Untamed Glory Read online

  Untamed Glory

  By

  Suzannah Davis

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Author's Note

  "You mule-headed female!" Rafe snarled. "You could have been killed!"

  "What about you?" Brenna demanded. "Standing there in full view! Are you crazy?"

  "Better me for a target than a pea-brained witch!"

  "You—you deliberately drew his fire from me?" Suddenly the enormity of what she had done hit her. Blackness threatened, and she swayed.

  "Don't you dare faint on me now!" Rafe roared, shaking her hard.

  "I—I'm not." She gulped, blinking away the darkness, then stared up into his gray eyes. "Why?" she whispered.

  "Because… oh, hell! You ask too many damned female questions."

  Then he took her lips, staking his possession of her senses with his kiss…

  Other Books in THE AVON ROMANCE Series

  Chase the Dawn by Jane Feather

  Defiant Angel by Lisann St. Pierre

  Hostage Heart by Eileen Nauman

  Marisa by Linda Lang Bartell

  Passion Fire by Mallory Burgess

  Reckless Splendor by Maria Greene

  Renegade Love by Katherine Sutcliffe

  Coming Soon

  Beloved Rogue by Penelope Williamson

  Bold Surrender by Judith E. French

  AVON BOOKS

  A division of The Hearst Corporation

  105 Madison Avenue

  New York, New York 10016

  Copyright © 1988 by Suzannah Davis

  ISBN: 0-380-75397-9

  First Avon Books Printing: March 1988

  In memory of Isabel Falvey Nelson, my indomitable "Grandma Belle," who went to Marshall, too.

  And for Diane Wicker Davis with many thanks.

  Chapter 1

  1890

  " 'If it 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly'!"

  Brenna Galloway's soft, dulcet tones held a note of urgency. She clutched a bundle to her breast, and her blue-green gaze stole furtive looks right then left down the long, deserted room. "Hurry, Annie, the blade!"

  "The what?" Annie's flat, twangy Texan voice was puzzled. "Oh, you mean this!" She passed the curved, wooden-handled instrument to Brenna, then dropped an exaggerated curtsy, her warm brown eyes dancing with suppressed merriment.

  "You're too, too kind," Brenna announced grandly. Brown paper crackled, and two young, feminine heads, one mousy brown, one glowing red-gold, bent over the intriguing package.

  "Oh, ain't they fine!" Annie breathed.

  Eagerly, Brenna picked up the glossy pair of brand-new high button shoes. The pungent odor of tanned leather and aromatic polish tickled her nostrils. With deft movements, she rid herself of her old, clumsy boots, and shoved her slim feet into the stylish footwear, stiff with newness. Wielding the buttonhook provided by Annie, she slipped the shiny black disks through their holes until they marched with military precision across her shapely ankles and insteps. Rising, she lifted her skirts and pirouetted.

  "Will I do, Annie?"

  "You'll be the belle of the ball, no doubt about it," the other girl answered confidently, a mischievous smile creasing her plump face.

  "I shall dance all night," Brenna replied, her expression dreamy. She hummed a gay waltz under her breath and swayed gracefully. Happiness bubbled up inside her like a mountain spring, cool and refreshing after a long emotional drought. The room's dingy beams and fly-spattered walls disappeared, replaced momentarily by a shining vision of a brightly lit ballroom where elegantly dressed couples whirled to the music of violins.

  Laughing, Annie lifted her skirts and bounced around in an energetic imitation of Brenna's movements. Crisp petticoats rustled in time to the lyrical tune, and happy smiles were the grace notes to their playful dance.

  The deafening blast of a train whistle shattered the fragile illusion like the pop of a soap bubble. Both girls jumped guiltily. They gazed at each other for a long moment, listening as the vibration of wheels on iron tracks reached the upper levels of the building, shaking the rafters with a familiar litany.

  "I think your carriage has arrived, my lady," Annie announced impishly. They dissolved into the threatening giggles, falling onto one of the narrow cots that lined the room, helpless with laughter. Arms clasped affectionately, they gasped and laughed and tried to contain their merriment.

  "Oh, Annie! Your jokes make my sides hurt," Brenna accused, her cheeks pink.

  Annie caught her breath and wiped tears from the corners of her eyes. "Honestly, I don't know how you do it, Brenna," she said admiringly. "I'd swear you was one of them grand English ladies living in a posh castle when you put on them hoity-toity airs. And quoting all that fancy stuff."

  "It's just play acting," Brenna replied, her voice reverting to its usual lilting, faintly Irish cadences. "Like I did at home with my da before…" She paused, and a flicker chased across her face, robbing her pretty features of some of their gaiety. She gave a little shrug and smiled brightly at her friend. "Do you know your Shakespeare? Your part of lady's maid is a fine character piece. You'd be wonderful as Juliet's nurse. Perhaps we should join a drama company. Have you ever thought of going on the road?"

  "Posh and nonsense!" Annie exclaimed, but she flushed with pleasure at the compliment.

  The train's whistle sounded again, closer and louder, demanding attention. The blast rattled the windowpanes of the narrow garret dormitory that housed the twenty or so young women who worked in the Railway Depot Restaurant and Hotel in this small, bustling hub city of Marshall, Texas.

  "For once, the one-ten is early," Brenna said. "We'd better hurry. Old Hudgins is probably looking for us."

  "Can't be the one-ten," Annie said, frowning at the round gold watch pinned to her apron bib. "It must be that special Jimmy was talking about. Some bigwig from the East, he said. A private engine and everything."

  "You and Jimmy have been seeing quite a bit of each other lately, haven't you?" Brenna teased. "The pay must be better in the rail yards than I thought."

  Annie blushed, and for a moment her plain features were almost pretty. "We get along. But I worry about him being so active in the Knights of Labor. You know it don't pay to be involved in a labor organization right now." She glanced once around the dormitory to be certain they were still alone, then lowered her voice. "He says that our keeping our eyes and ears open around the depot is a big help to the brotherhood."

  "I'm glad to do what I can, you know that," Brenna replied. "I just wish it were more." She glanced down, surprised to see that her hands were clenched tightly on her lap. She relaxed them with a conscious effort.

  "I didn't mean to upset you," Annie said worriedly. "I know it's hard, about your brother and all."

  "Sean's death is something I've had to accept," Brenna said quietly. "He chose to go out with the Knights during the Texas and Pacific strike four years ago, but it made no difference when Gould wouldn't even negotiate. He was a casualty of those riots, sure as if he'd gone to war. Those bloodsuckers in New York are still bleeding the wage earner dry. I'll do anything I can to destroy their power." Her voice was low but fierce
.

  "That's how we all feel," Annie agreed. She patted Brenna's hand in an awkward gesture of comfort. "It's coming, too. Jimmy says they're having another secret meeting tonight. What would Mr. Gould say if he knew the Knights of Labor were meeting in his own roundhouse?"

  "He'd die of apoplexy!" Brenna's wry expression sent Annie off in new peals of giggles. They rose and Brenna cast another admiring glance at her stylish footwear.

  "Thanks for coming up with me, Annie. I couldn't wait to try on my new shoes."

  "I can't blame you. It's not every day you get a Montgomery Ward mail-order package," Annie replied cheerfully. "You deserve something special, as hard as you've saved. You really oughtn't to send so much home, you know. You've hardly got enough for yourself, much less to pay for that college you want to attend! How do you ever expect to become a teacher at this rate?"

  "I have to send enough for Maggie and Shannon. The nuns take good care of them, but it takes money, too. It's all up to me now." She broke off, shrugging and feeling a bit guilty about spending any money on herself, even for something as basic as shoes. The threadbare stocking she kept pinned to her petticoat bumped against her thigh with a reassuring weight of coins and bills. With a diligence that would have put Scrooge to shame, she scrimped and saved, knowing each day was a step toward independence and self-sufficiency, as well as her very survival. But she was entitled to something pretty once in a while, surely? She smiled confidently at Annie. "I don't mind being patient. I know I'll get to college one day."

  "I just hope your sisters realize what you're doing for them," Annie sniffed. "It seems to me that that stepfather of yours—"

  "No!"

  Annie turned a surprised glance on Brenna, startled by the vehemence of her single word. Brenna shook her head.

  "I'll never let them go back to that man—never!"

  "But, Brenna, he was married to your mother," Annie said reasonably.

  "It was living with him that killed her, too." Brenna's voice was acid with sudden bitterness. Behind the thick line of her sooty lashes, her eyes were a turbulent green. "No, none of us Galloways will go back to the O'Donnell house, not now, not ever!" Brenna raked her hands through the luxuriant mass of her hair, automatically tucking a stray, springy curl into the knot at her nape in an effort to calm herself. She touched Annie's arm and attempted a smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you."

  "That's all right," Annie replied easily. "We'd better go."

  They crossed the room toward the steep flight of stairs leading to the kitchens. Annie stuffed her mousy curls haphazardly into her white frilly cap, then smoothed the heavily starched white apron over the dark blue skirt and long-sleeved white cotton waist worn by all the female staff. "Would you see if my bow is straight?" she asked.

  Brenna obligingly checked the recalcitrant bow, smiling at its bunched and bedraggled appearance. She pulled Annie's sash, then retied the offending bow into pert perfection.

  "Thanks, Brenna," Annie said, opening the staircase door. "I don't know how I managed until you came to work here. I can hardly believe it was only six months ago."

  "It was a godsend to me, too," Brenna said, and her words were heartfelt.

  Her mind touched upon the memory of the misery and abuse she and her sisters suffered even before their mother's death. It got worse after Bridget died and Sean was forced to leave. The oldest at twenty, Brenna had been able to take care of herself. But when fourteen-year-old Maggie had come running to her, crying, her bodice ripped from their stepbrother Padrick's brutish yet ineffectual advances, she'd known she couldn't protect either Maggie or ten-year-old Shannon any longer.

  The advertisement in the New Orleans newspaper for young women "of good character" had promised little, but the pittance of a salary and the long working hours of a waitress in a railroad dining hall had seemed a kind of salvation. Brenna shuddered to think of Malvin O'Donnell's rage when he'd discovered their escape from virtual bondage on his St. Francisville farm. Hiding the girls with the nuns in the convent in New Orleans was a simple solution, but Brenna knew she'd never be able to find a job safely out of O'Donnell's way if she stayed in Louisiana. He'd not give up looking for them out of sheer Irish stubbornness, not to mention the matter of the small amount of money she had stolen from his strongbox to make their flight possible. She found a bit of grim humor imagining the red-faced fit O'Donnell had thrown at that audacity, but it was nothing compared to the price she would have liked him to pay for the way he'd slowly killed her mother.

  "It seems we've always been friends," Annie rattled on. She paused at the top of the stairs. "Don't forget your cap."

  "Oh!" Brenna brought her thoughts back to earth, then dug into her apron pocket and jammed the cap over her hair, grimacing while she pulled it low on her forehead. "I never feel comfortable in this thing," she muttered.

  "You have to wear it. You know how particular Hudgins is about the uniforms," Annie said. "I guess he thinks it discourages flirting. After all, 'we are a respectable place of business'." She mimicked their employer's stuffy formality and pompous tones, then grinned. "Anyway, you'd look beautiful in a feed sack! I'd give anything to look like you."

  "Oh, Annie!" Brenna exclaimed in laughing dismay. "My nose is too small, my mouth is too large, and do you see these?" She pointed with absolute disgust at the bridge of her retrousse nose. "Freckles! Freckles that no amount of buttermilk will ever bleach out."

  Annie studied Brenna's delicate coloring and high cheekbones. "Humph. I'd trade with you any day, freckles and all." Shaking her head, she preceded Brenna down the steep wooden stairs, their feet clattering noisily on the wooden treads. "Watch the landing. You don't want to slip. You probably should have roughened the soles of them shoes before you wore 'em."

  "I'll be careful," Brenna promised, smiling fondly at the back of her friend's head.

  She was unable to resist another admiring peek at the shiny tips of the new shoes visible under the edge of her long dark skirts. "Frailty, thy name is woman," she quoted inwardly, silently laughing at herself. The new leather creaked reassuringly, and Brenna wiggled her toes, testing the fit. The modish heel was a bit higher than she was accustomed to wearing, but the added height made her feel fashionable and ladylike, even though her hands rubbed down the rough plaster walls of the narrow stairwell for balance.

  The smells of hot grease, roasting meat, and stewed collard greens wafted up from the kitchens to assault Brenna's nose. Annie pushed open the door at the base of the stairs and released the din of crashing cutlery, clinking dinnerware, and the shrill shouts of harried waitresses. The unseasonable October heat mixed with the steam of countless bubbling pots, making the atmosphere muggy and oppressive. Brenna walked through the hot, humid wall of air and instantly felt a sheen of moisture coat her upper lip and prickle beneath her arms. She wiped at the beads of perspiration on her temples, tucked a damp, strawberry-blond curl into the restraining band of her cap, and sighed, knowing the pristine, starched expanse of her apron would soon be a limp cotton rag.

  "Where have you two been?" a strident voice snapped, halting both girls in mid-step.

  "Had to visit the necessary room, Clara," Annie lied demurely.

  "It was our break, anyway," Brenna added calmly, unwilling to let Annie take the full brunt of the head kitchen maid's ill temper. She watched Clara unflinchingly, secretly amused at the hostility that always surrounded the skinny woman. Rail thin and stringy, Clara always reminded Brenna of an undernourished Banty hen looking for a fight. Her sour, pinched mouth turned down at the corners. Brenna was certain it was because she laced her corset strings too tight, a garment Brenna flatly refused to wear to work, never mind Victorian standards of modesty. It infuriated Clara to no end that she couldn't intimidate Brenna as she did many of the other working girls. Brenna knew enough about bullies to stand her ground, do her job, and ignore Clara's surliness.

  "The one-ten just unloaded four hundred hungry passengers, so get moving! Don't know
why they hired girls as green as you two. Just asking for trouble," Clara grumbled. She fixed a beady eye on Brenna and Annie, who were listening patiently to her diatribe. "Well, what are you just standing there for? Get to work!"

  "Yes, ma'am," Brenna and Annie said in unison. They turned, hiding smiles.

  Brenna's new shoes clicked rhythmically across the hygienic ceramic-tiled floor. Annie dodged around a fast-moving waitress balancing a tray loaded with platters of fried steak and potatoes, beef stew, and chicken and gravy. When Brenna had first come to work, she often marveled at the apparent confusion in the kitchens; but now she paid scant notice to the near collisions as waitresses sailed back and forth, seemingly oblivious to anyone or anything in their paths. Just as Brenna and Annie paused by the swinging doors leading into the dining rooms and reached for order tablets and pencils, the door swung open beside them.

  "Have you seen him yet?" Pollie, a frowzy brunette carrying an empty tray, asked in a low conspiratorial voice.

  "Seen who?" Annie demanded.

  "Why, Jay Gould, the richest man in America, that's who!" Pollie replied. "Rode his private car down from New York, he did. Fancy as a sultan's palace! Heard him tell old Hudgins myself."

  "Jay Gould is here?" Brenna asked, her eyes wide and incredulous.

  "What do you think he's doing in Marshall?" Annie demanded.

  Pollie shrugged, moving away. "Who knows? He owns all these here railroads, don't he? Why don't you ask him yerself?" she suggested over her shoulder.

  Brenna shot a sharp glance at Annie, a worried frown creasing the arch of her brows. "Did Jimmy say anything about this?"

  Annie shook her head. "No, he didn't know it was Gould coming. Oh, Brenna!" she said in sudden anxiety. "Do you think Gould knows about the Knights' meeting? Has he come to cause trouble?"

  "His kind don't do their dirty work themselves," Brenna said, her voice scathing and filled with loathing.