noses. You know, if I was you, I wouldn’t be going out there by myself. Ain’t no place for a lady, no place at all.”
“Yes, well, I don’t have much choice.” Carefully counting out the money, she slid it under the window. “I still think this amounts to legalized robbery,” she muttered.
“It ain’t me as sets the fares. I just take ’em,” he reminded her, wetting his thumb with spit before he deftly recounted the bills. Satisfied, he stamped her ticket and pushed it toward her. “Train’ll be in any time now.” Looking past her, he beckoned to the incredibly filthy fellow in line behind her. “How far you going this time, Bill?”
The man spat tobacco juice onto the stained floor, just missing Verena’s foot. “Spanish Bend.” As she pulled her skirt hem back, he grinned broadly, and the smell of whiskey on his breath was almost overwhelming. “Well, now, if you ain’t just about the purtiest little thing this side of Nawlins, I’m a—”
“Be seven dollars, Billy,” the ticket agent said, cutting him off. “You got seven dollars left?”
“Yeah, won big last night over at Dub’s Place.” The cowboy fumbled in a bulging pocket on his stained flannel shirt, then produced a big wad of bills. “If Trainor wasn’t expectin’ me, I coulda had me a real good time, huh? I coulda got me a real fancy piece, and—”
“You’re drunk, Billy,” the clerk interrupted him again. “Just give me the seven dollars, then go sit alongside that wall.”
“Ain’t had but half a bottle,” the cowboy mumbled in protest.
“Well, I’d say it was too much.”
“Yeah.” Bill half turned to look for Verena. “Hey, where’d that purty little thang go? I was wantin’ to get acquainted,” he complained loudly.
“If you don’t get that seven dollars through this window, you ain’t going nowhere,” the clerk reminded him.
Clutching her ticket in one gloved hand and her carpetbag in the other, Verena looked for another woman, but the only one she saw was a worn-out, shapeless creature with five pinch-faced children and a dour-looking husband. Casting a quick look back at the ticket window, Verena then hastily made her way to one of the pine benches along the farthest wall, hoping the drunken cowboy wouldn’t find her. She sat down, leaned back, and closed her eyes.
To satisfy her curiosity about a man she’d despised, she’d come to the end of the earth, and it was still a long way to San Angelo. If she’d had any sense, she’d have stayed home and left everything to Mr. Hamer. Instead, she was alone, nearly broke, and exposed to the attentions of the worst sort of riffraff anywhere. And just now she felt terribly vulnerable, as if she were at the mercy of all these uncouth strangers.
“Well, well—if it isn’t Mrs. Howard,” the oddly familiar voice said softly. “World’s getting smaller all the time.”
Her eyes flew open, and she sat up. “What in the world are you doing here, Mr. McCready?” she demanded irritably.
“Is that any way to greet a fellow traveler?” he countered, feigning injury.
It wasn’t, but she was too out of sorts to apologize. Instead, she asked bluntly, “Where are you going?”
Undaunted by the chilly reception, he dropped his tall frame down to the bench beside her and placed his new black felt hat over his knee. “I see you found your wedding ring,” he murmured.
She glanced down at the plain gold band on her left hand. “It wasn’t missing.”
“You weren’t wearing it on the Norfolk Star”
“You don’t miss much, do you?” she muttered sourly.
“In my business, I can’t afford to.”
She considered retreating behind a wall of icy silence, but she’d already discovered he was beyond discouraging. She sighed. “And just what is your business, Mr. McCready?”
“Poker.”
Uncertain she’d heard quite right, she repeated, “Poker? But that’s a game, isn’t it? Is that all you do? I mean, you surely don’t do that
“Yes, well, I don’t have much choice.” Carefully counting out the money, she slid it under the window. “I still think this amounts to legalized robbery,” she muttered.
“It ain’t me as sets the fares. I just take ’em,” he reminded her, wetting his thumb with spit before he deftly recounted the bills. Satisfied, he stamped her ticket and pushed it toward her. “Train’ll be in any time now.” Looking past her, he beckoned to the incredibly filthy fellow in line behind her. “How far you going this time, Bill?”
The man spat tobacco juice onto the stained floor, just missing Verena’s foot. “Spanish Bend.” As she pulled her skirt hem back, he grinned broadly, and the smell of whiskey on his breath was almost overwhelming. “Well, now, if you ain’t just about the purtiest little thing this side of Nawlins, I’m a—”
“Be seven dollars, Billy,” the ticket agent said, cutting him off. “You got seven dollars left?”
“Yeah, won big last night over at Dub’s Place.” The cowboy fumbled in a bulging pocket on his stained flannel shirt, then produced a big wad of bills. “If Trainor wasn’t expectin’ me, I coulda had me a real good time, huh? I coulda got me a real fancy piece, and—”
“You’re drunk, Billy,” the clerk interrupted him again. “Just give me the seven dollars, then go sit alongside that wall.”
“Ain’t had but half a bottle,” the cowboy mumbled in protest.
“Well, I’d say it was too much.”
“Yeah.” Bill half turned to look for Verena. “Hey, where’d that purty little thang go? I was wantin’ to get acquainted,” he complained loudly.
“If you don’t get that seven dollars through this window, you ain’t going nowhere,” the clerk reminded him.
Clutching her ticket in one gloved hand and her carpetbag in the other, Verena looked for another woman, but the only one she saw was a worn-out, shapeless creature with five pinch-faced children and a dour-looking husband. Casting a quick look back at the ticket window, Verena then hastily made her way to one of the pine benches along the farthest wall, hoping the drunken cowboy wouldn’t find her. She sat down, leaned back, and closed her eyes.
To satisfy her curiosity about a man she’d despised, she’d come to the end of the earth, and it was still a long way to San Angelo. If she’d had any sense, she’d have stayed home and left everything to Mr. Hamer. Instead, she was alone, nearly broke, and exposed to the attentions of the worst sort of riffraff anywhere. And just now she felt terribly vulnerable, as if she were at the mercy of all these uncouth strangers.
“Well, well—if it isn’t Mrs. Howard,” the oddly familiar voice said softly. “World’s getting smaller all the time.”
Her eyes flew open, and she sat up. “What in the world are you doing here, Mr. McCready?” she demanded irritably.
“Is that any way to greet a fellow traveler?” he countered, feigning injury.
It wasn’t, but she was too out of sorts to apologize. Instead, she asked bluntly, “Where are you going?”
Undaunted by the chilly reception, he dropped his tall frame down to the bench beside her and placed his new black felt hat over his knee. “I see you found your wedding ring,” he murmured.
She glanced down at the plain gold band on her left hand. “It wasn’t missing.”
“You weren’t wearing it on the Norfolk Star”
“You don’t miss much, do you?” she muttered sourly.
“In my business, I can’t afford to.”
She considered retreating behind a wall of icy silence, but she’d already discovered he was beyond discouraging. She sighed. “And just what is your business, Mr. McCready?”
“Poker.”
Uncertain she’d heard quite right, she repeated, “Poker? But that’s a game, isn’t it? Is that all you do? I mean, you surely don’t do that
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