Anita Mills (4 page)

The man guffawed, then turned back to the others. “You hear that? She even talks purty!”

“Hey, you wait your turn, Hank. It was me that saw her first!” Billy said, pushing him out of the way. “I reckon I got first claim. Ain’t that right, little lady?” He reached a dirty paw out, touching the collar of her waistcoat. “What’d you say? How about you’n me gettin’ a room, huh? Wanna see my money? I got money—real money.”

“Trainor won’t like it if you’re late, Billy,” another cowboy reminded him.

“Hell, he can damned sure wait. I got m’eye on—”

As Verena backed away, the bigger man grabbed him, shoving him aside, and Billy swung on him. Taking advantage of the ensuing skirmish, Verena gripped her carpetbag with both hands and ducked past both of them. Behind her, the others brayed like a bunch of donkeys.

Unnerved now, she thrust the bag at the porter and grabbed the railing, pulling herself up the steps without the customary help. Pressing a dime quickly into the Negro’s hand, she yanked open the door to the passenger compartment, then froze in dismay.

The car was not only packed, but most of the men crowded in the aisle looked as rough as those outside. As the stench of hot, sweaty bodies assaulted her nose, the drunks who’d just accosted her came up behind her. Catching her arm, the burly one breathed whiskey over her shoulder.

“Ain’t no need fer you to go getting uppity with Big A1 Thompson, girlie,” he said thickly. “Mebbe if I was to tell you I got fifty dollars in my pocket, mebbe you could be real nice to me, huh?”

“You’re drunk, mister,” she told him coldly.

As she jerked away from him, the train lurched into motion, and she stumbled, almost falling. Frightened, she pushed her way through the mass of smelly bodies, enduring pinches and leers in a desperate attempt to reach the back of the car. Behind her, the big cowboy was gaining on her, shouting obscenities at everybody in his path.

She spied McCready in the last seat, and pushing a fat fellow out of the way, she lunged for the gambler. As he looked up, she stumbled over his outstretched leg, then threw herself into the seat between him and the window.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she gasped.

“I had a notion you might,” he murmured, moving his booted foot to make room for her. “I kept a seat open, just in case.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled, keeping her head down.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the cowboy, and sighed. “You know, you’d have made this a whole lot easier on both of us if you’d come with me in the first place.”

“Just don’t let him find me.”

“The hairy Lothario?”

“It’s not funny. You don’t see him, do you?”

“Uh-huh.” He turned slightly to face the aisle. “It’s all right—just stay back out of the way and don’t say anything.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Grasping his left arm, she shrank behind his shoulder and tried to slide down in the seat. She was too late.

The drunken cowpuncher reeled, then reached across the gambler to grab her. His big, beefy hand caught her by her hair, and he tried to jerk her to her feet, but she held on to McCready. “Enough of this,” he growled. “Ain’t no fancy bit going to—” His words froze on his lips, and he suddenly looked almost sober. His grip on her went slack, and his leer changed to an almost blank bewilderment. Finally, he found his voice.

“Who th’ hell’re you—?”

“Her husband.”

As the import of that hit him, the boozy flush faded from Thompson’s face. He looked to Verena. “That right? You belong to him?”

“Yes,” she managed.

Her gaze dropped, and she saw the gun in the gambler’s hand. It was cocked and aimed at Al Thompson’s breastbone, and McCready’s finger was crooked around the trigger, tensed and ready.

“Either turn her loose or say your prayers,” the gambler said evenly. For emphasis, he jabbed the gun barrel into the cowboy’s gut. “Which is it?”

“I didn’t mean nothin’, I swear it, mister. I just thought—”

“I’d be real careful what I said right now,” McCready warned him. “She’s got a temper.”

Sweat pouring from his forehead, Thompson took a step backward, his hands out, palms up. “Hey now—I ain’t got no hard feelin’s,” he protested. “I didn’t know—I didn’t. I thought she was all by herself, I swear.”

“That’s not good enough,” the gambler responded softly.

The big man passed his tongue over dry lips. “I didn’t mean nothin’—honest.”

“You still owe my wife an apology.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am—right sorry,” Thompson said hastily. “Didn’t know—”

“Keep going.”

“Listen, I—” The cowboy’s temper started to flare, then cooled the instant he felt the gun touch his belly again. He swallowed hard. “Look, I ain’t got nothin’ more to say. I done said I was sorry! What more d’you want outta me?”

“Repentance.”

“Jesus.” Groping for words, Thompson tried again. “Well, it damned sure won’t happen again, ma’am—I swear it,” he promised.

“Louder. I don’t think she can hear you.”

Casting an almost desperate glance at Verena, the cowboy cleared his throat, then raised his voice. “It ain’t going to happen again, I said. I just thought you was—”

“Careful now, you don’t want to get her dander up,” McCready reminded him. Inclining his head slightly toward Verena, he murmured wryly, “It’s a little short on eloquence, but I think it’s about as good as you’re going to get. But if you’re satisfied, I’ll let him go. Otherwise, I’ll pull the trigger, and then we’ll be getting off at the next stop to buy clean clothes.”

It seemed as if half the occupants of the car were turned around, watching them. Acutely embarrassed now, she wanted to hide, but there was no escape from the smirks and knowing smiles. “Please—I just don’t want any trouble,” she said wearily. “Just tell him to go away somewhere and stay there.”

“Well, it looks you’re lucky this time, cowboy. You heard her—go on.”

Thompson didn’t have to be told twice. Heedless of the packed aisle behind him, he backed his way into the crush and disappeared from sight. At the far end of the coach, his friends could be heard ridiculing him, and then a drunken fight broke out. Finally, another group of ruffians started cracking heads with gun barrels until Thompson’s bunch settled down.

McCready waited until it was over to carefully ease the Colt’s hammer down. Rotating the cylinder until the hammer rested on an empty chamber, he returned the revolver to its holster. Beside him, Verena Howard gave an audible sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” she whispered, removing her hand from his arm. Looking down the aisle, she shook her head. “What awful, vile people—they’re utterly uncivilized.”

“No. They just don’t get into town very often, and when they do, they make up for it by raising a whole lot of hell. The West’s full of cowboys just like ’em.”

Still trying to regain her composure, she swallowed. “I must say you were rather calm about it.”

“I was expecting it. It was bound to happen.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Out here, anytime you throw a woman between fifteen and fifty, especially a pretty one, in front of a bunch of drunks, the odds are at least seven to one that’s there’s going to be trouble. This isn’t Philadelphia, you know—there’s a whole different set of rules for surviving.”

“Now, wait just a minute—
surely
you don’t think that I—that I
encouraged
the lout!”

“Rule Number One,” he went on, cutting her off, “you’d better avoid anybody who smells like whiskey and cow chips at the same time—anything in a petticoat’s going to give him ideas your mama never mentioned. He’ll have the mating instincts of a bull buffalo at the first whiff of that perfume you’re wearing.”

“Mister McCready, I hardly think this is appropriate. I can assure you—”

“I’m not done yet. Rule Number Two, if you’re going to travel alone, you need more than a wedding ring on your finger. Fellas like Thompson stop looking about eight or nine inches south of your chin. When the train pulls in to the station for lunch, you’d better get yourself a hatpin four or five inches long. Believe me, it’ll do you a whole lot more good than that withering look.”

“I have a hatpin,” she retorted. “I just couldn’t get to it.”

“Even better, get a gun and learn how to use it. Nothing like about forty grains of lead in the gut to cool a man right down.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in killing.”

“You don’t listen very well, do you? I just said gambling was easier.”

“Well, I’m sure I couldn’t kill anybody, no matter what the circumstance.”

“Don’t tell me I’ve saddled myself with a Quaker,” he murmured, looking heavenward.

“No, of course not.”

“Good. The Quakers’ views on Comanches aren’t exactly appreciated down here—in fact, you could say they’re downright unpopular.”

“Well, I do think we’ve behaved abominably to the Indians.”

“In Texas, you’d better keep that to yourself. Now, where was I?”

“I don’t have the least notion, nor do I care.”

“It was Rule Number Three,” he decided, “and that’s to never ever walk into a bunch of drunks. For one thing, a man doesn’t think clearly when he’s drunk, and he does a lot of things he wouldn’t do sober. For another, he doesn’t hear anything he doesn’t want to, and ‘No’ sounds like an invitation.”

“Are you
quite
through?” she demanded angrily. “For the last time—” Suddenly noticing that the man in front had turned around to look at her, she glowered until he retreated, then she lowered her voice. “Listen, I don’t care what you think, Mr. McCready,” she whispered furiously, “but I’m going to tell you again that I did absolutely nothing to encourage that oaf—and if you think otherwise, he’s not the only peabrain on this train.” Her piece said, she deliberately turned her attention to her window.

“I’ll say one thing—what you lack in sense, you make up for in spirit.”

“If that’s your notion of a compliment, you can keep it to yourself,” she snapped, refusing to look at him.

“Look, I’m just trying to keep you from getting yourself hurt and me killed.” Reaching out, he possessed her hand with warm, surprisingly strong fingers. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not spend the honeymoon defending your honor.” Feeling her body tense beside his, he leaned closer to whisper low, “So which is it—are we calling ourselves the Howards or are we the McCreadys?”

She could feel her whole face go hot, but to her chagrin, she knew he had her cornered. If she created a scene and tried to crawl over him to the aisle, she’d be jumping from the frying pan into the fire. Infuriated by his altogether smug self-assurance, she forgot her earlier gratitude entirely. As his warm breath sent shivers down her spine, her free hand loosened the drawstring on her purse. Forcing what she hoped was a dazzling smile, she jabbed her hatpin into his thigh.

Recoiling at the sudden pain, he looked down in disbelief at the pearl-headed pin, then up at her. “What the devil was that for?”

“You ought to be pleased,” she murmured. “That was your Rule Number Two, I believe, wasn’t it?” An almost unholy light danced in her hazel eyes as she added sweetly, “Sometimes one’s advice comes back to haunt one, doesn’t it?”

He met her gaze reproachfully for a long moment, then his face broke into a rueful grin. “On second thought, maybe you’d better forget the rest of that one.”

“You mean your recommendation that I purchase a gun?” she asked, feigning innocence.

“Yeah. I think my Army Colt’s probably enough for both of us.” He rubbed his thigh, trying to take the sting out of it. “You sure don’t stay thankful very long, do you?”

“Well, if you’d spared the lecture and kept your hands to yourself, I’m sure I could have maintained a state of charity considerably longer. But once you cross the bounds of propriety, to my way of thinking, you don’t really seem much different from that cowboy.”

“Now that was downright cruel.”

“Perhaps, but you deserved it.”

“Before you stabbed me, I was just about to make you a little proposition.”

“So I gathered—and I didn’t want to hear it.”

“Look—” Taking care to remove the hatpin from her hand first, he moved closer. As she stiffened, he murmured low, for her ear alone, “Don’t say anything until you hear me out, will you? Just listen for once. Then if you’re still determined to go on by yourself, I’ll get off at the next stop.”

The images of Big Al Thompson and his friend Billy flitted through her mind momentarily, and the prospect of facing them alone was utterly daunting. Reluctantly, she held her tongue just long enough to hear the first part of his suggestion.

“If we travel together, you’ve got a better chance of getting to San Angelo in one piece. As my wife—” Before he could finish the thought, she cut him off.

“Mr. McCready—”

“If you pretend to be my wife, you get the protection of a husband,” he pointed out.

“And just what do you expect to get in return? I’m not quite as green as you think, sir.”

“Shhhh. Listen, all I’m asking for is the appearance of respectability, nothing more. And that wedding ring is a whole lot more convincing when you’ve got a husband to go with it.”

“Yes, but—”

“Look, there’s two kinds of women in this world, and believe me, I can tell the difference. As hard as it is to say it, and as hard as it is for you to believe it, I’m not going to cross the line with you.”

“Then why would you want to do this?” she countered suspiciously. “We don’t even know each other. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I’ve got my reasons, and they don’t have anything to do with you. Think it over. The deal’s all yours, if you want to take it.” With that, he eased back into his own seat, then handed her her hatpin. “You’d better keep this handy,” he told her.

“Believe me, I will.”

Abruptly, he stood up and stepped into the crowded aisle. “I’ll be back.”

Alarmed, she couldn’t help asking, “Where are you going?” Then, as the obvious occurred to her, she turned beet red. “That’s all right—I don’t need to know.”

“I see a game going,” he answered anyway. “And like I said, poker’s my trade.”

“Oh—yes, of course.”

Still, as he disappeared from sight, she felt uneasy. Forcing her attention to the window, she studied the green countryside with foreboding. She shouldn’t have come, she knew that now. But she had. And right now all she had was a brief, baffling acquaintance with a handsome gambler to sustain her all the way to San Angelo. She sat there for a long time, wondering about why he’d followed her. A platonic concern for her safety just didn’t seem reasonable. No, he was hiding something, she was certain of it. Closing her eyes, she heard her mother’s words ringing in her ears again.