A Texan’s Honor (11 page)

"Guess we're on our way again."

As if seeing Will so tenderly holding Jamie embarrassed him, Scout looked down at his boots. "Looks like it."

"You look worse than usual. What's going on?"

"We've lost another hostage."

Well, that was one way of putting it. Will felt chilled as he met Scout's direct gaze. The muscles in the gunfighter's neck moved. They were the only sign that perhaps everything hadn't gone as smoothly as he had hoped to convey. Briefly, Will pondered the pros and cons of asking for details, then decided against it. It didn't really matter who killed the hostage. Or why.

Fact was, a death couldn't be undone and he'd long since given up trying.

"I see," he finally said.

The tic in Scout's cheek jumped. "I doubt it. I, for one, don't understand a lick of what's been going on inside of this miserable train. Fact is, everything and anything is going poorly on this job, McMillan. You and I know enough to know that things aren't going to get better with time, either."

"I know." Scout was right. There was a feeling of incautious desperation around them that seemed to weigh them all down. "And I'm tellin' you what. That girl—that girl you're holding too close—she's trouble."

"Our bad luck isn't her fault. She's the innocent in all of this."

Scout shrugged. "Doesn't matter. She's making everyone act strange and peculiar." Looking even more agitated, Scout stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his denims, as if he were trying hard to keep his emotions in check. "Something's going to happen to her, you mark my words."

Scout's words had credence, but Will thought he was overreacting too. "I've yet to see Mr. Walton use and abuse a woman. Especially not one of gentle birth."

"I've never seen that either. But I've seen the others with women hostages before." A bleak, cool, vacant look appeared in his eyes. "They're getting restless. Fact is, Will, the other men ain't going to wait much longer to get their hands on this girl."

Even thinking about such a thing made Will see red. "They'd have to get through me first. And I'd shoot them dead before I'd let them touch her. She'll be safe."

Scout pressed his lips together but refrained from commenting. "And one of the men surrounding the train was Blackstone. Do you know him?"

"No," Will lied.

"I've seen him rape and pillage in a way that would put a carpetbagger to shame."

Blackstone wasn't Will's supervisor. Sam Edison was. But Blackstone's reputation was well known. More than anything, he had a reputation for achieving results. Will had never thought much about how the man had gotten those successes. "Did you witness it?"

The tic jumped again. "I witnessed the aftermath in Austin once. He threatens women . . . and has been known to make good on those threats."

"But the men in his company—"

"Oh, those men will do their best to convince Blackstone to leave women alone. But sometimes, what they say don't matter."

Will didn't doubt Scout's words. In these times, sometimes the only bout of decency and sanity depended on the day and the time. All of them were capable of murder and thieving. All of them were capable of doing their worst with anything available. And all of them had. He knew he had. Shoot, even one of the heads of the railroad was in cahoots with the gang.

That was the whole reason he was there—to bring him down.

But suddenly his duty didn't seem nearly as important as the woman in his arms.

After weighing his options, he blurted, "What do you suggest I do with Jamie?" No way was he going to give a hint to what he was thinking.

A full minute passed. It was obvious that Scout was as unused to disclosing his private feelings as Will was. Finally, he folded his arms over his chest and stared hard at Will. "Truth?"

"Truth."

"McMillan, you need to do what you need to do. Soon. Do you understand?"

Slowly, Will nodded.

Looking curiously relieved, Scout nodded. "Good. If you care about her as much as you act like you do, you need to do it soon."

There it was. But still, he was too smart to trust too much. "Do you have a stake in this?" Could there be a reason Scout was practically telling him to take Jamie and run?

"Do I have a personal interest?" Slowly he shook his head, his eyes lighting up with misplaced mirth. "Not so much. Not enough to risk a bullet hole. But I have enough of a sense of right and wrong to look the other way if you take matters into your own hands."

After a pause, Scout added, "Maybe even to encourage some others not to ask questions or look too hard."

"Why would you do that?"

"Why?" A lopsided smile appeared. "Let's just say I've taken to having a soft spot for a woman in black."

"So you're favoring the color and not the woman?" Will asked wryly.

"I'm not favoring it," he amended. "Sometimes it's enough to know that she's been through enough. You know?"

"I know," Will said softly.

In his arms, Jamilyn sighed then opened her eyes. He knew the moment she spied Scout because she stiffened and pulled away from his embrace like his body was on fire.

Scout cleared his throat, his voice once again becoming as remote and cold as the desolate land outside. "You'd best get going, Will. Boss is going to be wondering what you're doing if you don't hurry. I'll watch your hostage."

Jamie trembled.

Will knew there was no choice. He'd been sent for. Jamie gazed at him with wide, frightened eyes as Will stood up. "You'll be safe here," Will said over his shoulder as he walked to the portal. "Safe enough."

Catching Scout's eye, Will made his decision. "Safe enough until I come back."

Scout nodded.

The decision had been made. And as Will walked back to the train car of men, he wondered why he didn't feel a single shard of regret. Instead, all he felt was anticipation mixed with the sensation that he was about to do what was right.

That was something he hadn't felt in a very long time.

A
fter checking in with James Walton, Will returned to Jamie's train car and let Scout leave. Then he looked at Jamie and cursed fate.

It had finally come down to this moment. And though he was as sorry as could be, Will knew beyond a doubt that he no longer had a choice. If he didn't get Jamie off the train as soon as possible, she was going to get violated or killed. Most likely both.

In his worst moments, he feared he'd even have to watch.

Pure agony coursed through him as the probable consequences swam in his mind. They were only going to have the clothes on their backs. No horse. Only one set of guns. And no food or water.

When Will pulled Jamie off the train, they'd be in terrible danger, with both the men from the Walton Gang and the Marshals hunting them.

They would shoot to kill, most likely him first. Then Jamie would be at the mercy of men who had none. It would take everything he had to evade both groups, and that was assuming Jamie would willingly be by his side.

Of course, she wouldn't be. When she wasn't in the depths of an exhausted sleep, Jamie feared him—and with good reason. He'd held her against her will and would have shot one of the Marshals right in front of her if the situation had necessitated it.

And all of that wasn't even taking into account the bitter cold and unceasing snow that seemed determined to blanket them. If he couldn't keep Jamie warm and dry and alive, not even the most grandiose of schemes mattered a whit.

She would die and her soul would be on his conscience.

No, most likely she would fight him every step of the way, even going so far as to try to run from him.

The idea made his blood run cold. What would he do if she fought him? Tie her up?

Though the idea pained him, if it meant keeping her alive Will knew he would do it.

With a feeling of inevitability that now seemed an integral part of his life, Will realized he would do whatever it took to keep her safe, even if it meant forcing her to hate him. Even if it meant causing himself pain, even sacrificing his life.

It was time to do something he could be proud of.

All he could do now was wait and plan and look for his chance.

"Will? What do you think is going to happen?"

Jamie's voice was sweet and tentative and scared. Of course, she had every reason to feel that way.

"I didn't know you were awake."

"I just woke up a little bit ago." After another yawn, she sat up straighter. "The train's running again."

"It is." Keeping his voice detached, he added, "If you're ready, Mr. Walton wants to see you, that's all."

"I'm afraid of him." A sheen of pink colored her cheeks when he looked at her curiously. "I mean, I'm afraid of all of you. It's just that . . ."

"You're afraid of some men more than others."

She bit her lip and nodded.

"I understand." Then, though he shouldn't reassure her, because, after all, who other than God knew what their future held, he said, "Jamie, I can't promise you much, but I will promise you this: no harm will come to you while I'm here." Not if he could help it, he added silently.

"Why?"

"You're too good a lady to die on a train full of no-good men."

"Is that what you are?"

"Yes."

Getting to her feet, she stepped forward. "Always?"

Will thought back. Tried to remember another time, a time when he was almost innocent. Almost good. Surely there'd been a time? "No, not always. But for a long time."

"Then what makes you different?"

Ah, she was a smart woman. For a moment he was tempted to tell her the whole truth about himself. That although the company he was keeping marked him as no good, he
was
more than that.

A whole lot more.

But even the walls had ears, and he certainly didn't trust anyone. "Maybe one day, I'll get the opportunity to tell you," he said quietly. "For now, though, you need to come with me. We can't tarry much longer."

To his surprise, she touched his arm. "Will, if Mr. Walton wants to . . ." Her throat worked as tears sprung to her eyes. "If he means to use me . . . or plans to let Kent use me . . . kill me first, would you?"

He was so shocked, he stared at her, struck dumb. "Jamie, nothing is—"

"I mean it," she blurted. "There was a woman, a woman living across the street. She'd been . . . hurt." Shaking her head, she stared at him directly. "She had been raped and beaten by a band of soldiers, and she was never the same. Her brother said she hardly slept, and when she did, she was plagued by nightmares. I don't want that. I don't want to survive after that."

"Mr. Walton doesn't have that in mind." At least he hoped not.

"But Kent does. And I fear some of the others do too. Maybe even those Marshals who were surrounding us."

"Marshals wouldn't do that." Though as he remembered what Scout said, he knew he was being naive. There would always be men who wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of an innocent woman.

She laughed bitterly. "You act as if you know something about men that no one else does. I saw their looks, Will. They may want me free, but they already think you men have done their worst. And I have the terrible feeling that Mr. Walton wouldn't be opposed to using me as bait if things got desperate."

She was right, of course. If it came to a matter of living or dying, he knew most every man there would use her in order to survive.

That was how it was done. It was always how it had been. "I promise," he said.

"You'll do it? You'll shoot me dead?"

"If that's what you want," he lied. Because he knew he couldn't do that. Just the light touch of her fingers made him yearn to hold her close and never let her go. With that in mind, how could he extinguish her life?

"Let's go before Mr. Walton sends someone to retrieve you."

A slight tremor rattled her fingers, then with the briefest of nods, she turned and started walking.

He was shamed to realize that she now understood how things worked.

James Walton was sipping whiskey when they entered. "McMillan, I was worried you'd gotten lost on the way here."

Beside her, Will stiffened. "No, sir."

"Miss Ellis, I hope you are still being treated well."

"Yes, sir," she said, because, really, there was no other choice.

Looking at the formidable man who all the other men on the train visibly feared was extremely scary.

Struggling not to let her fear show was terribly hard. But the fear was inevitable. No man there would expect her to be calm.

She was more frightened than she'd ever been in her life, and just as afraid of the stark, sudden sense of peace she felt when she was in Will McMillan's company. How could she bring herself to trust a man who was a hired killer?

Was it merely that she trusted the devil she knew more than the one she feared?

Pointing to a bright red stain marring the oak trim, Mr. Walton frowned. "I'm sorry to say that yet another one of our guests had to leave us."

Tears sprang to her eyes and fell to her cheeks. She winced as Will dug his fingers into her arm, signaling her to stay quiet and strong. However, Jamie couldn't hold back the tears any more than she could stop the train.