The Fifty-Seven Lives of Alex Wayfare (26 page)

“Don't you think so, dear?”

I jumped at the sound of the round woman's wooly voice so close to my right ear. She was looking at me expectantly, her thick, gray eyebrows arched. Even the hairs rooted in the mole on her chin stood in suspense of my answer. But I didn't have the slightest clue what she had been talking about before I descended.

“What?” I blurted, then immediately wished I hadn't. I forgot I wasn't supposed to engage in conversation with the locals.

“The robberies,” she said, her voice rough and raw, like she was a smoker. I couldn't smell any smoke on her, though, just her reeking perfume. “I can't get enough of the stories in the papers. My son was robbed on his way to St Louis. Not by a notable gang, mind you, but he said it was excitin' nonetheless. Wouldn't it be excitin' if our train were robbed by bandits?” She bounced slightly in our seat. It creaked.

I had no idea what to say to that. Did people really want to be robbed back then? “They'll take your pearls,” I said, nodding at them.

Her thick fingers grazed the opalescent strands at her chest. “D'you really think so? That's why I wore these in particular.” She bounced again, grinning.

I couldn't help but make a face. She'd get her wish when the Carter Gang arrived, and her stupid pearls would attract attention our way.

But… maybe that would be a good thing. So far, my quickly laid plan was to sneak off the train after the robbery and follow the Carters to their hiding spot. How I managed to accomplish that, especially if they were on horseback, was a whole different story. At least if they surrounded the lady and took her pearls, I'd get a good look at them.

Not that I wouldn't recognize them. I had stared at their sepia-stained photos for three days. Their faces were burned on the backs of my eyelids.

I turned back to the smudge of November forest gliding past outside and wondered when the Carters would stop the train. How long would I have to wait? The agony of anticipation pricked me so I couldn't sit still. My torso became hot and sweaty. The round woman's perfume nestled in my head and made everything thick and hazy. I shivered and shifted and rubbed my nose.

And waited.

It wasn't until the train took a corner a bit too fast that I noticed something heavy resting on my lap. Under my pale green coat, a small draw-string purse lay hidden on top of my skirt. It shifted when the train heaved to the side, rounding the corner. I pulled the drawstrings loose and peeked inside, careful not to let Perfume Lady see over my shoulder.

My breath caught in my chest. A rock tumbled to the pit of my stomach. Dreary afternoon light settled on the cool, polished nickel of a short-barreled pistol.

I cinched the drawstrings tight, sending the gun back to its hiding place. I pressed my coat down on it, smothering it, not letting it escape.

I'd never used a gun before in my life, let alone had one in my possession. Though it did make things a bit easier. If I planned to follow a train-robbing gang into the forests of Missouri, a gun might come in handy.

The question was, did I know how to use it?

Now that I knew it was there, I couldn't help but feel its weight on my lap. I became hyper-aware of it. I swore I could feel the cool steel on my thigh through my skirt and petticoat.

The train whistle bellowed, deep and throaty, and Perfume Lady jumped when I did. Another bellow came shortly after, followed by the squeal of brakes. Every bonnet and hat in the train car jerked forward as we slowed down. Perfume Lady covered her ears with her hands. I saw the glint of sparks out the window. An angry cloud of thick white steam rolled from the front of the train all the way past my window.

The train came to a stop. The steam settled around us like a deep fog high in the mountains. All I saw was white. As thick as cotton. As thin as mist. Everyone stared transfixed out their windows. There was a collective hush. A snag of breath. Perfume Lady had eyes like a cornered mouse. I could hear her heart beating louder than my own.

She didn't look so excited now.

I turned my attention back out my window. My breath fogged the glass. When I went to wipe it away, a dark figure emerged from the curtain of white steam. Black coattails billowed behind him in the winterish wind; the brim of a black hat cast a shadow over his bandana-covered face. A revolver rested casually in his black-gloved hand.

Cask Carter.

I knew him instantly.

He gazed up at the train as four more figures emerged from behind him. Arms raised, they aimed their guns at the sky. Shots rang out like bottle rockets. Plumes of smoke discharged from their revolvers.

My right hand slid into my purse and closed around the grip of my pistol. I rested my thumb on the hammer and my forefinger on the trigger. I watched as the Carter Gang boarded the train a few cars ahead.

When they entered my car, I'd be ready for them.

 

 

There were gun shots. Heavy boot steps. Screams. Thuds. Something that sounded like broken glass. All eyes were fixed on the door at the front of the train car, waiting for our turn with the Carters.

It didn't take long.

The door burst open, but it wasn't Cask who elbowed his way through, revolver held high, bandana snug on his nose. It was Judd – I could tell by the size of his ears.

Judd was Cask's brother, older by three years. He was tall and gangly, with a high forehead, a narrow face, and muddy brown eyes. His ears were large enough to see light shining through them from behind. His nose was long and thin, like an arrow pointing straight down, and his hair was jet black and wavy under his hat. In his outlaw photos, Judd never looked as menacing as Cask, but there was a cool anger in his eyes that made the hair on the back of my arms stand on end.

It didn't feel any different seeing him in person.

He aimed his gun at the ceiling and pulled the trigger. Pop! Everyone jumped, including me. A shower of dust dropped from the ceiling's new hole. He strode down the aisle, boots scuffing, spurs jingling. The mouth of his gun still smiled at the ceiling, licking its chops. Judd's eyes slid over each person as he passed, but nothing seemed to suit him.

Until he laid eyes on the waterfall of pearls next to me.

A low whistle seeped from his lips. He planted his boots firmly and glared down at Perfume Lady. “What have we here?”

I didn't know if I should look away or keep staring, but I couldn't seem to tear my eyes from his. There was a pull about him, almost like the magnetic pull of a soulmark in Limbo. It was like I knew him, and not just from staring at his photographs in Base Life. There was something about him, something beneath the surface, that was as familiar to me as my own breath.

“Are you goin' to hand those over nicely?” Judd asked Perfume Lady, gesturing his revolver at her pearls.

She sat up straighter and her fingertips rested on the strands. “Well, now, I don't know. Who do you work for? Someone notable? I don't want my pearls goin' to just any old group a' bandits.”

Judd's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. The mouth of his gun smiled up at the woman's face. “Rest assured, ma'am. You can tell all your friends you were robbed by the Carter Gang. That should be worth somethin' in your circle of society.”

“The Carter Gang?” she said, her nose wrinkled. “I took this train in particular, hopin' for James and Younger. If you aren't with James and Younger, then I think I'll try my luck on the next train. If you don't mind.” She shifted in her seat and stared straight ahead, chin up. Like the matter was closed.

But Judd did mind. I saw a cloud of anger build on his brow. He raised his gun and pulled back the hammer with a click, his jaw set. Perfume Lady flinched.

“You'll hand ‘em over, or I'll pull ‘em off your dead body,” he said, his voice low, his eyes black and cold. “It's up to you.”

My body shivered all over. At first I thought I was just scared, but then I recognized the same yearning, the same itch, I felt in Chicago when I ran from the bakery or when I fought the Cafferelli thugs. I decided to give in to it, just like I had in 1961 when I found out I could drive the Corvette without thinking.

The moment I let go and gave in to the instincts of my host body, the shivering ceased. My boots felt heavy and rooted. My grip on my pistol was strong and sure.

I knew what I had to do. I wasn't going to let that woman die over a few strands of pearls. I'd read enough about train robberies to know that people often died for much less.

I rose to my feet, my coat and purse tumbling to the floor. I expected surprise, but Judd didn't even glance my way. Not even when I lifted my pistol, my finger still glued to the trigger. Not even when I cocked it.

Not even when I pressed the muzzle firmly against Perfume Lady's cheek.

It bit into her skin. She sucked in a breath, shocked.

“I told you,” I heard myself say. “They'll take your pearls.”

And a grin spread across my face.

CHAPTER 21

 

 

The moment I realized what I'd done, I dropped the gun from Perfume Lady's cheek, even though my host body put up some resistance. I uncocked the pistol, shaking, scared to death that I'd aimed it at another human being, ready to fire.

Aimed it at her head.

And liked it.

What the hell was going on? Was this what Porter meant when he said my host body could handle danger? Did he mean I was a gun-wielding train robber in 1876?

Perfume Lady's hat dropped to the floor as she yanked the strands of pearls over her head. They clacked together as she piled them in Judd's hands.

“She can be a mite convincin', can't she?” Judd said to her, a smile at the corner of his eyes. I could only assume he was referring to me. I was the gun-wielding convincer. He stuffed the pearls into a sack tied at his belt. Only then did he finally turn his attention my way. “Who's next?”

“Pardon?” My voice was small inside my mouth. Small and weightless.

“Who's next?” His muddy eyes were expectant. But I didn't have a clue what he meant.

Stall, Alex, I told myself. Stall.

“Um…”

That was all I could come up with in the stalling arena.

Thankfully, Perfume Lady came to my rescue just as Judd's smile morphed into a scowl.

“Wait,” she said, staring up at me, her eyes wide. “You're Shooter Delaney aren't you? The Shooter Delaney.”

“What's it to ya?” The words tumbled out of my mouth involuntarily. My voice was no longer soft and scared. It was sassy. Unrepentant. Prideful. My host body glared down at her, matching the heat of Judd's scowl dagger for dagger.

“I can't believe it,” she said. “I've been sitting next to Shooter Delaney this whole time.” She looked around at everyone in the car, pointing up at me. “It's Shooter Delaney!” She beamed, her chin hair bristled with excitement. “I sure hope you wear my pearls, Miss Delaney. That'd be something to brag about, that's for sure.”

I felt my chest puff up, all that pride and sass inside my 1876 self uncurling like a flag in a gust of wind. Either this host body was particularly strong-willed, or I was losing my edge. There's no way Alex Wayfare would be proud of sticking a gun against a woman's face, then stealing her pearls. I had to get a grip.

I squared my shoulders and asked, “What do you know about Shooter Delaney?” There was still a bite lingering in my tone, but at least I had asked the question, not my host body.

“Same as everyone else, I guess. Sharpest shooter this side of the Mississippi, as far as females go. Your daddy's a lawman in Texas. Had a gun in your hand since you could walk, and robbed your first stagecoach when you were ten, just to see if you could do it. I bet your daddy's itchin' to give you a good whippin',” she added with a grin.

“Good Lord,” Judd said, seizing my upper arm with an iron grip. “I thought you didn't want anyone to know you were on this train. Now everyone's gonna know.” He yanked me out into the aisle and pushed me to the back of the car. “What's gotten into you?”

I didn't really know how to answer that, but I did know I was getting tired of descending back in time only to have some man push me around and ask what's gotten into me. First it was Ear Nibbler, now it was Judd.

“I don't know what's gotten into me,” I said, jerking my arm from his grasp, “but the next time you yank on me like that, you're gettin' a bullet to the groin, ya hear, Judd Carter?” My accent rang clear the moment I relinquished the feeble hold I had on this host body and gave in to my anger.

His hands shot up in surrender before I even finished my sentence. “I know, I know, but good grief, woman,” he pleaded, his voice a harsh whisper. “Why can't you ever just stick to the plan? I put my neck on the line and vouched for you with Cask. The least you could do is pretend to pay me a bit a' respect in front of everyone else. Don't I deserve that much?” He looked like a wounded puppy. In two seconds, Judd Carter went from dangerous outlaw to complete putty in my hands.

And I kind of liked him for it.

I could tell my host body did too, because I simpered (actually simpered) and touched his nose teasingly with a fingertip. “You're right. I'll stick to the plan from here on out.”

Oh. My. God. Was I flirting with Judd Carter?

I watched, horrified, unable to stop myself, as my finger trailed across his cheekbone and curled behind his ear. He had a pink scar at the corner of his left eyelid. It made him squint a bit with that eye. I stretched up on my tiptoes. I was going to kiss him.