A Touch of Frost

by Jo Goodman

  “I am not asking for your forgiveness.”

  “Then it will have to be the other.”

  “Very well, I am sorry.”

  “And I forgive you.” He thought she might have growled in frustration. Whether she did or didn’t hardly mattered. He was prepared to give sound to the chuckle rising in his throat until he looked sideways at her. What he saw made him swallow his amusement.

  She had a terrible seat. In spite of the fact that she was hardly more than a willow whip of woman, she sat heavy on her mare’s back in all the wrong ways. He also suspected that she was experiencing some pain in certain sensitive parts of her undercarriage. Her skirt, shift, and drawers were insufficient padding for a bottom unused to sitting in a saddle. The leather would be rubbing against her inner thighs, and the heat from the friction was only tolerable for so long. She was bearing up surprisingly well, but he couldn’t call himself any kind of man if he let her suffer on.

  “You need to put some of your weight into the stirrups,” he said. “Dig in a bit.”

  “What?”

  “Bear down and lift yourself up. Sit tall.” He slowed the horses as Phoebe attempted to follow his directions. When she was unsuccessful, he stopped Bullet and dismounted. “Here’s part of the problem,” he said, removing Phoebe’s right foot from the stirrup. Her slender lace-up boot dangled in his line of sight until he shortened the length of the strap and told her to try it out.

  “That’s much better.”

  Remington saw for himself that it was. He repeated the fix with the other stirrup and was satisfied with the result when she was able to shift her seat. He returned to Bullet’s back. “Sit up. You need to be straight but also relaxed.”

  She tried to do what he said. “So this is what it means to sit tall in the saddle?”

  “More or less. I’m more. You’re less.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her nod and then turn her head toward him. Without looking at her, he asked, “What are you doing?”

  “Studying you. Most specifically your posture. You move with your horse, not against it. You’re easy with him.”

  “You know, if I weren’t leading you, you’d have to spend some time watching where you’re going. Like I’m doing.”

  “Does it bother you that I’m making a study?” Before he answered, she went on. “You were doing that to me on the train. Mrs. Tyler told me. So you might even say that I’m getting some of my own back.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. I would never say that. I might say you were hell-bent on revenge, but not the other.” He looked her way, met her eyes. “Mrs. Jacob C. Tyler is a busybody.”

  “Probably. But she wasn’t wrong, was she?”

  “No. Did I make you uncomfortable?”

  “The idea of it made me uncomfortable. Why were you studying me?”

  He swiveled his gaze forward. Her reply intrigued him. The idea of it made me uncomfortable. The idea. Not him. That might bode well, although there was plenty of time before they reached Frost Falls for him to make himself insufferable. He’d been told he had a particular gift for it. He heard her clear her throat and realized he had not answered her question.

  “Looking out the window had no appeal. I’m familiar with the landscape that had all of your attention, so looking at you was as good a way as any to pass the time. I also played peek-a-boo with Madeleine.”

  “Madeleine?”

  “The little girl sitting with her mother.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know.” She hesitated. “So you weren’t following me?”

  “Following you? How do you mean?”

  “I thought I saw you at the station in Saint Louis.”

  “I’m sure there were plenty of people you saw at the station who ended up boarding the same train.”

  “Yes. I’m sure you’re right.”

  “It’s a peculiar notion, though, that you thought I might be following you. What put it in your head, besides what you’ve already told me? Were you in anticipation of someone trailing you?”

  “No. Well, not really. My friends, people I worked with mostly, had warnings for me when they knew I was set on leaving New York. I suppose I paid more heed to what they had to say than I ought to have done.”

  “Is that why you bought that palm pistol?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me about the warnings.”

  “Mostly they were about traveling alone. I was encouraged to keep to myself, sit with women, refuse the attention of men. I was warned not to show my money, keep a tight hold on my reticule, and be particular to avoid anyone whose face might be gracing a wanted notice. They said I would encounter confidence men, Indians, card sharps, drunkards, and outlaws.” She gave a short laugh. “I imagine they will be pleased to learn that one of their fears came to light.” She fell silent a moment, then, “Unless you’re a con man, an Indian, a card sharp, or a drunkard.”

  “None of those.”

  “Hmm. Then I guess it’s just the one thing.”

  He chuckled deep in his throat. “Disappointed?”

  “Oh, no. Did I sound as if I were? I’m not. It’s merely that everyone made such a fuss. I think the precautions they advised may have had unintended consequences. Certainly the derringer did.”

  “And the pregnancy.”

  Her head snapped around. “What?”

  He pointed to her belly. “That child you’re carrying. What is it? A pillow? A blanket roll? Maybe you fixed a bustle backwards. That would do the trick.”

  Phoebe placed a forearm protectively across the bulge of her belly. “It’s no trick.”

  Eyebrow raised, Remington regarded her skeptically. “Does it really serve a purpose any longer?”

  Phoebe stared back, but in the end, she was first to look away. Her arm fell. “I’ve gotten used to it. How did you know?”

  “Mrs. Tyler suspected. She said when you fell on her, you felt . . . I think she described it as lumpy.”

  “Mrs. Jacob C. Tyler is a busybody.”

  Remington gave a short laugh, and when he replied, it was to echo Phoebe’s words from earlier. “Probably. But she wasn’t wrong, was she?”

  Phoebe shook her head. “I think it was Mavis Wexler who suggested it. Everyone was talking at once so I can’t be sure. I might have objected except there was another idea on the table, namely, that I should disguise myself as a man, and the false pregnancy suddenly seemed the better choice. I thought I would end the pretense at a stop along the way. Pittsburgh perhaps. Or Chicago. But there was always someone who came aboard or stayed on board who wished me well and would have noticed the absence of my condition.”

  “I take it your friends are also avid readers of Western dime novels. Fans of Nat Church, I’d wager. That’d be the most reasonable explanation for their concern.”

  “Yes. That, and the fact they like to exploit opportunities for drama.” She sighed quietly. “They meant well. They would be devastated to know . . .” Her voice trailed away, and she shook her head again.

  Curious, Remington asked, “Know what?”

  She shrugged.

  “You can’t shrug it off now,” he said. “You started it. What is it they would be devastated to know?”

  “That the pregnancy attracted precisely the kind of trouble they wanted me to avoid. Mr. Shoulders told me it was the reason he singled me out. Something about thinking that I would be worth more because of my condition.”

  Remington frowned deeply. “Worth more? You’re talking about ransom.”

  “He was talking about ransom. I’m just explaining what he said. It was all a bit confusing. I had the impression at the time that he was telling me that I was the reason he and his men stopped the train, and robbing the passengers was almost an afterthought. Something about a sure reward for their trouble. I suppose, in spite of what he said, that he was not confiden
t that he could raise a ransom using me. I told him as much, but he remained set on his ridiculous idea.”

  “Huh.”

  “You understand that it’s ridiculous, don’t you?”

  “I’m working that out.” He tugged lightly on the reins of her mare, drawing Phoebe closer. “Is there someone out there, maybe in Frost Falls, who would be willing to pay to see you safe?”

  “What are you saying? Now you want to hold me for ransom?”

  “Still working it out.”

  “If this animal weren’t tethered to you, I’d tell you to go to hell.”

  “Probably better that you don’t, then.” When he looked over at her, she was gritting her teeth. “Stop it. You’re riding stiff as a corpse again. I have no interest in ransoming you or, for that matter, collecting a reward.” When she pulled on the reins, he let her have some of the length but did not give them up. “Feel better now?”

  She looked straight ahead and didn’t answer.

  “Mrs. Tyler told me you were Mrs. Apple. Is that true or a detail to complement your disguise?”

  Phoebe did not answer immediately. Finally, with no inflection, she said, “A detail.”

  Remington was hard pressed not to smile in the face of her irritation. If not precisely angry with him, she was definitely annoyed. Because he was curious as to what she would say, he asked, “Is ‘Apple’ really your surname?”

  “I can’t think of a single reason to tell you.”

  “Ah. Tit for tat, then. You’ll tell me yours if I tell you mine.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s fair.” He suspected that response would frustrate her because she was spoiling for a fight, and he knew he was right when he heard a growl rumble deep in her throat. He did smile this time, although he was careful to turn away when he did it.

  Once the silence settled between them, Remington concentrated his listening on the sounds around him. The wind swayed pine boughs so they brushed against one another, whispering to him as he passed under them. He never saw the small animals that ran for cover in the underbrush, but he heard them leaping and scurrying. Casting his focus to more distant points, he listened for something out of place, the sounds of snorting horses, hoofbeats, conversation among their riders. He heard none of that.

  In consideration of Phoebe’s safety, Remington had chosen to take an indirect, meandering route to Frost Falls. He did not expect to cross paths with her abductors, but then he wasn’t confident that he knew their destination. Not Twin Star Ranch. In spite of what he had observed or concluded thus far, he still could not believe they would be so foolish as to show themselves at the ranch with any kind of demand. It was perhaps a little more likely that they would go to Frost Falls, but Remington didn’t hold out hope for that.

  If Mr. Shoulders had spoken the truth, if Phoebe had not misunderstood, then some kind of arrangement had already been made. Remington did not believe for a moment that Phoebe Apple had been plucked at random. She was chosen.

  Remington considered his father’s request in light of this new way of thinking. Had Thaddeus gotten wind of something he was not prepared to communicate by telegram? Before Phoebe told him what Mr. Shoulders said, Remington’s opinion of his father’s excess of concern was that it reflected his new wife’s apprehensions. Now there was a woman who liked to exploit opportunities for drama. Remington typically took it in stride, and on the one occasion he hinted at her predilection to Thaddeus, his father had shrugged it off, excusing it as a consequence of Fiona Apple’s life—and success—in the theater.

  If Thaddeus’s cautions had indeed been prompted by Fiona’s fears, then it was unfortunate that those fears had been reinforced. Remington thought they might never hear the end of it. If, on the other hand, Thaddeus had suspected something was going to happen, then Remington damn well wanted to know more about that.

  “They took my ring.”

  Remington required a moment to make sense of what Phoebe was telling him. During the quiet, her thoughts had obviously gone in a very different direction than his. “Perhaps it will be recovered when they’re caught. You’ll get it back.” He could see she was doubtful. “Tell me about the ring.”

  “It was not merely a detail, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Of course, I wore it so I could pretend there was a Mr. Apple somewhere, but Mrs. Sweetings gave it to me. It was her wedding band, not that she was sentimental about it because Mr. Sweetings was an adulterer and in bed with a chorus girl when he died, but still, she meant well, giving it to me as a gift. And now it’s gone. I suppose I’ve come around to realizing that I miss her. Miss all of them, actually. My friends.”

  “If your friends are in New York, what’s waiting for you in Frost Falls?”

  “Family.”

  He thought she might elaborate, but she didn’t, and he let it rest. “You were right about something,” he said instead.

  “You’ll have to be specific. I’m right about a lot of things.”

  Her butter-wouldn’t-melt reply made him laugh. “Very well. You were right. I was peeved.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. I would never say that. I might say you were brooding, sulking even, but not the other.”

  “You really are getting some of your own back.”

  “Hell-bent on revenge.”

  That response, delivered with unexpected saucy humor, set him back in his stirrups. He thought he might catch a wicked gleam in her eye compliments of the moonlight, or maybe a hint of sauce in her smile, but when he looked over, he could only see her in profile. No gleam. No sauce. He made peace with that. He knew what he heard; there was no reason for her to punctuate it.

  “So tell me why you thought I might be one of them,” he said.

  “Oh, you don’t want to hear that now.”

  “I asked, didn’t I?”

  “Then here it is. You were dressed in a similar manner. The hat. The long coat. You were armed. I know. I know. The same could probably be said of others, but you were the one in my car. When you fell in the aisle, I thought you were unconscious. It was only later that I began to doubt it. I covered your gun with your coat, but it seemed odd to me that no one searched you. They accepted that you were not a threat. In their position, I don’t think I would have done that. The men wearing the blue scarves walked right over you. How could they know for sure that you weren’t a threat unless you were one of them?”

  Remington was thoughtful, offering no argument to counter hers. “Go on.”

  “I could hardly feel anything save for relief when you showed up at the cabin, but then there was the fact that you did show up. I dropped breadcrumbs, as you said, but I don’t think they could have been easy to follow, or even to find. It seemed entirely possible that you found and followed because you knew the route we would take. And when I asked about going back to the train, you didn’t seem terribly concerned for the passengers. I know what you said about repairs to the track being underway, but could I believe you? I asked you where we were going; you said the nearest town was Frost Falls. But that didn’t answer my question. Not really. How could I be sure you weren’t lifting me out of the frying pan and leading me into the fire?”

  He didn’t say anything for a time, waiting. Then, “Is that everything?”

  “That, and your reluctance to tell me your name.”

  “Reluctance?”

  “Unwillingness.”

  Remington nodded. “Might as well call it what it is.”

  “You’re right.”

  “So what do you think now?”

  “Truth? I’m not sure, but at least I’m no longer tied to the foot of a bed.”

  “Yes, there’s that.”

  Phoebe’s mouth quirked. “Is there anything you want to say?”

  “Not particularly. There’s logic from your
perspective; I can see that. Except for that lapse when you shot Mr. Shoulders, your fear did not completely overrun your ability to think.”

  “And yet here I am with you. The jury’s still out, wouldn’t you say?”

  “What do I need to say that will make you believe you are safe?”

  “You know the answer to that.”

  He did. “‘What’s in a name?’” he quoted. “‘That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’”

  “Do not flatter yourself. What I smell from here stinks like three-day-old fish.”

  Remington grinned. “That’s worse than bull shit, I’ll give you that.”

  “Keep your bullshit and tell me your name.”

  “I will, but you are not going to like it.”

  She waited him out.

  “Remington Frost.” He expected almost anything from her except what she did. Phoebe yanked her right foot from the stirrup with the intention of giving him a good kick. She missed his leg and jabbed the toe of her boot into Bullet’s side. The gelding cut sideways, the mare startled, Phoebe grabbed the reins, and both horses took off at a run.

  Chapter Six

  Phoebe had no hope that she could stay in the saddle, not a prayer that she could remain on her mare’s back. She let go of the reins and gripped the saddle horn with both hands. Every bounce exploded firecrackers of pain up and down her spine. Her teeth chattered. She bit her tongue. She squeezed her thighs together and tried to lean forward. Apparently it was the wrong thing to do. The mare shot ahead again.

  Phoebe was aware of the gelding keeping pace, but she did not dare look over. Once she saw Remington’s hand cross her field of vision as he tried to grasp the reins. When he failed, she lost sight of him and his horse. The next time she was aware of him was when she felt his arm at her back. Bullet was so close now that she felt his heat. Her leg, the same leg she had used to try to kick Remington, rubbed against his. The half circle of his arm tightened and then she was lifted out of the saddle and held flush to his side while the gelding responded to his direction to ease up and finally stop. The mare ran on, but Phoebe didn’t care about that. She was dangling a couple of feet above the ground and Remington Frost did not appear to find that a burden.