A Texan's Honor

by Shelley Gray

  The words rang in Scout's ears through the night as he stared at the note and prayed to a Lord who had surely given up on him long ago.

  When morning came, he grabbed the pitcher of water from outside his door and hastily cleaned up. Then, before he found a way to delay further, he picked up his Colt and holstered it, shrugged back into his duster, and left the room again after taking care to lock up the room securely behind him.

  He kept his head down as he walked out the back stairs and into the early light. With some surprise, he realized that more than two hours had passed since he'd entered the room.

  Worried now that he'd waited too long to seek assistance, he picked up his pace, making it to the hotel in half the time it had taken him before.

  When the man at the front saw him, his eyes grew wide. "Yes?"

  "I need to see Will McMillan. He still here?"

  It was obvious the man didn't want to tell him anything, but Scout stood tall and straight, almost forcing the man to tell him something he didn't want to hear.

  "I'll go see," he said finally. When he left, Scout walked to the corner of the room. There he could keep an eye on things while being unobserved by most.

  But then he noticed that his sleeve was soaked with blood. Torn between the new flood of despair that besieged him and the old habit of needing to stay unobtrusive and hidden at all times, he stared at the sleeve until he sensed Will coming his way.

  In his own way, the lawman's face looked as haggard and ruined as Scout felt inside.

  "You looking for me?" he asked without preamble.

  Though it killed him, he nodded. "I need your help."

  "You sure about that?"

  "It's a personal matter." Feeling that the skinny guy behind the counter was aching to listen, he motioned toward the door. "Can we go talk outside?"

  Will glanced at the door warily. His eyes were hard when he turned to Scout again. "You fixin' to kill me?"

  "No." Hurt washed through him as he realized that if he'd nodded, Will wouldn't have been surprised.

  That was what everyone knew him to be: a killer. A bad man. The kind who would call on a man for help and then turn on him like a snake. That reputation fit him like a kid glove that was too tight.

  Though almost all the bitterness in his life choked his words, he responded. "Like I said, this is personal."

  After another measured glance, Will turned and started walking. Scout eased from his position at the door and followed. Once they were away from a family standing idle near the front entrance, Will turned to him and waited. "Well?"

  There was no way to make his words easier to say. "The girl I was with killed herself while I was seeing you. I've gotta bury her decent."

  Will's stoic response was impressive. The only sign that he was taken aback was a muscle jumping in his jaw. "You sure?"

  "Am I sure what? Sure that she's dead, or sure that I want to bury her decent?"

  Will raised a hand to wave off Scout's wrath. "Don't get riled up. I'm not your enemy here."

  Scout was stunned speechless. His world wasn't filled with shades of gray, not really anyway. Men were either good or bad, and for as long as he could remember, he'd been firmly in the bad category. Now that he knew Will was a U.S. Marshal, Scout never expected Will to think of him as anything less than his enemy.

  "I want to bury her decent. She deserves at least that, though I have a feeling Kitty wouldn't think she'd be worthy of even that much."

  "All right then. Let's go deal with it."

  "That's it? No questions?"

  Will's gaze slid over him. "Even pushing aside the fact that if you'd killed her you wouldn't be standing here . . . I believe you. And I agree with you too. I've left my share of bodies littering the ground—and it's a tough thing to come to terms with. I've come to believe that everyone deserves a decent burial, especially a woman, don't you think?"

  Scout's teeth clenched as he absorbed the other man's words. He wasn't so sure about everyone deserving something decent. He sure didn't.

  But that was okay. "Obliged," he said tightly as he started walking toward the run-down boarding house, dreading the sight of Kitty's lifeless body as much as he was dreading Will McMillan's reaction to it.

  But it had to be done.

  Life wasn't for cowards or sissies. He'd never been either. But today was proving to him that maybe he needed to become something more than he was.

  Even if he wasn't sure it was possible.

  33

  Their journey to Kansas City hadn't been grueling, but it had been fraught with a sadness in Jamie Ellis's heart. A sadness that wasn't easily pushed to one side.

  After they'd boarded the train, the elegant Mr. Edison had given her his orders. "I procured a private compartment for you, Miss. But I'd appreciate your company for the meal this evening. I have some questions about your time with the Walton Gang that I'd like to have answered before our arrival in Kansas City. If it won't be too much of an inconvenience."

  Though the request had been delivered in dulcet tones and with the utmost respect, there was no doubt about the order. Mr. Edison was ordering her to dine with him and was giving her fair warning that he expected information in exchange for his retrieving her.

  Perhaps that shouldn't have been a surprise.

  "I'd be honored to dine with you, Mr. Edison," she said just as formally.

  He bowed slightly. "I'll be at your door to escort you to supper."

  "Thank you."

  He'd left her side then, and she'd entered her compartment alone. Oh, it had been so very civil.

  And her compartment was as pretty as anything she'd ever seen. Fine linens covered the slim mattress. Mahogany wood framed the small writing table.

  The chair was upholstered in a plush burgundy velvet and situated by the lone, wide window, giving Jamie an excellent view of the snowy landscape outside. In short, it was everything a first-class compartment was reputed to be and twice as lovely as she imagined.

  Gingerly, she sat down and looked out the window, watching the endless trail of white horizon. And only to herself she admitted the cold hard truth: she would've given almost anything to feel the icy snow against her skin, to feel the wind brush against her cheeks. To breathe in the frigid frost, so cold and harsh that with each breath her lungs would feel as if they were about to explode.

  She ached to be on horseback, an animal's muscles mixing with her own. Smelling the leather and the dust. Feeling the warmth of the horse's pelt under her fingers.

  But most of all, Jamie ached for Will McMillan with such a fierce longing it almost took her breath away.

  Will was the first man in her life she had trusted. The first man who'd put her needs before his. The first man of honor.

  But she didn't idolize him. No, instead of only feeling grateful to him, she ached for him as a companion. He was serious but not without humor. Easygoing but never one to be lazy or taken advantage of.

  But most of all, Will had a way about him that had inspired her to reach a little bit deeper into her soul and imagine a better life than she'd ever hoped for. He'd made her think of people differently. For that matter, he'd made her think of herself differently . . . for a little while, she'd begun to believe that she was worth more than she'd ever imagined. For that, she'd always be grateful.

  Yes, he'd become dear to her. And, she realized, he felt the same way toward her, at least to some extent.

  As she watched the barren landscape slide by, Jamie knew she'd be lying to herself if she neglected to think about their romantic connection. There was something sweet and true between them—a beautiful romance, laced with a tingly, warm desire that was intoxicating.

  Feeling the longing toward him was a revelation. She was also woman enough to know that it hadn't been one-sided. Yes, they'd had a connection of sorts—the two them. Their whole relationship hadn't been only of captor and hostage or guardian and victim.

  No, somehow in the middle of things, they'd become more
than mere labels to each other. They'd become man and woman. They'd become Jamilyn and Will. A couple of a sort.

  But, of course, their relationship had never been meant to be. And it certainly hadn't ever been meant to last.

  Minutes passed, floating into hours. A steward came by offering warm towels and hot water and a neatly wrapped box.

  "What's this?" she asked in confusion.

  "The gentleman you are traveling with asked me to give it to, Miss. He thought a change of clothing might be appreciated."

  "Oh. Yes. Yes, thank you." She felt awkward, having Mr. Edison buy her clothing, but she was enough of a realist to realize that she was going to need more than one dress in her future.

  Inside the box, the dress that greeted her was lovely. The fabric was taffeta; the color an interesting shade between brown and gold. It shimmered in the light. It was cut rather plainly, with a minimum of pleats and buttons and lace. Underneath it lay fresh pantaloons, a snowy white chemise, and a thin pair of petticoats.

  It all was beautiful, too lovely for her to be embarrassed that he'd felt the need to buy her a new dress and underthings. She was simply very grateful for it all.

  Anxious to change, she shook out the dress and stepped out of the dress she was wearing. Then she did her best to transform the rest of herself.

  With the aid of the small mirror in her compartment, she took down her hair, combed it with her fingers as well as she could, then spent double the time neatly pinning it up.

  After, she luxuriated in the feel of warm water against her neck and face. Using both the towels and the basin, she did her best to set herself to rights. She probably hadn't spent so long on her toilet in years, but she didn't mind it. Fussing with her skin and hair kept her hands busy and made the time go by.

  Finally, she put on the new gown and was able to fasten all the buttons save for two. She was just wondering how to tackle them when a brief knock sounded at her door.

  "Miss Ellis? May I escort you to supper?"

  "I'm almost ready," she said, opening the door just a crack.

  Immediately, Mr. Edison's hand reached for the door, opening it a little farther. "Why, look at you," he said with a smile. "You look pretty as a picture."

  "Thank you." She stepped back. "I'll be out in a moment, sir."

  "Not now? What else do you need to do?"

  Presenting her back to him, she said, "I'm still trying to find a way to fasten two of these buttons."

  For the first time in their brief acquaintance, the Marshal looked flustered. "I apologize. I should have realized those buttons would be difficult for you to reach."

  "I'm grateful for the gown, sir. It's truly the finest I've ever owned."

  "If you would like, I could fasten it for you. I do have some experience—I had a wife and four daughters."

  "Four daughters? No wonder you are such a brave man," she teased—just as she noticed his use of the past tense. Had he lost them all?

  Eager to leave the awkward situation, she spoke. "If you would be so kind, I would be forever grateful."

  She stepped back so he could enter. Then, without another word, she presented her back to him. In the mirror in front of her, she watched him pause, his hands hovering above her skin like he was reluctant to touch her.

  His face void of expression, he fastened both buttons. Immediately afterward, he stepped backward, looking anxious to end the intimate task.

  "There you are, ma'am," he said as he strode to the compartment's entrance. "Are you ready for dinner now?"

  "I am indeed, Mr. Edison." She closed her door and followed him down the gently swaying hallway of the train.

  They stepped through two other cars, passing dozens of people along the way, all in various forms of rest or sleep. A few glanced her way when she passed, making her shiver.

  As she scanned their faces, Jamie felt a curious sense of déjà vu as she followed Mr. Edison. She hadn't thought she would be so affected by being back on a train, but she was. Suddenly, everyone seemed like a prospective bandit, ready to take them hostage and do harm.

  Only when they entered the ornate dining car did she finally breathe easier.

  Mr. Edison, in that curiously acute way of his, squeezed lightly on her elbow. "Have strength, my dear. This is a different time and place."

  "You know what I'm fearing?"

  "I guessed," he said lightly. before turning to the nattily dressed steward waiting by the doorway. "Good evening, Jeremy."

  He steward bowed deferentially. "Mr. Edison, we are honored to see you."

  Mr. Edison waved off the bow. "I hope our table is ready and that it has a bit of privacy."

  "Oh yes, sir. We've saved the table at the very end of the car for you, sir. This has worked well for you in the past. Will it be sufficient this evening?"

  "It should be acceptable. Thank you."

  Jamie followed Mr. Edison with a sinking feeling. The man was everything proper and charming, but she was quickly realizing that he was perceptive too.

  His lovely manners and gentlemanly ways seemed to be merely covering a hard and calculating man underneath. He seemed very much used to getting his way, and used to getting answers—no matter what the cost.

  With more than a bit of trepidation, Jamie sat across from Mr. Edison and prepared to be interrogated.

  However, he didn't seem to be in any hurry to ask questions. For a good ten minutes, he studied the menu, then ordered steak for them both. He refused the offer of whiskey and instead asked for coffee for both of them.

  Little by little, Jamie relaxed. The man's company was easy to be around. His deep, smooth voice was addictive sounding, his polished manners and language a balm on her nerves after being around the rough men of the Walton Gang.

  After two bowls of beef consomme arrived and they'd both had a few exploratory sips, he leaned back. "And so, Miss Ellis, I suppose it is time to discuss your captivity and escape."

  She swallowed. "Yes, sir."

  "Tell me what happened. How did you get to be taken hostage? The only female hostage?"

  She tried not to feel as if he was finding fault with her surviving. "When the Walton Gang made themselves known, it was as if a beehive had broken up, there was so much confusion."

  "Explain yourself."

  "Well, first everyone was just sitting, reading, sleeping . . . as everyone is wont to do during train travel." She paused, then looked at him for agreement.

  But instead of nodding, his expression was carefully blank. "And then?"

  "And then the train slowed, the Walton Gang showed up, and pandemonium broke out. Women were screaming and fainting; men got still or leapt to their feet." She closed her eyes, remembering. "It was terrible."

  Once again, images of the armed men taking over the train besieged her. The memories, combined with the all-too-familiar rocking of the train, made it seem like she'd stepped back in time and was going through the whole experience all over again. As tremors coursed through her, Jamie sipped her coffee in an awful attempt to calm her nerves, but it seemed to do no good.

  Mr. Edison's gaze seemed to acknowledge her every tremor. Then he continued, his voice emotionless and quiet. "How did you come to be in their custody?"

  After the waiter removed their soup bowls, she did her best to explain. "The train stopped. People were running around, then were gathered and told to step forward. I was at the back of the car, and so I ended up standing next to Kent." She shivered at the memory. "He grabbed my arm and told me to stay with him."

  One eyebrow rose. "And you did?"

  She didn't know if he found fault with her actions or simply wanted clarification. "I had no choice, sir. He had a gun and was gripping my arm." Remembering the scene, she said, "Moments after that, the Walton men started making people get off."

  "And people did without a fight?"

  "From what I could see, they did. I was still held by Kent."

  "And then?"

  "And then I found out later that on
e of the gang members had pulled six men to one side. Will—I mean, Mr. McMillan—tried to let them go, but Scout shook his head, saying Mr. Walton himself wanted hostages in case they needed collateral."

  "Scout, as in Scout Proffitt, yes?"

  "Yes, sir." She stopped when their steaks were delivered. But instead of motioning her to eat, Mr. Edison gestured for her to continue.

  Pushing aside the present, she nodded and sank right back into the memory. "Right about then, Kent pulled me forward and asked what he was supposed to do with me."

  "And what did Scout say?"

  "He got mad because the train had started moving again." With apprehension, Jamie glanced at Mr. Edison. When he nodded, she continued, vowing to do her best to describe how confusing and horrific the situation had been. "See, everyone else thought all the women and children were gone."

  "But obviously that was not the case. You were there."

  She nodded slowly. "They kept me. Will ordered Kent to put me on one of the benches, and that's where I sat until Mr. Walton arrived."

  Almost delicately, Mr. Edison picked up his knife and fork and cut off a small bite of the beef. After a moment's pause, he placed it in his mouth and chewed while she continued to tell her story.

  On and on it went. Mr. Edison cut his steak and asked pertinent questions, and she sat, hands in her lap, nervously recounting the longest week of her life.

  The recounting seemed to take forever. In no time at all, his plate was clean. And still she talked.

  Only when she finally got to the part where he'd taken custody of her did he lean back. "Thank you, Miss Ellis. Your account has been most illuminating. I'm very sorry to have taken you from your meal. Please enjoy it."

  And then he got up.

  She turned. "Mr. Edison, you're not going to stay?"

  He paused in midstride. "I'm afraid not, my dear. I rarely keep company with women anymore. Jeremy here will look out for you though. You mustn't be afraid."

  Remembering his use of the past tense, she took a chance. "Your wife and daughters . . . are any of them left?"

  His face froze for a brief second before it looked as if he thawed himself with only great effort. "No." After a deep breath, he knocked his knuckles on the table. "Please don't forget to eat your dessert, Miss Ellis. The hummingbird cake is not to be missed."