Only My Love (7 page)

"So I've heard."

Michael frowned, uncertain what he meant by his last comment. Her fingers trembled slightly as she unhooked the brooch and she closed her eyes briefly, turning away in the same moment she placed it in Houston's gloved hand. She didn't see him give it a long, almost regretful look, before he dropped it in his pocket.

"I thought you might stab me with the pin."

"It occurred to me." Without waiting for Houston's order, Michael opened the door to the first class car and stepped inside.

* * *

Ethan Stone wondered if his shock was visible. He felt as if he'd been kicked by a mule when he saw the woman who preceded Houston into the car. He thought he had successfully avoided her altogether. Now, here she was, staring at him straight on, her surprise a palpable thing.

He watched as her brows drew together and her mouth became flat and serious. Her frown of concentration touched every one of her features. Her spectacles had slipped to the tip of her pared nose. Her eyes—dark green, he noted now—were clouded as she tried to place his face. Her teeth caught her lower lip and worried it gently, causing her chin to wobble slightly. Ethan saw her struggle to grasp the elusive memory that would allow her recognition of another place, another time, and he didn't release his breath until he saw annoyance cross her face as she couldn't do it. The moment had stretched as an eternity in Ethan's mind. In reality it had taken mere seconds.

Michael shook her head as if to clear it. Something niggled at the back of her mind but she couldn't bring it to consciousness. In the next moment her attention was brought to focus on another matter entirely and the thread of memory was broken.

Happy McAllister was holding Drew Beaumont at gun point.

Michael began to march forward, only to be brought abruptly back by Houston's hand on the collar of her duster. "What's he doing? What's this all about?"

Houston ignored her. "That the one?" he asked Happy.

Happy nodded. "Sure is. Hell of a time findin' it out. Didn't say a word until he saw you coming back. Figure that shook him up a little."

Ethan knew now what had shaken Drew and it wasn't Nathaniel Houston. Until
she
had stepped into the car the other
Chronicle
reporter had maintained a stoic silence. Apparently Drew didn't trust his colleague to maintain the same discretion. Wise man, thought Ethan. She looked about ready to say something incriminating any moment.

"What's going on?" Michael demanded again. This time she wrested herself away from Houston's grip and got several steps closer to Drew. Happy's gun held her off. "Drew? What's this about?"

"You know him?" Houston asked.

"Of course I know him. He's—"

Ethan felt his breath catch again.

Drew interrupted. "We met on the train. As you're probably aware, her company's quite entertaining."

"Drew?" Michael's brows knit. "Why are you—"

"Don't worry about me," Drew cut in again. "These men don't seem to like reporters and they've found me out. They were sure they could find a newspaperman right off, but I must look more like a parson than I knew. Took them a while to get to me." His smile was self-depreciating. "Hell of it is, my mother wanted me to be a preacher."

"Drew, I still don't-"

"Seems this fellow here and his friend uncoupled the
Chronicle
cars and the caboose."

"Uncoupled the cars?" Michael couldn't take it in immediately. What Drew was telling her was too horrifying.

"They're dead," Drew said quietly, holding her eyes, willing her to be cautious. "All dead."

There wasn't any more space in the first class car than there had been earlier. Injury was still a possibility but it no longer mattered. Michael dropped in the aisle like a stone.

Chapter 2

In a way it was a relief, Ethan thought. She was out cold, curled and crumpled in the aisle like a dry leaf. For the moment at least she couldn't say anything stupid. Now he could concentrate on the matter of Drew Beaumont. With a little luck he could make it work.

Houston hunkered down at Michael's head. "Get that damn reporter out of here," he barked at Happy, "and take care of him."

Happy hauled Drew out of his seat and pushed him into the aisle. Drew tripped on Michael's outstretched leg and nearly went sprawling himself. Ethan caught him and pulled him upright. "I'll take him out. You help with the lady." He felt the restlessness of the other passengers. A stony stare and a single wave of his gun put all of them back in their seats. "Obie, you watch them carefully. We don't want any heroes. One damned complicating female is enough for any robbery."

"I second that," Happy said feelingly.

Ethan let Drew step in front of him and leveled the barrel of his Colt at the reporter's back. "Let's go." Once they were outside the car Ethan directed Drew to jump down on the steep side of the track. "Keep going. Walk to the end of the train."

Drew glanced back over his shoulder and sneered.

"Thanks to your friends, a shorter walk than it used to be."

"Are you foolish or brave?"

"Neither. Just realistic. You're going to kill me. I've a mind to say whatever occurs to me."

Ethan nudged him when his steps slowed as they reached the rear car. "Keep going. About another hundred feet or so. Stop before the curve. If someone wants to watch I want it said I did my job." He looked around him, feeling the inky night closing in. Could anyone from the train see him at this distance? A witness would be helpful. It could seal his reputation with the others. There were those who still did not entirely trust him.

"That's far enough," he said. "Don't even think of making a break for it or I'll have to shoot you down."

It was an odd thing for him to say, Drew thought, when it was clear the fellow intended to kill him anyway. Drew turned. He could see the last car of the train, the emigrant car, beyond the robber's shoulder. There were faces pressed to the glass in the door, peering out into the night to get a glimpse of the execution.

"What is it you fellows have against some newspaper coverage?" Drew asked. "Some gangs would be grateful for it."

"The James boys perhaps. Not us." Ethan cocked his Colt. The clicking of the hammer sounded unnaturally loud in the still night air. "No one here tonight has any desire to become a folk hero."

"That's too bad. If you'd tell me something about your gang I could write a sympathetic piece."

"Either you're a liar or a man without a single principle. Have you already forgotten your colleagues? How many were in the cars when the coupling was released?"

Drew was shaking with equal parts cold and fear.

He thrust his hands into his pockets. "Four from the
Chronicle.
I don't know how many were in the caboose. Their deaths were senseless." Drew's eyes darted nervously. He wondered if he could make a break for it after all. There was sparse covering on the mountainside to his right and a steep, rocky descent on his left. "My friends weren't armed, for God's sake. They were no threat to any of you."

"Not everyone sees it that way," Ethan said. "How many cars did the
Chronicle
have?"

"Four."

Ethan swore softly. "Did you come on at Cheyenne?"

"Yes."

It did little to ease Ethan's conscience that he couldn't have known about the presence of the reporters. It was a variable that couldn't have been predicted with years of preparation. They had had no such luxury of time in their planning. Ethan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, lowering his Colt slightly. He pulled at his kerchief, letting it fall around his neck and reveal his face.

Drew Beaumont braced himself for the gunshot. When it didn't come immediately, fear made him angry. "Get it the hell over with, you son of a bitch."

"Listen to me carefully," Ethan said calmly. "When I fire I want you to clutch your chest, fall, and roll toward the drop. I'll kick you over the side. You're on your own from there."

"The fall will kill me."

"Perhaps. There's lots of rocky outcroppings where you can gain purchase. I'm not going to push you hard. You probably won't roll more than twenty, thirty feet." Ethan sensed another complaint coming from his hostage. "Look, when you consider the alternative is a bullet through your heart, I think I'm offering you a good deal."

Drew swallowed hard. "Why are you doing this?"

"I have my reasons," he said quietly. "Before you write one word of this for your paper, contact your publisher." Ethan's eyes narrowed. "Are you getting this, mister? Not one word before you contact Marshall. Tell him what happened and let him make the decision of what's to be printed. Don't take it upon yourself."

Drew was about to ask why it was so important when he saw the rear door of the emigrant car open and Michael Dennehy step out. His eyes widened. "Oh God, it's her."

Ethan glanced over his shoulder quickly. She wasn't alone. That he could have dealt with. Obie was following her with his shotgun, chasing after her in his loping stride while she charged ahead like No. 349 herself. "Damn. This changes things."

Drew's eyes widened in alarm. "You don't mean—"

Ethan nodded. "More kick than a mule." He raised his gun again and fired. He watched Drew waver on his feet for a few seconds. Behind him Obie and the woman were approaching fast. "Fall, you stupid bastard! Now!"

Drew's knees buckled under him. It wasn't until he hit the gravel roadbed that he realized he hadn't been shot at all. He rolled closer to the drop and sprawled. He heard Michael scream but he didn't have time to think about it. Ethan's booted foot was shoved in his ribs and the force of it drove him over the side. He slid on his belly, rolled, scrambled for purchase, then slid and rolled some more. Bits of gravel, rock, and snow, clumps of wiry bushes, and a discarded railroad tie, made the journey with him. Something hit him on the head and his vision was suddenly blacker than the night. His last thought before losing consciousness was that being shot probably wouldn't have hurt as much.

Before Ethan could swing around from the drop he was attacked from behind. Michael managed to get her entire forearm under his chin and press it against his throat. For a moment it seemed the impetus of her charge would send them both over the drop. Instead they fell backward onto the tracks with Michael under Ethan. He turned quickly and pinned her down, straddling her waist with his thighs and holding her wrists on either side of her head.

Air had been driven completely from Michael's lungs. It was the only reason she wasn't swearing like the man above her. She stared into a face that was so hard with rage a muscle worked spasmodically in each lean cheek. Now that the cursing had subsided the mouth was drawn flat, the teeth clenched. The chin was strong, the jaw square-cut and rigidly set. It occurred to her suddenly that she was seeing the lower part of his face for the first time.

But not for the first time. She struggled again to hold onto the memory that would put that face in the proper place. She had seen him before. She was certain of it. But where?

"You killed Drew," she said accusingly. "I saw you."

"I killed him."

Obie stood over both of them with his shotgun. "Lady, you're lucky he didn't kill you, too."

"Perhaps he will when I tell you who I am."

Ethan sighed. "Aw, hell. You just can't keep your mouth shut, can you?"

Michael ignored him. "Drew wasn't just a friend, he was my—"

Ethan clipped her on the jaw.

"Whaddya do that fer?" Obie asked. Michael's head lolled to the side, her eyes closed. Her spectacles rested askew on her face. "Who the hell is she?"

Ethan stood, gave Obie his gun, then pulled Michael to a half sitting position before he bent and lifted her in his arms. "My wife," he said and started walking toward the train.

* * *

Michael woke in pain. The entire left side of her face throbbed. Initially she was disoriented, unable to place her surroundings, the steady movement under her, or the object that was holding her so securely she couldn't move. Several minutes passed before she understood she was traveling on horseback at night and the man who nearly broke her jaw was the same one holding her.