Kit Shannon sat up with a start. Almost there! She reached up to force an errant strand of hair up under her straw hat and looked past her pale expression reflected in the train window to the scenery outside. More desert. It had been like this for hundreds of miles. The bustle of New York seemed but a distant memory.

I must be insane!

The words flashed into Kit's mind without warning, her heart pounding with the rhythm of the train. In just a few minutes she'd be turned loose in a world as unfamiliar to her as the tombs of Egypt.

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I am crazy. What do I know of Los Angeles? I should have stayed with Cousin Victoria and taken that teaching position in Manhattan. It was a good school and just right for an unmarried woman of twenty-three.

Kit pushed aside her thoughts and squinted against the harsh sunlight. Was there really a city on the other side of all this dirt and sand? A city poised, as the eastern advertisements said, "to blossom in the sun"?

Would she blossom there as well? She glanced down at her simple traveling costume—a wrinkled serge suit of navy blue and a well-worn white shirtwaist—and thought she looked like anything but a blossom. Would her great aunt Freddy, whom she was to meet for the first time, be completely mortified at her appearance?

"Almost there, huh?"

Kit turned and saw a tall, leggy man standing by her seat. He looked young and dashing in his dark suit and jaunty straw hat.

"Mind if I... ?" He took the seat opposite her without waiting for her response and stretched out his legs. "Name's Phelps. Tom Phelps."

"How do you do?" Kit said guardedly.

"First rate. And your name?"

"Kit ... Kathleen Shannon." She tried not to appear as nervous as she felt. Surely the man would be harmless here in such a public setting. She had heard that the western states were much more relaxed in their protocols.

"Sorry to be so forward, but that's how Tom Phelps is," he said. "First trip to Los Angeles?"

"Yes, it is."

"I could tell. Tom Phelps can always tell. It's how I make my living."

What did he want with her? Kit felt both intrigued and cautious at the same time. The man had a way of putting her at ease with his open friendliness, and yet it was this companionable spirit that also put her on guard. At least he was a momentary antidote for her anxiety over meeting Aunt Freddy and facing her new life in Los Angeles.

Without waiting for Kit to inquire, Phelps continued. "I'm a reporter for the Los Angeles Examiner. Ever heard of it?"

"I'm sorry, no."

"You will. It's new, owned by Mr. William Randolph Hearst. We'll give General Otis and the Times a run for their money."

She nodded, allowing herself to study his face as he spoke. His eyes seemed to take in everything at once.

"And what occasions your visit to our fair city, if I may ask?"

"I am coming to live with my great aunt."

"From?"

"New York."

"Quite a switch. You know, the City of Angels isn't as refined as your eastern hubbubs. We still have one boot in the Wild West."

"And where is the other boot, Mr. Phelps?"

He gave her a roguish grin. "Kicking at the new century, Miss Shannon. Do you realize it's already 1903? Doesn't it seem like yesterday that we turned the corner from the 1800s? Life moves fast these days, and people have to move fast with it or they'll find themselves run over."

"All I see out there is desolation," Kit said, glancing at the window. "I've literally watched the country change from cities and green farmlands to this dry and barren place."

"Looks can be deceiving, Miss Shannon. Remember that. There's plenty of life out there—you just need to know where to look. Me, I see plenty covering the law courts."

Kit sat up with sudden interest. "You know the courts of law?"

"Sure I do."

"What are they like?"

Phelps took a cigar from his pocket, bit off the tip, and spit it into the brass spittoon in the aisle. He took his time lighting it, then said, "Our courts are wide open, Miss Shannon. A far cry, I'd say, from what you have back East. Frontier justice, some say. But I'll tell you one little secret." He leaned forward, and Kit couldn't help but do likewise. "If you're rich," he said conspiratorially, "you can buy yourself a good lawyer. Money rides in our town, Miss Shannon. You ever murder anybody, make sure you got the money to get a good lawyer."

"I haven't any such plans, I assure you."

"Well, a word to the wise. If you ever do, hire Earl Rogers."

"Whom?"

"Best criminal lawyer in Los Angeles, Miss Shannon. Maybe the world. I've seen him perform more miracles than Moses."

Phelps took a puff on his cigar and regarded Kit closely. "Now, I've been sitting here revealing my charming self for a couple of minutes, and I haven't seen those eyes of yours light up once. Until just now, that is. Why is that, Miss Shannon?"

Kit hadn't realize how transparent she'd been. "Well ..." she hesitated. What would he think if she told him the truth? Perhaps she would do better to completely change the subject, or better yet, close the conversation entirely.

"Come, now," he said, leaning ever closer. "Tell old Tom your secret."

She squared her shoulders and chided herself for acting like a silly schoolgirl. What did it matter if he knew the truth? Soon everyone would. "It's really no secret," she began. "I've come to Los Angeles to practice law."

His reaction couldn't have been stronger if she had revealed she was Theodore Roosevelt in a woman's dress. Phelps's mouth dropped open, and he nearly lost his cigar. His hand shot up quickly, and he saved the smoldering stogie with two fingers. The juggling act made Kit smile.

"Did you say practice law?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I'll be ..." Phelps stuck the cigar back in his mouth, leaned back, and considered her as if she were a curio in a pawn shop. Finally he said, "You seem like a perfectly nice young woman, Miss Shannon. Might I give you a piece of advice?"

"Certainly," she answered.

"Go back to New York," he said.

"Go back? But why?"

"This city's no place for you. It's hard-edged, and so is the law here. You'll get eaten alive, like a purebred horse down in a field full of vultures."

"But I—"

He put a hand up. "I'm telling this to you for your own good."

Her own good? That was in the hands of God, not men.

"Thank you, Mr. Phelps, but I am going to practice law."

Phelps nodded, took another puff of his stubby cigar, then reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper and a pencil. He started scribbling. "Kathleen Shannon, you said?"

"Yes ..."

"With a K or a C ?"

"K. What are you doing?"

He looked her squarely in the eye. "I want to keep your name handy, Miss Shannon, because if you ever do become a lawyer in Los Angeles, you'll be the story of the year."

Phelps put away the paper and pencil and got to his feet. Tipping his hat, he grinned. "We're almost there. I can feel the train slowing, and I still have some drinking ... I mean, packing to do. Miss Shannon, it has been a pleasure." He offered his hand, and she took it. Then with a nod, he was gone.

The encounter had happened so fast, it almost seemed unreal. Was that how it was always going to be out here? She thought about what he had said, his warning about the city, his advice to go back. She breathed deeply, telling herself she would probably have lots of moments like this, where doubts might creep in. She would have to be ready. But was she?

Kit stepped off the train into a balmy breeze. The wind played havoc with her wide-brimmed hat while the sun seemed to shine right through any protection it might have offered. Everything, from sky to ground, seemed brighter than in New York.

The scene was not unlike any other depot she'd visited on this trip, and yet it was somehow completely different. The crowds teemed with all manner of customers, from the obviously poorer Indians and Mexicans to the wealthy and overdressed women of society to suit-clad men and roughhewn cowboys.

The depot itself was a strange dome-shaped creation that bore the placard, La Grande Station. The depot platform sprawled out alongside the track, making it clear that this was a highly trafficked station.

"Kathleen!"

Kit looked up to find a well-rounded matron furiously fanning herself with a lace handkerchief, looking rather like a hummingbird cooling itself with one wing. With her other wing she waved. Her face, while amply shaded by a fashionably large hat, gleamed with an overheated, ruddy glow. Her plump frame, clad in a teal-colored walking-out dress, was made even larger by rows of flouncing and a wide, bulky train.

Kit smiled and waved. "Aunt Freddy?"

"Goodness, child, come inside out of the sun," the woman chided and turned with her hired man for the protective shelter of the station.

Once inside, Kit found herself engulfed against an ample bosom. The embrace lasted only a moment before Aunt Freddy set her at arm's length.

"I knew it had to be you! I'm so glad I finally found you—you're more beautiful than I imagined. Almost remind me of myself when I was your age!" Her aunt surveyed her from head to toe before adding, "But word of mine, those rags will have to go. You can't mean to tell me you traveled from New York to Los Angeles wearing that!"

Kit tensed. "I'm afraid so, Aunt Freddy. It was the best I could do."

"Tut! We can always do better," Frederica Fairbank said, tipping her head back ever so slightly. "When I was your age, I couldn't have moved through the station for the crowd of young admirers who would gather. I'm telling you, fashion speaks for itself."

Kit could not suppress a smile. Frederica Stamper Fairbank had been, according to family legend, quite the coquette in her youth. She had married a wildcatter, Jasper Fairbank, even though everyone warned her he'd never amount to anything. But Freddy was a determined woman who always took matters into her own hands. Jasper wouldn't have dared to be anything but a success. He rose to oil prominence over the next forty years while Frederica took her place as a reigning queen of society, first in Texas and then in the budding metropolis that had once been known as El pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de Los Angeles—The village of Our Lady the Queen of the Angels. Freddy inherited her husband's estate, worth over twenty million, about the time folks began calling it simply The City of Angels.

Now, according to her lengthy letters to Kit, Freddy spent her days doing charity work and her nights hosting bridge games, parties, and occasional seances. Kit could hardly imagine the latter, having no interest in Victorian grimoire. Apparently the practices of potion mixing and card, palm, and tea-leaf readings were as much the rage in certain circles of West Coast society as they had been back East.

" ... and we'll simply put Mrs. Norris on it as soon as possible."

Kit quickly realized she'd missed her aunt's declaration. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

Freddy looked at her with a momentary frown. "I have a seamstress who will fit you for a more fashionable look. I'll have her come over with the latest copies of The Delineator. The fashions you'll find there will fit you nicely."

"That isn't necessary, Aunt Freddy. I can't afford—"

"Money is hardly the issue," Freddy proclaimed in a hushed tone. Looking at her hired man, she ordered him to find Kit's luggage. "Julio will see to your things." She waited until the man had gone to see to the task before leaning close to Kit. "Kathleen, we do not discuss the topic of money while in the presence of servants. Or anyone else for that matter. It simply isn't done. You are a part of my household now, and as such I will expect a certain decorum to be adhered to. No doubt you will need training along with new gowns, but I won't stand for any breech in etiquette once you are aware of the rules."

Kit felt duly chastened and looked down at her hands as a child might. By the time Julio had loaded the luggage into the one-horse surrey, however, Aunt Freddy seemed to have put the issue behind them. She now held an interest in laying out Kit's future.

It began with men.

"I know the finest eligible gentlemen in the city, my dear. We will discern those of good breeding and old eastern fortunes from those of new money and more ostentatious circumstances," Aunt Freddy said, as if the news were the most important since the taking of San Juan Hill. "You shall meet them all. And I daresay, with your looks and my help, you shall have your pick."

"Aunt Freddy—"

"Marriage is the foundation of our civilization, and as pretty as you are, my dear, you're no spring chicken. A few more years of spinsterhood and you'd be expected to dress in black. What are you now, twenty-two?"

"Twenty-three," Kit replied flatly.

"Oh my. It's worse than I thought. Well, there's simply no time to waste. We'll get your wardrobe attended to, and I shall assign Corazón to you for your upkeep. She can work wonders with hair and accessories." She paused only long enough to rearrange the train of her gown before Julio started them for home.

"As soon as possible," she continued, "you must settle down and start having babies. Once you're married, with children, people will forget your delay in establishing matrimony."

Kit let out an exasperated sigh. How was she to get a word in? "Aunt Freddy—"

"I remember the day you were born. All that red hair! I knew we had a fire in the teapot, or a tempest, or whatever it is one finds in teapots. Now, one more thing, and I say this with all respect because you are an educated woman." Aunt Freddy dropped her voice, as if speaking about the dead. "You must disregard this fancy about the law."

"But, Aunt Freddy," Kit began slowly, "I thought I made clear in my letters—"

"My dear, I have only your best interests at heart."

"I know you do, but—"

"There are so many rich young men available here. It's like a field of gold nuggets. You'll never want for anything."

Kit couldn't stand it any longer. "I don't want gold, Aunt Freddy. I want to practice law!"

A small yelp squeezed out of Aunt Freddy's throat. "Scandalous! I won't have it!"

"Aunt Freddy, please try to understand."

Fanning herself furiously, Aunt Freddy replied, "I don't know what's happened to decorum. It's this age, this restless age! We can thank that cowboy in the White House, if you ask me. Getting everyone all fired up about progress, as if progress is always a good thing."

"But—"

"It isn't, let me tell you."

"Aunt Freddy, I—"

"No wonder the young have such crazy ideas. Oh! I can't imagine what your poor mother would think!"

An emotional spear pierced Kit's chest. She paused a moment before saying, "But I'm doing this for her, Aunt Freddy."

"My dear, your mother's death was a tragedy. I know it pains you, but—"

"My mother would be alive today if it weren't for—" The words caught in Kit's throat. She looked at her hands, which she noticed were balled into fists.

"Sweet Kathleen," Freddy sighed, patting Kit on the shoulder. "Can't you leave these things to others?"

Kit raised her head, emotion thick in her voice. "I believe this is God's will."

"And just how do you know what God's will is, young lady?"

Kit hadn't expected Aunt Freddy to be so blunt. How indeed did she know this was God's will? She had prayed, yes, and diligently. But there had never been any lightning bolt of realization. Scripture told her that God loves justice, and after what had happened to her mother, and then to Kit herself, the decision seemed inevitable.

"I'll have Madame Zindorf in for a reading," Aunt Freddy said. "You know, she can absolutely predict the future."

Kit shook her head. Her aunt was clearly a partaker in every sort of fad that promised health, beauty, or connection to the spirit world. Her stay here was going to be even more trying than she'd originally thought.

They rode in silence for several minutes. Kit wrestled against the voice of doubt her aunt had implanted in her. Thankfully, she soon found herself caught up in the sounds of the new city—horse and cow bells clanging, street vendors hawking to pedestrians, even an occasional motorcar. Buildings, a couple as tall as eight stories, rose magnificently from the street. Temples of modern commerce testified to the current economic boom—J. W. Robinson Co., The Broadway Department Store, Mullen & Bluett Fine Men's Clothiers. Kit took it all in like a child looking at pictures in an Edison Kinetoscope.

"This is so wonderful, Aunt Freddy!" Kit said. Pushing aside her lingering fears, she added with a sudden exultation, "Don't you worry about a thing. I'll clerk in a small, quiet office somewhere to start. Then I'll earn my own way, and the Fairbank fortune and name need not be affected by my actions."

Aunt Freddy's reaction remained the same. "It would be a scandal! I'd be ruined."

"Don't you worry, Auntie. If anyone tries to ruin you, I'll just take them to court!" Kit grinned broadly.

Her aunt seemed to consider her words only momentarily before rolling her eyes heavenward. "Oh, dear!"

Excerpted from: City of Angels (SHANNON SAGA, Book 1) by Tracie Peterson & James Scott Bell Copyright © 2001, Tracie Peterson & James Scott Bell ISBN: 0764224182 Published by Bethany House Publishers Used by permission. Unauthorized duplication prohibited.

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