A Touch of Frost

by Jo Goodman

  Between breaths she managed to wheeze out, “I am going to lose the baby.”

  “I am reversing my opinion,” he said, lowering her to the ground. “There is at least one empty chamber in your six-shooter.”

  “That’s just mean.” She bent a bit at the waist to catch her breath. Her lumpy belly presented an obstacle. “I’m done with this. Turn your head.” Without waiting to see if he complied, she raised her skirt all the way to her hips and began to unfasten the bolster that was tied at the small of her back.

  Watching her, Remington just shook his head. “Do you want my knife?”

  “Don’t say a word. Not a word.”

  “Hey, you were the one who started this. That was a vicious kick you gave Bullet. I’m only trying to help.”

  “Uh-huh.” She managed to loosen the strings and pulled. “You know I was aiming for you, not your horse.”

  “I think we’ve already established that your aim leaves something to be desired. Maybe you should think about spectacles.”

  “I have a pair. I wear them for close work. I don’t need them for distance.”

  “If you say so.”

  Phoebe removed the bolster and let her skirt fall in place. She smoothed the material over her hips, transferring the bolster from one hand to the other as she did so. The lightweight wool skirt was ill fitting where it had been stretched, but there was nothing that could be done about that. She looked up at Remington. She held the bolster under one arm; her free hand rested on her hip.

  Remington regarded her from under raised eyebrows. She really had no shame. He swore if she had solid wood flooring under her feet, she would be tapping a foot at this very moment. The only thing stopping her was the inability to make a satisfying sound.

  “Well?” she asked. “What happens now?”

  “We get your mare. She’s about a hundred yards ahead. This would be your opportunity to walk.”

  Phoebe was not sorry about that. She started off. “You can ride ahead. You don’t have to provide an escort. I imagine you’ve had your fill of that.”

  “I’m not leaving your side.”

  “Whose idea was it that you escort me at all? Fiona’s?”

  “My father’s.”

  “I’m thinking it was at Fiona’s urging. She doesn’t trust me to put one foot in front of the other without specific instruction.”

  “Seems to me you’ve mastered it.”

  “Exactly.” She moved the bolster from under her arm so she could hug it in front of her.

  “You’ve removed that thing but is there some reason you’re still attached to it?”

  Phoebe stopped, turned the bolster over, and held it up for him to see the small row of buttons on the underside. “Jewelry, the remainder of my money, a half-dozen lace handkerchiefs, and an extra pair of spectacles. Inside. Wrapped in cotton batting.”

  “I see. Explains lumpy.”

  “It does indeed.” She went back to hugging the bolster and picking her way carefully over the uneven ground. “What if the mare bolts?”

  “Then you’ll have to keep walking.”

  She did just that. “How long were you following me?”

  “Escorting, remember? Not following.”

  Phoebe did not take the bait. “How long?”

  “I was supposed to board the same train as you in Chicago. That’s where I was. I didn’t make it. I caught up to you in Saint Louis but I kept my distance.”

  She nodded. “So it was you. I don’t know why you thought it was necessary to try to convince me otherwise.”

  He shrugged. “I decided to join your car after we left Denver.”

  “So you’ve always known I wasn’t carrying a child.”

  “Let’s say I was surprised when Mrs. Tyler told me you were. I didn’t have an unobstructed view of you in Saint Louis or in the car. But Mrs. Tyler also mentioned lumpy and I confirmed that for myself when I helped you to your feet in the cabin.”

  She remembered brushing against him as she stood. “Oh. How did you recognize me?”

  “I have a photograph. Would you like to see?”

  “No. I wouldn’t. Did Fiona give it to you?”

  “My father did. He showed it to me not long after he brought Fiona back from New York. Wanted to introduce me to her family.”

  “So Fiona was not as forthcoming.”

  If there was bitterness there, Remington could not hear it. “My father said you turned down his invitation to accompany him and your sister to Twin Star.”

  “That’s right.”

  She did not elaborate and Remington did not prompt her. There was no more exchange of words until they were within forty feet of the mare. “Stay here,” he said. “I don’t want you to spook her.” When he dismounted, he gave her Bullet’s reins before he started to approach their runaway. The mare was grazing on some tufts of grass but came along willingly when Remington took her by the bridle and nudged her to walk. He spoke to her as they closed the distance to Phoebe, telling her all the things she needed to hear, above all that what happened was not her fault.

  He walked right into Phoebe’s sour look so he supposed she’d heard all of it. He held out his hand for Bullet’s reins and indicated she should move to the left side of the mare. “Always mount from the left.”

  Phoebe did not want to get back in the saddle at all, but she didn’t tell him that. The short walk had provided some relief in spite of the fact that the going had been slow. “Hold this,” she told him, pushing the bolster at Remington’s chest. “I need both hands.” She grabbed the saddle, managed to get her left foot in the stirrup on the second try, and hauled herself up and over. There was no helping the soft moan that escaped her lips as she settled in.

  “Are you all right?” asked Remington. She gave him a short nod. “I was prepared to give you a leg up.”

  “I know. At the risk of humiliating myself, I wanted to see if I could do it on my own.” She held out a hand to him and pointed to the bolster. “You can give me that.”

  “I don’t think so. You proved you could get on a horse. I need you to prove you can stay on one.” He gave her the mare’s reins. “Just until I tie this to my saddle. Then I’ll want them back.”

  Phoebe watched him secure the bolster, satisfied that it would not fall off, then watched him mount Bullet with the careless grace of long practice and settle into the saddle. Unlike her mare, Bullet did not stir under his sure command. She returned the reins before he asked for them and then they were moving. She appreciated that Remington set an easy pace. She wanted no part of another wild ride.

  “How long would you say before we reach Frost Falls?” she asked.

  “Half an hour, maybe a bit more. That will put us in sight of the town. I’ll want to scout the situation, make sure it’s safe to go in.”

  Phoebe appreciated that he had considered that. She had not. “Where do you suppose they are?”

  “You mean Shoulders and his men?”

  “Yes.”

  “I wish I knew. You understand I’m trying to avoid them until I get you to Twin Star.”

  “Yes, but shouldn’t you try to avoid them afterward as well?”

  “That’s not going to happen. The sheriff will put a posse together and Northeast Rail will pay for it. There will be a reward, a substantial one, I’m thinking, because they abducted you. The railroad doesn’t like it when someone steals their passengers.”

  He said this last in ironic tones that made Phoebe smile. “It will all be salacious fodder for the Eastern newspapers, won’t it?”

  “And the Western dime novels.”

  “Oh, lord.”

  “Hmm. Prayers probably won’t change a thing, but they can’t hurt.” When he glanced at her, he saw her shoulders had slumped slightly. “Sit tall.”

  Phoebe corrected he
r posture.

  Remington said, “I’ve been wondering about something you said to Shoulders. Or rather, that you told me you said.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You led him to believe that a ransom demand would not work, that there’d be no one willing to pay. Do I have that right?”

  “I told him that, yes.”

  “Did you believe it was true or were you lying to explain to him why his plan wouldn’t work?”

  The moonlight did not help Phoebe see Remington’s face clearly when the brim of his hat shadowed his features, but what she heard in his voice made her think he was serious. Patiently, she said, “I explained to him why his plan wouldn’t work because what I said was true.”

  “My father invited you to come to Twin Star. You said so yourself. Do you really think he wouldn’t pay a ransom demand?”

  “I like your father, and I had an opportunity to spend time with him when he was courting Fiona and she was in rehearsals. I formed the impression that he is a hardworking cattleman with a good sense for business. In New York, he was generous to Fiona but not foolish with his money. Paying ransom would be foolish.”

  “Because it might not guarantee that you would be released?”

  “There is that, of course, but more to the point, your father has no obligation toward me.”

  “You think so little of yourself?”

  “No, not at all. I simply think there is no reason your father should part with money on my behalf.”

  “You’re Fiona’s sister.”

  “That would be a reason for her to consider paying the ransom.” She briefly raised a hand to stop the comment she was anticipating. “I know. Fiona has no money in her own right so that brings us around to your father.”

  “You really don’t know him,” said Remington. “If Shoulders puts the demand to him, my father will pay, then, regardless of whether you are safe or not, he will hunt them down and take his money back from their cold, dead hands.”

  Phoebe stared at him. “I did not imagine he was so ruthless.”

  “Practical, I would say. Not ruthless. A great believer in justice, is my father. As I said, you don’t really know him.”

  Phoebe conceded the point and asked, “How well do you know Fiona?”

  Remington recognized dark and dangerous waters. “Not particularly well. It’s been six months since—”

  “Seven. Seven months since they were married.”

  “Right. Seven. I travel some for the ranch. Purchases. Sales.”

  “Your father told me you are a lawyer.”

  “I am a rancher who went to law school. There’s a difference. Ask my professors.”

  Phoebe didn’t believe his professors thought he was anything but brilliant. Thaddeus certainly thought so. She considered saying something to that effect, but he was going on.

  “I do the contracts because my father would rather not.”

  “So you don’t have occasion to spend much time in Fiona’s company.”

  “That’s right. When I’m around, I’m out of doors. There is a lot of land to cover, always something to do. I often take my meals with the hands in the bunkhouse so the newlyweds can be alone.”

  “You still think of them as newlyweds?”

  “Sometimes. It depends on your sister’s mood.”

  “Mm.”

  Remington could make nothing of that noncommittal reply, but he thought it probably signaled the end of conversation regarding Fiona. For that, he was grateful.

  “What sort of name is Remington? Family name?”

  “Someone’s family. Not mine. It’s the sort of name given to a child whose father was threatened with a shotgun if he did not do right by the child’s mother. At least that’s the story I’ve been told. Never changes.”

  “You don’t believe it?”

  “There are some holes in it. My mother miscarried twice before she had me.”

  “But you were the firstborn, if the not the first conceived. Perhaps they were sentimental.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She smiled. “Were they happy, your parents?”

  The question did not surprise as much as the wistfulness that accompanied it. “I think so. I was five when my mother died, but I have some memories of her and my father sharing the sofa, talking quietly while I played on the floor. Pa always kissed her on the cheek after dinner, thanked her for the meal. He never said that I should do the same; I just did.”

  “Fiona said her name was Mary and that she died not long after giving birth.”

  He nodded. “Childbed fever. There were two more miscarriages after me before she gave birth to a girl. My sister lived for a week. Mother died a few hours later.”

  “How sad you must have been.” When he added nothing to her observation, she said, “It seems a bit odd that Thaddeus didn’t remarry until Fiona.”

  “What’s odd about that?”

  “Well, he was happy in the marriage. In my experience, men remarry quickly when they’ve been content with the arrangement.”

  He smirked. “You have a lot of experience, have you?”

  If she did not have to hold on to the saddle, she would have ticked off examples on her fingers. “Mr. Adams, the greengrocer. Mr. Weaver, the stage manager. Mr. Kosterman, my landlord. Mr. Wallace, the man who delivered milk on Mondays and Thursdays. Oh, and Mr. Jakob Meir, the diamond merchant. He was always very good to Fiona, but there was no question but that he would remarry within his faith. Shall I go on?”

  “For the love of God, spare me.” He heard her chuckle as he was certain she meant him to. In spite of himself, he was curious. “So they all remarried soon after their wives died?”

  “Within six months. Mr. Kosterman, within three weeks, but one of the tenants, Katrina Harmon, never tried very hard to hide her interest in him, and there was suspicion that Mrs. Kosterman might have had help falling down the stairs. No one can say for sure.”

  Remington whistled softly as he tipped back his hat. “You left a colorful neighborhood to come here. Do you think you’ll regret it?”

  “It seems there are plenty of colorful characters around.”

  “You are not going to have a confrontation with outlaws every day.”

  She was not only speaking of outlaws, but she did not tell him that. “Do you think Fiona regrets leaving New York behind? Is that why you asked?”

  “She’s never said anything like that to me, and I was just making conversation.”

  “Hmm.” Phoebe shifted in the saddle to redistribute the pressure on her bottom and inner thighs. She winced.

  “Are you all right? Do you want to stop? Dismount and rest? You could walk for a piece.”

  “If I get off this horse, I swear to you I will not get back on.”

  “Then we should keep moving.”

  She nodded and felt she should explain her lack of equestrian skills. “There was no reason for me to learn how to ride. I walked or hailed a cab. Mostly I walked.”

  “Sometimes what you learn to do depends on your geography. You can learn to ride at Twin Star if you have a mind to.”

  “Can I think about that? Later?”

  Laughter rumbled quietly in his chest. “Yes. Later.”

  “Has Fiona learned to ride?”

  “No, but she can manage a horse and buggy.”

  “Really?” Phoebe tried to imagine it and couldn’t. “There was always a cab waiting for her at the front of the theater to take her home or to dinner. If she walked anywhere, it was in the park, usually with a gentleman at her elbow.”

  “I got that impression. Not from your sister. From my father. He told me he competed with a throng of younger men, richer men, and better-educated men for Fiona’s attention. It was a coup when she chose him.”

  “He was young enough, rich enough, and
smart enough. And Fiona liked his smile. She told me so.”

  “His smile,” Remington repeated.

  “Also, his confidence. She said that’s what made her take notice. He stood back, eyes focused, and waited, just as if he knew she would come around to him. Confidence is attractive.” Her head swiveled in his direction. “Why didn’t you tell me your name?”

  The sudden change in subject made Remington feel as if he’d been pushed sideways. Still, he was able to answer without missing a beat. “I wasn’t certain about you.”

  “But you knew who I was.”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t necessarily follow that you were an innocent in this. Even Mrs. Tyler had questioned whether you were taken or went willingly.”

  “Well, I didn’t fight them, that’s true. After firing my pistol and missing my target, I didn’t see the point. That doesn’t mean I was part of some grand scheme to rob the passengers.”

  “Not only rob the passengers,” he said, “but to extort money from my father.”

  “You know that’s something an insane person might say.”

  “It sounds like it now, but for a while it did not seem so far-fetched.”

  “How could you even imagine that I had the resources in New York to organize and manage a robbery here?”

  He shrugged. “Hadn’t gotten around to parsing all the particulars.” Which was a lie, but he thought he told it well enough to pass scrutiny. “Let’s just say that I came around to another way of thinking, same as you.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Let us just say that.”

  He slanted her a grin. “I can understand why my father enjoyed your company.”

  “He said that?”

  “Several times.”

  “He was kind to say so. I enjoyed spending time with him as well.”

  “You’re like her, you know, but I suspect you’ve heard that before.”

  “I have.” No matter how well intentioned, Phoebe did not find the comparisons flattering. She hoped her curt reply would keep him from waxing on. It did, more or less.