Tom's Angel (3 page)

She liked everything about him.
After all, he'd come to take her away from Hell's Half Acre. It wouldn't have mattered if he'd been toothless and eighty years old. She had a job and a family waiting in Denver. Just because Tom McCabe was the first courteous man she'd met in a month of Sundays didn't mean she had to moon over him like a lovesick calf.

Still, it felt rather nice to be attracted to him.
She'd certainly never felt an attraction for any other man she'd met in this wretched place. Except for Joe, of course, but she'd vowed four years ago never to think about him again if she could help it. He'd taken the most valuable possession she would ever own, for no good reason other than fun and “a real good joke.” Well, the joke had been on her, all right. She would have to live with the consequences for the rest of her life.

If she ever married, she suspected her husband would be an older man, a widower perhaps, seeking a wife to see him through his last years, without concern for her virtue.
Rosalie knew better than to hope he would be as handsome as Tom McCabe. Or as polite. And he certainly would not catch his breath the way Mr. McCabe had when she'd stepped onto the porch.

              <><><><>

Tom found the El Paso Hotel with no trouble at all. He called to a freckled boy with red hair sitting on the front steps.

“
Hey there, son. Want to earn two bits?”

“
Sure!” He came running.

“
Take care of my horse. I'll need him again about one-thirty. See that he's watered.”

“
I know all about horses. I'll take good care of him for two bits.

“
Good. I’m obliged. What’s your name?”

“
Joshua. Folks call me Josh. When will I get paid?”

“
At one-thirty, when you bring him back here.”

“
Yes, sir!” He led the horse around back.

Tom went inside, signed the register, and headed upstairs to a room he hoped he wouldn't occupy for more than a week.
He'd see Kincannon this afternoon, ride to Gabriel's ranch outside of town tomorrow spend a couple of nights there, return to Fort Worth by Friday, visit the Mallorys on Saturday, and, he hoped, catch the train back to Denver Sunday. The long ride had been tolerably comfortable, thanks to Pullman cars available for travelers well-off enough to afford them. Reserving two would cost a pretty penny, but Amos would not want a young lady who’d been charged to the safety of the McCabe family to sleep in the passenger car. The train ranked considerably better than taking the stage and sleeping in road houses on bug-infested straw mattresses.

Surely, Miss
Kincannon could pack all her belongings by Sunday. As eager to leave Fort Worth as he'd found her to be, he wouldn't be surprised to learn her baggage was already packed and sitting just inside the door of that ramshackle house.

She hadn't been dressed or made up like a whore.
He had to apologize to her for his previous speculation, if only in his mind. She'd be riled, to say the least, to know he'd suspected her of being a soiled dove. No doubt that supposition had been wrong. In fact, Rosalie Kincannon in Hell's Half Acre was dead wrong. She didn't belong there any more than he did. Even though it had cost him time and considerable effort to come all the way from Denver to fetch her, he would be glad to help her leave this place.

Tom had considered asking around about William
Kincannon, to get an idea of the sort of person he'd become since Amos had last seen him in Denver. That wouldn't be necessary now. No doubt remained about Mr. Kincannon. A man couldn't live in a pig sty and keep his boots shined.

Tom stretched out on the counterpane covering the four- poster bed and closed his eyes.
The sooner he could get out of Fort Worth, the better.

Had he ever seen eyes that color?

             
<><><><>

William Kincannon stomped his boots on the porch before coming into the house. Rosalie appreciated she’d been able to teach him that much. As a child, she'd lived with filthy floors. As a young woman, she'd teased and cajoled her father, trying to get him to remove his boots and leave them, and the mud and muck clinging to them, on the porch. He refused, saying they'd disappear in the night and he'd be barefoot while some thieving galoot sidled up to the bar with new boots.

Finally, Rosalie persuaded him to at least stomp away some of the filth before coming into the house.
Not entirely unsympathetic to her pleas and her attempts to tidy the house during the day, he stomped each boot once on the porch, no more. Far from adequate, Rosalie acknowledged any concession to her wishes.

When William entered the front room, Rosalie smelled whiskey on his breath, as usual.
Blood spattered the front of his shirt, his neck and one side of his whiskery face.

“
What happened?” she asked. No use getting excited. In the Acre, blood was common. Seeing it no longer shocked her, but still caused her stomach to churn at the pungent odor, mixed with her father's own revolting stench.

“
Same as always. Some cowboy took exception to his girl showing attention to a new arrival.”

“
Did he kill him?”

“
Naw. Just beat him senseless.”

“
And the girl?”

“
Beat her up pretty bad, too. She'll think twice before pulling that stunt again, I'll tell you.”

Rosalie closed her eyes in sympathy for the unfortunate bawd.

“
Who?”

“
Belle.”

At least Lizzy had been spared further injury.
Her wounds from a month ago had healed, but something inside her had died that night. She hadn't smiled since.

Rosalie said a quick prayer of thanks that she and Elizabeth would soon be away from this nightmarish existence.

“I seen hoof prints out front. You got a feller you ain't told me about?”

The thought nauseated her.
“No, Papa. Mr. McCabe was here. The one you sent for, to escort me to Denver.”

“
Amos McCabe himself? I figured he'd send one of his sons.”

“
He did. This was Tom McCabe, not Amos.” His face in her mind set her heart pounding.

“
So, where is he?”

“
I asked him to come back at two. It wouldn't have been proper for me to let him in.”

William laughed at that.
“Wouldn't be proper? Look around you, girl. There's no way any McCabe will expect propriety here.”

Rosalie's cheeks burned and her eyes filled with tears.
“Just because we live in the Acre doesn't mean I have to give up all vestiges—”

“
Spare me your preachin', girl. I've heard it before.”

Heard, perhaps, but never believed or cared.
After all these years, he never would.

“
Once I'm in Denver—”

“
You can be as hoity-toity as you like. I know. You've told me that a hunnert times, too.”

Rosalie heard a horse outside and hurried to the window.
Just as she'd hoped. Tom McCabe.

“
He's here. Please be polite to him. Please!” Her father had no concept of true civility. She could only hope he would not treat their guest like one of the cowboys who frequented his dance hall.

“
Get out of the way, girl.” William pushed past her and opened the door.

Tom had already removed his hat.
Rosalie could see that he'd washed his hair, and his face. When he smiled and said, “Ma'am,” her throat closed. She could only nod in return.

“
Come in, come in. Rosalie should have invited you in before. I been tryin' to teach her some manners her whole life, but she never took to it much.”

Manners!
She wished she could stop her father from denigrating her in front of this kind, polite man, who knew more of manners than he ever would.

“
I had to get settled in at the hotel. Best I came back.”               Kincannon motioned him to sit. Tom came into the front room, glanced around, smiled at Rosalie, then went to the sofa.              

Rosalie's face burned with embarrassment.
What must he think of the room they were in? She'd done the best she could to make it livable, but her father granted her little in the way of decoration. She and her mother had made the rag rugs and crocheted the curtains and the antimacassars for the arms and back of the sofa and two chairs, but her father refused to allow the walls to be painted more than once every five years. It lacked six months being five years since the last coat they'd enjoyed, a few months before her mother died. Most of the paint had long since peeled away, leaving weathered gray boards showing through, in too many places to hide. But Tom McCabe hadn't shown any sign of distaste.

Her father babbled on about what a fine man Amos
McCabe was and always had been.

Rosalie hurried to the kitchen and returned shortly with a tray holding a steaming tea pot, three cups, three spoons and a fourth cup full of white sugar.

“Would you care for tea, Mr. McCabe?” She set the tray on the table before the sofa.

“
Tea! Tea is for sissies!” William boomed, his face screwed into a grimace of disgust. “Tom would prefer something stronger. Rotgut? Red eye? Name your poison.”

Tom waved away the suggestion.
“Tea is fine. It's a little early in the day for me for anything stronger.”

Clearly puzzled by this admission,
Kincannon bellowed with laughter. “Well, none of that sissy stuff for me. Give me a glass of Who-Hit-John over tea every time.”

Tom smiled politely.

Rosalie, grateful Tom had accepted the tea, didn't know how to thank him without gushing. She tried to tell him with her eyes and saw that he understood. What an incredible man he was. Once again, she prayed that Zane Strickland’s father would have at least some of the refinement and sensitivity of the McCabes.

Her father babbled on, about business now.
He boasted about the success of The Yellow Rose while Rosalie bit her tongue, wanting to laugh at his ridiculous claims, wanting Mr. McCabe to know the truth. They lived in squalor because every penny made, primarily from racing horses, went into the hole under the bedroom floor, allowing only the smallest amount to be spent on food and clothing. They might have been respectable people, if only her father were more like Amos McCabe and his fine son, Tom.

Tom seemed to be tiring of William's boasting.
He finished his tea and set the cup on the tray.

“
Mighty fine tea, Ma'am. Thank you kindly.”

“
You're most welcome, Mr. McCabe.”

“
I think we should talk about when I'll be leaving and taking Miss Kincannon to Denver.”

“
All right. When are you planning to set out? Tomorrow? Rosie don't have much to take. In fact, I think she has it all fresh done up, ready to go.”

“
Papa!” His telling Tom how little she owned embarrassed her to the bone. Why couldn't her father see the effect of his words and respect her feelings? He knew how she felt!

“
Aw, now, Rosie, it don't make no never mind to Tom how many doodads you've got. Does it, Tom?”

“
We'll take whatever Miss Kincannon wishes to take.”

“
You don't have to call her Miss Kincannon all the time, neither. Just call her Rosie, like I do. Ain't that right, darlin'?”

Rosalie seized the tray, almost upsetting the cups and tea pot in her haste to leave the room.
From the kitchen, she heard Tom tell her father, “We've just met. It wouldn't be proper.”

“
Proper! That's a word I hear from Rosie all the time, mostly about how I'm not proper and how it wouldn't be proper. At times I get sick to death of that word. Now, you do as I say and call her Rosie, ya hear?”

Tom glanced at Rosalie, standing in the kitchen door, defeated by her father's refusal to adopt any decorum on her behalf.
Tom stood and came toward her.

Her heart pounded.
Could he hear it?

He said softly,
“With your permission, I shall address you as Miss Rosalie. Would that be acceptable?”

Ignoring a tear trailing down her cheek, she nodded.
“That would be most acceptable, Mr. McCabe.”

Chapter 3

Tom turned back to Kincannon.
“While I'm in Fort Worth, I plan to visit my sister and her husband. They live about ten miles southwest of here.”

“
What's the name?” Kincannon asked.

“
Hart. Gabriel and Trina Hart. They're expecting their first child any day now. We haven't seen them since their wedding, last November, in Denver. I'll be staying a couple of days. When I get back, I'll arrange passage and we'll be on our way to Denver on Sunday, if that suits.”

Kincannon
grinned, revealing a gap in his stained front teeth. “That'll be great, won't it, Rosie?”

“
Fine. Just fine.” She picked at the antimacassar on the arm of her chair absent-mindedly.

Tom noticed Rosalie's preoccupation.
“Miss Rosalie, is there something I might help you with? You seem...bothered.”

“
Not bothered, Mr. McCabe. I am embarrassed to admit…”

“
If it's in my power to do, it's yours.”

Her eyes grew round and her expression expectant.
“I don't intend to hold you to that, but I wonder...that is...might it be possible...”

“
Aw, Rosie, just spit it out. Damn, but females can be a bother when they've got something stuck in their craws.”

Rosalie straightened her shoulders.
“Might it be possible for me to accompany you on your visit, Mr. McCabe? I assure you I would be no trouble at all. With your sister heavy with child, I might be of some assistance in the kitchen.” She took a deep breath, as though she'd used every ounce of air in her lungs to utter that speech.

Tom didn't hesitate.
“I would be happy for you to go with me. If it's all right with your paw, of course.” He hated having to tack that on, but being proper meant worlds to this woman. He intended to see to it, for the duration of his time with her, that she got all the “proper” she wanted.

Rosalie waited, eyes down, for her father to speak.

Kincannon glanced from his daughter to Tom, then back again. “Hell, I don't care what she does. She can go if she's of a mind to, and you're willing to take her.”

If Rosalie hadn't been standing there, Tom would've told
Kincannon a thing or two about respect and courtesy. Instead, he nodded and addressed Rosalie instead. “We'll leave first thing in the morning. I'll be at the El Paso if you need me before then.” He had an idea he knew would please her. “Would you care to have dinner with me this evening? I don't like eating alone.”

Kincannon
boomed, “Much obliged, Mr. McCabe! Been a coon's age since I've et real steak.”

Tom considered letting it go, but changed his mind.
“Begging your pardon, sir, but my invitation was intended for your daughter.” He hesitated for emphasis. “Only your daughter.”

Kincannon
frowned and cleared his throat noisily. “You'll have to come back for her. I ain't hauling her all the way to the El Paso Hotel when I'm not eatin', too.”

“
My pleasure.”

Her cheeks flushed with obvious pleasure as she nodded.
“I'll be ready.”

Tom headed for the door, but
Kincannon stopped him with another loud clearing of his throat. “Mr. McCabe?”

“
Yes?”

“
I expect you to have my daughter back before midnight. Can't have her gallivanting all over the city in the middle of the night. It wouldn't be...proper.” He glared at Rosalie.

Tom almost laughed in his face.
“I'll have her home long before midnight. We have a long ride ahead of us tomorrow. I wouldn't think of depriving Miss Rosalie of the rest she'll need. Seven o'clock?”

She nodded.

He smiled and winked.

She caught her laughter and turned it into an answering smile.

Tom mounted and rode north, feeling especially pleased with himself.
He guessed the streets had to be at least eighty feet wide, from doorway to doorway across Rusk. Rutted and rough, the road presented a precarious path for the horse, who picked his way carefully from gulley to gulley. It had been quite a spell since rain had turned the road to muck and mush. Dust choked every person brave enough to challenge the roadway. And hot! Damn, but that sun couldn't beat down any harder than it was doing now.

Raucous music, mixed with laughter, squeals, and an occasional gunshot, poured through the batwing doors of numerous saloons.
Just in front of him, the doors burst outward as two cowboys were evicted from a dance hall by a giant of a man with one of his front teeth missing.

“
Stay out! Come back here and you'll leave in a box.”

The men eventually pulled themselves vertical, wrapped their arms around each other, and staggered off toward another hall, none the worse for their experience, laughing and hooting, imitating their evictor.

Tom took a deep breath only when the Acre lay well behind him and the air substantially fresher. He'd have to have a buggy by six thirty. Maybe that boy would still be hanging around the hotel.

<><><><>

Rosalie couldn't believe her good luck! Visiting Mr. McCabe's sister, and going to supper with a real gentleman would be new experiences for her. What on earth did she have to wear that would be suitable for either event?

Leaving her father draped in his chair, head nodding, eyes practically closed, she went to her bedroom and examined her dresses.
She'd made all three, but not one would be nice enough. What could she do in only a few hours? No time to get the fabric and sew something new. Fixing her hair would take an hour. If Paw would give her some of his folding money...

Back in the front room, she found him snoring.
Her excitement over the invitation to dinner had escaped him totally. She nudged his arm. “Paw, wake up.”

“
Huh?”

“
I need money.”

“
Money? What for?” He squirmed in the chair, trying to get more comfortable.

“
A dress. I don't have anything—” She almost said proper, but overruled it. “I don’t have anything nice enough to wear tonight. Please, may I have money for a new dress? I can wear it on the train to Denver, too. You won't be buying anything for me after I leave.”

“
I don't have any money! Now, leave me alone. I was up all night.” In less than a minute, he'd resumed his snoring.

She thought about the can under the floor in the bedroom. Never would she stoop to stealing.
She'd managed to save a few coins during the past few months. Barely enough for one dress, and a plain one at that. Not good enough. She'd have to borrow one.

She considering every woman she knew
who working in the nicer saloons and houses. Betsy was about her size.

Betsy, at the Waco Tap would surely
sell her a dress for the few coins she had. She dressed more conservatively than most of the working girls. One of her drabbest dresses might be precisely what Rosalie needed.

Exhilaration
consumed her as she walked briskly toward the saloon where Betsy worked, on the northern edge of the Acre.

              <><><><>

Josh brought the buggy, drawn by a single black mare, at six fifteen, just as Tom had asked him to do. He gave the boy four bits this time.

“
Thanks, Mister! You need anythin' else, you just holler.”

“
I'll be back directly, then I'll be finished with it around nine. Maybe a little later. There's another two bits in it for you if you'll take care of the buggy then.”

“
I'll be here!”

“
Won't your mother wonder where you are?”

“
Naw. We own the hotel. She wants me to help guests with whatever they need.”

“
Good enough. Nine o'clock.”

The boy grinned so wide, Tom feared his face might split.
He laughed and clicked his tongue at the mare.

Dressed in clean jeans and a clean shirt, he wished he'd worn his suit.
He didn't want to embarrass Miss Kincannon, though, by being dressed too fancy. If her clothes matched that shack her father provided, she might not have a nice dress to her name. No matter. Her beauty didn't depend on fancy clothes.

Tom took a different route, to avoid Rusk Street after dark.
It took a little longer, but paid off in fewer drunk cowboys to navigate through and less chance of catching a stray bullet coming from one of the saloons.

He pulled up outside the
Kincannon house just before seven o'clock.

He'd barely knocked when the door opened.
For a long moment, Tom thought the heat had gotten to him, making him see things. Rosalie wore a dainty violet dress that emphasized the incredible color of her eyes, and she'd curled her hair into a thousand ringlets, tumbling over her shoulders and down her back. She smelled of lilac toilet water.

Her expression changed from expectant to worried.
“Am I dressed properly, Mr. McCabe?”             

“
You look like an angel,” he murmured.

She smiled her appreciation.
“It's sweltering inside, but may I offer you some lemonade? Not the real thing, I'm afraid, only crystals, but still refreshing.”

“
It'll be cooler at the restaurant. We can have lemonade there, if you'd like. It may not be the real thing, either, but it'll still taste good. Even after dark, this place is as hot as he—” Tom cleared his throat. “That is, it's still awfully hot.”

“
In the winter, it can be bitterly cold.”

William
Kincannon, nowhere to be seen, had no doubt gone back to The Rose. Tom had one goal—to get Rosalie out of the Acre into fresh, clean air as quick as he could manage it.

He offered his arm.
She held it lightly, and followed him down the steps. Tom felt her tremble when he steadied her elbow to help her into the buggy. On the other side, he stepped into the seat, took the reins, slapped the mare's rump and headed back the way he'd come.

About a block down Main Street, a woman rushed into the street and up to the buggy, shouting Rosalie's name.
Tom reined in the mare and stopped.

“
Rosie, it's started. She's asking for you.”

“
It'll be hours yet, Sadie. Tell her I'll be over after a while.”

“
She's sweating something fierce.”

“
Bathe her face and arms and try to keep her calm. Women have babies all the time. Give her Ladies' Mantle tea and she'll do fine. I'll have supper, then I'll be along. Tell her I'm coming, all right?”

Sadie shifted from one foot to the other.
“Can't you come right now? She needs you.” She glanced at Tom with a blatantly curious expression, then back to Rosalie. “You always come in a hurry when one of the girls is ailing.”

“
I've delivered a lot of babies. It'll be hours. I'll see her the minute I get back.”

“
I'll tell her.” She ran back the way she'd come.

Tom urged the mare forward again.

Rosalie knew Sadie hadn't been pleased with her decision not to abandon her plans in light of this event.
In the past, nothing had kept her from helping one of the girls when they needed her. Rosalie felt somewhat guilty, choosing her own pleasure over easing Mary's fear.

“
What was all that about?”

“
One of the girls at my father's dance hall is having a baby. She's had no problems up until now. It'll be hours before the baby comes.”

“
But why is she asking for you?”

“
There's no one else. The doctor usually can't be bothered with birthing a bawd's baby. Through the years, I've learned how to be midwife when they get themselves pregnant. I apologize, Mr. McCabe, for my candor. In this place, there is seldom opportunity for subtlety.”

“
No need to apologize.”

“
Thank you for understanding.”

Rosalie sat on the buggy seat as primly as a cultured young woman would, she hoped.
Her corset, laced tightly, made it difficult to breathe, but each shallow breath she took smelled sweeter than the last, the farther they traveled from home and the Acre.

Tom broke the silence when they reached a nicer area of Fort Worth.

“I appreciate your company tonight, Miss Kincannon.”

“
Thank you. I thought you were going to call me Miss Rosalie.”

“
Only if you'll agree to call me Tom.”

“
In that case, and seeing as how we're going to be spending several days together before we reach Denver, I think it would be...proper...for you to call me Rosalie. Just Rosalie.”