Chapter One
Omaha, Nebraska
October 1878
No mask like open truth to cover lies,
As to go naked is the best disguise.
William Congreve
Allison Webster ran out of the train station, cursing herself. How had she managed to miss the porter’s call for everyone to board? She had to catch that train. She couldn’t risk staying any longer in Omaha. Someone had followed her to the boarding house last night and even though reason told her she was being foolish, she was certain the man following her was Nathan Garrison, from Colton County, Georgia.
“Wait!” Allison ran as fast as heeled boots would allow. Her small carpetbag banged against her leg as she chased after the train. “Please, wait!”
She caught up to the caboose, but the train was increasing speed. Black smoke belched from the behemoth’s massive diamond stack. A man poked his head out of a boxcar just in front of the last car. Even running for all she was worth, she noticed his smirk.
“Toss that bag up here and give me your hand,” he shouted, holding his hand out to her.
Without thinking of the possible consequences, Allison tossed her little bag into the car and grabbed the offered hand. He caught her wrist, and with one pull, lifted her into the air and swung her into the livestock car. Momentum carried her forward, and she fell to her knees in the straw, presumably bedding for the two cross-tied horses. At least it was clean, she comforted herself, and she hadn’t landed in anything distasteful. She knelt for a few moments to catch her breath and gather her scattered thoughts.
Goodness, she never would have thought it possible for someone to pick her up and throw her as if she was little more than a sack of feed.
After several gulping breaths, she pushed herself to stand and turned to the man who had rescued her. He stood in the open doorway, leaning a shoulder against the frame, his back to the landscape speeding by at a faster and faster pace. He wore a threadbare grey overcoat, the double row of brass buttons tarnished, the elbows patched. Fraying canary yellow overlay bordered the cuffs and stand-up collar. A single gold star graced either side of the collar, the thread in the embroidery faded to almost the same shade as the frayed overlay. Three thin stripes of age-dulled gold braid spiraled up the sleeves from the cuffs in an intricate pattern. A battered, sweat-stained cavalry styled hat covered his head and shaded half his face.
Even though she couldn’t see his expression, Allison had the most uncomfortable feeling she was being looked over, sized up, and found to be lacking, a reaction she experienced all too often, but usually only in the presence of Alice, her fraternal twin sister. Self-conscious, she ran her hands down the front of her skirt. “Thank you,” she managed.
He dipped his head. “First time we stop to take on water and wood, you can go on up to the passenger cars.” His rich, silken baritone startled Allison not for the depth of his voice but for the curtness of his words. Beyond a doubt, she had been dismissed.
The train jerked as it picked up even more speed and Allison stumbled forward, falling into him, the length of her upper body pressing against the wall of his chest. She grabbed his upper arms to steady herself. It was like grabbing hold of two solid posts of sturdy Georgia pine. She risked a look up into his face. Eyes the color of fine Italian cobalt marble set in a surprisingly youthful face regarded her with a detached expression. Dark beard stubble covered his lean, hollowed cheeks and hard jawline. A thin scar ran the length and slope of his right cheekbone, disappearing into his dark hair. The combination of unnaturally youthful features with a trim body defied a guess at his real age.
She couldn’t look away from his face and was unable to move. Struggling to form even a single word and aware she was gaping like a fish out of water, Allison snapped her mouth closed. Just the night before, she had seen that face depicted in the little dime novel she was reading and unless she was sorely mistaken, she was face to face with one Major A.J. Adams, rumored liberator of a lot of Confederate gold.
A muscle clenched in his jaw while something icy filled the depths of his eyes. His hands closed on her waist, and a small squeak escaped her. Without apparent effort, he lifted her and set her down a foot or so away. “Go sit down over there on that hay bale, before you fall out the door, or worse, knock me through it.”
Omaha, Nebraska
October 1878
No mask like open truth to cover lies,
As to go naked is the best disguise.
William Congreve
Allison Webster ran out of the train station, cursing herself. How had she managed to miss the porter’s call for everyone to board? She had to catch that train. She couldn’t risk staying any longer in Omaha. Someone had followed her to the boarding house last night and even though reason told her she was being foolish, she was certain the man following her was Nathan Garrison, from Colton County, Georgia.
“Wait!” Allison ran as fast as heeled boots would allow. Her small carpetbag banged against her leg as she chased after the train. “Please, wait!”
She caught up to the caboose, but the train was increasing speed. Black smoke belched from the behemoth’s massive diamond stack. A man poked his head out of a boxcar just in front of the last car. Even running for all she was worth, she noticed his smirk.
“Toss that bag up here and give me your hand,” he shouted, holding his hand out to her.
Without thinking of the possible consequences, Allison tossed her little bag into the car and grabbed the offered hand. He caught her wrist, and with one pull, lifted her into the air and swung her into the livestock car. Momentum carried her forward, and she fell to her knees in the straw, presumably bedding for the two cross-tied horses. At least it was clean, she comforted herself, and she hadn’t landed in anything distasteful. She knelt for a few moments to catch her breath and gather her scattered thoughts.
Goodness, she never would have thought it possible for someone to pick her up and throw her as if she was little more than a sack of feed.
After several gulping breaths, she pushed herself to stand and turned to the man who had rescued her. He stood in the open doorway, leaning a shoulder against the frame, his back to the landscape speeding by at a faster and faster pace. He wore a threadbare grey overcoat, the double row of brass buttons tarnished, the elbows patched. Fraying canary yellow overlay bordered the cuffs and stand-up collar. A single gold star graced either side of the collar, the thread in the embroidery faded to almost the same shade as the frayed overlay. Three thin stripes of age-dulled gold braid spiraled up the sleeves from the cuffs in an intricate pattern. A battered, sweat-stained cavalry styled hat covered his head and shaded half his face.
Even though she couldn’t see his expression, Allison had the most uncomfortable feeling she was being looked over, sized up, and found to be lacking, a reaction she experienced all too often, but usually only in the presence of Alice, her fraternal twin sister. Self-conscious, she ran her hands down the front of her skirt. “Thank you,” she managed.
He dipped his head. “First time we stop to take on water and wood, you can go on up to the passenger cars.” His rich, silken baritone startled Allison not for the depth of his voice but for the curtness of his words. Beyond a doubt, she had been dismissed.
The train jerked as it picked up even more speed and Allison stumbled forward, falling into him, the length of her upper body pressing against the wall of his chest. She grabbed his upper arms to steady herself. It was like grabbing hold of two solid posts of sturdy Georgia pine. She risked a look up into his face. Eyes the color of fine Italian cobalt marble set in a surprisingly youthful face regarded her with a detached expression. Dark beard stubble covered his lean, hollowed cheeks and hard jawline. A thin scar ran the length and slope of his right cheekbone, disappearing into his dark hair. The combination of unnaturally youthful features with a trim body defied a guess at his real age.
She couldn’t look away from his face and was unable to move. Struggling to form even a single word and aware she was gaping like a fish out of water, Allison snapped her mouth closed. Just the night before, she had seen that face depicted in the little dime novel she was reading and unless she was sorely mistaken, she was face to face with one Major A.J. Adams, rumored liberator of a lot of Confederate gold.
A muscle clenched in his jaw while something icy filled the depths of his eyes. His hands closed on her waist, and a small squeak escaped her. Without apparent effort, he lifted her and set her down a foot or so away. “Go sit down over there on that hay bale, before you fall out the door, or worse, knock me through it.”