Run to Texas Read online

  Run to Texas

  by Stephy Smith

  Published by Astraea Press

  www.astraeapress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  RUN TO TEXAS

  Copyright © 2013 STEPHY SMITH

  ISBN 978-1-62135-142-9

  Cover Art Designed by BOOK BEAUTIFUL

  Thank you to Astraea Press, Stephanie Taylor and the staff for all the hard work and long hours they put in.

  A special thank you to the readers, my family and friends who have encouraged me along the way.

  Most importantly- if God brings you to it, he will see you through it…oh, how many times has he bestowed this blessing upon me.

  Chapter One

  Martha “Mattie” Harding crinkled her nose at the stench in the air. She stepped from the stagecoach onto the plank leading to the walkway. Another passenger behind her bumped into her and pushed her into the soggy mess below. Water seeped over the top of her ankle high shoes as her feet sank into the manure-laden mud. Her jaw clenched, and she held back the moan bubbling in her throat.

  She glared at the two women who calmly walked up the plank as if nothing happened. The urge to kick mud upon the backs of their fancy dresses was averted by the extended hand of a man. Mattie took his hand, and he assisted her upon the plank.

  “Thank you,” she pushed out between gritted teeth. She knew her smile betrayed her words. His face was hidden beneath the brim of his western hat. A quick, unfamiliar jolt shot up her arm. He slid his hand to the small of her back as he guided her to solid ground.

  Mattie stomped her feet to remove the mud. The water bubbled up the insides as the heavy earth packed between her stocking feet and her shoes.

  As Mattie glanced up and down the streets of Linden, Texas, the town seemed to nestle into the darkness. A few dim lanterns shone through sheer curtained windows. Nothing stirred in the night except a handful of passengers from the coach. With her hands pressed on her back, she stretched and waited for the aches to disappear. Bruised and annoyed from the rough ride, she made her way further onto the wooden path.

  She pulled at the gloves covering her hands and waited for her trunk to be lowered. “Take it to the nearest hotel. I’ll stay there for the night.” The driver of the coach nodded and then yelled out her instructions over his shoulder. Mattie turned and walked away.

  Moisture thickened the air around the tiny town. The hem of her skirt, soaked with filth, hung heavily on her waist. The tingle in her cold toes stung with every step. Mattie scooted near the walls and stomped her feet to loosen more of the heaviness from her shoes.

  A shiver of eeriness seeped into her soul as she peered through the thin layer of fog. She moved closer into the shadows of the buildings. The silhouette of a tall man in the darkness moved toward her. Her steady heartbeat picked up a notch. Inhaling deeply, she continued as if she hadn’t seen him. For a brief instance, she wondered if he could be the man who rescued her from her sticky situation.

  A loud male voice came from ahead. A ragged-looking man with mussed hair and disheveled clothing stumbled from an alley. He bumped against a wall and let out a groan. The man disappeared into a building, and the door slammed behind him.

  The memory of her husband's death pierced Mattie’s mind. She pulled her handbag to her stomach and stuck her hand inside. The hard grip of the gun at her fingertips comforted her. Fighting the sting in her eyes, she raised her head and whispered into the night air, “I’ll get them for what they’ve done, Jonathan. Wait and see.”

  Her heart pounded against her chest and threatened to break her ribs. She sucked in a deep breath and tried not to dwell on the strangeness of the empty streets. The only people milling around were the others from the coach. A rat scurried across the walkway and vanished into a small hole in the corner of a warehouse. For the first time since her husband’s death, she was thankful for the dark mourning clothes. If only she wasn’t slithering in the dark as if she were a criminal, she would laugh. She stifled a giggle as she continued down the walk. Her mind focused on the more important things rather than how she hid in the blackness of night.

  The possibility of encountering her husband’s killers lurked around every corner and sent an uneasy delay in her movement. Horrid thoughts of what they would do to her if they saw her before she saw them rattled her nerves. She clutched the pistol tighter. The group wasn’t beyond shooting a person in the back. After all, they shot poor Jonathan from behind. He didn’t have a chance to defend himself.

  The Fraziers and the Howards should have arrived by now. Mattie eavesdropped on the conversations at the last stagecoach stop, the two couples had already tried to control the wrong people. They had made it known they planned to settle in Linden. However, unless Mattie maintained her non-existence, her plan would turn into a disaster.

  Mattie concentrated on the two women from the stage strolling in front of her. She needed to focus on her plan of revenge, not listen in on their conversations, especially since these women never shut up. Their non-stop tales grated on her nerves. From what little she gathered from their discussions, they were returning from a wedding in Chickamauga, Georgia. Mattie tried to relax her jaws and still her trembling hands. The way they talked, they were at the most elaborate affair in Mattie’s hometown.

  The magnificent event Mattie had attended was definitely the most celebrated. Every newspaper in the county mentioned it. Two of the wealthiest plantation owners’ children wed, and it was proclaimed to be the biggest occasion since the founding of the new world. Why, these women hadn’t even mentioned the bride and groom’s names. Nor did they acknowledge they had shoved her off the plank! The old biddies deserved to have mud tossed on them.

  She reflected back on her own wedding. Hers wasn't based on love, but with time, she had grown fond of her husband. Many of her friends didn’t fare as well as she had. A shiver ran down her back at the thought of the black eyes and bruises she had seen on some of the ladies.

  The loud laughs muffled beneath the hands of her two stage companions pulled Mattie’s glance to the back of their heads. She didn’t recall seeing them at the wedding. Over three hundred guests scattered among the property made it easy to miss a caller or two. Their state of dress could possibly place them at the affair, if they were indeed there. Since the old biddies hadn’t mentioned names, she wondered if they just needed a story to tell. Gossipmongers!

  Most of the old unmarried ladies in Chickamauga would seek out Mattie’s husband at some point in the evening for a dance and a little flirtation. Maybe more so than usual since Jonathan wasn’t exactly a faithful husband. He was known to visit other types of females on occasion. Gambling and drinking were included in his nightly trips out on the town.

  On that afternoon, he had insisted they leave early. She suspected he would want her to perform her wifely duties. Being the good wife, Mattie obeyed and climbed into the surrey next to him. Elated from the enchanting wedding, she rode in silence and let the warmth of the sun reach her soul and feed her own dream world of a perfect man.

  The women in front of her stopped and she stepped around them, slightly nodding as she passed. She stepped too close and let her drenched skirt rub against their expensive gowns. Neither one of the women seemed to notice her.

  Mattie shook her head
to clear the cobwebs of the day loose. Overhead, a chain jingled as the sign attached to it twisted and swung in the breeze. Mattie’s eyes dropped to the soggy earth beneath her feet. The clammy dampness thickened the fog swirling around her ankles.

  Muffled footsteps behind her grew louder. She drew in a long breath. Could it be one of the killers, or was it an innocent person who set her on edge? Perhaps it was the man who pulled her from the muddy street. He had stepped out of the shadows and then stepped back into them without a word. His strange behavior confused her. Maybe he was one involved with the murderers. After all, he never showed his face, but she could sense his eyes upon her.

  Mattie shuddered and wondered if she would be able to pull the trigger when it came time to exact her revenge. Tears spilled from the brims of her eyes. The death of Jonathan played over again in her mind. Her body shivered as the explosion of gunfire echoed in her memory. The fall of her husband’s dead body, before he lay motionless in a pool of blood, invaded her every waking moment.

  With her hand clutched around her handkerchief, she dabbed away the tears. A few more steps and she stood at the entrance to the nearest hotel. Anticipation of escaping the dreary weather flooded her distressed mood. The door slid open when she twisted the doorknob and stepped in from the miserable gloom.

  ****

  James Parker rode into Linden. The rain dripped from the brim of his western hat; his wet duster glistened under the lamplights. He shivered as the cold breeze whipped up. “One more thing for me to do once I get you fed and brushed down, Gladys, is to watch for the stage to roll in.” He reached up and patted the gray gelding on the neck. “Don’t reckon you have an idea as to how your name came to be, would ya?”

  The gelding twitched his ears. “Well, I don’t neither. If my horse hadn’t been shot out from under me by that mangy outlaw Lazarus ‘Dog Ear’ Cravets, I don’t suppose we’d be having this discussion.” James was glad to be home after five months on the trail of ‘Dog Ear’ and his gang. At times, he wondered how he’d been roped into joining the Texas Rangers. He dumped the bucket of feed in the trough and closed the stall door.

  The rain had stopped, but the street was soggy. He had to walk right past the stage depot on his way to his mother’s boarding house. When he was home, he would meet the coaches to see if anyone he needed to arrest came to his hometown. James sloshed through the mire and stepped upon the wooden walkway. His spurs clogged with mud. Leaning up against a wall, he hunkered down and waited.

  He looked down at his dented badge. Getting shot at was one thing, but this time, when Cravets hit his badge, it was the first time he thought about giving up the rangers. Dog Ear’s gang killed his horse and left him afoot until he found the gray gelding left behind by one of the wounded outlaws. His partner, Wallace Snodgrass, the man responsible for his joining the rangers, had also been killed in the shoot out.

  A horse’s snicker pulled his mind from his musings. He stood and moved closer to the plank the depot clerk laid down for the passengers. He backed off into the shadows.

  James eyed the slender frame of the auburn haired beauty he pulled from the mud. She stood on the platform and glanced one way, then the other. Anger burned in her eyes with such intensity he wondered if she was going to attack the two women who pushed her off the plank. Whatever troubles she had made her jumpy. He stared beneath the brim of his hat until she moved further down the walkway. Even in the shadows, his eyes followed the sway of her hips. His body reacted to her in ways he hadn’t expected it to.

  With silent steps, he followed her. He was glad to be home after the long trip to Galveston. The woman slipped into the hotel. James waited a few moments then continued down the street to his mother’s boarding house. Opening the door, he entered and climbed the stairs to his room. He lay on his bed and tried to sleep.

  Suspicion of the lady had added a sinister dreariness to the stillness of the night. There was something more to her than being knocked in the mud. He would make sure he knew where she stayed as long as she remained in Linden. He closed his eyes. The apprehension written on her face haunted him. She had muttered something as she walked, but he was too far back to hear her words.

  “What’s your story, Miss? Are you one of the working women that arrive daily?” He whispered in the dark and wondered how much she charged. After all, she did enter the hotel all the other women set up business in until they found Nelda’s, the only house of ill repute in town.

  There was something different about her. He didn’t want to believe she was that kind of lady. If she was that kind, it wouldn’t take long to find out. That type of news traveled swiftly in the small town. His job required him to solve puzzles and that’s just what he intended to do.

  The Rangers hadn’t sent any messages for a new mission, so he could devote all his time to the woman. He would have to be discrete, or she might never let anyone know what brought her to Linden. It wasn’t often that a single gal came in without Nelda’s knowledge. The old Madame usually met them at the depot if she knew of their arrival. This lady traveled alone, and the anger burning in her eyes raised his suspicion of her.

  The way she dressed was far above what the other working girls wore. If she wasn’t one of them, why would she travel to a strange town without an escort? She appeared to be running away from, or looking for, whatever plagued her. For the second time this week, a strange panic settled in his soul. He had stopped in at the last stage depot for supper, and she had never said a word. Her gaze remained downcast, but she tilted her head at the voices surrounding her.

  How does a man gain a woman’s trust? James tried to reason with himself. Maybe she was just shy, but he knew deep down that the anger she tried to conceal had something to do with the discussion going on around the table. Was she involved with the rowdy patrons that were the topic of conversation? He didn’t think so, but nothing would surprise him.

  As sleep settled in, the auburn haired gal entertained his mind. He tried to forget about the sway of her hips. Even in her anger, her blue eyes drew him into their depths. Shifting to his side, he hoped to dismiss the alluring woman from his mind. He stared out the window at the stars until the early hours of the morning, and then his eyes closed.

  ****

  Mattie crossed the lobby of the hotel and stood at the desk. Her hand shook as she reached over and rang a tiny silver bell on the edge of the counter. Shadows floated across the windows. She cringed at the idea someone might recognize her so far from home.

  Pulling in a deep breath, she waited for service. Exhaustion from the long journey west weakened her senses. She tried to appear patient and calm. On the inside, she was as soggy as the streets outside and her mud-riddled skirt.

  A deep male voice called from the backroom, “I’ll be there in a bit. I don’t know why that stage can’t arrive at a decent hour…” She ignored his rude words that followed.

  The musty smell of cigars clung to sheer curtains in the lobby. Dingy-yellow pull blinds on the windows draped with worn strings on their once white fringe. Wooden floors creaked with each step set upon them. The path scarred with marks from previous foot traffic led to the counter and up the stairs.

  Mattie reached for the bell one more time but let her hand fall to her side. How much longer can this man take? If he doesn’t hurry up, I’m moving to the next hotel. I would be safer there. Rubbing the back of her neck, Mattie leaned her head back. The grief of roaming the street again gnawed at her. Even though she was inside, the looks of the hotel didn’t seem any safer. In a low mumble, she peered at the ceiling overhead, “Bullet holes in the ceiling, what a nice place you picked.”

  A steep staircase rose to the side of the desk and disappeared around a corner. To the left, on the wooden counter, a large registry book lay open, and a tiny, dark wood table sat to the side of the platform. A lit kerosene lantern found a home in its middle. She glanced at the book and attempted to make out the names on the pages without drawing attention to herself.

&nbs
p; A snort behind her startled her, and she spun around. A heavyset man with red hair slumped in a chair. The man’s eyes widened, and he shifted when he locked eyes with Mattie. An alarming twist in the pit of her stomach stilled her breath. She hoped the misshapen brim of her hat hid her identity. There were still too many plans to be made before she could end the life of Mr. Howard.

  A short, bald man stood in front of him. Their voices were kept low, and the small man glanced her way before he climbed the stairs. She turned her back to the man sitting in the chair. Mattie placed her hand over her fluttering heart. Panic clawed at the back of her throat as she waited. The desire to stick her hand in her reticule, pull out the gun, and put a bullet between his eyes seethed within her soul.

  She could feel his bold stare on her back. A quiver ran down her spine. Straightening her shoulders, she pretended not to recognize the man. He was one of the men she had tracked from Georgia, along with his wife and another couple she had seen but was not familiar with. Drawing in a deep breath, she wished the clerk would hurry up.

  Mattie’s suspicions rose to the short man and his involvement with the death of her husband. Although she didn’t know who the actual shooter was, this worthless man would pay for his part in the killing. Fury belted through her. It would be so easy—.

  “What can I do for you?” The short, round man behind the counter blew smoke in her face. Her interest snapped to the clerk. The air choked from her lungs. Mattie cleared her throat and clamped her mouth shut until the smoke cleared.

  “I need a room.” She signed Martha O’Sheay on the thick registry. The door swung open, and a clamor in the lobby troubled her. Two rough and rowdy stagehands carried in baggage. The strong smell of whiskey on their breath wrenched her stomach. They dropped the bags and trunks with a loud thud and staggered out the door with a laugh. Mattie snatched up the key, found her valise the boys had carried in, and hurried up the stairs.