The Texan's Dream Read Online Free PDF Page A

widow all that food and coal, but who’s going to haul it out of here when I kick her out? She ain’t paid a month’s rent since her husband died. He was a good man. But all men are the same. Once they’re dead, they’re worthless. She can’t stay any longer.”
    “But you can’t do that.” Kara stormed toward the landlady. Kara had seen her type before in almost every place her family had lived. They were always sweet and promising all kinds of things when you first rent, but when you fall a few weeks late they turn sour.
    “Look, deary. I don’t want to, but I got people waiting who’ll pay good money. I ain’t no charity ward. She’ll find somewhere else.”
    “How much does she owe?” Kara figured she could do with one new blouse, after all she’d have a new jacket to wear over it most of the time. And who needs a shawl when one has a jacket? The shawl would have to go.
    “Three dollars a month.” The woman grinned, showing bits of her dinner between her teeth. “She’s five months behind.”
    Kara counted out twenty dollars and used all her change to make one more. “Well now she’s two months ahead.”
    The fat woman stuffed the bills in her bustline. “Fair enough. I don’t mean to be hard, you understand. It’s just business.”
    “I understand.” Kara walked away with two dollars left in her envelope. Two dollars left of the fortune she’d had only a few hours ago.
    I can buy a nightgown and the ledger, she thought. I didn’t really need all the other things.
    The boy walked beside her. “You wish you hadn’t given all your money away, miss?”
    “No.” Kara laughed. “I only wish I had a wee bit more.”
    When they reached the mercantile, the lights were out. Kara stared into the window at the shadow of her pile of clothes.
    “I’m sorry, miss,” the boy said. “We’ll be open tomorrow at nine.”
    “I’m leaving at dawn.” She added, “I couldn’t have bought much anyway.” She handed the boy one of her last two dollars.
    “Oh, no, miss,” he protested. “My tip’s only a dime, no more.”
    “You earned it tonight, but I need you to do something for me tomorrow.”
    “Name it.” The boy stuffed the bill into his pocket.
    “I left a pair of boots in the store. You can’t miss them, they’re in a fine Warren paper bag. Could you take them back to Mr. Warren, get the money, then take it to the widow?”
    “I could, but won’t you be needing the boots or the cash?”
    “No. I’ll be miles away by the time the store opens, and I’ll have no use for money where I’m going. I’m off for the wilds of Texas. No doubt the buffalo and scorpions will kill me just as quickly in old clothes and noisy shoes.”
    She turned and squeaked away, thinking about how, without boots, she’d be an easy target for the rattlers as well. That is, if Jonathan Catlin didn’t kill her first for buying nothing with his money and ruining his fine wool coat.
    This fine day had become exhausting. And she had a feeling the worst was yet to come. Dinner with Mr. Catlin. FOUR
    A LOG TUMBLED INTO THE DYING FIRE, SHAKING Jonathan from his nightmare. The same nightmare he’d had since he was five. He was running. Running with terror so thick in his throat no breath could pass. Screams filled the air behind him. Savage yells, death cries. He fought his way over the newly plowed earth, afraid to look back.
    The smell of burning flesh lingered as he pulled himself from the past. Jonathan downed the last of his glass of whiskey and stretched his legs toward the fire, trying to forget his dream. A dream that waited just beyond consciousness, always coming to life at night, shadowing his days.
    Most people wanted to remember what they dreamed and used those memories for amusing parlor conversation. Jonathan only wanted to forget. But even when he managed to push this one aside, another waited to take its place.
    He’d been five the first time his world shattered, fourteen the second time. But never again. No person, no place, no possession would ever matter to him again.