A Touch of Camelot (9 page)

"Yessirree bob!" Arthur looked up, his eyes alight.

Cole felt the cuff open and slide from his wrist. "Arthur!" He grasped the boy by his shoulders. "You're a pint-sized miracle worker."

Arthur beamed. "We men, we gotta stick together, right?"

Cole slapped him on the back. "You betcha, kiddo." He reached for his shirt, which was slung over the bottom of their berth.

"Cole?"

Cole buttoned his shirt and jerked on his boots as he contemplated what form his revenge on Guinevere Pierce should take. "What?"

"You're not mad anymore, right? I mean, you aren't going to hurt her, right?"

Cole didn’t answer for a moment. He found his coat and shrugged one arm into its sleeve. "Hurt her?" He took the hatpin from Arthur and dropped it into his pocket.

"You just stay put, kiddo." Cole snatched his gun belt and rose to his feet. "I'm not going to hurt her, but I am going to find her, and when I do..." The rest of his sentence was lost. He was already halfway down the sleeping car's narrow aisle.

Chapter Five

Saloon Car

Gwin peered coolly over a full house to size up the gentleman seated across from her at the small table. The cards were marked. She knew it. He knew it. This was a cat-and-mouse game, only Gwin wasn't sure yet which of them was the cat and which the mouse. All she knew for sure was that she had to earn some money before skipping the Union Pacific Express 840. She was tired of stealing horses.

With two fingers, she slid a pair of chips into a growing pot in the center of the table. Her own small pile of chips represented the sum total of her wealth in this world, an engraved silver pocket watch Emmaline had once given Silas. She had already shaken off a twinge of guilt at staking her only family heirloom to earn traveling money. If anyone would have understood her reasoning, it would have been Silas.

Gwin smiled, hoping she appeared more confident than she felt. "I'll call and raise you one, Mr. Monroe."

The man grinned, but his expression, she knew, had nothing to do with what he presumably held in his hand. He was in his mid-thirties, a flashy dresser with a closely trimmed mustache and slick black hair parted in the middle. He had very dark, very discerning eyes that kept focusing with disturbing regularity on Gwin's bosom. Gwin, who had long ago learned the advantages of engaging in innocent flirtation, didn't mind as long as he kept his hands to himself.

She reached for her brandy snifter and raised her gaze just in time to see the door to the saloon car yawn open. She bit her lip as Cole Shepherd's rangy form filled the doorway. Drat! Gwin still had the key to those handcuffs in her skirt pocket. How the devil had he escaped so quickly?

As her eyes locked with Cole's, Gwin's stomach did a flip-flop. She saw the storm brewing there and, for the first time since lifting the key from his coat pocket, she had second thoughts about her impulsive action. Cole wasn't just mad, he was furious.

Gwin gulped a mouthful of brandy. "Uh-oh."

Mr. Monroe, who was settled back into his seat puffing on his cigar and contemplating his cards, looked up. "Is something wrong, Miss Pierce?"

Heads turned as Cole crossed the length of the saloon car. Edging his jacket back with his forearm, Cole rested one hand on his gun belt as he addressed the man seated across from Gwin.

"The lady is through for this evening, sir. She's coming with me."

Mr. Monroe plucked his cigar from between his teeth. "And who are you? Her husband?"

"The lady is traveling in my custody."

"Is that right? Well, maybe she's ready to change custodies."

"Look, I don't want any trouble, mister, but I am leaving with the lady, whether you like it or not."

"Seems to me that the little lady here should be the one to make that decision."

Gwin glanced from Shepherd to Monroe and back to Shepherd again. Stuck between Monroe's clearly lecherous intentions and Shepherd's clearly murderous ones, she was beginning to think that she might have gotten herself into a pickle.

Cole's voice was low, straining patience. "In this case, sir, the lady doesn't have a choice. She's coming with me."

For what seemed a long time, the two men stared each other down. Gwin could see that they were getting ready to engage in the sort of male posturing that usually ended up with one or the other bleeding face down all over the carpet. The small, all-male crowd in the saloon car had grown ominously quiet.

Gwin shifted in her seat and set down her glass. "Uh, gentleman?"

Neither of them paid any attention to her.

Monroe puffed on his cigar and blew out a frothy smoke ring. "Why don't you run along, son? The lady is in the middle of a game right now and doesn't wish to be disturbed."

Cole's eyes narrowed as he turned to Gwin. "Is that right?"

Gwin’s intention had been to teach him a lesson for treating her so high-handedly. Cuffing him to his berth had just been a bit of last-minute inspiration. Tit for tat, as the saying went, but, oh dear, he certainly wasn’t taking it very well. She set down her cards. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Monroe, but I must have lost track of time. It's dreadfully late."

Before she could even start to rise, she felt Cole's fingers wrap around her elbow, hoisting her to her feet. He addressed Mr. Monroe. "Does the lady owe you any money?"

Monroe's dark eyes held Cole's for another tense second before flicking to Gwin. "The lady and I are even," he said finally. He nudged Silas's silver watch across the table toward her. "I believe this belongs to you?"

"I'm so sorry we had to cut our game short," Gwin said, snatching the watch and slipping it back into the pocket of her skirt. "Perhaps another time."

Before she could continue, Cole gave her elbow a jerk. Gwin found herself being steered purposefully toward the rear of the saloon car. Every eye in the place followed their progress, but Gwin was hardly aware of it. This wasn't the way back to their sleeping coach. Where was he taking her?

"Hey! Ouch! Not so hard!" Gwin struggled against his manhandling once they were outside in the narrow vestibule. She raised her voice to be heard over the deafening clatter of the locomotive's wheels. "Where are we going?"

"In here." Cole pulled the door to the next car open. He pushed her inside ahead of him and closed it behind them.

Gwin squinted in the murky light. Only one overhead lamp illuminated the car, and that one was turned low. This was not surprising since very few people chose to frequent the baggage car in the middle of the night. On either side of them, piled high, were crates and steamer trunks, valises and satchels, and even one odd-shaped, pillowslip-covered item that might have been a birdcage.

Cole backed Gwin up against the wall by the door. "What are we doing in here?" she asked.

Cole's grip on her arm tightened, but he didn't look at her. Instead, his gaze seemed oddly and determinedly fixed on a spot on the wall just over her head. "If at all possible, just shut up a minute, Gwin. I'm trying to keep from murdering you."

Gwin opened her mouth, and then thought better of it. She eyed Cole's rigid jaw above her and waited, acutely aware of the sheer strength in him and of how treacherously close they were. It made it damnably hard to think straight.

"Well," she said finally, slipping gingerly from his grasp and massaging her arm. "Are you ever going to speak to me again, or are we just going to stand here all night while you decide how to dispose of my body?"

"A seemingly small but important part of the plan, disposal of the body."

Judging by the subdued tone of his voice, she thought maybe he'd calmed down. She tried to sound bright. "I must say I'm impressed. It didn’t take you long to find me."

"No thanks to you."

"Where's your sense of humor?"

He finally looked at her. "I must have left it shackled to my berth. You know, I feel like I could just about strangle you right now."

"But you're not going to ... are you?"

There was a silence, during which Gwin had to reconsider her original impression of Cole Shepherd's nonviolent personality. She thought that his voice, when he finally spoke, was distinctly threatening. "Don't ever try to pull a stunt like that again."

She steeled herself. "You didn’t need to lock me up like some kind of horse thief."

"You
are
a horse thief."

"All right, you may have a small point there, but what did you expect me to do? Get down on my knees and beg you not to cuff me?"

"What you did was just plain stupid. You could have gotten yourself into trouble."

"I can take care of myself just fine."

"Sure, Gwin, you'll be fine. Until you run into the wrong man."

"Wrong man? What are you talking about?"

"Just what the hell did you think you were doing with a man like that?"

She didn't like his tone of voice. "A man like what?"

"You know what I mean. He didn't look like the type who would take well to being fleeced by a cardsharp."

Angry, Gwin squirmed out from between him and the wall. She didn't get more than three steps before her shins barked into the side of a steamer trunk. She swung around only to find that he'd followed her and had her cornered again. "I am not a cardsharp."

"Like hell you're not. What do you call it?"

She pointed at his chest. "What I do, Mr. Pinkerton man, is an art."

He snorted. "An
art
?"

"That's right. It's the art of card manipulation, and in case you didn't know it, it takes years and years of practice to master."

"It's the art of cheating, that's damn well what it is."

"Think whatever you want. This game wasn't high stakes, anyway. Just a few dollars, and Mr. Monroe could well afford it."

Cole's tone turned sarcastic. "You may be right. I reckon by the way he was looking at you, it wasn't the card game he was interested in, anyway."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just exactly how were you planning on paying Mr. Monroe if you lost?"

Gwin stared at him, taken aback. "I beg your pardon?"

"What were you betting, Miss Pierce?"

"A watch."

His brows climbed. "A watch?"

"A pocket watch!"

"That's
it
?"

Of course that's it! What else do I have to wager?"

"What else, indeed?"

Gwin glared at him, simmering at his bald-faced arrogance. "If you have something to say, Shepherd, why don't you just say it?"

"Say it? I'm not
saying
anything. I'm merely asking a question. It's obvious Mr. Monroe was expecting more than a handshake at the end of the evening."

"Is it? You know, it seems to me that you have little room to talk about ungentlemanly intentions."

"What?"

"I've seen you looking at me, too, Shepherd, and those aren't exactly saintly thoughts I read on your face."

 Gwin saw by his surprised expression that she had hit him with the truth. She had seen him looking. She had felt his gaze on her any number of times since they had boarded the train at Topeka, and she had felt what he was feeling, too, even if it galled her to admit it.

Cole's expression changed from surprise to anger. "How you imagine I look at you is irrelevant. I have a job to do and that job is to get you and Arthur to San Francisco."

"And that's just what you intend to do, isn't it? Despite what we told you this afternoon? Despite the fact that you'll be delivering us into the hands of people who want us dead?"

"Don’t string me along. I'm not one of your marks."

"I'm not lying to you, Cole. You've got to believe me. I wouldn't lie to you."

"Do I look like I was born yesterday?"

Gwin shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "All right, all right, I
would
lie to you, but I'm not lying about this."

"What do you expect me to do?"

Her tone softened. "Just, please ... let us go."

The train rounded a sudden curve, catching them both by surprise. Cole stumbled forward, capturing her around the waist just in time to keep her from flipping back over a trunk. She clutched at the lapels of his coat, her heart pounding.

The wheels of the locomotive were once again on firm, straight track, but Gwin didn't let go and Cole still held her. Gwin could feel the unyielding firmness of his chest pressing against the soft fullness of her breasts, and it was an unexpectedly welcome pressure.

His head was bent close to hers and she thought, for an instant, that he might kiss her. She tilted her head back, feeling his breath on her cheek as her eyes traced the straight line of his nose, the angle of his jaw, the shadow of his hair where it brushed the nape of his neck.

She knew in her right-thinking mind that he was her adversary, that they were at cross purposes here in the real world, but now it was just the two of them here in the dark, alone; and at this moment, it didn't matter who they were outside of this place and time. She wanted him to kiss her, just this once, because then she would know if it was really him.
Lancelot ...

"Stop pushing up against me, Gwin. It's not going to work." His voice was strained and uneven, thoroughly unconvincing. Gwin could still feel the heat from his hands, the strength of his fingers where they gripped her waist.

She swallowed hard, and, with no small difficulty forced herself to speak. "You're the one pushing.
You
stop it."

He let go of her, stepping back in one abrupt move that almost put her off balance. The moment had passed. He didn't say anything and it took a minute for Gwin to gather herself.

"I meant what I said, Shepherd. I'm not lying about what happened in San Francisco. I don't care if you believe me or not. I won't let you take us back there." But even as she spoke the words, Gwin was struck by the dismaying realization that she
did
care if he believed her.

"Well, Gwin, that's just too bad, because I'm not going to let you stop me."

*

The remainder of Gwin's first night aboard the Union Pacific Express passed restlessly, and her morning wasn't going much better.