Turnabout, Texas
June 1899
“I think he’s sleeping. We prob’ly shouldn’t bother him.”
Sheriff Ward Gleason opened one eye and tilted his chin up enough to see from under the lowered brim of his hat. Sure enough, the child on the train seat in front of him had turned around and was kneeling up facing him. She had her doll propped up on the seat back facing him as well.
“Is there something I can do for you, Half-pint?” He mentally winced as soon as the words left his mouth—it was the nickname he’d used for his younger sister. Bethany was on his mind quite a bit right now. And this child, with her curly blond pigtails and freckled button nose, had her look.
The girl giggled. “My name’s not Half-pint, it’s Meg.” She held up her doll. “And this is Chessie.”
That much he already knew. The youngster, who couldn’t have been more than four or five, had chattered almost nonstop since she and her companion, whose name was apparently Freddie, had boarded the train about an hour ago.
Not that he minded. Sleep had eluded him on this long, mournful trip and he would prefer not to be left to his own thoughts.
Ward straightened and tipped his hat back off his brow. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, ladies.”
“Did you hear that, Chessie?” Meg half whispered to her doll. “He called us ladies.”
Then she looked back his way and pointed to his companion. “Why do you have that puppy with you?”
Ward glanced at the dog sleeping on the seat beside him. At four years old, give or take, Pugs wasn’t a puppy anymore, but he was lapdog-sized, so he understood her confusion.
“He’s my sister’s dog. But I’m going to be taking care of him now.”
The little girl frowned. “How come your sister didn’t want him anymore? Was he bad?”
“Not at all. But I’m afraid she’s no longer able to take care of him.”
“Oh.” The little girl studied him thoughtfully for a moment. “Is she sick?”
His throat constricted but he nodded. “She was. And now she’s gone.” Bethany’s casket was aboard the train two cars back—he was escorting her remains back to Turnabout to lay her to rest beside their parents. He was finally bringing his sister home. Just not in the way he’d wanted.
Did the little girl understand the concept of death?
But Meg nodded solemnly. “My momma and poppa are gone too. It’s just me and Chessie and Freddie now.” She gave her doll a tight squeeze. Then she looked at the dog. “What’s his name?”
“Pugs.”
She smiled. “That’s a good name for a doggie.” The child’s smile turned hopeful. “Can I pet him?”
Ward shrugged. “Sure.”
The child turned at once to her companion. “Freddie, can I pet the puppy? Please?”
Freddie, who appeared to be about sixteen, turned to stare at Ward, obviously reluctant. Ward didn’t take offense. In fact, he approved of the young man’s caution.
Then the youth glanced back at Meg. “You shouldn’t be bothering folks. Turn around and play with Chessie.”
Ward frowned. The youth didn’t sound so much protective as irritated. He’d gathered from earlier chatter that the two were siblings, and he would have expected a more caring attitude. Then again, he knew from personal experience what it was like to be thrust into the role of parent at that age. Twelve years ago, he and Bethany had become orphans as well. He’d been sixteen at the time and Bethany almost thirteen. And though he’d tried to be a parent to his little sister, he’d failed her, with tragic results.
Which was why he itched to give Meg’s brother a lecture about just how precious a little sister was and how he should cherish her while he had her. Maybe he would say something to him at some point if he could do so without Meg overhearing.
But now was not that time.
A moment later he realized the train was slowing. They must be approaching