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CHAPTER ONE
1868, South Texas
A knock sounded on the door. “Two minutes until locking up time, Miss Jazzy.”
The bedsprings squeaked when Jazzy Morgan stood, dropping a handful of coins into a porcelain box on her nightstand. She pressed her lips together to hold back a sigh before calling out. “Thanks, Ben.”
Henry Jackson buttoned his shirt and planted both hands on his thin hips. “Does th-that man ever forget which g-gal has a v-visitor?”
The idea of this scrawny rancher going against Miss Veronica’s Pleasure Emporium’s bruiser of a bouncer made her smile. She raised a hand to her head, and brushed her long hair away from her face. “Never that I can recall. Ben knows how serious Miss Veronica is about getting her percentage.” She brushed her long hair over her shoulders and walked toward the door. On impulse, she spoke with hurried words. “Henry, after church services, walk right up to Miss Simms and offer to escort her home. Don’t wait any longer for the rest of your life to happen.”
“I’ll th-think on it, M-Miss Jazzy.” His fingers tightened on the brass doorknob until his knuckles blanched white.
“No more thinking, Henry.” She stretched up on her toes and brushed a kiss against his cheek. “Time for action.”
“A k-kiss?” With a shake of his head and a muttered goodbye, Henry walked into the hallway. “You’ll b-be seeing me next w-week.”
Not so. Her years as a fancy lady were over. Jazzy sagged against the closed door, relief flooding her senses. Now she’d discover what the next part of her life had to offer. A life that did not include being the wife of a farmer. She shuddered at the image of Tucker Flanagan professing his unending devotion and vowing he’d be back to claim her when he sold his prize bull.
She marched across the room, grabbed her petticoat with double eagle coins sewn into little pockets to carry her life savings, and tied it around her waist. As she dressed into the traveling suit she’d had the dressmaker copy from a drawing in a ladies journal, she couldn’t stop her hands from shaking. Excitement bubbled inside her.
In only a few hours, her new life would begin.
* * *
Damn wind! US Marshal Slade Thomas strode after his hat as it rolled down the dusty San Antonio street. It teetered and landed flat, and he scooped it up. He pivoted and headed back toward the westbound stagecoach, brushing off the dirt from the brim as he walked. Blazes, he was tired. Ten days on the trail of a bank robber and always two steps behind. But he had a mission to finish.
“Is this your bag, mister?” A wiry man with piercing blue eyes stood on the sidewalk and pointed at the lone leather satchel.
“It is.” Slade quickened his steps and bent to grab the handles. He didn’t need the stagecoach driver discovering what sat at the bottom of his scuffed case. “I’ll load it.”
The older man lifted a shoulder and shook his head. “Fine by me. Soon as it’s stowed, we can leave.”
Slade pressed the satchel into a corner of the rack on the roof, then opened the door and scanned the dim interior—an elderly gentleman, a young boy, and four women of varying ages. Being the last one to board left him with a middle seat. He removed his hat, hunched his shoulders, and stepped up into the crowded stage. As he maneuvered backwards into the space, he kicked the gentleman’s cane and jostled against the knee of a woman dressed in red. “Beg your pardon, folks.”
