“Settle down there, Max,” he muttered to himself.
He stared at the haughty lift of her chin, trying to convince himself it didn’t give him a bit of a thrill. She looked like a handful in more than one way. His thoughts wandered to his ex-wife, who ten years ago had traveled from the east to the west, intent on starting a new life, but realized after a year of marriage to Max that she didn’t belong in the crude landscape. She left him and returned to the big city she came from, and he didn’t try to stop her.
Max wondered about the woman in the photograph. Would she be cowed by the hard work, lack of certain leisure activities, and rugged culture? Something in her eyes told him she just might make it.
*
Charlotte stood with some difficulty when the train screeched to a halt. Her legs were cramped and she felt hot and in need of rest, despite having hardly moved in days of travel. She’d had little opportunity to stretch her legs other than when she paced the confines of the train car. Looking out the window at the smattering of people on the platform, she tried to locate a man with a badge. She didn’t see anyone who looked like a marshal, which was the occupation of the man she’d been informed would meet her, but that didn’t mean anything. She knew that lawmen in the west didn’t wear uniforms, unlike in Boston where jobs and manners were far more structured. Charlotte was struck by the overall simple nature of everything from the signs to the bushes lacking flowers. The place was crude, severe, and without ornament.
Like many times previously in the last few days, she again felt a knot in her stomach over the decision to throw herself into a place so unknown to her. She already missed her mother terribly. Her mother had sent Charlotte off with her full blessing, blubbering through her tears about how proud she was of her only child. Her father hadn’t said goodbye, but that wasn’t surprising. He never cared about her. One of her motivations for leaving was to escape him and men like him.
As she stepped down onto the platform, carrying a sturdy black carpetbag that held all of her earthly possessions, she looked around. Jealousy gripped her as she watched one of the women she’d traveled with run into the open arms of a beaming man. Charlotte felt very alone and insignificant in comparison.
She noticed a man striding in her direction. He wore a black Stetson that cast a shadow over his face, a blue bandanna around his neck, faded denim trousers, and a white shirt that buttoned down the front. She wrinkled her nose as he neared. White was clearly not the right color to wear in this dusty town, since his shirt appeared more tan than white in some places. She briefly looked down at her dress. It was her finest. Its taffeta skirt was pink, and the bodice was made of black crushed velvet with white lace trim that also didn’t appear as white as it should. The silk of the skirt and the three petticoats under it felt terribly heavy and uncomfortable in the heat of Arizona’s summer, and she wished for a brief moment to be wearing one of the light cotton frocks donned by the women around her, as unattractive as they were.
The man took off his hat as he neared. “Miss Charlotte Rose?” he asked in a deep, lazy drawl, so very different from her own accent.
Charlotte felt a moment’s surprise when she saw his unshaded face. The man was very handsome in a rugged, unassuming way, with dark brows and thick dark hair. Stubble dotted his pronounced jawline. His full lips turned up in a half smile, and he regarded her with twinkling green eyes. She suddenly felt glad to be wearing her best dress.
“Yes, I’m Miss Rose. And you are?”
“Maxwell Harrison. Call me Max.”
Charlotte felt disappointed upon learning he was not the marshal in charge of fetching her, and she bristled at his greeting. “That wouldn’t be proper, Mr. Harrison, as we only just met. And at the risk of sounding impolite, I must say I don’t know why we’re meeting. I’m here to meet Marshal Robert Davis.”
His eyes seemed to twinkle more after her reproach. “The marshal sends his regrets. He had an emergency and asked me to fetch you, so I’ll be escorting you to Weston. My buggy is just this way. I’ll carry your bag.”
He reached out to take it, but Charlotte clutched the handle tighter and moved the bag slightly away from him. She frowned. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Harrison, but I wasn’t informed of this change in plans. How am I to know you tell the truth? I don’t know you from Adam. You could be a thief or ruffian, and you expect me to allow you to escort me on a journey to the boondocks?”