by Shelley Gray
"You might be able to do that, but I can't."
To her surprise, he chuckled. "Yep, I can fall asleep 'bout anyplace, it's true. A body learns to find comfort and rest almost anywhere."
"Well, mine hasn't learned that yet. Besides, I'm too afraid. And I'm too cold anyway."
He looked at her long and hard. Then slowly, so slowly that his knees creaked, he stood up and moved even closer to her. "Lean against me," he said after a moment.
Will's voice sounded rusty and hoarse. Just as if he wasn't used to offering comfort and was even less sure about how it was to be received.
"I couldn't." But even as she said that, she felt the warm heat radiate off his body. Added to that was the thick canvas of his duster, heavy and woolen and luring her closer.
Little by little, her tense muscles eased and the cramps in her legs loosened. Oh, but how did he stay so warm?
Beside her, he shifted. He wasn't looking at her. Instead, he was staring straight out the window. She noticed the muscle in his jaw jump—just like he was holding on for a comfort that he couldn't deny.
Or else he was trying to grab hold of his patience and cling to it.
She wiggled again, trying to get comfortable, trying to get warm but not touch him. He sighed, then snaked an arm out and wrapped it around her shoulders, coaxing her head to rest against his chest. His body was solid and warm. The weight of his arm felt heavy and secure. Holding her tight, but not in a bad way.
In an odd way, she felt more secure, like maybe—just maybe—she was going to have a chance to live a little longer. She shifted again, finally tucking her feet under her skirts.
Next to her, Will shifted again. In her movements, his hand curved a little more tightly, falling to her waist and feeling far too personal. She gasped.
He cleared his throat, just as his hand moved again. "Stop. Just settle now. Relax and try to sleep."
Though she feared being so close to him, her eyelids felt heavy. As she listened to the steady beating of his heart against her ear, her will to fight him fluttered away. "I don't want to be here," she murmured.
"It doesn't matter what you want. All that matters is what you need. Now sit still and stop wiggling so much. A man can hardly think with you moving and squirming the way you are."
The thread of warmth in his voice took her off guard. Warily, she looked his way. "I never imagined you would have much experience comforting a woman."
To her amusement, he rolled his eyes. "Long ago, I wasn't an outlaw. Long ago, I had a sweet sister named Bonnie. She used to cuddle up against me just like this."
A yawn escaped her as hope settled into her heart. Maybe Will McMillan wasn't pure evil. Maybe there was still a good portion of him that would protect her and hold her close. "What happened to her?"
"She died," he said, his voice flat. "Now stop talking and sleep."
Unwilling to fight exhaustion anymore, Jamie finally gave in to her body's needs. Will McMillan was warm, and for the moment, he wasn't hurting her.
He wasn't making her leave the train and go out into the unknown.
And for right then, right there, Jamie knew that was enough. Her body relaxed. The sweet oblivion of dreams captured her then and pulled her under. She finally gave up and relaxed her head against his ribcage.
And slept.
9
As Jamie's weight settled against his chest, Will shifted slightly and rearranged his arms around her, hoping to make her more comfortable. His movements weren't automatic. Instead, they were more than a little awkward and choppy.
It had been a long time since a woman had rested in his arms—and a very long time since the female had been anyone he cared about.
Actually, there hadn't been anyone since Bonnie. Even her name caused a painful ache to rush through him, reminding him yet again of all he'd lost. And he'd sure as heck not needed any reminding. He'd only mentioned Bonnie so Jamie would drop the topic.
And she had.
He was thankful for that, since he'd been even less eager to talk about the other women he'd known since then. Not that there had been a lot. Easily less than a handful. But each woman in her own way had claimed a piece of his heart—at least for a little while.
Jamie Ellis was his first hostage though.
The realization of who he'd become kicked him in the gut and made his head pound. He'd become someone he hardly recognized. Someone even his mother wouldn't know. Thank the good Lord she wasn't alive to witness his change. Disappointed wouldn't begin to describe her feelings.
Of course, there was little that could convey the complete metamorphosis that his life had taken since he'd been a scared soldier in Arkansas. Surely, it was nothing like the life he'd planned on back when he still looked to his mother's smile for support.
Shifting slightly, Will kicked out his feet and stretched his legs. The worn tips of his boots pointed up at him. He'd worn them so long, and so many hours at a time, it was sometimes hard to imagine what his feet looked like bare.
There was something to be said about that.
As the train continued to sit idly, held captive by a dead engineer, too many demanding lawmen, and a poker-playing boss who refused to back down no matter what the odds, Will decided to take advantage of the quiet and briefly let his guard down. The air around him smelled sweet and almost clean. It was a rare moment when he wasn't assaulted by noise and the stale smell of fear and unwashed men. No, here, wafting upward, was the faint scent of gardenias. It floated toward his nose, teasing him. And with that, it brought a hint of a moment from another time.
Years ago, when Bonnie had been alive, he'd sat on a cornhusk mattress and had held her tight. Pa had been out fighting in the war, of course, and he'd instinctively known that his time to defend the South was coming on soon.
Bonnie had been all of five, and with her twin braids in disarray, she'd lain by his side and had chattered on about the cut on her finger and the mess of bluebonnets she'd seen in the field. The sun had showered a warm ray across their bodies, making Bonnie giggle when she'd spied him stretching his toes to catch the sunny spots.
The sweet, soft memory slammed him with force, almost taking his breath away with its sharpness. He'd plumb forgotten what it had been like to enjoy the pleasure of merely feeling warmth on his toes. And being in the company of a girl.
And smiling? Giggling? Did anyone even do those things anymore? Almost everyone of his acquaintance were shadows of their former selves. Wariness and pain prevented them from embracing frivolity and pleasure.
Time had proved that letting one's guard down meant pain—not pleasure—was around the corner.
Under his elbow, Jamie shifted and shivered. Unable to stop himself, he repositioned his coat about her more securely, hoping to retain a bit more of the heat.
But instead of seeking the warmth of the wool, she curved closer to him, taking obvious comfort from not only his body's heat, but also his person. The sweet, soft curves of her body pressed against his—bringing with it the many masculine urges he'd suppressed for too long.
It had been a necessary thing. The war had been an unforgiving mistress and his current job was far too dangerous. Surely that was why his body and mind were sliding along such disastrous roads?
As if she'd read his mind, Jamie sighed and cuddled even closer. Her cheek lay against his chest, tangled tendrils of her hair mixing with the buttons of his coat. Before he could stop himself, he reached out and smoothed the strands, then caught himself fingering the silky mass just as the door opened again.
Will inhaled her sweet scent as he tightened the burden in his arms. He let his mind drift and dream. Maybe this time things would be different. Maybe this time he'd get to keep the girl—form a relationship with her that had nothing to do with loneliness and doubts and had everything to do with promises and love.
Sweet emotions. Silly ones, really. But even men accustomed to pain and regrets deserved a flash of hope every once in a while. Surely, even a man like h
im.
The jarring click of the door opening brought him back to reality. Will's hold on Jamie loosened as he faced the intruder. "Yes?"
"Russell has somehow figured out how to run the train. He and that idiot are firing up the engine now."
"Lord have mercy," Will said. "Wonders will never cease."
"Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen," Scout quoted.
Will blinked. "I didn't know you knew the Bible."
"I know it. I just rarely quote it," Scout replied. "However, the occasion felt warranted."
"You come in here to tell me about Russell?"
"Nah. I came in here to let you know that the boss has been asking for you."
"Right now?"
His gaze darting from Jamie's position to Will's errant fingers brushing her cheek, Scout shrugged. "He could probably wait a minute or two if you wanted." Below them, it sounded as if the train was coming to life as the wheels began to gradually turn. Then, slowly, the train fell into motion, inching forward. Gathering speed.
"Guess we're on our way again."
As if seeing Will so tenderly holding Jamie embarrassed him, Scout looked down at his boots. "Looks like it."
"You look worse than usual. What's going on?"
"We've lost another hostage."
Well, that was one way of putting it. Will felt chilled as he met Scout's direct gaze. The muscles in the gunfighter's neck moved. They were the only sign that perhaps everything hadn't gone as smoothly as he had hoped to convey. Briefly, Will pondered the pros and cons of asking for details, then decided against it. It didn't really matter who killed the hostage. Or why.
Fact was, a death couldn't be undone and he'd long since given up trying.
"I see," he finally said.
The tic in Scout's cheek jumped. "I doubt it. I, for one, don't understand a lick of what's been going on inside of this miserable train. Fact is, everything and anything is going poorly on this job, McMillan. You and I know enough to know that things aren't going to get better with time, either."
"I know." Scout was right. There was a feeling of incautious desperation around them that seemed to weigh them all down. "And I'm tellin' you what. That girl—that girl you're holding too close—she's trouble."
"Our bad luck isn't her fault. She's the innocent in all of this."
Scout shrugged. "Doesn't matter. She's making everyone act strange and peculiar." Looking even more agitated, Scout stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his denims, as if he were trying hard to keep his emotions in check. "Something's going to happen to her, you mark my words."
Scout's words had credence, but Will thought he was overreacting too. "I've yet to see Mr. Walton use and abuse a woman. Especially not one of gentle birth."
"I've never seen that either. But I've seen the others with women hostages before." A bleak, cool, vacant look appeared in his eyes. "They're getting restless. Fact is, Will, the other men ain't going to wait much longer to get their hands on this girl."
Even thinking about such a thing made Will see red. "They'd have to get through me first. And I'd shoot them dead before I'd let them touch her. She'll be safe."
Scout pressed his lips together but refrained from commenting. "And one of the men surrounding the train was Blackstone. Do you know him?"
"No," Will lied.
"I've seen him rape and pillage in a way that would put a carpetbagger to shame."
Blackstone wasn't Will's supervisor. Sam Edison was. But Blackstone's reputation was well known. More than anything, he had a reputation for achieving results. Will had never thought much about how the man had gotten those successes. "Did you witness it?"
The tic jumped again. "I witnessed the aftermath in Austin once. He threatens women . . . and has been known to make good on those threats."
"But the men in his company—"
"Oh, those men will do their best to convince Blackstone to leave women alone. But sometimes, what they say don't matter."
Will didn't doubt Scout's words. In these times, sometimes the only bout of decency and sanity depended on the day and the time. All of them were capable of murder and thieving. All of them were capable of doing their worst with anything available. And all of them had. He knew he had. Shoot, even one of the heads of the railroad was in cahoots with the gang.
That was the whole reason he was there—to bring him down.
But suddenly his duty didn't seem nearly as important as the woman in his arms.
After weighing his options, he blurted, "What do you suggest I do with Jamie?" No way was he going to give a hint to what he was thinking.
A full minute passed. It was obvious that Scout was as unused to disclosing his private feelings as Will was. Finally, he folded his arms over his chest and stared hard at Will. "Truth?"
"Truth."
"McMillan, you need to do what you need to do. Soon. Do you understand?"
Slowly, Will nodded.
Looking curiously relieved, Scout nodded. "Good. If you care about her as much as you act like you do, you need to do it soon."
There it was. But still, he was too smart to trust too much. "Do you have a stake in this?" Could there be a reason Scout was practically telling him to take Jamie and run?
"Do I have a personal interest?" Slowly he shook his head, his eyes lighting up with misplaced mirth. "Not so much. Not enough to risk a bullet hole. But I have enough of a sense of right and wrong to look the other way if you take matters into your own hands."
After a pause, Scout added, "Maybe even to encourage some others not to ask questions or look too hard."
"Why would you do that?"
"Why?" A lopsided smile appeared. "Let's just say I've taken to having a soft spot for a woman in black."
"So you're favoring the color and not the woman?" Will asked wryly.
"I'm not favoring it," he amended. "Sometimes it's enough to know that she's been through enough. You know?"
"I know," Will said softly.
In his arms, Jamilyn sighed then opened her eyes. He knew the moment she spied Scout because she stiffened and pulled away from his embrace like his body was on fire.
Scout cleared his throat, his voice once again becoming as remote and cold as the desolate land outside. "You'd best get going, Will. Boss is going to be wondering what you're doing if you don't hurry. I'll watch your hostage."
Jamie trembled.
Will knew there was no choice. He'd been sent for. Jamie gazed at him with wide, frightened eyes as Will stood up. "You'll be safe here," Will said over his shoulder as he walked to the portal. "Safe enough."
Catching Scout's eye, Will made his decision. "Safe enough until I come back."
Scout nodded.
The decision had been made. And as Will walked back to the train car of men, he wondered why he didn't feel a single shard of regret. Instead, all he felt was anticipation mixed with the sensation that he was about to do what was right.
That was something he hadn't felt in a very long time.
10
After checking in with James Walton, Will returned to Jamie's train car and let Scout leave. Then he looked at Jamie and cursed fate.
It had finally come down to this moment. And though he was as sorry as could be, Will knew beyond a doubt that he no longer had a choice. If he didn't get Jamie off the train as soon as possible, she was going to get violated or killed. Most likely both.
In his worst moments, he feared he'd even have to watch.
Pure agony coursed through him as the probable consequences swam in his mind. They were only going to have the clothes on their backs. No horse. Only one set of guns. And no food or water.
When Will pulled Jamie off the train, they'd be in terrible danger, with both the men from the Walton Gang and the Marshals hunting them.
They would shoot to kill, most likely him first. Then Jamie would be at the mercy of men who had none. It would take everything he had to evade both groups, and that was as
suming Jamie would willingly be by his side.
Of course, she wouldn't be. When she wasn't in the depths of an exhausted sleep, Jamie feared him—and with good reason. He'd held her against her will and would have shot one of the Marshals right in front of her if the situation had necessitated it.
And all of that wasn't even taking into account the bitter cold and unceasing snow that seemed determined to blanket them. If he couldn't keep Jamie warm and dry and alive, not even the most grandiose of schemes mattered a whit.
She would die and her soul would be on his conscience.
No, most likely she would fight him every step of the way, even going so far as to try to run from him.
The idea made his blood run cold. What would he do if she fought him? Tie her up?
Though the idea pained him, if it meant keeping her alive Will knew he would do it.
With a feeling of inevitability that now seemed an integral part of his life, Will realized he would do whatever it took to keep her safe, even if it meant forcing her to hate him. Even if it meant causing himself pain, even sacrificing his life.
It was time to do something he could be proud of.
All he could do now was wait and plan and look for his chance.
"Will? What do you think is going to happen?"
Jamie's voice was sweet and tentative and scared. Of course, she had every reason to feel that way.
"I didn't know you were awake."
"I just woke up a little bit ago." After another yawn, she sat up straighter. "The train's running again."
"It is." Keeping his voice detached, he added, "If you're ready, Mr. Walton wants to see you, that's all."
"I'm afraid of him." A sheen of pink colored her cheeks when he looked at her curiously. "I mean, I'm afraid of all of you. It's just that . . ."
"You're afraid of some men more than others."
She bit her lip and nodded.
"I understand." Then, though he shouldn't reassure her, because, after all, who other than God knew what their future held, he said, "Jamie, I can't promise you much, but I will promise you this: no harm will come to you while I'm here." Not if he could help it, he added silently.