A Texan’s Honor (7 page)

"But still—"

"Jamie, he's gone. Now do you want it or not? It's not going to get any warmer. And I'll tell you right now, this is as good an offer as you're going to get." After a moment's pause, his voice lowered. "And it's a far sight better than the things some of the other men have in mind for you to keep warm."

Pure fear coursed through her. Her mouth had gone dry and her mind went blank. Suddenly, there wasn't a thing in her brain.

He chuckled. "Cat got your tongue?"

With effort, she shook her head and held out her hand. "Thank you, Mr. Proffitt."

As if he'd just won an inner battle, his face softened into a semblance of a smile. He nodded. "You are very welcome, Miss Ellis. I'm happy to oblige." And with that, he set the wool into her hands.

A man's unfamiliar scent tickled her nose. Knowing the man was dead, she paused.

"The wool still works. Use it."

His honey-infused voice held a strong thread of steel, reminding her that Scout Proffitt was certainly not weak and probably never had been. And he most certainly wasn't used to giving suggestions.

No, he'd told her to do something. As kind as it was, it had been a command. Only when he watched her wrap the coat around herself did he blink.

She stood up and slipped her arms through the scratchy fabric. And though the fabric smelled of a stranger and was far too big, it also was blessedly thick. Almost immediately, the extra layer of fabric insulated her skin. Little by little, the chill that had overtaken her dissipated.

A flash of a match was followed by the sweet scent of fine tobacco that permeated the air as Scout lit a cheroot and inhaled. Inexplicably, the scent of the cigar calmed her nerves. For a moment, she simply sat and watched Scout finger the thin cigar, take a puff, then slowly exhale.

He glanced her way. "I swore to myself that as soon as I could afford it, I was going to never be without these. It was a good day when I bought my first box."

Jamie wondered why. It seemed to her a strange thing to look forward to having. However, she kept her thoughts private. Scout Proffitt's wants and needs were certainly none of her concern.

When the cheroot was just about halfway gone, he stood up with a sigh. "I suppose it's time we moved on. You and me are going to take a walk now."

"What? Why?" She liked being apart from everyone else. Plus Will had promised her he'd keep her safe.

"Ah, so you can talk." Humor lit his eyes as he stood up. "Here's the deal, sugar. We're going to go see the others. Mr. Walton is curious about you."

"And Mr. McMillan?"

One eyebrow rose. "I imagine Mr. Will McMillan is waiting for you with bated breath. Come on, now." He reached for her hand to help her from her seat.

But she ignored the proffered hand and got to her feet unassisted.

"I'm not good enough for you to take my hand, huh? Guess I should've expected that." Just like that, his expression went flat. He gripped her elbow and pulled her forward.

There wasn't a single reason for the next words she said. "It's not that," she blurted. "It wasn't that I didn't think you were good enough."

"Then what is it?"

"I . . . I'm not used to being around men. I'm not used to being helped. I don't know how to accept that help."

He blinked. "You don't? A pretty thing like you?"

"When my brothers died, my parents became reclusive," she explained, though it was hard to admit and certainly none of his business.

"Some would say that's a good thing," he said after a moment's pause. "Some would say that you being sheltered like you were was fine news, indeed."

While she pondered his statement, Jamie tried not to flinch when he curved his hand around her arm. His fingers cut through the thin fabric of her coat and dress and dug into the soft skin of her upper arm. She bit her lip so he wouldn't know. As he pulled her across the car, through the rickety connection to the next, Jamie did her best to keep up with him, hoping that if she stayed close enough, he would drop his hand.

But he didn't. He simply tugged, the remains of his cigar still in his mouth. The heady scent of tobacco surrounded them, and Jamie knew she would now only associate that particular smell with the train and bone-crunching fear.

Scout Proffit never looked her way as they crossed into the next car. But he did pause. "Word of warning to you—I'd keep that pretty mouth of yours closed and your eyes forward. Except when Mr. Walton speaks to you."

"I don't understand why he would even want to talk to me."

"It don't matter, Jamie."

"But—"

With a hint of aggravation, he shook his head. "Miss Ellis, don't you understand? It never matters what you think in Mr. Walton's company. All that matters is what he wants."

As that last phrase spun in her head, he turned around again and started walking.

Still within his grip, Jamie followed him—more confused than ever. By turns, Scout had been almost gentlemanly and almost violent. She shivered as she followed him into the last car, then stood and tried to get her bearings as she was greeted by a far thicker cloud of cigar smoke and the musky smell of men and fear. Right away Kent whistled low.

Though she kept her eyes averted, she couldn't prevent her body from trembling.

To her surprise, instead of pushing her forward, Scout pulled her closer to him, his grip tight—serving as a reminder of his words of caution. "Don't you forget what I said," he murmured. "Listen, nod, and agree. Things will go easier that way."

She had intended to look only straight ahead, but unable to stop herself, she glanced toward the wall.

Now, only three men gazed back at her. Their mouths were gagged and their wrists were bound in front of them. The space where the old-timer had been was empty, save for a stain of red. When one of the men's eyes widened, then looked at her with contempt, Jamie knew he'd spied her coat.

But even if she could, she wasn't sure if she would give it up now. The extra layer not only provided warmth but an added layer of protection from the men's prying eyes. She felt safer with it on.

That knowledge made her skin crawl. What kind of person was she becoming?

"Ah, Miss Ellis. How kind of you to join us," Mr. Walton said from the corner of the train.

Warily, she looked to the man in charge. He was smoking a cigar, lounging back on one elbow. One foot was propped on the seat in front of him. He looked to be in complete repose, sitting as if he was in a comfortable drawing room—or maybe even in a men's club or a fancy hotel lobby.

Then she noticed his expression. His lips were flat and his beautiful green eyes were alert. Cold. She felt his gaze slowly run the length of her body.

In response, she ached to turn away, but Scout held her elbow firmly. "Don't move," he said under his breath, so low she couldn't even be sure that he'd said anything at all.

In case he had, she willed herself to stand still.

"You may release her arm now, Mr. Proffitt. She's not going anywhere." He chuckled. "I can promise you that."

Immediately, Scout's fingers loosened and his hand drifted away. Though it made no sense, she suddenly missed his touch. His hand had been warm and his grip solid. Perhaps it was because by now she knew what to expect from him. She didn't know what to expect from Mr. Walton.

"Now, Miss Ellis, I trust you have been comfortable in our company?"

She nodded, the movement making her head feel like it was made of wood.

Scout, though he was no longer touching her, was standing close enough to let his displeasure be known. Obviously, he was not pleased that she hadn't followed his advice to a T.

However, it seemed to be enough for Mr. Walton. After puffing on his cigar once more, he said, "I'm so glad. Will here was telling me that you hail from Colorado Territory. Is that right?"

She nodded again, wishing she could locate Will but couldn't see him. She ached to stand up and look around the compartment, but she didn't dare disobey Scout's orders. As the seconds passed, she realized the man really had been looking out for her best interests. "Yes, sir. I lived in Denver. My parents moved there from Texas after the war."

"And now you're headed to Kansas City?" His question was phrased flat, like a statement, making her wonder if he knew far more about her than she could ever guess.

But there was no reason not to tell him the truth. "Yes, sir."

Mr. Walton brought his cigar to his lips, inhaled, then blew out a billowy cloud of smoke. Jamie found herself shaking as she watched the smoke dissipate into the air, quietly evaporating into nothing.

Behind her, she heard the hostages shifting. Beyond them all, wind whistled along the steel walls of the train.

After another moment, he said, "I'm sorry to say this journey hasn't been quite as comfortable as I would have hoped. The weather is difficult at best. Then, of course, we had a terrible miscommunication with the engineer of this train. It seems he needed some convincing about how serious I was in my intentions to keep the silver." He shook his head in sorrow.

"I'm sorry to say, he gave his life for this train, which
is
a rather sorry little story." He sighed dramatically as he tapped the end of his cigar on the end of a table. "The truth is that he should have never doubted me. I don't prevaricate. Ever. It was a shame that poor man had such a difficult time understanding that, don't you think?"

He'd killed the engineer.

Jamie's head felt frozen. She was too afraid to nod, too scared to speak.

He glanced at her, seemed to find comfort in her terror, and then puffed on his cigar again. "I don't believe his brakeman will doubt me now."

The air filled with tension as he gazed at her again. "Now, though, at least you have a coat." He smiled slowly. Obviously goading her to make a response.

But Jamie didn't know what kind of response to make. Still frozen, her mind went back to the scene of Kent shooting the innocent man, ripping off his coat, and tossing him out of the train.

All she was sure about was that she needed to hide her revulsion, both of the coat she was wearing and for the men in front of her.

The atmosphere grew thicker. Tense. Before long, Mr. Walton gave up all pretensions of looking amiable. Instead, his green eyes flashed annoyance and his jaw tightened. Two seconds later, he popped two knuckles. The sharp cracks sounded like rifle pops in the still silence, making her shiver all over again. "Miss Ellis? Are you going to grant me a response?"

Her mouth went dry.

"Talk," Scout murmured from behind her back, his mouth so close she could feel the heat of his breath against her skin. "Talk. Now."

But she didn't know what to say. She was frozen. Panicked. Her mind a void.

"Do it," he muttered, his voice still low but with a forceful edge.

"Yes, sir," she finally said, feeling like a puppet. The truth was, she wasn't even sure what she was referring to anymore. Holding her breath, she half waited for him to yell at her. Or to command her to remove the coat.

Mr. Walton flashed his teeth. "How nice to discover you are inclined to converse. At last."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry," she said hurriedly. "My father never liked to me to speak to men. I'm afraid I don't have much practice."

Scout grunted.

Momentarily appeased, Mr. Walton smiled. "I find that charming." After puffing his cigar again, he continued. "Now that our conveyance is stopped, it seems that a group of U.S. Marshals have come to investigate."

"Yes, sir?"

"Normally, these men wouldn't be of concern to you, I know. However, I'm afraid someone who we very kindly let go has gone and told those men that there is a woman in here. You."

"Yes, sir?"

"This is a problem." His voice hardened as a look of pure venom entered his voice. He paused.

Jamie's mouth went dry as a feeling of foreboding flickered through her.

Mr. Walton didn't disappoint. "Miss Ellis, because the men know you are on board, they are naturally concerned for your welfare."

Once again, he waited for a response. Once again, she had no idea what to say. "Are they?" Her heart quickening, she wondered if she was about to be freed.

"Indeed. I'm afraid they think the worst." He lifted his hand and examined his nails. "But we are not animals. Not a one of us has mistreated you, have we?" He paused. Stared hard at her.

Feeling weak, she shook her head. "No, sir."

"Very good. I'm glad you see my side of things. In any case, I'm afraid it is now necessary that you be seen."

Scout's breathing hitched.

"Seen?" A whole wealth of images festered in her mind, but unfortunately, none of it made sense. "I'm . . . I'm sorry I don't understand."

Beside her, she could feel Scout's impatience with her grow. With some surprise, his words of warning filtered to her brain again. She wasn't supposed to offer opinions.

Afraid to look his way but unable to stop herself, she glanced toward him.

Scout's mouth tightened and his entire body seemed to radiate disdain.

But fortunately, Mr. Walton didn't seem too dismayed about her speaking. With a motion of his right hand, he said, "Miss Ellis, McMillan is going to take you to the back of the train. He's going to open the back latch. You are going to go stand on the miniscule balcony for a full three minutes." His voice lowered.

"Listen carefully. You will not do anything except stand still. You will not attempt to signal anyone. You will not fight Mr. McMillan. You will not even think about leaving our hospitality. If you do, Scout has orders to shoot you. And trust me, he will. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"You'd better." Looking toward Scout, Mr. Walton smiled. "See, here's the thing about Scout Proffitt. It doesn't matter to a man like him if you are a woman or how you were bred." Almost kindly, he added, "Life and death mean the same to him. Humanity means nothing to him. He's a killer. A very good one. But that's all he is."

Beside her, Scout's body might as well have been forged from steel, he was standing so still and straight. Pure venom radiated from him directly to the boss.