Book Two of the Kincaid Trilogy

CHAPTER ONE

February 15, 1888, Lone Pine, Arkansas

Sonofabitch! The bastards are burying me!

Nate Bartholomew braced against the coffin sides and grappled the terror pumping through him. The wooden box fell for hours, then bounced hard. Supreme willpower prevented his outcry. Dirt thunked onto the pine a few inches above his head while dust sifted inside the case. He bit back a cough.

Total darkness surrounded him. The complete absence of light renewed his panic.

What happened to Monk? His friend had promised to get the coffin on the next train to anywhere. Out of this crazy town. Away from the angry mob before anyone discovered he didn't die from gun shots at the saloon.

All sounds ceased. The copper smell of fresh blood warned him his wounds reopened. His life's blood seeped from him. Would he bleed to death before he suffocated?

Senses sharpened. He felt grains of dirt on his face, tasted dust on his tongue, choked on each breath. Musn't cough, uses too much air.

Terror surged again. He bent his legs a few inches, then pushed hard against the flimsy pine. Again. Again.

Watch out, you bastards. Hell hasn't got me yet.

* * *

March 1, 1888, St. Louis, Missouri

"Sarah Rochelle Kincaid! As if it's not bad enough, a Kincaid inheriting a bordello, you can stop acting like one of the trollops right now. Quit gawking at the other mourners and try to look like the respectable lady you are."

Sarah Kincaid winced at Aunt Lily's terse whisper and bowed her head for the funeral ceremony. She thought ceremony too elaborate a term for the pitiful words her mother's remains received from a hasty minister who had never met Rochelle Jorgensen.

Poor Mama. Not even forty-five and nothing to show for her life but a saloon, a few motley friends, and consumption.

Sarah peeked from under her lashes at the other mourners. Her adopted Aunt Lily stood ramrod straight, face puckered like a lemon. Sarah regretted dragging the woman to the cemetery, but it wasn't proper to come alone.

Three saloon girls sobbed into their handkerchiefs, their bright satin dresses as gaudy and tawdry in the daylight as their brilliantly dyed tresses. Those three, the bartender, and the man who stood guard at the saloon door were the only other mourners at the cemetery. Five of the lost souls from her mother's life.

It won't be like this for me. I won't let it.

She wanted friends and family, a stable home, to be respected in the community. When she died, plenty of people would mourn her loss. She intended to leave a legacy of good works--children, grandchildren, friends who would celebrate all she had accomplished on this earth.

And she wanted to accomplish a lot. To serve others in need as her half-sister, Pearl, had served her and her half-brother, Storm. To make a difference in the lives of others. To set a good example.

The minister droned on about repentance and life hereafter. Sarah's gaze roamed the cemetery. Not far away, a lone man stood staring at her little group. No, he stared at her. Perhaps he lost someone, too.

His dark blond hair caught rays of sun streaking through the tree limbs. Dressed in a black suit with a gray patterned vest, he wore a fancy white shirt and black string tie. In his hand he held a flat crowned black hat with a wide brim.

A handsome man, she thought, if only he would smile. He leaned a shoulder against a tree, almost sagging. She wondered if grief brought him here. No, wait. He looked angry, not sad.

"Sarah," Lily's snappish whisper caught her attention. "I declare, are you staring at that man during your very own Mama's funeral?"

She felt herself flush. "I wondered if he knew Mama. He keeps watching us."

"Everyone knew your Mama. And I do mean in the Biblical sense. Now pay attention and quit embarrassing me"

One more time, Sarah wondered why she let herself be bullied into bringing Lily as chaperone on the trip from Texas. She could have hired a pleasant companion. And why did she let Lily talk to her so rudely? She sighed and admitted she always let people dominate her. What kind of good works could she accomplish if she couldn't stand up for herself?

At first she had wondered why Lily agreed to act as escort, but now she knew the answer. Lily used any opportunity to her own advantage. Her old beau, Harold Vermillion--now an eligible widower--lived near their host and hostess, Harold's brother Walter and sister-in-law Margaret Vermillion. Wild horses couldn't have prevented Lily visiting St. Louis once she learned Harold would welcome her consoling presence.

The minister ceased his admonitions, and mourners filed past to offer consolation. Poor little Faye had cried so much the kohl around her eyes smeared into a racoon mask. Her iridescent yellow hair escaped its headress in a tumble to spill down her puce gown.

"You know Roxie was the best person in the world. She helped me when no one else would."

"Thank you for telling me." Sarah felt as if someone else repeated the trite phrase. "And thank you for coming this morning."

Ruby's orange hair belied her name, but Sarah liked her best of the girls. Lollie and Ruby approached together.

"She's better off," Ruby said, smoothing a crease in the black lace of her red dress. "But don't forget she thought of you every day, and was so proud of you. Kept your little portrait with her all the time."

Sarah fought tears as she repeated the phrase, "Thank you for telling me.

The bartender stopped, bowler hat in his beefy hands. "Reckon we'll be finishin' our business tomorrow?"

Sarah nodded. "Yes, Mr. Fykes. I'll come to the saloon tomorrow to clear out the rest of Mama's things. The attorney will meet us there at two. After that, The Lucky Times Palace will belong to you and I'll go back home to Texas."