Iron Horse King

By Rebecca Bernadette Mance

It was a journey of epic proportions. It was an impossible...
monumental task. A story that is almost too amazing to believe.

But it is true... at least the facts on the epic part anyway....

The romance is filled with hair like chocolate cherry cake, girls with big dreams...
involving dress shops in Paris, being a suffragette.. and avoiding just the
kind of overblown, oversized, overpowering man like Ramsey. One who believes he
can conquer the west by plowing an iron horse through the Sierra Nevada.

Then the story gets a little steamy and completely off track... historically speaking!

A practical and smart girl like Mary Rose would never fall for the man that sends
all the girls along the railroad line swooning like ninnies. Even if he does
rumble into town, literally, in his iron horse carrying his oversized frame,
booming laugh and an ego bigger than the mountains.

However, Mary Rose confronts the man... a man by the way... that represents everything
she hates about men...so she can find out where her brother has gotten off to.

Harold left to help build tracks and never returned.

Unfortunately, Mary Rose is dismissed by the lout Jacob Ramsey, not just out of hand, but with
demeaning laughter and an arrogant discharge. Even her French didn't work!

What is a practical suffragette to do to get out to the end of the railroad line....?

What girls always do to dive into a man's world.... become a man... a very small man, of
course, with baggy clothing and a big hat.But how to drive spikes?

Take the journey of epic proportions... ride the rails of history with Mary Rose and
find out what happens when a sassy young lady decides to take on The Iron Horse
King.
This epic journey of love and adventure is a romantic interpretation based on the facts surrounding the building of the transcontinental railroad in the U.S. This book is inspired by Charles Crocker, the real Iron Horse King and his amazing story. Rebecca Mance is inspired in her writing by the giants in romance...Johanna Lindsey, Kathleen Woodiwiss, Julia Quinn, Jo Beverly, Judith McNaught, Jude Deveraux, Rebecca Brandewyne, Shannon Drake, Stephanie Laurens and so many others ...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebecca Bernadette Mance
• Release date: Apr 2, 2012
• ISBN: 9781310343872

Rebecca Bernadette Mance

Rebecca Bernadette Mance has lived in Florida, Texas, California and now lives on a farm in Kentucky, Finnegan's Run, named after a California Collie that passed away on the farm. She has a husband Joe and son Joseph, both who served in combat, Vietnam and Afghanistan, respectively. She owns her own remote California paralegal business called E-Global Legal Support Services LLC serving California and Arizona clients. Rebecca worked in the Bay area for over ten years as a litigation secretary and paralegal and wrote books during the long commutes on BART. Besides running E-Global and writing, Rebecca works on her farm with nearly 50 fruit trees, gardens and a small forest and thick tree-line to support local wildlife. Her favorite thing to do is to walk the land or sit on the front porch with a glass of wine and her two Collies, Mr. Oliver and Magic Merlin. Favorite quote: "Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass...it's learning to dance in the rain." "As an Indie writer I find that it is a jungle out there sometimes, you are going to take it in the gut because you do everything yourself without backing....When book strikes a controversial chord, it invites trouble, but it also makes for an excellent book. I have learned that to be a good story teller, you have to break rules, you aren't perfect, you don't have professional editors unless you can afford them....but you pour your heart into the book and in the end, it is what drives you to write. Being an Indie writer has been an amazing experience...it means you take the hits, but you write exactly what you want to write, with all of its flaws and beauty...and I think that is what writing is really about...it is the story, the characters...being submerged in a moment and truly feeling that moment. I write with my own rules.....I feel deeply every book I write...from The Letter, The Chosen One, Iron Horse King, Once Upon A Misty Bluegrasss Hill, Silent Magic Music and now my latest two books book which are light erotica, The Wine Prince - Vine of Obsession and The Medici Prince - Glass of Obsession. Thank you to all my fans, friends, family and supporters. I can't believe that I sell books every day all over the world. I am utterly humbled. My blog follows are from countries all over the world and in places I may never have a chance to visit. That is an accomplishment for a girl who once did sleep in her car. Follow my blog at RebeccaMance.com."

Book preview

Iron

Horse

King

By Rebecca Bernadette Mance

Copyright January 5, 2008

Published by Rebecca Bernadette Mance at Smashwords

Dedicated to the inspiration for this book, Charles Crocker 1822-1888, who built the Transcontinental Railroad with the help of three other men, collectively known as the Big Four.

Dedicated to all of the gifted, both known and unknown…

A special thank you to my two editors and dear friends, Debbie Brock Blaylock and Liz Illescas.

A special thank you to my Dear Friend for giving me the golden nuggets that make this book shine.

Steam and sweat.

I followed a course.

I made a journey with an Iron Horse.

Only I could hear,

A train whistle in the air.

So I chose a path few would dare.

Over the mountains we raced,

To bring together the East and West.

No matter how tired, no time for rest.

A hundred years I waited,

For the Grand Story to be told,

And remembered well, by the young and old.

What no man did before,

Or has ever done since,

Will not be forgotten from this day hence.

I won the race, I should say.

As I came to the end with no time to delay,

It was ten miles of track in only One Day.

In the early morning quiet, upon a lonely hill,

Sitting so high, I see my City so far below,

And sometimes still hear that train whistle blow.

Chapter 1

Charles Crocker did have assistance from his three fellow partners, collectively known as the Big Four, in the grand scheme of epic proportions…the building of Transcontinental Railroad. However, he was the one that physically built the Central Pacific. Mr. Crocker was born in Troy New York. As a youth, he worked sixteen hour days to help support his family. His struggle with poverty prompted him to begin selling apples and oranges when he was nine years old and later he sold newspapers.

Troy, New York, December 1834

It was a bitter needling cold that pierced through Jacob’s tattered mackinaw. The increasing wind blew off his wool cap and danced the papers in his stiff freezing hands. The gangly shivering twelve year old Jacob Ramsey stood on the corner delivering his bellowing words with a cracking adolescent voice. Get your paper here, read all about it!

But almost no one stopped on such a skin-biting blistering day. Those who did stop handed over their coins with few words to the boy with ruddy cheeks and scurried away.

The icy rain relentlessly pelted the smattering of people that were resisting the call of a warm fire as they hustled by the trembling boy. They gathered their coats together and eyed the persistent industrious young man on the street corner hocking his newspapers with empathy.

But most not sympathetic enough to stop.

A few of the good-hearted tossed odd coins without stopping for a paper at all, which was just fine as far as Jacob was concerned.

Beside him, Jacob’s diminutive self-constructed wooden wagon was stacked high with yet more papers to be sold. He used the wagon in summer to haul his apples and oranges for sale. He had a brick on top of the papers to keep them from flying away but that wouldn’t protect them from the rain. Shuddering from anticipation of the necessary sacrifice, Jacob took off his coat and covered the papers to protect them from the melting ice.

Even though on days like this he might rather have inside work, Jacob did quite like to work. But of course he could not rest idle inside next to a fire right now, no matter how tempting.

Christmas was tomorrow. And there was something very important he must do.

His father and brothers had gone west that summer to make something out of nothing for the family. There was lots of land for farming there. They would call for young Jacob, his sisters and mother when they had a place for them to stay.

His mother, sisters and he were scarce able to drag together enough to eat. Father had sent money, but it was not consistent. It was up to Jacob to bring the ends together for them…him being the man in the house at the moment. But he took to the task with fearless satisfaction and pride. He had always been restless and mature beyond his years. And Jacob was not afraid to try anything. He learned things real easy and real fast.

So despite the weather against him and time running him quickly into nightfall, he was determined to sell every single paper.

And he would -- despite the bleak outlook at the moment. He had calculated if he sold them all he could afford to get a Christmas ham for his mother and sisters.

With chattering teeth Jacob turned a longing eye to the coffee shop across the street. It was glowing with flickering oil lamps and fire he could almost feel if he wasn’t so darned frosty inside and out.

Jacob rubbed his bitter-stiff hands together peering hard into the coffeehouse, seeking mental warmth from its glow. The crowds that should have been buying his papers sat in there sipping coffee…and eating pastries.

With nothing to read.

Jacob slapped his knee with a dawning scheme. By George! If they are inside, so should I be inside selling the papers to them!

And it would be blessed inside work.

Jacob snatched up the rope handle of his wagon and marched to the coffeehouse like an offending general surging forward from one battlefield to the next.

Inside the balmy coffeehouse filled with pipe and cigar smoke, he sold a quarter of what he had within minutes of opening the door to a merry crowd with expanded hearts for a boy with the marvel idea of bringing papers into the shop. Nobody was in a hurry to forge through the chill to get to any destination, so a newspaper to pass the time was just the thing.

With such good luck and such a fabulous idea to buoy him, Jacob traversed to the next coffee shop a few blocks down and sold another quarter of his papers.

His subsequent salesman’s battlefield became a popular pub.

By 5:30 Jacob had sold all his papers and even charged a tiny bit more for his last few to those who vied for something to read while waiting for sandwiches at the pub. Those who paid more were glad to pay for the privilege that bypassed their competitors on adjoining stools.

Jacob, after all, had a particular amount that he needed to accomplish his goal.

He collected his money for the last paper with successful bliss bursting in his chest. Racing against the closing time on Christmas Eve, Jacob ran to the butcher shop, his empty wagon bouncing in his wake.

Jacob burst into the door of Grusso’s Butcher Shop with energy that sent the bell to a stuttered clap. The butcher stopped his vigorous sweeping and turned.

Jacob gave him a spacious grin and pointed into the glass case. I’ll take that fine ham sir – Mr. Grusso.

Mr. Grusso, an immigrant from Italy with kind brown eyes, laughed and raised his bushy eyebrows. So you did it then did you Jacob? Sold them all did you?

Jacob grinned, putting his chin up and jabbing a red thumb into his chest, Course I did.

Mr. Grusso laughed. How so on such a day? But I knew you could. Fine young man you are. Let me give you the bigger one to take home, for half the price.

Jacob pulled his height and nodded beaming. I thank you kindly Mr. Grusso. I tell you how I did it. A man always has to be thinking…always considering his options and looking for the best opportunity.

It wasn’t the first time Jacob had bought meat for his family, nor the first time Mr. Grusso had heard those words from the lad. As you know, I always have a grand plan no matter how dire the circumstances.

With a chuckle, the butcher tore off a sheet of brown paper from his roll, picked up the ham and began wrapping. You are an arrogant little lad Jacob, but I must say you are an industrious one. Mighty proud your folks must be of you.

A few minutes later winded and filled with his triumphant exploits, Jacob sauntered home with the Christmas ham in his wagon…wrapped right and tight in brown paper, tied with strings and sitting on top of his last newspaper for his mother and sisters to read.

How delicious that ham was going to taste! His mother knew how to prepare it just so. Gravy and mashed potatoes would make the meal. They would all laugh and celebrate over his mother’s delicious cider. Jacob barely felt the frigid stinging in his numb fingers.

Wouldn’t his mother and sisters be so happy?

Ooph! Jacob was knocked to the brick sidewalk with such force he lay sprawled in confusion for a few seconds. A man in a fancy top hat towered above him with an angry scowl. His wagon was cocked on its side and the ham had fallen to the brick footpath.

The last newspaper scattered by the wind in pieces and drowned in puddles.

Shaken, Jacob stood up. I am sorry sir.

You dirty little urchin, look what you have done to my coat! The man smoothed his coat, robustly wiping off imaginary dust.

Jacob picked up his bigger concern which was the overturned wagon and the ham and examined his treasure before tucking it safely under his arm. I didn’t do anything. You were not watching where you are going.

The man stepped forward, his dark brows drawn together over cold eyes. Why you little ruffian with the manners of a hooligan … how dare you blame me for your clumsy lapse? I should take you in hand right now. The man’s gaze took in Jacob’s clothing with a pointed message of complete repugnance. I have somewhere important to go.

Feeling the holes in his coat and his tattered pants with utter clarity and shame, Jacob carefully returned the ham to his wagon and turned to the man with balled fists and fierce blue eyes. You have already caused me enough trouble but if you wish to tangle with me I am ready for it. I’ll clobber you good.

The man hesitated; his gaze shifting to Jacob’s balled fists and he cleared his throat. I could expect no less from one such as you. And I would take your pathetic challenge except I have an important party to go to and haven’t time to show a dirty little thug lacking any breeding or manners respect for his betters.

The words hit like carefully delivered strikes to the soul. While Jacob recovered from the verbal cuffs, the man pulled his overcoat together and buttoned it, giving Jacob a last repulsive glare before moving on with a stiff stride.

Seething in mortification and outrage Jacob waived his chapped fist after the man. "You wouldn’t be able to show me anything you self-important ass because nobody is my better. Nobody! Someday, I am not just going to be a gentleman, I am going to be a king…so rich I could buy you and every one of your puffy friends and not even feel the money leaving my pocket."

The man turned and belted a mocking laugh. Several people hesitated past the exchange with curious stares that only added to Jacob’s humiliation. You will not ever be a gentleman. You won’t be anything but a street scamp hawking your wears with holes in your coat and scuffed shoes.

As soon as the man swung back around and returned to his brisk pace to whatever destination made him so distracted as to run into a boy with a wagon, Jacob looked down at his shoes with heat in his cheeks.

They were not so terribly scuffed.

He allowed himself the embarrassment for an instant. Then he shrugged it away, grabbed the handle of his wagon and swaggered defiantly through the sleet that had accelerated its assault.

He would own the world someday so it didn’t matter what his clothing looked like right now. Nobody would ever know that he once stood on a street corner in Troy selling newspapers on a hellish cold day.

And when he did rule the world he would show up those two - bit pompous men who went around thinking that a suit made you a gentleman. He’d be so finely dressed and speak just so. He would have suits made of the finest fabrics, imported from all over the world. No gentleman would ever look finer.

Only he would be a true gentleman.

One could hide a dark soul and cruelty in a fine bit of clothing like that.

In fact, he really was going to be a king someday even if that wasn’t possible in the United States. Nobody he ever loved now or carried his name from that day on would be out on a day like this working. They would wear fine clothing, sit by a cozy fire and always have a fine ham. Indeed they would.

A man with a bit of ingenuity and hard work could accomplish anything.

Chapter 2

Abraham Lincoln was not just a politician running for president, he was also a railroad lawyer. From the moment he was elected until his assassination, President Lincoln was the most outstanding advocate and supporter of the transcontinental railroad. After becoming president, some of Lincoln’s first words were, What is the best route for a Pacific railroad to the West?

Sacramento, California – September1866

Laura wants your advice about how to capture the love of the Iron Horse King.

Mary Rose snorted, jabbing her needle through the cloth of the gown she was crafting for the very girl who wanted the romantic advice, Laura Langley.

Mary Rose usually did have very capital advice to give, which was exactly the reason the girls came to her. But she was frustrated and weary of hearing every girl in the town hanker after the train builder.

As if all of them could have him! Or any of them for that matter.

And if they did who would want him anyway?

Why were women such fools?

It was up to her to stay above the foray and lead the way. Not that she was tempted by such utter nonsense.

Tell her to forget securing his affections. He cannot be half as splendid as she imagines. Besides, he’ll be running off on that blasted train all the time, not to mention that women from towns here and hither are already chasing after him like hound dogs on the coon hunt.

Lucy, her best friend in the world since childhood, kneeled on a wooden kitchen chair staring out of the shop window that Mary Rose’s father had ordered and installed when she and her mother decided to go into business as seamstresses.

Lucy turned with a slow blink of her eyelids for offense. Mary Rose I would thank you for not comparing me to a coon hound dog.

Mary Rose grinned. Can I help it if the illustration fits perfectly?

Lucy turned a lopsided smile, her big green eyes bouncing fun and her cinnamon colored hair glistened in the window’s fading sunlight.

Too bad Mary Rose’s brother Harold was such a fool and either didn’t notice Lucy was in love with him, or if he did, he didn’t care. He was an idiot to run away with the railroad… like so many dunderheads. If it wasn’t the blasted train or a war that attracted them… it was the damned gold….

Why were men so dumb?

I don’t think she is going to forget him Mary Rose. He is so big and muscled… and handsome. Lucy touched her hair. His hair is so dark auburn it almost looks black except in the sunlight, then…it has a dark cherry look to it. It is long and wild when he doesn’t have it pulled back and tied.

Mary Rose rolled her eyes. Since when does wild hair make anyone swoon? Not me, thank you very much. I think the feather-brained rabble in this town is inane. Nobody could be as marvelous as the preposterous tales I hear about that blasted man. Mary Rose nodded her disdain. "Iron Horse King indeed."

Mary Rose didn’t dare admit she was terribly anxious about meeting the train builder out of desperation to find her brother.

She had to set an example after all.

For the perfect pose of disinterest she lifted the dress to inspect her handiwork.

Her work was never quite perfect. But it almost was. But then, nothing was ever perfect was it?

Sounds like a lot of horse dung to me. The only thing substantial about him is probably his head… for all these women sniffing around after him.

Riding on her giggle Lucy turned to Mary Rose and stuck out her tongue. You wouldn’t say that if you saw him…Oh Mary Rose…you are so rigid. He is not like the town men; so manly. Lucy lowered her voice, "Très beau."

"I don’t believe he is all that. And anyway, who cares about that? It is the substance in his head that matters.

Substance in his brain is not all that matters! Lucy rocked back in the chair punching the air with balled fists. He can lay a man out with the slight of his hand!

Lucy’s voice dropped to a dramatic whisper. It is said he is as tough as the iron he drives. That he can outsmart and outfight any man in Sacramento, maybe San Francisco or even all of California too…but nobody is willing to try him out. They also say he has quite the temper…bellows like a wild beast when he gets angry.

Mary Rose lifted a dubious eyebrow in response. "Really Lucy he does sound like a monster indeed…though a handsome monster… a chocolate-covered-cherry monster…which would be his only redeeming quality in my mind and only because I love chocolate.

His hair is quite beautiful…like a pirate.

Lucy’s absurd dreamy smile sent a scream bubbling in Mary Roses throat. Instead of screaming she said, And he needs a haircut. He cannot be as fierce as that. Though I will be happy if I can just catch up with the pompous man so I can ask him about Harold.

Lucy lost her smile over hearing Harold’s name. You really are going to ask him about Harold? Her voice dropped. Besides…what’s to ask?

You don’t care about knowing what has happened to Harold?

Lucy frowned sharply. Of course I do. He left us and Harold can take care of himself. He hasn’t come up to scratch and doesn’t seem inclined to any time soon. Since he has run off, I am entitled to look around. Emotion choked her last words. And pretend I don’t care that he left.

Mary Rose had instant regret. I know dearest and I am sorry for being so insensitive…of course you care what happened to Harold. I know that.

Lucy turned back to the window and fingered a drawing in her breath-fog. You know if he ever did ask me to marry him I would forget any man I ever saw.

I know you would and my clod of a brother doesn’t even deserve you.

Lucy gave her reflection an impish smile. Of course, it would be very hard to forget the Iron Horse King, should he turn in my direction, even for our dear Harold!

"Vraiment! Lucy you goose! Considering he and his mad notion of building a railroad has pulled Harold and many a good man with him on his improbable quest is reason enough to not like the man."

It isn’t his fault Harold ran off.

She must save Lucy’s heart for Harold, no matter how stupid he had been. "Aider Moi! Lucy please quit looking out the window for that train and repeating such grandiose dribble." Mary Rose vaulted Lucy’s lopsided pin cushion at her friend clipping her right in the derriere. The cushion landed on the back of Lucy’s bent legs.

Ouch! Hey, that is my pin cushion you are lobbing about, ugly that it is I admit.

Lucy picked up the pin cushion from the bend in her legs and lobbed it back.

Mary Rose neatly dodged the projectile. If you wouldn’t mind, please get your needle and help me finish this hem. If we finish by 5, I’ll give you a whole days wages as a bonus.

Just as she uttered the words, Mary Rose completed the last row of perfect stitches of the neckline of Laura’s dress. Maybe we can finish before the train gets here and we can both have time to see the train and the strapping Iron Man in question. Unfortunately, as much as I don’t want to see him, I must out of necessity to find out what happened to Harold.

Lucy bounced away from the window and picked up her abandoned needle. "His name isn’t Iron Man! He is called Iron Horse King."

Even as she sat down, Lucy started stitching quickly and efficiently. You know Mary Rose, I know you think women’s rights are important and you certainly have great advice about how to solve problems, but do you think you’ll ever take a liking to a man?

Mary Rose smiled slyly handing Lucy the scissors to cut her end thread. Of course I will, but it won’t be a big-man-Iron-Horse-King-type. I want a man who is my intellectual equal."

Lucy frowned at her finished stitches. How boring.

Lucy! Boring is better than foolish! A pretty face and comely form is only going to be interesting for a limited amount of time.

Lucy blew a suffering sigh over her friend’s exhausted words and threaded a new needle. I know, I know, so you have told me, so many times.

Then you would think to listen to them just once.

Lucy giggled. I do listen…until I get distracted by a handsome face and comely form.

They both giggled.

An hour and 20 pearl buttons later, the little house-turned-dress-shop that had once been Mary Rose’s family home began to dance over a faint rumble that increased in motion and sound within ten seconds.

It’s the train! Lucy jammed her needle into her lopsided pin cushion retrieved from the floor and raced to the window.

Mary Rose dramatically dropped her head back on her chair and covered her eyes with her hand in an exaggerated flair. And it is carrying the Iron Horse King no less, his Majesty the Royal Train Builder, Jacob Ramsey!