A Texan’s Honor (14 page)

Jamie half held her breath. More and more, she was scared to death that she'd gone from one horrible situation to something worse.

As they got closer, she noticed that the man wasn't as old as she'd first thought. Most likely fifty or so. He also didn't look like he suffered fools lightly, making her wonder what he would do if he guessed they were lying to him.

Beside her, Will was presenting an expression of embarrassed happiness. "So glad to see you, I don't mind saying. Me and my wife here have been having a terrible time of it."

"How so?" the man called out. His arms were crossed over his chest now.

Well at least he wasn't aiming that Winchester their way.

"It's like this. Horse turned up lame a good three or four miles back. When we were off it, horse got spooked and ran. Now we're stuck with just the clothes on our backs."

"Now that's a shame," the owner of the cabin said.

But Jamie noticed that he hadn't made a single move to invite them in.

"We'd be mighty beholden if you'd let us seek shelter for a bit," Will added, making his voice turn syrupy. "My Jenny here is in a family way and I sure don't want anything to happen to her."

When she started to scowl, Will pressed his palm against her back. "I don't want to hurt you," he whispered. "But I didn't jump off that train just to get a bullet in my head now."

The fear she'd been holding at bay returned tenfold. After a moment passed, she looked even more serene.

"Jamie?" Will hissed between his teeth. "You will look happy now."

Weakly, she smiled. Tried to look a bit bashful.

The stranger pointedly stared at her stomach. "Ain't that something? Congratulations, Missus."

She didn't know what to say. Part of her wanted to blush while the rest of her wanted to stomp her foot and refute Will's claim. But of course she didn't want to die.

Instead, she stared at the man in fierce wonder and felt her mind go blank. Until Will's fingers dug into her shoulder a little harder. "Thank you kindly," she blurted.

After giving them another thoughtful stare, the stranger motioned them forward. "Come in, come in. You're going to catch your death standing there like you are. Come meet my missus."

As soon as the man walked through the doorway, Will leaned close. "Don't think he'll save you, Jamie. I'm your only hope. Don't you ever forget that."

"Believe me, I haven't forgotten a thing."

"And you'll keep quiet?"

"I'm going to do exactly what you want me to do, Mr. McMillan. My brains make up for what I lack in looks."

His eyes widened just before they entered. And she couldn't help but feel a little thrill that she'd finally managed to shock him, before she saw exactly why the man's wife hadn't come outside to meet them as well.

Her stomach knotted as she wondered if things had just gone from bad to worse.

T
he man's wife was terribly ill. The smell of sickness and despair coated the interior, making the air feel thick and claustrophobic. At that moment, Will was tempted to pull Jamie out of there, bathe her in lye, rinse her in fresh water, and promise the good Lord that he'd do whatever it took to keep her safe. Just as long as He would keep her from catching the woman's illness.

Because surely that woman was only going to be getting out of bed one way, and that was to be carried to a grave.

The man shifted awkwardly, obviously uneasy. After a time, he spared a quick, awkward glance their way. "Abigail has the influenza," he said quietly, hardly lifting his eyes from his wife's lifeless body. "That's why I wasn't real eager for y'all to step inside here. Especially with you two in a family way."

Influenza. So it was as bad as he'd feared.

Will swallowed as he attempted to keep his emotions from his face. By his reckoning, influenza had taken more lives than bullets in the war. Once again, he questioned the Lord's intentions. Surely things with Jamilyn were hard enough without adding disease into the mix.

His hostage, however, had no such qualms.

Stepping toward the woman, Jamie smiled graciously, just as if she were in a fancy drawing room and sipping tea out of china cups. "I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Abigail. I'm Ja . . . Jenny Lynn Miller. We're much obliged for your hospitality."

Gradually, the woman's eyes opened. After a time, she focused on her visitor. Soon after, a faint glimmer of a sweet smile lit her face, hinting at the lovely woman she'd once been.

With effort, Abigail shifted, obviously wanting to sit up to greet her. Of course, she was too weak and frail, and her efforts ended almost as soon as they began.

Across the room, her husband bit his lip. "I don't know what to do," he whispered to Will. "I want her to conserve her energy, but she ain't been this happy in days."

Will didn't know what to do either. All he could do was settle for Jamie's sweet example. "Not much we can do," he murmured. "Women are going to do what they want, with or without our guidance."

The man chuckled softly. "If you understand that, I foresee a long and prosperous marriage in your future."

Will smiled back, though he knew his own expression was terribly strained. Too worried about their future and all the lies he was telling, he said nothing. Instead, he focused on Jamie.

By now, she was even closer to the lady and was patting her arm. "Oh, no, ma'am. You mustn't trouble yourself. Please lie back and relax."

Will's heart skipped a beat as he watched Jamie reach for Abigail's hand and clasp it, then lean forward as the woman choked out a whisper into her ear.

"What was that?" she asked again.

The woman arched closer and murmured something, just before her words were disrupted by a torrent of violent coughs. Hastily, the husband rushed forward, covering his wife's mouth with a dingy cloth.

And Will cursed himself all over again.

But Jamie kept smiling, just as if there weren't a fresh smattering of blood on the handkerchief. With a shy look Will's way, Jamie chuckled. "I'll be sure to tell him that. I reckon he'll be right surprised."

Will could hardly hold back. Only with extreme effort did he keep his voice even. "Tell me what, Jenny?"

"That Miss Abigail thinks you're right handsome."

"What?"

Jamilyn laughed, the tinkling sound lighting up the room like a set of piano keys. "See, I told you he'd be surprised."

It was true. Will could hardly contain his surprise. Honestly, Jamie was speaking as if she were in the middle of a tea party, not side by side with an escaped outlaw and in danger of catching disease.

As he stared, his fingers itching to pull Jamie away and wash her hands in lye, their host's expression turned to sheer gratitude. "Oh, Miss. I mean Ma'am, it's sure a pleasure to have your company. My wife hasn't looked so happy in days. I'm Chester. Chester Clark."

When it looked as if the man wanted to touch Jamie too, a tinge of jealousy skipped forward. Striding to her side, Will rested a protective hand on her shoulder. "We thank you for your hospitality."

Jamie looked up at him in confusion for a moment before turning back to the struggling woman. "Abigail—Mrs. Clark—how may I help you? Would you like me to help you with your hair?"

"Yes," Mrs. Clark said weakly.

Will looked on and feared Jamie getting sicker by the second. "Jenny, darlin', perhaps—"

"Don't worry yourself, dear," she interrupted, her expression hard. "This doesn't concern you."

He was just about to remind her of their exact circumstances when Chester laughed uproariously. "We sure know how to pick 'em, don't we? Never could abide a timid woman. Let's go get some wood. It's going to be a cold one tonight."

Will hated even the idea of leaving Jamie's side. But it was obvious he had no choice—and that Mrs. Clark needed some privacy. "Lead the way, Chester. Lead and I'll follow."

An hour later, they were all settled for the night. Well, as settled and situated as Jamie could be in such unfamiliar surroundings and next to a man she didn't trust.

Except for the glow of the fireplace, the interior of the cabin was dark, almost black. The flames sent off a multitude of shadows, so she had to rely on her other senses to help her with her bearings.

Next to her, Will lay on his back. He was resting on top of their covers even though the cabin's interior was chilly.

They were so close that she felt his wide shoulders and smelled his scent. Over the top of them lay Will's duster and an ancient wedding-ring quilt that had seen better days.

But still she was terribly cold.

Mrs. Clark was near the fireplace on the far side of the room. In addition, Mr. Clark had positioned their spot behind the table and chairs, in an attempt to give Jamie and Will privacy.

But instead of feeling more private, Jamie felt more on display than ever before.

All night long, Will had watched her, fussed over her, been extremely solicitous. All under the guise of a caring husband. Unspoken was the warning about saying too much, or even attempting to escape.

Jamie knew Will wouldn't hesitate to resort to violence if need be. Reminding her of just how murky everything seemed to be. Yes, Will was a better man than Kent.

But really, how good was that?

As Chester's snores began to echo through the room, Will sighed next to her and shifted again. Jamie tried to reposition herself with each movement, but it was difficult. Will was a big man, and they were in a terribly small space.

Finally, he settled on his side and faced her. "You okay?" he whispered.

Was she? Well, she was alive, so that was something. She nodded.

He stared at her, his gaze skimming over every shadow on her face. "Are you cold?"

"Yes." There'd been no point in lying about that.

He stiffened. Looked her over some more. Then seemed to make a decision. "May I hold you?"

His voice was low, so low it was barely understandable. However, the look he shot her way was earnest, and as the meaning behind it settled in, Jamie realized he was truly concerned for her. She meant more to him than just a captive.

The idea made a little tingle whip through her body. It had been so terribly long since she'd felt any sort of connection of worth with anyone. The last six months had been taken up with her parents' sickness and death.

And living in that strange, hostile void of grief. She'd practically floated in a haze through each day—wondering what she was going to do. Wondering what she wanted to do.

She'd prayed and slept and tried to remember to eat. And then she'd prayed some more. Of course, never had she imagined that the Lord would send her into the arms of the Walton Gang, and now she was running for her life next to a toohandsome man who was undoubtedly her enemy.

"Jamie? Are you ever going to answer me?" Will drawled, soft and low. "May I hold you?"

May he? The words and the images they spurred brought forth that same old flicker of awareness she was starting to recognize.

Of course, it started to scare her as well. She ached for human contact. But she feared being hurt worse.

And though she was still technically his hostage, Jamie guessed she might still have choices. That just because he offered didn't mean she had to accept. "I'm fine."

"You sure? Sharing body warmth will help us both." He paused. "I know you're chilled."

She was terribly cold. But moving close to him had its own set of worries. She'd let her guard down so much on the train that she'd fallen asleep in his arms. Getting that close to him again felt foolhardy. "I'm fine," she said primly. "I'm fine right here."

Something flickered in his eyes, then he shifted to his back again and stared up at the ceiling. "Try to sleep then. Tomorrow will be a long day."

His words sounded empty and sad. Almost as if he wished things between them were really like their lies. Almost as if he wished things between them were different.

But of course they weren't. The very worst thing that could happen would be for her to start to pretend that she believed in wishes or miracles.