The person who would kill a puppy, her brother Carter, was at that time luxuriating in his role as the perplexed, distraught brother. When his father woke up the morning after he had shot Jenna and shoved her off the train, of course he asked for his beloved, saintly daughter. Even in his ill health, with a graying complexion, he was dressed in his usual exacting style, nary a wrinkle in his brown tweed suit, his bow tie practically shining, the chain of his gold pocket watch gleaming against his brocade vest. He always did dress well. Of course he wondered where his precious daughter was. Carter couldn’t remember the old man ever asking after him.
“She’s not here,” he said. “She must have risen early today,” and his father ordered him to go find her. He took off and wandered through the cars, indulging in a morning shot of whiskey in the dining car, swearing when he spilled a few drops on his new frock coat. He had nothing to be nervous about. He plan was coming to fruition. Finally he meandered back to the Pullman.
“I couldn’t find her,” he said, noticing that the old man was looking a little frailer than usual.
“Send for a porter.”
The order grated because it was an order. Carter was tired of being ordered around. Well, that would end soon enough, wouldn’t it? Rexwell Dunne couldn’t last too much longer. The stress of Jenna’s disappearance might just send him over the edge. Carter had to hide his smile. It wouldn’t do for his father to see his glee in this most dire of situations.
The old man spoke to the porter, who left the Pullman and returned shortly, introducing them to a railroad detective. Rexwell could not believe his good fortune that a detective had been traveling on this particular train. The man, who was all business, organized a comprehensive search for his daughter that took nearly two hours. By that time it had become obvious that Jenna Farnham was no longer on the train. They were in Nevada, nearly to California at this point. The train had stopped at Promontory Summit, Utah Territory, and Winnemucca, Nevada, overnight. It made an unscheduled stop in Reno, Nevada, where Rexwell Dunne sent telegrams and initiated searches in Promontory Summit and Winnemucca.
The whole falderal had Carter’s nerves jangling. If he had disappeared, his father probably would have rejoiced, if he even noticed. Still, he had to keep from laughing out loud. Rexwell Dunne could search until the cows came home and he would never find his cherished daughter. She was dead, eaten by coyotes, he hoped. He couldn’t even remember what state they were in when she departed the train. He did smile at that depiction. Where were they? Nebraska? Wyoming Territory? Utah Territory? He did notice it was rather barren country. All the better.
When the train arrived in Sacramento, Rexwell made arrangements to have the Pullman moved to a side track and headed for the police department, where he filed a report on his missing daughter. The police chief himself promised to check into the situation. Next, Dunne went to the railroad office and secured a promise that the Union Pacific detectives would continue searching for Jenna. Carter followed his father around like a lapdog, just itching to tell him to give it up. He was so close to getting the entire inheritance, though, that he forced himself to keep mum.
Rexwell and his son continued to stay in the Pullman car on the side track, where it took all Carter’s acting skills to look concerned when he actually felt almost giddy. It was two days later when a railroad detective sent a telegram about a sheriff in Wyoming Territory who had reported an unknown woman recovering from a gunshot wound who may have fallen from a train. Now it was Rexwell’s turn to feel giddy as Carter fought down his panic. It couldn’t be her. She couldn’t have survived. Am I going to have to kill her again? He almost laughed at that as he flicked a bit of dust off his black leather boot. He would kill her a hundred times if that’s what it took.
* * *
Bodie had finally tracked down the stray cattle and exercised the horses. He planned to have his midday meal with Abby and apologize for putting her on the spot with the fake engagement. It had surprised him when she hadn’t looked more addled or berated him. Perhaps if he explained his mother and their relationship she would understand and maybe even go along with the ruse. Oh, who was he kidding? And he should burn in hell for making her think, if only for a moment, that he could tell her more about herself. What a mess he had made.
So why was Mrs. Glines bursting with cheer as she followed himself upstairs with Abby’s tray? Thankfully, blessedly, his mother and the debutante had gone to town to shop for “better food,” leaving him time to face the music and straighten things out. He was an honest man, and he had never thought of himself as a coward, but he sure felt like one now. His heart was about to pound out of his chest.
As they entered the room, Abby’s face lit up, and he could not have felt guiltier. “I’m sorry,” he said as he sat down with his tray in his lap. Better to get it over with.
Before he could continue, however, Mrs. Glines piped up. “We should have told you you were engaged to Bodie. We talked about it, and it seemed as if it might put more stress on you. The doctor thought we should let you retrieve your memories on your own.”
“I thought as much,” Abby said as Bodie turned and looked at the cook as if she were an asylum escapee.
The cagey woman just grinned. Although he had seen her smile many times, he could not ever remember seeing her grin. Abby was already sitting up, reading, her beautiful, shiny hair cascading across her shoulders. If she was asleep and they were alone, he swore he would run his fingers through those auburn locks and keep that memory with him forever. She closed the book and set it aside with a slight grimace as Mrs. Glines placed the dinner tray in her lap. Abby looked at the generous serving of cold roast beef, crusty bread and caramelized apples and then at Bodie. She reached out with her casted left hand to pick up the bread and suddenly stopped, eying Bodie expectantly. “Why don’t I have a ring?”
Bodie froze. “Uh…”
Again the housekeeper/cook came to the rescue. “I think it’s in Bodie’s room. We were afraid your fingers would swell and it might cut off the circulation.”
The woman was wasted as a cook, although she was a culinary genius. She should be on the stage. The irony was that Bodie did have a sapphire engagement ring in his bedroom. He had planned to give it to Melinda Cotton. Abby looked at her left hand as if she were trying to picture a ring there. Bodie looked at Mrs. Glines, who stood there giving him a “well, go ahead” look.
He sighed. This could only end badly. He knew it down to the depths of his being. But if they could just keep it going until his mother and her ruffled companion left, he would deal with the fallout later. Even as he had the thought, he knew it was a dreadful idea, but he just could not help himself. Abby looked so happy. The ranch took up most of his waking day. He really didn’t have time to deal with this and his mother and the specimen of female perfection she had brought with her.
Mrs. Glines left to start her venison stew and alter some clothing her daughter had brought for Abby, and Bodie and Abby enjoyed their meal together, talking about the ranch. She was particularly interested in the horses, and he promised to take her to the barn after supper.
Suddenly Abby set her fork down and gave him the most plaintive look. “What’s my name?”
Uh-oh. “Abby,” he said, to buy time.
“No, my real name.”
He set his tray on the nightstand and took her hand in his. “I’d like to tell you, believe me, but you need to come by that memory naturally.” He cringed inwardly. Obviously you won’t be joining Mrs. Glines on the stage.
Miraculously, Abby nodded. “The doctor.”
Bodie smiled, picking up his tray. A reprieve. When he saw her looking at her left hand again, he sighed and rose, setting the tray down. How could something so wrong still seem so right? Or was the real question: How could something so right seem so wrong?
“I’ll be back directly.”
In his bedroom, where he took a deep breath, he opened his bureau drawer and took out a little carved wooden box that had belonged to his father. He undid the latch and opened the lid. In another little box inside was the sapphire ring with two little diamonds on each side. He thought it was beautiful, but what did he know about jewelry? Even in its torn and filthy condition, Bodie had seen that Abby’s dress was quality. Would she laugh at his simple offering? This time he heard the carriage approaching the ranch house. No time left to worry. He picked up the ring and strode toward the poor, unsuspecting Abby.
* * *
She could not stop looking at the gorgeous ring. It shone spectacularly on her hand. It was simple, elegant and charming. And it did not appear remotely familiar. She was sitting at the dressing table brushing her hair. Oh, it felt so wonderful to be out of that bed. The bed was comfortable and cozy and everyone had been so kind, but she was more than ready to move about. Yes, her side ached and she still had a headache. It was minor, though, compared to even yesterday. The bruises on her face were not exactly faded, though the puffiness was down considerably and her eyes were more visible. She was surprised to see that they were rather startlingly green. With her reddish-brown hair and green eyes, perhaps she was Irish, except she didn’t have an Irish accent. Did her ancestors come from Ireland?
Mrs. Glines had been thoughtful enough to alter a dress for her, and it fit quite nicely. The garment was a simple yellow day dress with a little embroidery on the bodice and cap sleeves. The kind woman also had supplied a delicate green shawl that picked up some of the color in the embroidery. When she finished brushing her hair, she stood up stiffly and walked to the bathing room. There, she found a jar of Colgate toothpaste and a toothbrush. It was wrapped in packaging, so she knew it was new. Even though she was engaged to Bodie, she was not about to use his toothbrush. Somehow that thought made her blush.
Finally, Abby could find no more distractions to avoid going downstairs and possibly meeting up with Bodie’s mother and the woman she wanted him to marry. She straightened up and walked gingerly toward the door. She hoped she wouldn’t have to run; she was barefoot and did not think she could manage it. Taking a deep breath, she held her head high and carried on. She may not know who she was, but she was made of stern stuff. She knew that to the marrow of her bones.
The house was simple and warm, not elegant and lavish like the one that had flashed into her brain suddenly and just as suddenly dissolved. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs. To the left was a hallway that led to two or three doorways—a study and a library perhaps? Straight ahead was the foyer and heavy oak front door. A tree bench held two wool jackets. The unique piece of furniture looked like it had been made out of barn wood. To the right was a charming room that held a dark red sofa and matching chair with a dark oval table between them. Next to a natural stone fireplace, where a low fire burned, was some type of stand that held a large family bible. A black carpet with red throughout it covered much of the oaken floor. It was the most beautiful, inviting room she had ever seen.
Immediately she knew that was a ridiculous thought, since the only rooms she could remember seeing were the ones in this house. She smiled at that. It had occurred to her more than once that if her memories never returned, this would not be so bad a life, marrying Bodie and living in this wonderful home. It would not be so bad a life at all, residing here with this fine man.
She heard voices and reluctantly followed them down a hallway to the dining room, where Bodie’s mother and her young companion were eating breakfast.
“Good morning.” Abby smiled brightly.
“Oh. You’re up.” Mrs. Farnham looked her up and down and apparently didn’t like what she saw, as she scowled.
“Uh, I do not have any shoes right now,” she said lamely.
“Hello,” the other woman said, then looked away.
Just then Mrs. Glines breezed in. “I was just about to go upstairs and wake you. It’s so good to see you up and about. You look lovely, Abby.”
Abby smiled sheepishly. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”
Mrs. Glines glanced at her bare feet. “My Mary has huge feet, so her shoes wouldn’t fit you. We’ll figure out something. You sit. I’ll go get your breakfast.”
She rushed off and Abby took a seat across from Caroline. Mrs. Farnham sat at the head of the table. No one spoke for an uncomfortably long time, at least to Abby’s mind, although it was most likely a minute or two. Bodie’s mother gnawed on a piece of toast, while Caroline pushed her scrambled eggs around her plate but didn’t bring any food to her mouth. Abby cracked first.
“It looks like it is going to be a beautiful day today.”
Mrs. Farnham set down her toast and glared at Abby. “How did you get my son to propose to you? Are you with child?”
“What?! No, of course not. She would know if she had done…that…wouldn’t she? “I cannot tell you how the proposal came about, though, as I have a head injury and no memory of it. Or anything else from the past.”
“How convenient.”
That was from Caroline. So she would not be a friend either.
“You do not know why you were shot?” Mrs. Farnham again.
Abby sighed. “No.”
“How do we know you were not involved in something unseemly?”
Abby gasped, unable to speak. Mrs. Glines had no such difficulty as she returned with Abby’s breakfast. “You know because your son chose her, and he has better taste and higher standards than that.”
“Hmmph.”
Why did Mrs. Farnham hate her so? Well, that was easy. It was because she was engaged to her son rather than Little Miss Perfect. Didn’t she want Bodie to be happy? Or was it more important to control his life? If she had the confidence of knowing who she was and what their circumstances were, Abby had the feeling she was the kind of person who would put the bossy Mrs. Farnham in her place. As things stood, though, she did not have the weapons to fight this battle. She took a few bites of her poached eggs, a drink of cider and then excused herself. She carried her dishes to the kitchen, much to her future mother-in-law’s horror, and didn’t relax until she was back in her room with the door closed.