Forever in Texas

by Jodi Thomas

Genres: Small Town & Rural; American Romance; Western Romance

Synopsis

From the New York Times bestselling author of the Harmony McLain and Whispering Moutain series'.

Sanford Colston left his hometown of Saints Roost to hire its school a new teacher—but instead found himself stuck at the Dallas train station, robbed of the clothes off his back. It was clear to Ford that this thief wasn't your ordinary outlaw—and he was right. Hannah was a beautiful woman on the run, desperate for a disguise that would help her escape her dangerous past. But when fate forced their paths to cross again, Ford couldn't let Hannah get away twice.

Ford wanted to help his charming young bandit, but didn't know how—until she had a most exciting idea. Hannah could hide in Saints Roost. Back in the strict little town, Hannah made quite a first impression...and, with Ford at her side, learned that sometimes life offers second chances...

Release date: September 1, 1995

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 320

Sample

Praise for National Bestselling
and Award-Winning Author

JODI THOMAS

“Ms. Thomas’s name should be at the top of everyone’s favorite author list.”

—Affaire de Coeur

“Jodi Thomas will render you breathless!”

—Romantic Times

“Jodi Thomas’s writing is exquisite and often lyrical…a very talented writer.”

—Inside Romance

THE TEXAN AND THE LADY
The unexpected romance of a lovely young Harvey Girl and the danger-loving lawman who stole her heart…

“The woman who made Texans tender…Jodi Thomas shows us hard-living men with grit and guts, and the determined young women who soften their hearts.”

—PAMELA MORSI,

Bestselling author of Something Shady and Wild Oats

PRAIRIE SONG
Her most sweeping novel of love and glory in the heart of Texas…and of Maggie and Grayson—whose passion held a power and fury all its own…

“A thoroughly entertaining romance.”

—Gothic Journal

THE TENDER TEXAN
Winner of the Romance Writers of America Best Historical Series Romance Award of 1991

“Excellent…Have the tissues ready; this tender story will tug at your heart. Memorable reading.”

—Rendezvous

“This marvelous, sensitive, emotional romance is destined to be cherished by readers…a spellbinding love story…filled with the special magic that makes a book a treasure.”

—Romantic Times

TO TAME A TEXAN’S HEART
Half the folks in America loved reading the gunslinging tales of Granite Westwind. But nobody knew the real story behind the legend: Granite Westwind was a woman…

“Earthy, vibrant, funny and poignant, To Tame a Texan’s Heart is Jodi Thomas at her best…a wonderful, colorful love story.”

—Romantic Times

And now her latest novel…

Titles by Jodi Thomas

Betting the Rainbow

Can't Stop Believing

Chance of a Lifetime

Just Down the Road

The Comforts of Home

Somewhere Along the Way

Welcome to Harmony

Rewriting Monday

Twisted Creek

***

Promise Me Texas

Wild Texas Rose

Texas Blue

The Lone Texan

Tall, Dark, and Texan

Texas Princess

Texas Rain

The Texan's Reward

A Texan's Luck

When a Texan Gambles

The Texan's Wager

To Wed in Texas

To Kiss a Texan

The Tender Texan

Prairie Song

The Texan and the Lady

To Tame a Texan's Heart

Forever in Texas

Texas Love Song

Two Texas Hearts

The Texan's Touch

Twilight in Texas

The Texan's Dream

eSpecials

In a Heartbeat

A Husband for Holly

Heart on His Sleeve

Easy on the Heart

Forever in Texas

Jodi Thomas

A special thank you to
Connee McAnear
Susan Nelson
Sanford Thompson
for all their help and advice.

Prologue

HANNAH RANDELL WIPED the mixture of rain and tears from her eyes and stared across the darkness at the depot’s platform twenty yards away. The northbound out of Dallas was being delayed for some reason.

Two men in wet-darkened yellow slickers stood guard at each end of the walkway leading to the train. Hannah’s only hope of living another day was to catch the train, and these two hired guns from the Harwell ranch made that hope slimmer by the minute. Only a ghost could pass them unnoticed. Absently, she opened the carpetbag at her side and stroked the warm fur of her cat, resting within. The old calico was the only living thing who would miss her when Hannah died.

A lone man, draped in a huge greatcoat and wide-brimmed Stetson, jumped from one of the passenger cars and moved in fluid steps away from the train. Lightning flashes made him disappear and reappear every few seconds as he drew closer to Hannah.

“You’d best stay with the others, mister!” the conductor yelled from the shelter of the train steps. “We’ll be pulling out soon as we get a wire saying the tracks are clear up north.”

The tall, lean shadow didn’t slow his pace. “Blow the whistle twice when you’re ready. I’ll hear it!” he shouted back into the rain. “I’ve had all the people I can stomach for one night.”

The conductor waved, as if to say “good riddance,” and melted into the interior of the car while the stranger took the platform steps two at a time. He crossed the street with his hat down against the rain and entered the hotel door only inches from where Hannah stood hidden between buildings.

She glanced at the Harwell men guarding the steps; they’d barely noticed the man. An idea washed through her mind, helping her forget the cold. She lifted the soaked hem of her skirt with one hand and her mother’s worn carpetbag with the other. Trudging into the muddy alley toward the hotel’s back door, she whispered, “I think I’ve got a plan, Sneeze.”

Though the cat didn’t answer, the words of Hannah’s mother from years ago echoed in the young woman’s mind. Survive. Do whatever you have to do, but survive.

Hannah wondered if that might include killing a man before this storm ended.

Chapter 1

Midnight
Dallas, Texas

SANFORD COLSTON STEPPED off the train and turned his collar up against the icy rain. There was no sense getting angry about the delay. It couldn’t be helped. But he was tired of waiting with the others in the crowded passenger car. He needed space and silence, even if he had to brave the storm to get it.

Two men stood on the platform in the rain, as though watching for something or someone. Sanford could see rifles beneath their slickers and wondered what kind of trouble would come riding in on a night like this. It might be snowing farther north, but the freezing downpour in Dallas was enough to keep the devil indoors tonight.

Raising the brim of his hat just enough to see the outline of an old hotel across the street, he headed in long strides toward it, needing desperately to be alone. Being trapped in a car with drunks, loud salesmen, chattery old women, and babies continually crying had proven to be too disagreeable an ending to an already horrible day.

Silence was what he needed, Ford thought. It was what he’d always needed. Ford’s father had once told him to stay apart from people, that he’d be better off alone. Though Ford was his only son, his father had preferred to see him only when necessary. So, since childhood, loneliness was Ford’s only traveling companion. People had a way of reminding him of his father’s advice.

The aging desk clerk didn’t even look up as he exchanged a room key for the cash Ford laid on the counter. “Second door to the left of the stairs,” the clerk said with a coloring of Irish in his tone. “Ye’re too late for even coffee from the kitchen, but ye’ve got the floor to yeself tonight. Rain’s drowned out all me profit.”

Without saying a word, Ford climbed the stairs. He’d never spent much time in towns the size of Dallas, but he guessed they were pretty much the same everywhere—quiet, except for Saturday nights and elections. His sister, Gavrila, however, had warned him Dallas and Fort Worth would be full of wickedness. Though he placed little concern in her usual overreaction, as a precaution he’d worn his Colts.

The hallway smelled of mildew, and the lock on his door didn’t work. Not that it mattered, since he was the only one on the floor, yet Ford liked order. Without sparking a light, he removed his gun belt and hung it on the iron bedpost. Guessing the sheets would be less than clean, he took off his coat and stretched his long frame out atop the covers. Since he’d been able to afford it, he’d bought the best quality clothing available from mail-order catalogs, but even these clothes would be wrinkled by morning.

The room was as dark as his mood. He’d failed! The whole town of Saints Roost was depending on him. The council had made it seem so simple. Since Sanford Colston was the only member of the school board who didn’t have a family to care for, he’d been elected to make the trip to Dallas in the middle of one of the worst winters Texans had ever experienced. All Ford had to do was hire a new schoolteacher.

Lightning flashed outside and thunder rattled the thin panes of his room’s only window. Ford closed his eyes, not caring about the storm. “Just as you predicted, Gavrila,” he whispered, remembering his sister’s parting words. “I had as much luck finding a teacher as I’ve had finding a wife.”

He could understand why no woman would want to be married to him. Even Gavrila couldn’t stand to be around him for long. You’re not ugly, exactly, his sister said once as a child, trying to be kind. God just gave you features that don’t quite match. Your nose is too big and your chin too square. You’ve eyes so dark they seem to look right through a person.

Even if a girl could get used to you, she’d still not want to have your children. Sanford, just the way you stand, so still and all, makes chills spread up my spine. And you never say anything. Father always wondered that you learned to talk at all, always hiding out like it wasn’t in your nature to be around people.

Ford let the memories flow in the darkness of this cheap room, as if the walls could no longer hold them out like his foot-thick bricks could at home. He’d been taller than anyone his age in school, yet so thin he didn’t have a chance in a fight. When everyone else would stand around talking, Ford would only watch. Even later, when he was grown and had a ranch of his own, he couldn’t think of more than a few words to say to anyone. Most people were like his sister, who talked at him and never to him.

Until he was twenty, his bones looked like they threatened to break the skin. Folks called him “spider,” and “willow,” and “skeleton.” They laughed at his huge hands and feet, as though they’d paid money to see a freak. When he didn’t respond, they’d look at him with a sadness about them.

Finally, Ford matured. His body filled out with muscles from hard work, and his hands and feet seemed to fit his tall frame. His face, however, never adjusted with age. An aunt had summed it up last July by saying “handsome” was a handle Sanford Colston would never have to worry about having tacked to his back.

Staring up at the water-spotted ceiling during lightning flashes, Ford decided that though he didn’t mind the loneliness, he resented the cruelty he’d suffered in school. He thought serving on the school board might help, but what good could he do if he couldn’t even find a teacher?

Slowly, his mind searched through every applicant’s file he’d studied. Only two had met the qualifications necessary and were willing to take over in the middle of a school year. Before he could interview one, however, she decided to marry, and the other had refused to go to the Texas panhandle. He wished he could have bent the rules and hired one of the remaining applicants, but the school board was adamant in their requirements…eight years of schooling and one year of higher education, plus unmarried, highly principled, well groomed, and of course, Methodist, since Saints Roost was a Methodist town. By the time a woman collected all those qualities, she was either planning a wedding or too set in her ways to travel.

When the door rattled during a sudden roll of thunder, he didn’t bother to look around. The muffled sound of a cat meowing whispered through the blackness. A slight breeze cooled his cheek as the haunting rustle of a gun clearing leather drifted to him.

Moving with swiftness, Ford reached toward the bedpost. Too late. One weapon was missing from its holster. His boots hit the floor with a thud as he stared into the blackness, almost tasting danger in the thick air. The skin stretched tight across his knuckles as Ford once more heard the cry of an angry cat trapped somewhere in the night.

“Don’t move, mister, or I’ll shoot!” a woman ordered. Her voice was high with panic.

Sanford started to stand, but froze at the distinct sound of the hammer being pulled back on a revolver. Again the muffled scratching, fighting sound of a cat echoed Ford’s own frustration.

“Who are you?” His voice sounded harsh even to himself. “What do you want? I’ve little money, if you’ve come to rob me.”

His eyes focused enough to see her outline. She was tall, very tall for a woman. He could smell sweat, and mud…and blood. He could just make out her form before him, her carpetbag in one hand and his gun in the other. The tingle of her bracelets chimed in the thick air as her hand shook slightly with the weight of the gun.

“I don’t want your money,” she answered sharply. “Take off your clothes!”

“What!” He’d never heard such a ridiculous demand in his life. “I most certainly will not!”

“Look, mister, I don’t want to have to kill you, but I will if need be.”

“But you’d hang.”

“I’ll be dead before morning anyway if you don’t give me those clothes. Now, you can take them off, or I’ll remove them from your corpse.”

“You’d kill me for my clothes?” Ford realized he sounded like a child. The woman was dangerous, maybe even insane. What other kind of person would sneak into a man’s room, point a gun at him, then demand he disrobe?

“Don’t push me, mister, or I swear I’ll make you coffin heavy. Now stop asking questions and start stripping.”

Ford pulled off his vest and began unbuttoning his shirt. “I’ve clean clothes in my bag. You’re welcome to them.”

“No!” she shouted above the storm. “I need what you had on when you left the train.”

After pulling out his shirttail, he unbuckled his belt. Curiosity far outweighed fear in his mind as he continued. He’d lived his life in what dime novels called “the Wild West” and never been robbed. Now he had a real live villain before him.

“Hurry up!” she snapped. “I have to be long gone by sunup. Put your clothes on the bed and back up into the corner.”

“Do you want my drawers, too?” His thumb pushed into the waistband of his underwear.

“No!” she answered. “And you should wear an undershirt in this weather. You’ll catch your death.”

“A mothering robber—how unusual.” Ford tried hard to see her face.

“Hurry up!” she answered. “Back up.”

He did as ordered, thinking if he lived through this adventure, he’d finally have something to tell around the cracker barrel at the general store.

Moving into the far corner of the room, he folded his powerful arms over his bare chest and watched her outline. She carefully placed his gun only an inch from her reach as she started removing her own clothes.

“Make a move toward me, mister, and I swear I’ll shoot. Don’t get any ideas about jumping for the gun. You may be fast, but you wouldn’t want to bet your life on it.”

Ford smiled. He must be mad. He was almost enjoying this. No one back home would ever believe such a thing could happen to him. Not to Sanford Colston, the man everyone seemed to speak to only long enough to be polite.

“Mind my asking, why me?” He watched her in the blinks of lightning as she pulled off her skirt. The material hit the floor in a wet plop.

“You were the only one getting off the train.”

Light flashed again as she pulled her shirt over her hand. Ford sucked in a quick breath as he saw her body clearly for a second. She was beautiful. Tall and willowy with full breasts pushing up from a plain camisole. Ebony hair tumbled past rounded hips.

Her beauty washed over him with a sudden flash of fire. “You’re lovely,” he whispered.

She grabbed his shirt from the bed and pulled it on. “Well, take a good look, mister, ’cause you’ll never be seeing me again. If you’re smart, you’ll forget you saw me now. Anyone who knows me dies.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget seeing you,” he answered honestly.

Pulling on his pants, she laughed. “You sound like you’ve never seen a woman undress. I didn’t get a good look at you back there on the street, but I didn’t think you were a boy.” His belt circled her waist twice. “What are you, some kind of priest…or virgin?”

Ford’s hard jaw turned to granite. “I’m not a priest.” He wasn’t about to discuss his personal life with the thief stealing his clothes. She’d hardly be interested in how few single girls there were in his town compared to the endless number of men.

At twenty-five, everyone assumed a man had been with several women, even a man like Sanford. He had never admitted or denied anything about his knowledge of women. But this robber in the shadows had asked a question no one else had ever dared. He watched as she picked up his gun and moved toward him.

“Lie on the bed, facedown, with your hands behind you,” she ordered in a voice that shook with fear.

He moved slowly, knowing he could fight for the gun when she started to tie his hands. But to do so, he’d have to frighten her more, or maybe even hurt her. “Is this how every guest of the hotel is greeted? Are you the desk clerk’s woman?”

She pulled his wrist behind him with her free hand. “I’m nobody’s woman, mister. Nobody’s.”

The cold imprint of the revolver pressed into the center of his back as she tied his hands with a rope she’d been using as her belt. “Thanks for cooperating. I really didn’t want to shoot you.”

He twisted slightly so he could see her shadow. “Would you have?”

“All my life I’ve been doing what I had to. I reckon I’d kill you if need be. You’re about my last hope. Before I saw you get off that train I had nowhere to turn.” Something about the darkness made it easy to be honest. “Just once I wish someone would…” She didn’t finish.

Ford knew how she felt. He’d felt that way every time a woman turned him down for something as harmless as a Sunday walk. “I hope someday someone will do whatever it is you wish for,” he whispered as he watched her open her bag and pull a huge calico cat from the folds.

“You brought your cat on a robbery!” Ford couldn’t hide his smile.

“I had nowhere else to leave him.” The woman removed several metal bracelets from her wrists and dropped them into the bag, then fought the calico to get him back inside.

“Maybe you should think a little harder about this life of crime you’re in. I have no love for cats, and I’ve never known a bandit, but I don’t think they usually travel with pets.”

“You’d love Sneeze if you got to know him better,” she defended the cat as she locked the animal back into the bag. “Which you won’t, since I’ll never see you again.”

“I wish you luck, Miss Nobody’s Woman,” he mumbled as he watched her braid her hair and twist it into his hat. Anyone who could love a cat couldn’t be all that bad.

She knelt by the bed, only a few inches from his face. Her ribs rested lightly against his shoulder. “Thanks, mister.” Her hand touched his back. She spread her fingers wide as she moved across his muscles to the gun.

“You’re no boy,” she added, turning her hand over, allowing her knuckles to brush against the warmth of his flesh. “These muscles came from years of hard work, I’d guess.”

Ford closed his eyes, memorizing the way a woman’s touch felt on his bare skin. Her fingers were light, almost caressing, as though she were stealing this feel of him while she had the opportunity.

“I have to gag you.” She pulled away slowly, replacing his weapon in the holster on the bedpost.

“I won’t yell out.” Ford hated the thought of having a rag shoved into his mouth. “If you’ll forget the gag, I’ll give you till first light.”

Her words brushed his face as she moved near again with silent swiftness. “But why?”

He didn’t answer. She was so close, he could feel the warmth of her even through his thick cotton shirt, which she now wore.

“Why should you help me?” She moved slightly, until the warm cotton touched his arm. “Why should I trust you?”

“Because,” he said, his words raw with honesty, “I’ve never lied.” He had no answer to give her to the first question. Reason told him to go to the sheriff as soon as she left, but he knew he wouldn’t.

Lightly, she brushed the hair from his brow. “I think I believe you. I wish I could see your face. You’re quite a gentleman, mister. Maybe the first one I’ve ever met.”

“I’m glad you can’t see my face,” he responded. “You might understand why I live a priest’s life.” He felt her breathe as the shirt she wore pressed against his side.

“If you stay quiet till dawn, I’ll always remember you as the handsome man I kissed one night while I robbed him.”

“Kissed?” Even as he said the word, she lowered her lips to his. At first the touch was light, almost timid. As though he were a breed apart from all she’d ever known and she had to touch him once before she left. But when his mouth parted in welcome, she moved closer, cupping the sides of his face with her hands.

A storm spread through Ford’s body. All his senses seemed magnified at once. He felt the warmth of her fingers against his day’s growth of beard. The softness of her breast pushed against his arm. She tasted sweeter than honey and brown sugar, with a flavor of wildness he’d never known. He treasured the taste of her like a connoisseur must value priceless wine.

As if she’d longed to be kissed with such tenderness, she responded willingly, moving her fingers into the thickness of his hair, pressing her mouth harder against his. She might steal his clothes, but not his kiss. That he gave willingly.

Her head lowered beside his and her body leaned across his shoulder. His strained muscles tightened even more with the feel of her softness washing over him as their kiss deepened.

When he strained suddenly against the ties binding his hands, she moved away with a sigh of regret. There was no need for words; they both knew he struggled not to free himself, but to be able to hold her.

Silently, she slipped into his huge coat.

He wanted to yell “don’t go!”, but a man doesn’t call back a thief. As she buttoned the coat, he saw her outline against the window. Dressed in his clothes, her silhouette became his in the shadowy light.

“Good-bye, stranger,” she whispered as she moved toward the door with her carpetbag in one hand. “And as my Gypsy mother used to say, ‘may the angels bless your days and the fairies enchant your dreams.’”

“Good-bye, Nobody’s Woman.”

In a blink, she disappeared into the night.

Ford lay still for a long time, then slowly twisted his hands until the binding loosened. He sat up in bed and stared out at the rain.

I’ve been bewitched, he thought, still feeling the pressure of her lips on his mouth, the touch of her fingers over his back. Part of him wanted to look for her, another part wished she’d been a dream, for he had no room for a woman like her in his life.

Dawn crept into the room in watery shades of blue. Though the hotel was every bit as dirty as he’d thought it might be, Ford barely noticed. His mind was focused on the memory of a figure he’d seen only in shadow.

She was the embodiment of every vice he’d fought all his life: dishonest, criminal, wild. But he couldn’t push her image from his mind. He’d fought hard to never do anything wrong, and now with his silence he’d helped a robber escape.

Lifting her discarded clothes into the light, he saw the patches and mending on thread-thin cloth. A beggar’s rags. But there was nothing poor about the woman he’d seen in the night. She’d been rich with life, richer maybe than he’d ever be.

A tap sounded on his door, rattling Ford from his thoughts.

“Train’s leaving!” the desk clerk’s voice yelled, as if in a hurry to be rid of the hotel’s only guest.

Ford reached for his hand-tooled leather bag. He’d been so hypnotized, he hadn’t even heard the whistle. In only a few minutes he was dressed and running for the station. He was at the platform before he remembered his ticket was in the breast pocket of his coat.

Hurriedly, he rummaged in his bag for enough money to buy another ticket and jumped aboard the last passenger car as the train pulled away. Now he hardly noticed the crowds, the smells, the voices, for his thoughts were filled with a beautiful thief he’d never see again.

Chapter 2

ICY RAIN PINGED on the top of the passenger cars and melted down the windows, distorting the view of a weak sunrise. Passengers, too tired to even pretend to sleep, grumbled and wiggled on benches they’d once thought of as comfortable. The train whistle sounded in one long, determined blow.

Hannah squared her shoulders and kept her hat low as the conductor punched her ticket. She was relieved when he made no attempt at conversation and simply moved to the next passenger. The screams of a crying baby in the seat behind Hannah drowned out Sneeze’s meows from the carpetbag.

This just might work, Hannah thought as she slid her hand into the bag to calm her cat. He was a great deal of trouble and increased her chances of getting caught, but she couldn’t leave him behind. Sneeze was all she owned, besides the carpetbag and her mother’s thin gold bracelets, which had been hand tooled by a Gypsy grandfather.

As the cars jerked into action, a piece of bread rolled against Hannah’s boot. She glanced around. Several lunch boxes, probably bought through the windows of the train at the last stop, now cluttered the car’s floor. A graying bite of meat hung out like a tongue from the half-eaten roll at her feet. Hannah hesitantly reached toward the bread, noticing how dirty her hands were, with their broken nails and scratches marked in dried blood. She pulled the meat from the bread and lowered it into the bag for Sneeze. For a long moment she looked at the roll, trying to remember when she’d eaten last.

Slowly, she lowered the bread back to the floor, shoving it with her boot in the direction of the other trash. The mice would eat tonight, but she’d not finish another’s meal.

Sneeze relaxed as he ate the meat without any such scruples. Hannah tried to plan her next move, but she couldn’t keep her thoughts off the man she’d left tied up in the hotel room. He’d been calm when she’d robbed him. Now, wrapped in his clothes, she could smell the warm, clean scent of him. The stranger could spare the garments, she figured, and judging from their quality, he must have plenty of money. But she disliked thinking about him heading north without a hat or heavy coat. He’d been a gentleman. He hadn’t sworn or threatened her when she’d robbed him.

The stranger had been soft-spoken. A type she’d known little of in her life. Until she and her mother settled in Fort Worth, they hadn’t stayed anywhere long enough to get to know anyone.

Her mother said it was because they had Gypsy blood and were therefore wandering souls. But Hannah knew it was more because her mother worried about Hannah’s father coming after them. Dana Randell told Hannah she’d bundled her up when Hannah was only a month old and escaped from a man who’d refused to marry her and threatened their lives if anyone ever found out about Hannah being his child.

When Hannah was eight, Dana decided Fort Worth would be as far as they’d ru