to call a halt. He steered his mount off the game trail they’d been following and headed for a small grassy area a short distance away that would make for a soft place to sleep.

“We’ll make camp here.”

“All right.”

Her voice sounded weary, but when he turned to look at her more fully, she smiled as if she’d been sleeping on feather mattresses for the last two weeks instead of hard ground. He smiled in return, adding a bit of apology to his gaze. He’d pushed her hard today. Pushed them all hard. Eking out an extra five miles to bring them just north of the small town of Cleveland, Texas. Tomorrow they’d cross the rails and travel to Huffman, then from there, Houston.

A soft hum echoed behind him as he plodded toward the campsite. He recognized the melody. A hymn, “Peace, Perfect Peace.” Why was he not surprised? Philip grinned to himself. Bone tired and drooping, yet she didn’t voice a complaint. No, she hummed a hymn that promised rest.

What a joy it would be to spend one’s life with a woman who handled adversity with a smile and a positive outlook. Not a childish belief that no trouble would come, but a deep faith that remained steady in the storm, trusting the unseen to be more powerful than the seen. A woman who would believe the best of him and inspire him to live up to her expectations. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized he’d been looking for such qualities in a wife, but now that he’d found them, he’d not be satisfied with less.

They worked together to set up camp, so used to the routine by now that words weren’t necessary. Even the animals knew what to do. Rusty took off on his evening hunt, while the horses placidly nibbled grass, enjoying the freedom from packs and saddles.

By the time the sun set, camp had been prepped, coffee made, and plates brimmed with fried salt pork and golden-brown biscuits. No longer imposing a distance between them that neither wanted, Philip lowered himself to the ground next to Letty and leaned his back against the saddle behind him as he stretched his boots toward the fire.

She spoke of her grandmother. He spoke of his sister. Neither spoke of what would happen in Houston.

He got up to refill both their tin cups, and when he handed Letty her second helping of coffee, she peered up at him, a question in her eyes.

“Do you expect to keep working for the Pinkertons indefinitely?”

Philip blinked as his pulse picked up speed. It was the first time they’d spoken of the future. He took a deliberate breath before lowering himself back to the ground at her side.

“I doubt it.” Admitting it sounded strange to his ears. The thought had lived only in his mind up until now. “I enjoy helping people, but spending so much of my time among criminals, liars, and blackmailers has begun to sour my outlook on humanity.”

She set her plate aside and twisted to face him. “You’ve been trained to be suspicious, to ferret out wickedness by thinking like the very criminals you are trying to catch. I can see how it might be hard to believe the best of people in those circumstances.”

He met her eyes. “Not as hard as it used to be.”

Her cheeks pinkened, and her lashes lowered, assuring him that she’d picked up on his meaning. Taking pity on her, he shifted his gaze to his coffee cup and took a sip.

“If you weren’t a Pinkerton, what would you do?”

Such a simple question, but the answer couldn’t be more complicated.

“I’m not sure. I don’t think I’m cut out for farming like my folks. Maybe ranching or law enforcement in a sleepy little town somewhere. I still feel drawn to protecting people, but I’m tired of living out of hotels and the back rooms of saloons.”

Letty’s expectant gaze cut through his doubts, compelling him to open himself in a way he hadn’t even done with his family.

“I do have one idea. Though it might sound a bit farfetched.”

An encouraging smile bloomed across her face as she leaned closer. “I love farfetched ideas.”

He grinned. How could he not? She made the impossible seem possible.

“Well, it occurred to me that one way to curb the number of criminals running amok in this world is to find them when they’re young, before the world has hardened them completely. Many boys turn to crime out of desperation. They end up on the streets. Hungry. Alone. They steal to survive and often fall in with thievery rings who use and abuse them in exchange for a few crusts of bread and a place to sleep. If I could provide an alternative, maybe those boys would choose a different path.”

His words picked up speed as the picture he’d been refining over the past two years unrolled in his mind like a detailed blueprint. “I’d like to build a big house somewhere with lots of land for them to run around on. I’d give them a safe, stable place to live away from the city. Three meals a day. Routine. Education. Discipline tempered with respect.”

“And love. Children need lots of love. Especially those who’ve been treated poorly.”

“Agreed.” How easily he could picture her lavishing love on a houseful of troubled boys. Seeing the best in them. Dissolving their cynicism and winning their hearts. Much like she’d done with him.

“It’s a wonderful idea,” Letty proclaimed, her eyes alight. “I remember how you bonded with Calvin and Dennis. They could sense what kind of man you were. Ready to take charge, capable, and trustworthy. Yet it was your kindness and genuine concern that won their loyalty.” She glanced down at her lap, her voice softening. “Just like it won mine.”

Philip’s breathing hitched, and his pulse took off like Rusty chasing a rabbit. Man, but he wanted to take her hand in his, tug her close, cup her face, and stroke her cheek. His mouth longed to capture hers and discover if the sparks crackling in his chest would finally explode.

Tearing his gaze away from her face, he forced his attention into the trees as he tried to regulate his pulse. Rein it in, big guy. Now’s not the time.

Something tickled his vision to his right, sharpening his senses. He turned. Scanned the trees. Nothing caught his eye, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Gut tightening, he searched for something out of place, but the growing darkness cast shadows, making it hard to decipher details.

His gaze tripped over a tree branch sticking out at an odd angle. Different from the other branches surrounding it. It didn’t sway with the breeze. As Philip stared, the campfire popped, shooting sparks into the sky. A reflection glinted off metal.

Not a branch—a rifle!

“Get down!”