Something Like Love

  BEVERLY JENKINS

  Something Like Love

  This book is dedicated to Mark A Jenkins.

  1949–2003.

  He was my outlaw, lover,

  gentleman, and friend.

  May he rest in peace.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Thirty-two-year-old Olivia Sterling was running away from home. Well, she…

  Chapter 1

  The seamstress shop owned by Olivia Sterling operated out of…

  Chapter 2

  They’d been on the road about an hour when they…

  Chapter 3

  The Two Spinsters were correct; Doc Johnson didn’t let Olivia…

  Chapter 4

  On Sundays, Henry Adams rested. In keeping with the Sabbath,…

  Chapter 5

  Olivia awakened the next morning just as dawn was pinkening…

  Chapter 6

  Olivia had been hoping he’d show up tonight, but she’d…

  Chapter 7

  Olivia spent the days leading up to the Wednesday swearing-in…

  Chapter 8

  Before Emancipation, free Black abolitionists and their White counterparts refused…

  Chapter 9

  Delbert and the Two Spinsters were at Olivia’s house when…

  Chapter 10

  The tone of his voice set Olivia reeling. Her nipples…

  Chapter 11

  While Neil slept, Olivia went to check on her house.…

  Chapter 12

  Olivia accompanied the long-striding peace officers down the walk to…

  Chapter 13

  Out on the back porch, Neil waited for Olivia to…

  Chapter 14

  Smelling salts revived Eunice a few moments later. Still a…

  Chapter 15

  Olivia was in her office the next morning studying the…

  Chapter 16

  Olivia awakened at seven o’clock. After such a short sleep,…

  Chapter 17

  Olivia peered at her watch. It was almost one o’clock.…

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Romances

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Prologue

  Chicago, Illinois

  September 1888

  Thirty-two-year-old Olivia Sterling was running away from home. Well, she would be just as soon as she took one last look around her dimly lit bedroom. It was the middle of the night, so she didn’t dare turn up the lamp for fear of being discovered, but she couldn’t afford to leave anything important behind; once she exited the house there would be no return.

  Olivia didn’t notice anything else that she needed to take with her, but for a few melancholy moments, her eyes lingered over her familiar bed and furnishings. This had been her room; a place of refuge, a place where she could spin her dreams and not have them snatched away by convention or society. After tonight she might never see it again, but she told herself it was the price to be paid for her decision.

  With nothing left to delay her departure, Olivia doused the lone lamp, plunging the room into darkness. She grabbed up her black cloak, laid it over her arm, and carried her blue carpetbag to the door. The bag had been purchased specifically for her journey. Inside were a few changes of clean clothing, underwear, her toiletries, and her sketch pad and pens.

  She very carefully opened the door. Except for the ticking of her mother’s grandfather clock, the dark hall was silent.

  She stepped out, then slowly eased her bedroom door closed again. She stood there for a long moment to make certain she hadn’t been heard. Confident she hadn’t, she moved quickly but soundlessly to the stairs that led down to the main floor of the house. On the way she passed the door to her father’s bedroom. His snores were easy to hear even through the thick cherry wood. Her mother’s door was closed too, as it always was. As long as Olivia could remember, she’d never known her parents to share a room—a fact no proper daughter should be concerned with, according to society, but Olivia did have concerns, and they were part and parcel of why she was running away.

  Olivia made it down the stairs without being detected. As planned, her mother, Eunice, dressed in her night robe, stood waiting by the front door. They embraced. Basking in her mother’s strong hug, Olivia felt tears sting her eyes. It was unclear whether she’d ever see her mother again, so Olivia held onto her for as long as she could.

  Eventually, they had to part, and Olivia wiped at her teary eyes with a gloved hand. Keeping her voice low, she said to her mother, “Papa’s going to be very angry when he finds me gone. Are you sure you will be all right?”

  “I’ll be fine. James thinks me too dim-witted to have aided you. I won’t be blamed.”

  There was a bitterness in Eunice’s voice that Olivia knew stemmed from being in a marriage devoid of love.

  Eunice touched her daughter’s smooth cheek. “Godspeed, my dear Olivia, and may He keep you safe.”

  “You as well. I will write as soon and as often as I’m able.” Olivia felt confident that any correspondence between them would go undiscovered, because her father never retrieved the mail himself. It would never cross his mind to go out to the box; that was Eunice’s job, just like it was her job to present the mail to him every evening during his dinner.

  It was time to leave. The hack Olivia had engaged for her escape would pick her up a few blocks away.

  She and her mother shared one last good-bye embrace, then Olivia stepped out into the warm summer night. As befitting one of Chicago’s best seamstresses, she was dressed in a fashionable dove gray traveling costume of her own design. To defeat pickpockets she’d sewn her life savings into the waistband and hems of her skirts. When she reached her destination, the funds would help start her new life.

  Deep down inside she was terrified; she’d never done anything so bold before, but she had no choice but to keep going.

  Two days later Olivia was seated on a train crossing the plains. She had no idea what her new life would hold, but she was convinced it would be better than the life she’d left behind in Chicago. That life would have cast her as the wife of one Horatio Butler, a man handpicked by her father but one she couldn’t abide, let alone agree to love, honor, and obey until death do her part. Olivia owned a very successful modiste shop and hadn’t spent the last ten years building her clientele and reputation just to turn the profits and property over to a man who thought women in the workplace should be guided by their husband’s advice. This from a man who didn’t know a seam from a hat pin.

  Olivia could feel herself begin to boil up all over again just thinking about the greedy Mr. Butler and his plans to sell her building and invest the money in Lord knew what, because he wouldn’t tell her. In response to her pointed questions on the matter, he’d told her not to worry her pretty little head; he would take care of everything.

  So, Olivia had gone to her banker and had had a discussion. Unbeknownst to her father or Mr. Butler, she’d sold her business and the building housing it to the husband of one of her wealthier clients. The money Olivia received in exchange for the deed added up to a tidy sum; one tidy enough for her to be able to start life elsewhere. She’d decided on Kansas, where many all-Black settlements had been established during the Great Exodus of 1879. The newspapers called the movement Kansas Fever. Thousands upon thousands of southern Blacks left the terror and bloodshed visited upon their lives by the Redemptionist Democrats and headed west to places like Kansas, Nebraska, and Colorado. Now, ten years later, many of the towns hadn’t survived, but Henry Adams, Kansas, was supposedly thriving, and all thriving towns needed dressmakers.

  So here she sat, looking
out of the window at the passing plains. She was seated in the car’s back row, hoping to be out of sight and out of mind. She’d seen the frowns on the faces of some of the passengers when she’d initially entered the car back at the Chicago station. Her presence was resented. With Jim Crow spreading across the country like a plague, it was becoming harder and harder for members of the race to escape its ugly edicts. Olivia hadn’t boarded the train to stir the air; she was just trying to get to Kansas.

  “Miss?”

  Olivia looked up to see the conductor standing politely by her seat. “Yes?”

  Out of the corner of her eye she could see a few scowling passengers looking on. She ignored them.

  “I’ve been asked to remove you from the car.”

  Olivia steeled herself to keep her face emotionless.

  “But I’m not going to.”

  Olivia hid her surprise.

  “I rode with John Brown back in the sixties, and I ain’t putting a pretty lady like you in the cattle car.”

  That last part was said loud enough for everyone within earshot to hear. The eavesdroppers spun back around in a huff.

  Olivia let a smile peep out.

  “If you need anything, just let me know.” The conductor then touched his hat and left to continue his job.

  Basking in goodwill and feeling much better about her fellow man, Olivia went back to watching the landscape.

  Suddenly the emergency brake was pulled, and the car slowed so abruptly that everyone was pitched forward. Women screamed and men cursed as they were thrown from their seats. Unsure as to why the brake had been pulled, Olivia was righting herself and her fancy navy blue hat when a man’s voice rang out. “Train robbers!”

  Olivia’s eyes flew to her window, but she didn’t see anyone. She thought she heard guns firing but couldn’t be sure. Having never experienced anything like this before, she watched the other passengers for a clue as to what to do. They were ripping off their jewelry and watches. Women stuffed their booty into their bosoms, while the men hid their valuables in the legs of their boots and inside their trousers. Concerned, Olivia touched her hand to her waistband and the hidden coins. Surely fate hadn’t brought her this far just to be robbed and left penniless.

  But a few moments later, the conductor was escorted roughly into the car by a mountain-sized man who appeared to be an Indian. He had flowing black hair, golden skin, and a gun as long as her arm stuck in the poor conductor’s rib cage.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” said the conductor in an angry clipped voice. “This man and his gang would like your valuables.”

  Alarmed cries greeted the announcement. A fearful Olivia drew back against the solid wood of her seat. This was her first trip west. Where were the authorities?

  Another member of the gang boldly entered the car, and more than one of the women passengers gasped in reaction to his dark, heart-stopping handsomeness. He was tall, had dark eyes and equally dark skin. He was wearing a once white, long-sleeved shirt tucked into a pair of tight-fitting trousers that highlighted his muscular thighs and legs. Around his trim waist was a heavy gun belt. On his feet were some kind of knee-high hide boots with flat soles. The boots were covered with so much trail grime their true color was impossible to determine.

  He looked out over the passengers and declared, “Folks, we just found out that the gold that was supposed to be on this train isn’t. So you all are going to have to make up for it.”

  A man with a handlebar mustache stood up as if he were about to protest, but the outlaw shot a hole in the man’s seat, then announced, “This isn’t going to be a debate, sir.”

  The man turned beet red and didn’t make another move.

  “Now,” the outlaw continued, “just so you’ll know who’s robbing you, the name’s Neil July, and this is my twin brother, Two Shafts.”

  Two Shafts, still holding onto the conductor, gave them a friendly nod. “Afternoon, folks.”

  Olivia was so entranced by this bizarre event that she assumed she’d misheard July say, “twins” because the two men didn’t favor each other one bit.

  “Now,” July said to the tense passengers, “the faster you cooperate, the sooner you’ll be on your way.”

  While the Indian continued to guard the angry conductor, July opened a worn, dirty saddlebag and began moving through the passengers like a church deacon with the collection plate. Apparently, he was no novice at this. “Folks, I know you have your valuables hidden. Give them up freely and save yourself the embarrassment of me having to look for them. ’Specially you ladies.”

  Female gasps of outrage followed that remark, and the outlaw smiled, saying, “Glad you got my meaning.”

  Olivia fished out all of the coins in her purse, took her silver earbobs from her lobes, and undid the indigo ribbon from around her neck. On the ribbon hung a cameo with her mother’s picture inside. It pained her knowing the cameo would wind up in the bottom of the outlaw’s saddlebag along with the rest of the purloined loot, but she had no choice. She put all of the items in her hand and waited for July to reach the back of the car. Her pile of valuables was small, but she hoped it would be enough to pacify him, because she had no intentions of giving him the five hundred dollars hidden on her person.

  Finally, Olivia’s turn came. Upon seeing her, July’s dark eyes glowed with surprise and delight. “Afternoon, lovely lady.”

  She nodded warily. Up close he was even more dazzling. Olivia had never been around a man who exuded such raw maleness. It radiated from his overpowering presence like heat shimmering on a sultry day. She shook herself, remembering that she was about to be robbed.

  He asked in a soft tone, “What do you have for me?”

  She showed him her offerings.

  He eyed the slim pickings. “Is that all?”

  “Yes, and I would think you’d have more honor than to rob a woman of the race, too.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of your color.”

  He shrugged. “I’m Seminole and I rob trains. The only color I’m concerned with is gold, pretty lady.”

  “That’s very disappointing.”

  Olivia could see he was amused by her. The thin mustache twitched, as if he were trying to suppress a chuckle.

  “The last thing I’d want to do is disappoint a woman as lovely as you, but a fine-dressed woman like yourself has to have more than that.”

  Olivia was wearing a navy traveling costume whose bustled skirt and form-fitting jacket were at the height of fashion. “I’m a seamstress, Mr. July. I’m only finely dressed because I make my own clothing.”

  He looked her up and down approvingly. “I see.”

  Olivia met his gaze without a flinch, but in truth she was scared to death.

  “I think you’re lying to me,” he said in a soft, low voice that seemed to play havoc with her insides.

  Olivia didn’t respond.

  “I like tall, feisty women.”

  “I don’t like thieves.”

  He cocked his head a bit. “I’m wounded, ma’am.”

  Olivia could feel herself becoming slightly woozy from being so near him, but she told herself it was due to the combined pungent smells of man and horse, not the knowing male look in his jet black eyes.

  He must have seen her wrinkle her nose. “Train robbing doesn’t leave a lot of time for scented baths, ma’am. Promise I’ll smell better next time.”

  “I doubt there’ll be a next time.”

  “Oh, there will be,” he countered with eyes that teased her own, “and when we do, you owe me something.”

  “What?”

  “A kiss,” he told her softly.

  Olivia tried to speak around her suddenly dry throat. “What on earth for?”

  “For letting you keep the rest of your money.”

  She went stock still.

  He waited, watching her silently.

  Something passed between them that she couldn’t name. Then she responded with the only thing she could
think of. “Thank you.”

  He gave her a confident smile, then turned and walked back to the front of the car. Olivia touched her hand to her furiously beating heart, unsure about what had just transpired.

  A few moments later, Neil July and Two Shafts departed, and the shaken-up passengers fell back against their seats with relief. As the train continued on its way, Olivia could see July and his five-member gang riding south. She doubted she’d meet him again, but parts of herself wondered what might happen if she did.

  Chapter 1

  Henry Adams, Kansas

  Great Solomon Valley

  May 1889

  The seamstress shop owned by Olivia Sterling operated out of a small Victorian house two blocks away from the town’s main business district. Last fall, when she’d first purchased the building from the bank, she’d been concerned about not being located on Main Street, but she’d soon come to appreciate being off the beaten path. Being away from the center of town, with all its vehicles and people, made for a quieter existence; it was also cleaner. Olivia could open her windows and doors and not have to shake out her yard goods two and three times a day because of the dust generated by all the traffic.

  Right now, Olivia wasn’t much concerned with dust or traffic. Instead her attention was centered on customer Harriet Vinton. The middle-aged Harriet had just come out from behind the shop’s wooden dressing screen, and all the large, bright yellow bows attached to the white satin ball gown made Olivia mentally shake her head in dismay. Mrs. Vinton’s short, portly form was better served by a quieter, more mature design, but it was a dress she’d insisted Olivia design for her, and this was the result.

  Mrs. Vinton twirled in front of the mirror and tittered, “Oh, Olivia. It’s so beautiful.”