by K A Moll
“It’s six-fifteen,” the conductor responded, stepping to one side to allow passengers to pass in the opposite direction. “And, here we are,” she announced, entering the next car. “Let a member of the crew know if you need anything, anything at all.”
“Will do,” Keegan responded, unlocking her door.
“See you at six-fifteen,” Humphrey called out, already engaged in a conversation with someone else.
“Yes, six-fifteen,” Keegan responded, questioning her decision to travel by rail.
*
Nicole clicked across the mottled marble, teetering as she stepped onto the escalator.
Willow reached out, steadying her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Nicole answered, irritation slipping into her tone. “I got my heel wedged in one of those stupid stair grooves.” Always in work mode, she’d worn her double-breasted black dress with her spike heels on the off chance that she’d meet ‘someone who was someone’ on her way to the station. “When we get to our room, I’m changing into tennis shoes.”
“I should hope so,” Willow answered, catching sight of their train. “Oh my, isn’t that something?”
“Exterior looks good,” Nicole responded, “but I’m reserving judgment until I see if it’s as luxurious as the brochure promised on the interior.”
“It will be,” Willow assured, her smile widening as they came closer. “Look, the man taking tickets, he’s dressed the way they used to dress in the late nineteenth century—dark pants, a white shirt, a vest, and a bow tie.”
“So, he is,” Nicole answered. “Not too surprising since the train’s supposed to be from that era.”
“All aboard,” the conductor called out. “New York City to San Francisco…The Frisco Express is now boarding.”
Nicole picked up their pace. “Come on; we need to get a move on it.”
“Right behind you,” Willow responded, her stomach flipping. It had been so long since she’d traveled, she’d almost forgotten how much fun it could be. She grinned, presenting her ticket to the man in the vest.
He returned her stub, saying, “Enjoy your trip.”
“Oh, I assure you I will,” she answered, turning to Nicole. “Can you believe I’ve never been on a train before? Well, that isn’t quite true. I was on one once, but only for a couple of hours. Remember when I went with my grandparents to the Gulf Coast?”
Nicole nodded. “I remember.”
“Are you okay? You act like you’re not feeling well.”
“I’m fine. I just hit the railing when I lost my footing, bruised my arm. Quit being such a Mother Hen and finish your story.”
“I did, except for telling you that the train I went on was in a wildlife amusement park.” She tilted her head, her tone softening. “Funny, I remember it as being almost identical to this one. Anyway, I went on it while my grandparents went to some show. That’s it, end of story.”
“If you’ll step this way,” a railroad employee greeted, “I’ll show you to your cabin.” He glanced at his list. “Let’s see; it looks like you have a double bedroom with a private bath.”
“That’s correct,” Nicole snapped, rubbing her shoulder and neck.
“Look,” Willow said, running her fingers along the smooth surface of the black hardwood bar. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Gorgeous,” Nicole answered. “Ebony, now that’s a touch of class.”
The conductor smiled with pride. “Perfectly restored to its original condition.”
“It’s breathtaking,” Willow said, following him through several more cars. Along the way, he pointed out places to eat, drink, and play pool. “And, here we are,” he announced, stopping at their door. “Let us know if you need anything.”
“Thank you, we will,” Willow responded, inserting a key into the lock.
“Newspapers,” Nicole called out. “I’ll need the New York Times, the Washington Post, and the Wall Street Journal first thing in the morning.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the conductor said. “They’ll be outside your door.”
“Good grief,” Willow reacted, stepping inside. “Three newspapers? You need three newspapers? I thought this was a vacation.”
“There’s no reason to fall behind just because we’re traveling,” Nicole responded. “What would you have me do on a four-day train ride?”
“Oh, I don’t know, how about relax?”
“My newspapers are relaxing.”
“Of course, they are,” Willow answered, peeking into the bathroom, and noticing a Jacuzzi.
“Looks like we have three hours before dinner,” Nicole said, checking her watch. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll finish that bill of particulars.”
“On your new case, the one where the young guy lost his leg?”
“That’s the one. A couple hours should do it.”
“That’s fine. And while you do that, I’ll put our clothes away.”
“Thanks,” Nicole responded, already typing.
“No thanks required,” Willow said, unzipping their clothing bags, and hanging their items in two closets. “Our dinner reservation is at six-thirty, right?”
“Right.”
“Then we probably need to be ready by six.”
“Right.”
“Okay, so I’ll be quiet now; let you work.”
“That’d be great.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“Listen, the bell, did you hear it?”
“Uh-huh.”
Willow moved to the window. “And look at all the people.”
“It’s Penn Station, Willow.”
“I know, Nikki, but this is different. Everyone is waving. It’s like they came to see us off to wish us a safe journey.”
“Probably railroad enthusiasts. My guess, they read some article on this being the train’s last hurrah before the museum.”
“Maybe,” Willow said, marveling at the sounds associated with a mode of transportation from a bygone era—the mighty whistle, metal creaking against metal, the whoosh of steam thrust into the atmosphere. “This is so cool. Thank you for taking me on this trip.”
“No problem,” Nicole answered, unmoved by the experience.
Willow went to her closet, selecting, and slipping into her red flounce sleeve dress. It had a rounded neckline, a flared skirt, and a mid-thigh hem. “It’s almost six.”
“I need to finish this. You go on, have a glass of wine or something while you wait. If you get hungry, go ahead and eat.”
“I’m not eating alone,” Willow answered, “not on our first day of vacation anyway.”
“Okay,” Nicole responded, “I’ll try not to be too late.”
Willow walked through a lounge car with wide windows and seating along both walls before stepping into the fine dining establishment. “Willow Lord,” she greeted with a smile. “I believe we have a reservation for six-thirty. It’s probably under my friend’s name, Nicole Randle.”
“It is,” the man responded, his period attire suggesting the finest food, service, and atmosphere. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to your table.” He stepped off, leading the way between dark mahogany drop-leaf tables with beautifully carved spiral legs. Their chairs were upholstered in a deep red velvet. There were valances on the windows, and curtains with gold tasseled tiebacks. The china had painted floral decorations in green, red, blue, and gold. “Your table, ma’am,” he announced, coming to a halt. “Your waiter will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you,” Willow responded. “Oh, and the woman I’m waiting for is tall with red hair.”
“I’ll watch for her,” he promised, offering to bring her something from the bar.
“I don’t usually drink. Could you recommend something, maybe a glass of wine?”
“Merlot,” he responded with a warm smile. “It has a soft, fruity taste.”
“That sounds good,” Willow responded, looking up, and into Keegan’s eyes. She was seated across the aisle, opposite an older man whose
hands were moving in animated conversation. She wore a light blue oxford, a navy jacket—and a tie.
Keegan smiled, her gaze lingering.
Willow smiled back, strongly aware of her own heartbeat.
“Would you care for an appetizer?” the waiter asked.
Willow’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”
“An appetizer, ma’am?” He pointed to the corresponding section of her menu. “Would you care to order one?”
Keegan popped a slice of cucumber into her mouth. It had an intriguing topping.
Willow nodded in her direction. “I’ll have what she’s having.”
The waiter glanced over his shoulder. “The prawn caviar canapés.” He smiled jotting down her order. “An excellent choice, ma’am, our chef’s specialty.”
Willow swallowed. Caviar, dear God, you ordered something with caviar on it. She’d never tasted it before, certain that she hadn’t missed out on anything.
The waiter set a chilled glass of wine before her.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Keegan looked over, dabbing her mouth with a cloth napkin. “Excuse me,” she said, standing.
“Sure, no problem,” the man answered, seemingly disappointed that she would leave in the middle of his story.
“I won’t be long,” she assured, walking across the aisle to stand beside Willow’s table. “So, we meet again,” she greeted, extending her hand. “Keegan Wade.”
“Willow Lord,” Willow responded. “And if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were following me.” As the words escaped her lips, she could hardly believe she’d said them.
Keegan lifted an eyebrow.
“Except that wouldn’t work,” Willow babbled on, “because you were at both places before I was.”
Keegan smiled, displaying the cutest dimple.
“Where do I know you from?” Willow pondered out loud. “I know I know you from somewhere.”
“Maybe from the hospital,” Keegan suggested. “NYC General?”
“Maybe,” Willow answered, her brow furrowing, “I was just there for some bloodwork. But I don’t think that’s it. God, I know I know you. Where do I know you from?”
“It’s a conundrum,” Keegan responded, her eyes twinkling. “Maybe the answer will come to us while we’re on the train.”
“To us? You feel it too? I thought it was just me.”
“No, not just you, I also have an unexplained sense of familiarity.”
The waiter appeared, setting Willow’s appetizer before her—eight cucumber slices with a prawn and a dollop of caviar. “Your prawn caviar canapés, ma’am.”
Willow wrinkled her nose, recoiling
Keegan chuckled. “I take it they looked more appetizing on my side of the aisle.”
“No doubt about it,” Willow responded. “And if you don’t mind, I need you to take these so that I can enjoy an egg roll.”
“Don’t mind at all,” Keegan responded, lifting the plate. “Well, I suppose I should get back to my dinner companion.”
“So, you work at the hospital?” Willow asked, prolonging their conversation. “I mean, you must because that’s where you thought we might’ve seen one another.”
“I’m a surgeon,” Keegan responded. “Some days, I think I live there.”
“Oh my,” the lady behind Willow chimed in, “did you hear that? That woman, the one who’s dressed like a man, she’s a surgeon at New York City General.”
“I heard,” her companion, a woman with golden hair and wire-rim glasses, responded.
“You should ask her about your runs.”
“She’s not gonna know anything about that.”
“She might. Surgeons go to school for a long time. Don’t do no harm to ask.”
Keegan closed her eyes, opening them to Willow’s. “And on that note,” she said with a thin smile, “I bid you farewell. Enjoy your egg roll.”
*
“I’m sorry,” Nicole said, sitting down, “I didn’t mean to be so late. I hope you’ve eaten.”
“I was just about to order an appetizer.”
The waiter clicked his pen, holding his pad in position.
“I’ll have a diet tonic with a shot of vodka,” Nicole said. “On the rocks. Smirnoff if you have it. And she’ll have an appetizer.” She looked across the table, an eyebrow lifting. “An egg roll?”
Willow nodded. “Shrimp.”
The waiter collected Willow’s empty glass. “Another Merlot, ma’am?”
“Yes, please,” Willow answered, smiling. “And sweet and sour sauce for my egg roll.”
“Of course,” the waiter responded. “I’ll return shortly.”
Willow watched him go before speaking. “That woman,” she said, “the one I thought I knew from the travel agency, she’s on the train. In fact, she’s seated right over there.”
Nicole turned her head. “Maybe you’ll figure out where you know her from. Or if you know her.”
“Maybe.”
“Your diet vodka tonic on the rocks,” the waiter announced, setting a glass in front of Nicole. “Are you ready to order, ma’am?”
“Yes,” Nicole answered. “I’ll have the seared bass with a side salad, no egg, no cheese, no croutons, and no dressing.”
“I don’t know how you survive on as little as you eat,” Willow muttered, ordering the Bayou fried shrimp, cheese potatoes, and green beans. She ate leisurely, watching Keegan eat with her friend. There was something about her, something that she found irresistibly intriguing. “You could take that back to the room,” she said, noticing that Nicole had left more than half of her fish filet uneaten. “We have that little refrigerator in our entryway. You could put it in there; have it for a midnight snack or something.”
“It wasn’t that good. I’ll order room service if I get hungry.”
Willow reached across, forking a bite. “I think it’s good,” she declared, taking another.
“It has weird spicing.”
“I taste a little tarragon,” Willow said, sliding Nicole’s plate closer so that she could finish her entrée. “Maybe that’s what you didn’t like.”
“That’s it,” Nicole answered. “I hate tarragon.”
CHAPTER SIX
Keegan sat down on the sofa, thinking about Willow—such a gentle spirit, kind and light-hearted. She closed her eyes, bringing her image to mind—her dress, form-fitting and arousing; her lips, full and inviting. Too bad she was with someone, the snarky redhead of all people. They hadn’t talked about it, but she knew that she was. Friends, even good ones, don’t reach across the table to finish the other’s meal. She’d watched them until she could watch no longer. She turned on the tv, flipped through the channels, and switched it off. Then, she picked up a medical journal, turning to an article on blunt force bladder trauma. In no time, she laid it on the coffee table. It’s just as well. Get with someone on a four-day train trip, and you’re gonna get a little sex and a lot of drama. She bit her lower lip, trying to figure out what it was about Willow that made her seem so familiar; why being with her was like a breath of fresh country air. She had to have met her on a prior occasion. But if that was the case, why couldn’t she remember the circumstances? When the train whistle sounded, she walked to her bedroom window—flashing red lights—a small building—a platform in the open air. As they came to a stop, the rural station reminded her of a time when life was less complicated, full of romance. How many couples had kissed hello or bid farewell at that very spot? She checked her map, estimating that they were still several hours from Chicago, and looking forward to the promised two-hour layover. Not that long, but long enough to enjoy a Chicago hot dog or a slice of Chicago-style pizza. She opened her dresser drawer, collecting her black pajamas, grimacing at the thought of Willow in the arms of the redhead. She banished it, jealous. What is wrong with you? Since when do you obsess over who someone’s sleeping with? And with that, she tossed her pajamas over the b
ack of the armchair, deciding to take advantage of the train’s late-night amenities.
“Good evening,” the bartender greeted. “What’s your pleasure?”
“Pendleton, neat.”
He tipped the bottle with a familiar bucking horse logo, allowing the auburn liquid to flow into an old-fashioned glass. In his mid-twenties, the bartender had long hair like men she’d seen in photographs of the Old West. “Here you go,” he said, the glass thumping the bar top in front of her. “Can I get you an appetizer? Unfortunately, with it being so late, we don’t have the full menu.”
“No, thanks,” Keegan responded. “I have high hopes of getting some sleep when I get back to my room.” She took her first sip, remembering when the beverage had been special, a drink to celebrate milestones, and accomplishments. Now, what was it? Not much more than a relaxation agent, a blanket of comfort. Sad, that’s what it was. Alcoholism didn’t run in her family, but she was becoming increasingly worried about her alcohol dependence. Sleep, reduce your anxiety, and life will return to normal. She resolved to stop at one, hoping she was right. When she checked her messages, her mouth went dry—Lawsuit filed. Call when you get this message. It doesn’t matter what time. It was from the hospital attorney, a man she’d known during her tenure at NYC General. Her heart raced, dialing his number. “Dr. Wade,” she greeted, stepping to the corner of the room, and listening. “Of course, it was a long day,” she snapped, her blood pressure rising. “And of course, I was exhausted.” She began to pace. “You would be too after umpteen surgeries and a board meeting…I know, I know, don’t shoot the messenger.” She listened again, resisting the urge to interrupt. “But that had no bearing on my decision to send him to ICU before operating. It was a no-brainer, Paul, his best chance for survival. Protocol, I followed protocol. If I hadn’t, well, then I could see a problem. But as exhausted as I was, I hung around, gave the kid a chance to stabilize before operating. Protocol, I followed protocol.” She stepped to the bar, collecting her glass, and swallowing. “Look, here’s the deal,” she continued, “in cases where life versus limb, life is supposed to win. Life won, the limb lost, end of story. You know as well as I do that there are no grounds of medical negligence, not on this one.” She’d been gone what, all of twelve hours? There was no use taking time off because the problems always followed. She clenched her jaw, intentionally slowing her breathing. “Next stop, I’ll be on my way back.” She’d take a taxi from Union Station, catching the first flight out of O’Hare. With any luck, she’d be back by mid-afternoon. “What do you mean, go on to California? That’s nuts; I need to prepare.” Again, she resisted the urge to interrupt as he explained his reasoning. “Okay, I get it. You’re right; staying on the train makes the most sense.” She ended the call, walking back to the bar, and setting down her glass.