"Why?"
"You're too good a lady to die on a train full of no-good men."
"Is that what you are?"
"Yes."
Getting to her feet, she stepped forward. "Always?"
Will thought back. Tried to remember another time, a time when he was almost innocent. Almost good. Surely there'd been a time? "No, not always. But for a long time."
"Then what makes you different?"
Ah, she was a smart woman. For a moment he was tempted to tell her the whole truth about himself. That although the company he was keeping marked him as no good, he was more than that.
A whole lot more.
But even the walls had ears, and he certainly didn't trust anyone. "Maybe one day, I'll get the opportunity to tell you," he said quietly. "For now, though, you need to come with me. We can't tarry much longer."
To his surprise, she touched his arm. "Will, if Mr. Walton wants to . . ." Her throat worked as tears sprung to her eyes. "If he means to use me . . . or plans to let Kent use me . . . kill me first, would you?"
He was so shocked, he stared at her, struck dumb. "Jamie, nothing is—"
"I mean it," she blurted. "There was a woman, a woman living across the street. She'd been . . . hurt." Shaking her head, she stared at him directly. "She had been raped and beaten by a band of soldiers, and she was never the same. Her brother said she hardly slept, and when she did, she was plagued by nightmares. I don't want that. I don't want to survive after that."
"Mr. Walton doesn't have that in mind." At least he hoped not.
"But Kent does. And I fear some of the others do too. Maybe even those Marshals who were surrounding us."
"Marshals wouldn't do that." Though as he remembered what Scout said, he knew he was being naive. There would always be men who wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of an innocent woman.
She laughed bitterly. "You act as if you know something about men that no one else does. I saw their looks, Will. They may want me free, but they already think you men have done their worst. And I have the terrible feeling that Mr. Walton wouldn't be opposed to using me as bait if things got desperate."
She was right, of course. If it came to a matter of living or dying, he knew most every man there would use her in order to survive.
That was how it was done. It was always how it had been. "I promise," he said.
"You'll do it? You'll shoot me dead?"
"If that's what you want," he lied. Because he knew he couldn't do that. Just the light touch of her fingers made him yearn to hold her close and never let her go. With that in mind, how could he extinguish her life?
"Let's go before Mr. Walton sends someone to retrieve you."
A slight tremor rattled her fingers, then with the briefest of nods, she turned and started walking.
He was shamed to realize that she now understood how things worked.
James Walton was sipping whiskey when they entered. "McMillan, I was worried you'd gotten lost on the way here."
Beside her, Will stiffened. "No, sir."
"Miss Ellis, I hope you are still being treated well."
"Yes, sir," she said, because, really, there was no other choice.
Looking at the formidable man who all the other men on the train visibly feared was extremely scary.
Struggling not to let her fear show was terribly hard. But the fear was inevitable. No man there would expect her to be calm.
She was more frightened than she'd ever been in her life, and just as afraid of the stark, sudden sense of peace she felt when she was in Will McMillan's company. How could she bring herself to trust a man who was a hired killer?
Was it merely that she trusted the devil she knew more than the one she feared?
Pointing to a bright red stain marring the oak trim, Mr. Walton frowned. "I'm sorry to say that yet another one of our guests had to leave us."
Tears sprang to her eyes and fell to her cheeks. She winced as Will dug his fingers into her arm, signaling her to stay quiet and strong. However, Jamie couldn't hold back the tears any more than she could stop the train.
When Will glanced her way, his eyes narrowed as he spied her tears.
Without compunction, the tears kept falling, speeding up and staining her cheeks.
"Stop," Will muttered, giving her arm a slight shake for emphasis.
She tried, she really did, but all she seemed capable of was a ragged sigh.
As Will groaned, two other bandits glowered. A terrible chill coursed through her as she realized that her days were at an end. Though every functioning part of her brain told her to hush and be quiet, she knew her will was not her own anymore.
And right then and there, she began to shed big, noisy sobs.
"Jamie? Jamie, please stop."
But instead of leveling a revolver at her temple, Mr. Walton looked pleased. "Yes, it is a shame, isn't it? And here we showed you to the lawmen, too." Frowning slightly, he looked toward the window. "It is a pity, but I'm afraid everyone is getting restless. This has been a particularly bad trip." He pulled out his gold pocket watch and opened it with a lazy flourish. "And time does move on. Miss Ellis. I do believe something must be done with you." He crooked a finger. "It's time you earned your keep, don't you think?"
She stood, stunned, as the next four seconds floated forward in slow motion.
Will turned to her in shock, Mr. Walton grasped his cigar in surprise, and with a savage curse Kent stepped forward and grabbed her shoulder.
Rough fingernails scratched the tender skin of her neck before clutching the delicate collar of her dress. In vain, Jamie attempted to pull away, but all her efforts did was help him. With a jerk, the collar ripped, its seam tearing apart like newsprint.
Jamie shook as frigid air stung the skin of her bare shoulder. Her tremors increased as she sensed the men's hard gazes settle on her exposed skin.
She knew it was simply a matter of time before her worst fears were realized.
11
True pain spiraled through Will's body as Kent began to laugh. In front of them all lay Jamie's bare shoulder, its feminine slope and pure white skin more of a temptation than most men could deny.
This group didn't even try. All eyes were drawn to the fine display, like bees drawn to honey.
Though he grimaced at the silly comparison, the facts remained the same—there were some things a man couldn't ignore, and the pale pure skin of an untouched female was one of them.
Especially for men like them.
Will knew it had been a very long time since he'd seen a woman so innocent and delicate. Although her bare shoulder wasn't all that shocking, the hint it gave of other, more private parts of her body made his mouth go dry. Especially seeing how even he, a supposedly God-fearing man, couldn't resist looking at her.
And imagining more.
In front of them all, Jamie crumbled to the floor. Covering her chest with her arms crossed, she curled into a ball, weeping. Against the wall, the three remaining hostages stared. Even their unflappable boss appeared taken aback.
"Git up!" Kent screamed. "If I gotta git you from the floor, I'm going to meet you down there."
Kent's awful words finally spurred Will to action. "Move away from her," Will ordered. "Now."
Kent narrowed his eyes, but glanced at Mr. Walton first. Their leader stared hard at Kent, his expression glacial.
Visibly afraid, Kent stepped backward.
Ignoring them all, Will knelt down and placed his arms protectively around Jamie, retrieving the duster that had fallen and wrapping it around her like a blanket.
When she only cried harder, her body stiff and panicked against his, Will looked up at the man who led them all. "This isn't who we are, James," he said quietly, using Walton's Christian name for emphasis. "This isn't what I signed up for. This isn't who I thought you were."
Anger—and perhaps surprise—flew into Walton's gaze.
Buoyed by that, Will continued. "The Walton Gang hasn't stooped to raping w
omen and children now, have we?"
As James Walton remained silent, Kent scoffed. "What does it matter what we do, McMillan? She's gonna die anyway. We all know that."
The telltale click of Scout cocking his six-shooter echoed in the car. "It matters," Scout whispered. "It matters to me. We're not going to rape any women."
Will turned to the newest speaker in surprise. Though Scout had warned him to take Jamie away, Will had never imagined the outlaw would openly confront Mr. Walton. At least not in front of witnesses.
As Jamie continued to cry and Kent seethed, the smell of their boss's cigar filled the car. Will wondered what was going to happen. Scout wasn't giving their boss much of a chance to recount.
"Shoot him," their leader finally said. "Shoot him or back down."
Will swallowed. Who was their boss speaking of? A hostage? Him?
Eyes cold and completely void of any emotion, Scout leveled the gun at Kent and pulled the trigger.
The repercussions filled the air, shattering the silence while spraying blood and tissue across the floor.
When Jamie's cries turned more shrill, Scout turned toward Will. "Take her out of here."
Will immediately got to his feet. And, seeing how Jamie was in shock, wrapped one arm around her shoulders and the other under her knees. With a sigh, he picked her up and carried her away from the danger and the blood and the humiliation.
Surely nothing in this world could have prepared this woman—this girl—for such a sight. And as he opened the compartment door with one hand, marveling all the while about how light her frame was, Will realized that he would have moved heaven and earth to spare her from this event.
He also knew they were out of time.
Stopping briefly in the next car, he grabbed his knapsack, heavy with two boxes of ammunition and a filled canteen. Not daring to pause, he kept walking.
He opened the next compartment door, stood out on the small balcony, and lightly brought Jamie to her feet. "Put this back on now," he ordered, motioning to the coat.
Without pause, she slipped her arms inside.
"We're leaving. Do you understand?" As if he were speaking to a child, he said, "You can't stay here. Not a minute longer. If you do, you'll die. Or worse."
Jamie tilted up her head and met his gaze. "I know," she said. Her eyes were vacant. Most likely she was in shock.
But if that made her more biddable, he would be grateful for her trauma. His body relaxed with a new sense of purpose.
"I'm going to get you off of here. Okay?"
She nodded.
Of course, what he didn't say were false promises. He didn't promise to protect her, or offer her a pretty future. All he could do was vow to himself to stay by her side.
But perhaps that was enough.
Grabbing her hand and throwing his knapsack over his shoulder, he said, "Look. I know it's dark, and I know this train is moving, but listen to me good. I do believe there's a thicket of trees just to the east of us. At the count of three, we're going to jump off this train, and then we're going to run hell-for-leather to that thicket. Understand?"
She nodded.
"Promise?" Still too worried about the state she was in, he hardened his voice, turning his tone almost violent. "Say it. Say what you're going to do."
"I'm going to jump and run to the woods."
She sounded unafraid, almost like she didn't expect to survive anyway. That, of course, made him feel even more on edge.
But it was too late to go back. Will breathed in. Then, with a mighty exhale, he counted. "One. Two. Three."
And with a yank and pull, Will jumped.
In doing so, he pulled the finest female he'd ever set his eyes on off the train and into his sole protection.
Right then and there he knew his life had just twisted again. Onto a path he had no control over.
Only God knew how he'd keep her alive and safe.
Only God knew where they were headed.
Only God knew how they'd survive.
The last thing he thought of, as the cold air whipped his skin and his past sins flashed before his eyes, was that God knowing was probably enough.
12
Long ago, Jamie had seen a tumbleweed sweep across the western plains of Colorado. Pushed by the wind, it was turned in every direction imaginable. Each time, it left both a part of its body behind and picked up more debris. By the time it flew out of sight, it had looked battered, beaten up, and ill formed. Decidedly lopsided and used.
And that was exactly how she felt.
The moment they'd jumped off the locomotive, Will had grabbed her elbow. Almost immediately, she'd reached for him, taking hold of his arm just so she could have something to touch. They'd sailed through those few feet toward the ground as two halves of a whole, then fallen with enough force to knock the wind right out of her.
When she forced her lids open, the stars in her eyes mixed with the ones in the night sky and blinded her. She whimpered.
"Hush!" Will cautioned.
Biting her lip, she nodded as she got her bearings as best she could. Her arm burned and stung from the force of his hold on her when they fell. Her knees throbbed from her awkward landing on the hard, frigid ground.
The ground was vibrating from the train's passage. When her eyes cleared, she saw the shape of the train moving on, but she still felt as if they were stranded in its shadows.
What was going to happen to her?
She was sure Scout or any number of men were going to appear from behind a rock, aim their guns, and shoot to kill.
But it was only Will who clambered to his feet. "Come on," he ordered.
When she'd looked around in confusion, he linked his fingers through her right hand and half guided, half dragged her from the tracks and toward the dark copse of trees.
The rest of the short journey to the thicket was a blur of pain. Her right ankle felt sprained; her left elbow felt pulled out of joint. Everything in between felt bruised and battered. And it was terribly cold. Oh, so cold. The frigid temperatures bit through her clothes and skin and snapped at her bones.
But none of those painful physical ailments held a candle to the complete desolation that was weighing in her heart. What had she done? Was being alone and stranded with one outlaw better than being in the company of many on a train?
After pulling her deeper into the brush, Will finally loosened his grip. Without his support, she sank to the ground, wrapping her arms around her legs and tucking her head into her body. Afraid to think, afraid to look, she kept herself in a ball and tried to pray.
But all that seemed to come to mind were regrets. How could she make a prayer out of that to the Lord?
Minutes passed. Maybe thirty. Maybe sixty.
All the while, Jamie half expected to hear the sharp sound of a shotgun being fired. She couldn't fathom that they were actually free. That she wasn't going to have to worry about being accosted or beaten by those horrible men.
No, now all she had to do was worry about one. Doubts rolled into fear, fueled by the dark and a throbbing wrist.
"You okay?" Will asked softly.
Warily, Jamie looked his way. Since he'd ordered her to keep still and quiet, she'd done just that. In the shadows, she'd watched him position his Winchester at his shoulder and keep watch.
"Are you?"
As his question set in, a hasty retort flew to her lips. Just as quickly, she pushed it back. What she was thinking was best left unsaid, because she most certainly wasn't fine. Truthfully, she didn't know if she'd ever be okay again.
So she lied. "I'm okay. You?"
Though only part of his face was illuminated by the glow from the snow, she felt his surprise just as easily as if she'd witnessed his reaction completely. "Good enough," he said, his voice hoarse and deep.
For a split second, the clouds left a gap wide enough for a ray of moonlight to reach their spot. And in that brief moment, their eyes met. Will McMillan's eyes were blue and caring and kin
d looking—just like he was asking her to trust him.
Jamie felt herself sinking deeper into his world, leaving her former ties and restraints in the past. Worrying about social norms or who was good and who was bad hardly mattered now.
All that mattered was that she was alive. For the moment, that was enough.
The air between them grew tight, almost tangible. Her body tensed as she waited for Will to say something—anything—of merit.
But of course he didn't.
Just as quickly as it had come, a blank stare replaced the burn in his eyes, making her wonder if she'd imagined a connection between them at all.
As he turned from her, Jamie scooted her knees up to her chest and tried to think of something to say. But of course there was nothing in her head worth saying. So she huddled into herself and waited.
And then waited longer still.
As Will watched Jamie through the corner of his eye, a thousand regrets filled his soul. What was he doing? What had he done? On the train, he'd agreed wholeheartedly with Scout. It would have been tragic if Jamie had come to harm under their supervision. That worry had slowly filled him, until he'd been sure that there was nothing else he could do except get her away.
But to this? To being outside in the elements in the dead of night? With only him guarding her? With hardly half a plan?
At the moment, Will wished for a cheroot or even the harsh, stinging relief of a shot of whiskey.
Naturally, neither of those vices were available, and he doubted he'd even be able to take another drink anyway— he'd forced himself to stop just six months after the war. The alcohol had merely reminded him of what he'd become. And of everything that he wasn't.
But as Jamie huddled next to him, he knew he was going to have to face some serious truths. One of them was that he was now responsible for Jamilyn Ellis, no matter what. Her life was in his hands, and he couldn't discount that. Even if she was afraid of him.
In the distance, he listened to the last echoes of the train fade away and wondered if Scout realized that they'd jumped. And if he had noticed, what would he do? Would he do his best to keep the rest of the men in the dark, or would Scout show his true colors and double-cross him?
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